Daily (almost) deadweight disaster

So there I was in my “need to know” pose at a coffee shop I’ve begun frequenting quite regularly since LT’s visit, desperately waiting for a phone call. A doctor was supposed to call me back with a clincher quote that would put the exclamation point, as it were, on my story. Watching people walk by is overrated. So is sitting around twiddling a pen between your fingers. Actually, it wasn’t a total waste. I did see this absolute fool with a jauntily-angled cap on his head, a t-shirt that was at least 10 sizes too big and jeans that were probably slung just above his knees, judging by the fact that the crotch of the jeans nearly touched the ground. I’m sorry, but housing is just a stupid concept.

No, he wasn’t African-American. He was just a local moron, who seemed to be from Bandra (sorry, couldn’t resist it).

So anyway, once I finished shaking my head at the state of today’s youth and the clothes they wear, my eyes that were now in the highest state of alertness, caught sight of a street-dwelling woman carrying her baby. Seemed like a happy enough baby. 10 fingers. 10 toes. Curious eyes darting around like a peregrine falcon on speed. In the middle of a sip of my middling-to-decent shot of espresso, the baby gets pissed off at something and starts crying loudly.

In an effort that looked driven more towards shutting the baby up, rather than pacifying him/her, the mother starts whacking the baby over the head — albeit not as hard as the word “whacking” would imply, but still pretty hard, considering a baby’s soft skull and all that. It made me remember that I’ve always hated being hit on the head, top of the head or back of it. There’s something very very insulting about it and obviously dangerous about it too. My brain’s got a lot of mileage left in it. There’s a lot I plan to do with it. Hands off.

But throughout my life, I’ve seen people wantonly hitting each other over the head. Mark my words, it’s dangerous. Take daftie for instance. You know daftie. The guy who thought he was black a few paragraphs above. I bet that lad was beaten fairly mercilessly over the head as a child. Maybe he still is. Who knows? I just wish I’d taken a photo of his ludicrous appearance.

Another thing that has always freaked me out is the thought or sight of any sort of injury to the eyeballs or the sternum (breastbone). I’m cringing as I write it. Makes me shudder almost as much as the idea of Camilla Parker-Bowles in the nood. Super-Mega-Shudder.

That’s what makes me queasy. What amuses me no end, in retrospect however, is a numb arm. It’s amused me for a while, but I’ve surprisingly never felt the need to articulate my thoughts about that peculiar form of temporary paralysis. Reminds me of a song actually. One that was introduced to me by a fellow who was pretty peculiar, himself. The song’s a lot of fun and it pays homage/mocks the musical style of a number of bands including Rage against the Machine with this particular line, done in their style.

Corporate America makes pencils
For the man with the left hand
They make pencils for the man with the right hand
But what about the man with the numb hand?

Did I mention that the whole song is about falling asleep on one’s arm and it going numb? I meant to. The track is by The Aquabats and is called I fell asleep on my arm. But back to the real issue, waking up to a numb arm is one of the scariest things I’ve ever encountered. You’re in the middle of a bomb-ass dream and out of nowhere, you wake up... a little dazed... incredibly disoriented... and suddenly, you can’t breathe.

Damn straight you can’t breath. There’s this heavy thing on your chest. And worse, you only have one arm! So you use that arm to lift the heavy thing off you. No luck. It’s deadweight. But what the hell happened to your other arm? That’s right. It’s dead and lying across your chest suffocating you. Sweet sweet irony. Being killed by your right arm (right hand would sound better, but a hand is pretty light).

You try to throw your arm off you and once in a while it lands smack! on your nose, causing the involuntary watering of your eyes. Stop for a second. Regain composure. And then you aim to hurl the arm off your face. You succeed! Boo-yah! Except the momentum of the arm flying away, often carries your body off the bed and onto the floor, with a dull thwap!-sort of slapping sound. How appropriate. You just got bitch-slapped by your own stupidity. Well done! That shit is funny as hell in retrospect.

Why is any of this relevant? Because it bloody damn near happened to me again last night. Previous occasions have seen me get a black eye from falling on my alarm clock or the edge of a bedside table. This time though, my consciousness was slowly taking over and I stopped myself on the very edge of the bed. A semi-Matrix semi-Mission Impossible scene was what I had going on there. Go me!

But seriously, numb arms scare me. It’s all fun and games until you sever or damage a nerve or something. And this happens to me almost on a daily basis. Shudder.