Shortly after writing a (now unpublished) blog post, Joel and I took off for the afternoon to give Liza the trip to Oaks Park we'd been promising all summer. I'd never been there before, so after feeling wrung out from spilling my guts online, it was pretty rad to learn that Oaks Park is Portland's own miniature version of the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. It's a place for making memories and we didn't waste any time.
We started with the bumper cars.
Then we went on some kiddie rides and ate the world's most epically bad food. (Some bad food is so bad that it's kinda good, but not the food at Oaks Park, where hamburger buns taste like hockey pucks.)
Joel had band practice that night, so after one final rollercoaster ride, he took off and left Liza and I to ride the Ferris Wheel together.
Actually, I TRIED to go rollerskating, but quickly realized that the Roller Derby career I'd imagined myself having wasn't in the stars because it turns out I can't actually roller-SKATE, I can only roller-BLADE. But once I switched up my skates, we were in business.
Liza and I took a few laps around the rink shaking our cabooses to Katy Perry and working up a sweat. In the ten (fifteen? twenty?) years since I'd last skated, I'd apparently forgotten how much fun it was. But it all came back to me at once - the wind in my hair, the smell of the rink, the speed, the cute boys, the showing off. I'd been battling near-crippling anxiety all afternoon, but the skating rink cured me! It was so. much. fun.
Right up until I fell and broke my ass...
I wish I was kidding, but just imagine me in those skates, leaning into the turns, throwing my arms to the sides to get more speed, rocking along to Britney Spears and then... BOOM. I was going too fast and lost my balance for a fraction of a second and then my feet just came out from under me and I landed - at FULL speed - smack on my butt. Before I could even move, the pain from my tailbone radiated up my spine and rattled around in my brain.
I've had a headache and an ass-ache since Tuesday. I can't sit down. I think I probably cracked - or at least bruised - my tailbone. I have insurance these days (thanks State of Washington!) but it's not worth going to the doctor for an x-ray because what are they going to do anyway? Put me in a cast? Give me a titanium ass replacement?
The only thing I can do is stay off of it as much as possible and take pain pills, which, since his kidney stone is still somewhere between his bladder and his bidness, Joel has been kind enough to share with me. Percocet is lovely while it's working, but much like I'd forgotten the downside (ha! get it?) of skating, I'd also forgotten that narcotics tend to leave me somewhat chemically imbalanced. And by that I mean morbidly depressed.
MORE GOOD TIMES!
So it's been a rough week for me, to say the least. I took my last Percocet on Saturday night. Even then, it was only out of desperation since I'd driven all the way to Clatskanie and back in Joel's '94 Saturn and no amount of wine was going to get me through the rest of the night.
I thought I was mostly back to normal today until Joel lost a really important file folder and I had a minor panic attack while he was searching for it. I'd never seen the file before and he didn't have an unkind word to say to me while I tried to help him find it, but it triggered my body to literally shut down. I stopped breathing. My heart raced. I couldn't think straight. It took me nearly two hours to finally calm down.
So where does that leave me?
Broken ass? CHECK.
No more good drugs? CHECK.
A writer who can't sit down? CHECK.
Tomorrow I plan to post the answer to the question about my teenage sexual abuse, so that will add to the madness. And then guess where we've promised to take the kids?!
Where there will be absolutely not, under any circumstances, be any roller-skating. But there will be FUN and in spite of an otherwise difficult summer, I've managed to find plenty of that.