i should unfriend him, but “his” pictures came up on fb from some snowboarding trip and it just reopened feelings of anger all over again about him not reaching out to me after our breakup. how much of a fucking coward to run away from emotions and not be willing to confront anything uncomfortable. how fucking sad and pathetic to act like nothing even happened. keeping everything at arm’s length (me included). shying away from any form of confrontation. pretending to exist in some vacuum where everything is pleasant and fine and pain must be avoided at all costs.
clearly this is not about me. this is on him. but i’m desperately trying to make sense of it all and i’m not sure i can. what the fuck.
Today, I fucked up by not putting my car's oil dip stick back in its tube.
So, this happened about 4 years ago, but someone else’s incident reminded me of my own. I was headed out, early in the morning, for a snowboarding trip. It’s pitch dark out and I’m driving in my ‘99 Dodge Neon on a straight stretch. Some old lady is doing 45 in a 55, so I speed up and pass her. I’m doing 65-70 as I pass and get back into my lane.
All of a sudden, my vision goes dark and I hear a loud “BAM” come from the front of my car. I realize the hood has just been pulled up and slammed into my windshield and roof. I duck down and look through the space under the hood to see where I’m going, slow down, and pull off.
I get out, look in my engine and I see….my dip stick, crammed into the hood latch. I started laughing pretty hard. I remembered checking my oil a couple of days earlier, and apparently, for the first time in my life, I had stupidly left the dipstick just laying on the open engine area. I must have gotten distracted. That morning was the first time I went over 60, and that’s apparently the threshold at which an unlatched hood on a '99 neon will stay down.
I was able to pull my hood down, latch it, and continue on my snowboarding trip. I used a rubber hammer to knock out some of the dents in my hood/roof. I don’t think it actually did any damage to my windshield. I think it just ended up hitting my roof.
On this weekend last year, D. was supposed to go to Vail on a snowboarding trip. He had been looking forward to it for months – in fact, funny story, he made us delay starting to try to get pregnant by a month because he was so convinced we would conceive instantaneously and mess up his plans for the trip. Lol. In actuality, it took six months to achieve our first pregnancy, which put me at exactly 12 weeks the weekend of the trip.
His flight was supposed to leave early on a Saturday morning; we scheduled my NT scan for the day before. We hadn’t expected to find out the baby was dead. Trip canceled, of course; he spent that Saturday at an abortion clinic in midtown, helping me make it through my D&C.
This year, D. kissed me goodbye at 6 a.m. on Saturday and went off to catch his flight. Today was his first day on the slopes; he texted me to report that it was incredible. Fresh snow. Bigger mountains than he’s ever seen. He is so excited to be there.
I spent the day shopping for maternity clothes with a friend, also pregnant from IVF and due a couple weeks after me. It was, surprisingly, a thrill. Infertility and pregnancy loss (and a couple scary first ultrasounds) have stolen so much of the joy away from these past 19 weeks. I was surprised by how genuinely happy I felt driving along the coast back home, a big bag of full-panel pants and oversized tunics in the back seat. I turned the radio up and thought, maybe this is when it gets fun.
I have come to realize I will never have a normal pregnancy. There’s a part of that that’s sad – I was barely functional my first trimester; I’m still not able to accept congratulations normally; I have trouble really believing we’ll get an actual baby out of this. But I’ve started to come to feel that it’s not necessarily a bad thing to be experiencing pregnancy the way I am. I feel part of a special, small group of women – battling through each day, scared of returning to the clinic or the shots or whatever scars we endured to get here, so fucking strong just for trying again. We may not always be as outwardly joyful as the woman who conceived without struggle, or say what you’d expect when you’re conversing with a pregnant woman. But we are so grateful. We know what a miracle this is in a way that others just can’t understand.
I think D. felt it too in Colorado. It all just looks so much more beautiful when you’ve had it taken away before.
Prior to his arrest for the murder of 4 and attempted murder of more than 20, Kip Kinkel had run into trouble with the school and the law several times before.
In seventh grade, Kip and some of his friends mail ordered bomb making books, such as The Anarchist Cookbook, over the school computers. They were caught.
In eighth grade, Kip and his friends were caught stealing CDs from Target.
On 7 January, 1997, Kip went on a snowboarding trip with a friend. The two threw rocks from a highway overpass, and one rock hit a passing car. When Kip was arrested, he started crying and asked if anyone was hurt. Because of this incident, he was sent to a psychologist.
In April 1997, Kip was suspended twice. Once for kicking another student, with whom he had gotten into a fight, in the head, applying his karate skills, and once for throwing a pencil at a student.
Over the summer of 1997, Kip was on Prozac. His psychologist noted that he slept better and his anger outbursts had lessened. His parents thought that this improvement meant that he should be taken off the medication.
In May 1998, Kip and some of his friends “tp”ed a house, using more than 400 rolls of toilet paper, and therefore reaching their goal of breaking the school record. However, they were caught and Kip was grounded.
On 20 May, 1998, his friend Korey sold Kip a stolen pistol from another friend’s father. The father called the police, reported that his gun must have been stolen and gave the police a list of names of his son’s friends who could have done it. Kip and Korey were arrested a few hours later.