Showing posts from September, 2008

Why updates are in short supply

(because this is not a snake)
Although this sounds like a made up story, I assure you it is not. Last week, a garbage truck clipped the cable line going into my house and tore it off the pole. It has been hanging languidly and uselessly off the building since then. I have been watching movies and have read a lot more than usual in the last few days. I am writing this update at work, where at least I have the internet. They are allegedly fixing it on Tuesday, but I'm not holding my breath. Maybe I'll have something to blog about by then.

Red bagged pants

I was nervous. I actually felt nauseous driving to the call, dreading what I would see. I was headed to a self inflicted gun shot wound to the head. I knew I would be the only ALS provider on scene and the dispatcher reported that he could hear agonal respirations over the phone. It was raining hard and all I could think was to drive carefully and breathe.

When I arrived, the scene was crawling with people; cops, firefighters, neighbors investigating the commotion. I dropped my bags in the foyer and headed upstairs, deciding already to get the patient out as soon as possible. On the way in I passed whom I assumed was the patients mother. She was covered in his blood, and a police officer was with her. One more thing I could cross off my list of worries.

I was met with a rather horrific scene where the patient had sat in a chair and pulled the trigger with the gun to his temple. There was a large blood stain on the chair and a bullet hole was in the wall next to him. He had fal…


If anyone was worried, no I haven't died or retired from blogging. I just don't have a lot to say. A few days ago I got my sweet new bike panniers so short of going to work I can use the bike for all of my other daily chores. Check out the super bright blinking taillight too! I do have at least one eventful call to blog, but I haven't decided how to word it yet. Working on it.


Seven years ago I wondered how long it would take for 9/11 to be dramatized on TV or film. Five years ago I wondered if it had been long enough. “Flight 93” and “World Trade Center” together grossed over 100 million dollars. Only one million of that was donated- to build a memorial.

Were these movies made in case we had forgotten? Because I have not forgotten. I have not forgotten how vulnerable and afraid I felt. I have not forgotten the whine of firefighter motion detectors going off in vain, I have not forgotten the frantic faces of people as they searched the dusty crowds for their loved ones.

But I have also not forgotten how truly unified I felt with my neighbors. For awhile we were all friends, we saw ourselves in each other. It was practically utopian. Even I, who am not particularly patriotic, felt of one mind with the citizens of this nation.

I remember television being suspended for days. I remember Dan Rather crying on Letterman. I remember pausing to watch every…

The Right Place

It was hot and he had walked for a while
looking for just the right place
secluded and out of sight
this was a private party.

It hadn’t rained in weeks
but he wouldn’t have noticed that.
The hot gravel crunched under his shoes
and nothing could distract him.

He felt for the back pocket of his jeans
where hard metal jutted out awkwardly.
It barely fit, but he wouldn’t have to hide it much longer.
The wind blew and made little change to the treeless landscape.

He finally stopped and sat with his legs crossed
like an expectant child in school
but he had nothing to look forward to
only one more task to carry out.

He dragged his hands on the unpaved ground
one last attempt to feel.
It was full of little stones
appropriately hard and uncomfortable.

He pulled the gun from his pocket and felt its weight.
He raised it to his temple, surprisingly cool against his skin
one more dry, ragged breath
squeeze and pop.

His hand fell
and he slumped sideways.
When the wind blew,
dust stuck to his sweaty and bloodied face.


This semester I returned to the classroom and am taking a writing class. Here's where all three of my regular readers exclaim "Ellie, your writing is already so awesome, you don't need a silly writing class!" Ah, but one can always improve. Ha Ha. I'm also taking the class for fun and because I missed learning which apparently moves me into the "super dork" category. I can't help it. It's been fun so far, at the very least there are some amusing people in class.
I worry that the more I learn, the more I over analyze my writing, and I don't want to get hung up on writing like a writer if that makes any sense. I don't want to get stuck in over detailed cliches like Flora Poste in "Cold Comfort Farm" struggling to get the right details for her 'golden orb.'
So, I had to write a little something and then our teacher didn't even collect it in class. I was sad, as every writer cannot wait for people to read and cr…