Fancy House Road » Inspirations for creating your own beautiful life.

 Part II of this saga (which again I would like to state is overly dramatic, but very REAL to me) ended with the paramedics and firefighters storming into my room and me finally getting to close my eyes. You need to know the “closing my eyes” part was a BIG DEAL. You probably thought I passed out or something. NOT. THE. CASE. When I was sitting on the toliet thinking to myself  ” This is not good, I think I am dying” one of my biggest concerns became closing my eyes. Often times when people are hurt they want to close their eyes, scrunch their face, and scream. This would usually be my way of dealing with pain.  However, since I was kinda LOCO, my thought process went the opposite direction. I was CONVINCED that  if I closed my eyes I was a goner. I also think the creepy voice and my Cool, Calm, & Collected Act also fell into this weird thought process (subconsciously). 

     When those beautiful men, in Navy, walked through our hotel room door, I finally allowed myself to shut my eyes because I was willing to give into death. Don’t make that face. I haven’t finished yet. I was finally willing  to give into the machete hacking away at my chest because I KNEW if my heart stopped 10 people in the room were qualified to use those heart paddles. {You know… the ones that re-start your heart.} See, I’m self-centered. I wasn’t going to chance anything until the right people were in the room. Anyways, I wanted you to know how big those last few words were. How brave was I???

PS. I said there were 12 M.I.N. (Men in Navy) in my previous post, it was actually 10.

Let Part III begin…

As the 10 M.I.N  gathered around me, I started feeling bad. I felt bad because there I was, lying on the floor and only 6 people were really needed. {Ok, I will be honest… only 3 were actually needed.} When I looked up to answer a question about 4 fingers and my name, a thought came to me. “Keighley 7 M.I.N are standing around you doing nothing! What if someone, somewhere else needs help?!?” As I continued to look around in a daze and answer the same questions over and over (I guess that’s how they check to see if your brain is functioning) this thought kept replaying in my mind. The knowledge that 7 M.I.N. were not physically needed led me to wail, “I’m sorry” and oh get this, ” I’M SUCH A DRAMA QUEEN!” (Yes I said that over. And over. And over.)  As I cried this obnoxious phrase over and over, I could hear male voices reassure me that I was “fine” and ”it was no problem”.

THEN. IT. HIT. ME. I was wearing a SEE-through shirt and red baithing suit bottoms. HA.

Please dont think I am saying I was cute to look at-I WASN’T. I am pointing out the fact that my shirt was transparent.  I don’t care how ugly I looked, they all noticed my shirt wasn’t hiding anything. This is when I stopped feeling bad. Please check out the actual bottoms and a similar shirt below. (This is my outfit of choice after each bath. Why? IDK.)

My American Apparel.

Within mintues of me realizing the state of  my apparel, I was whisked onto the “gurney” and being rolled out of my room. This is the moment my transparent top became entertainment for the entire hotel. You see, The Hotel Valley Ho is set up so a majority of the rooms face the courtyard and pool. To get to the hotel lobby, you have to circle the entire courtyard and, then, pass the hotel bar which has giant floor-to-ceiling windows from one end to the other. I am talking GIANT windows. I was mortified. I may have been dying, but I was going out being the awkwardly private person I have always been. (minus this post… drugs are involved.)

Although, it was 1:45 am, the courtyard was PACKED with young singles. In mortification, I covered my face with my 50 lb hands. As we continued to roll, I could literally hear everyones’ thoughts. ” That girl looks like she drank too much!” or ” That’s why you don’t do hard drugs… it messes you up.” and “Look at her shirt. How embarrassing!” There were so many people. Luckily I had my hands covering my eyes so I could pretend they weren’t there. Then we passed the bar. No big deal. Probably only 75 people sitting on sofas and at tables looking out the giant-A windows. Luckily, this is when my 50 lb hands decide to gain another 50 lbs and slowly slide down my face. Giving me a more glamorous droopy eyed, bulldog cheek look. {Can you see it? Do it to your own face… you’ll understand.} This is when everyone in the bar started thinking, “What is WRONG with HER FAAACE?”

Finally, I reached the ambulance. (Which I almost refused because I wanted to save money; however, the machete-like pain quickly changed my mind.)  Immediately I was hooked up to an IV, given a barf bag, and asked the routine questions. As I repeated  Keighley Poulsen for the 100th time the EMT looked at me, grinned, and asked ” HEY! Do you by chance have an uncle by the name of Seth Poulsen that lives in Prescott?” I grabbed the barf bag, closed my eyes and replied solemly, “Yes. I. Do.”

Stay tuned…Part IV is coming up shortly.

Ky