Ransacking Game: Blood

As I think about my life and the purpose of why I actually breathe and cough and sniff and scratch. Hey! Scratch and sniff. Distraction. Continuing.. scratch and walk and run and laugh and talk and exist.......I think I guess I know Im supposed to get married and have kids and have a boppin' family. . Right? Right. But the other day I was asking Brad.....questions that he couldn't answer.

Big stink. Why doesn't he know everything? I guess I just assume since he is a RM (for those of you who don't speak Mormon that's 'return missionary') I just assume he knows all the heavenly spiritual answers. Maybe I should resort to calling Prophet Monson and leaving messages on his voicemail. The little red squiggly is underneath Monson. It wants me to change his name to Monsoon. I think he would be okay with that, but for now Ill stick with Monson. The questions I ask Brad are deep. Like, "What happens when 5 million people die at once, how does Jesus judge them all at once?" I know the judgement is simple right now but he still has to say, you go here, you go there, you go here, you go there.... That would take forever.

Does he delegate it? Does he just have an automatic sorter. Like a wall that wont let them enter unless they have a certain amount of good deeds, or dont have a certain amount of bad deeds. Does the family member of that person take them?

While I throw out all these irrelevant questions, Brad just continues looking at me and says, Im not sure Brittany. I know (then he tells me all he knows on the subject)...You need to just research and find out for yourself if you are desperate to know. Brad is good about it. But the point I am trying to make is...

I always want an immediate reason, an immediate answer, an immediate solution.
Life isnt immediate.
Hamburgers at Wendy's is immediate.

I usually wake up in the morning with Brad (if I work later than he does) and make him a salad then prepare Dinner. I wish that was immediate, but with time I am getting better and faster at it. Also I have resorted to cutting all the vegetables before then just throwing them in his little Tupperware. So with time I am understanding how things work a little better.

Point Im trying to make is even though I want to know my purpose now, I want to know why I breathe just like everyone else...I am slowing realizing that my purpose cannot be defined to me, and if it was my defined to me, my purpose would then be unfulfilled. So slowly I am seeing why I am here, why I go to school. Slowly I am learning from life, not from reading a book called 'Whats life about'.

Love isn't immediate, flowers don't just pop right out of the ground. So as my life goes on I am learning. There I said it. I could have said it in one sentence. I could have skipped all the hobbey jobbey up there. Oh well. It feels good to write. Write about stuff that makes sense to me and you probably have to interpret.

But on to the Ransacking Game
BLOOD
This hand here is my Dad's. My brother Landon is onlooking and grasping it hoping to steady the queasiness of cutting your hand. Now I randomly ransacked this photo from a photo place. I thought it was catchy and disturbing. It reminded me of so many things. So many memories of blood.

Gross I know. But for me it was a shock. Just a small shock of queasiness. Blood teaches us that we are alive. Alive and kicking. Mmmm nice to be alive. I love living. Eat to live, not live to eat. Thats what a coworker told me the other day. Pretty sure she is obsessed with NOT eating. Ahh well. Back to BLOOD. I hope all caps helps you see that BLOOD is so prominent in this/these story/stories.

The picture above is of my father. I already said that. But he once was cutting something for all of us to eat. Most likely onions. We will say onions because wow oh wow I love onions cut and cooked. And he knows that, so he probably was cutting and cooking them for me. Or everyone. When he let out a grunt and then turned and his hand within seconds did this. He was looking down at it, and I had my camera around my neck taking you know the usual happy head shots that portray nothing about the day or state of being of anyone. And then I saw this and just snapped a picture. My dad didn't like that, "DONT take a picture of my hand," He said firmly. "Dad, come on, its not like Im going to say you wanted me to take a picture of your wound, " I said with a friendly tone.

I know my dad has had lots worse wounds than this. He always scared me when he told me stories of farmers who had their whole arm cut off in the baler when they reached down to unplug the alfalfa that got stuck in the....whats the word.....oh heck we will call it spinner. But that scared me when I imagined my dad having a horrid accident like that. But on a happier note. This was a small accident. And when I looked back at these pictures I remembered one time when I was cutting something. Lets say cheese. Gross I dont cut cheese. I buy grated. Easier. Faster. Better.

I went too fast. And slice. Slice in my thumb. Or maybe it was a different finger. Im not sure. Its okay. It doesnt matter. I cut it. And it was really deep. I felt really queasy. I tipped one way. I tipped the other way. I went upstairs got my cell phone and called my dad. On the phone I vowed never to cut anything ever again. Not cucumbers, not lettuce, not cheese, not onions, not radishes, not pizza, not jalepeno peppers. Nothing. I wont. Never again. I told my dad I felt like throwing up, I felt sick. I felt like I was going to faint. He said, its because cutting yourself is a weird feeling and I needed to just lay down and think about other things. Then he started talking to me about stuff. Stuff like what I was doing that day, then it came on to I was making dinner for someone, (BRAD) then I remembered that I was cutting just minutes before then my gag reflexes came and I said, "Dad, maybe I should get stitches." He said, "Well remember when you nearly cut your toes off with a shovel?" Oh gosh yes. My toes were to the bone. They shook when I moved and it felt like they were going to fall off. I remember. I see the scars all the time. I remember when tanner told me I was going to cut my toes off. And then I did. Almost.

Then he said to wait. If it didnt heal in a week or two and it looked infected in a few days then go. But he guided me. He made me feel like he knew what he was talking about because he had seen BLOOD before.

Blood doesnt get me. Its the thought. Its the, oohhh they are in pain. Ohhh they are going to die and they have family and a life and ohhhh Im sad for them.

Blood. Landon. Me. Fourwheeler. Skip this story if you dont want to get the queezy heezies.


Here I am giving you space to skip it.

More time.

Go ahead just click on the link to leave my blog.

Go to someone elses blog.

Hannahs, she has cute girls all the time on her blog.

No blood on there.

Oh how about Cake Wrecks. No blood on there, just on cakes.

Okay stay then.

Stay.

And get the heeeebbbbieeeee jeeeeeebbbeeees.

I was driving the fourwheeler. Lisa, my best friend at the given time. Still my Great friend. Just saw her Saturday at her husbands graduation party.

She was on the tube with Landon. Sally was nicely placed on top of them. There was snow on the ground. There was a crisp ice covered rope connecting to the back of the fourwheeler. We were in a nice big field where nothing could go wrong. Nobody could get hurt. No tears could be shed.
I was driving fairly fast. As fast as I was comfortable going. As I was invincible at this stage, now I would go much slower. Probably wouldnt even go now that I have a developing family. (I said family, not baby). I was driving along the fenceline. Echo, who is now 15 and taller than me and not a baby at all, was stuck on the fence. Crying for help. Crying. I couldnt stand it. I slowed to a stop by pushing on my brakes. The motherly instinct in me at 12 years old was not as strong as it is now but trust me..it was still there. Brakes. Meaning I stopped fast. But the tube didnt. The tube couldnt. It was still going the speed of the fourwheeler. I looked back. I was stunned. I thought, "I have to go again." But I was frozen. Not because of the cold and the several feet of snow, but because something bad was going to happen soon. The tube was coming so fast right at the back of the fourwheeler and they were all head first. Oh no. Im so sorry. Im soo so so so so so soooryyy.

I tried to think of a word that could describe Landons skull hitting the steel hitch on the back of the fourwheeler. But no, bang, crash, smack, or collide word could ever describe it.
It was heartwrenching.
He was alive though. He rolled off the tube with his gloves to his head. Lisa was clutching her arm. Sally was in a fit of tears. Landon begun yelling at Sally, "WHY DIDNT YOU JUMP OFF?"
Sally, ran to the fourwheeler. I stood in shock beside the fourwheeler. Echo was not crying anymore but still strattling the fence. Lisa was still on the tube.

Sally put the fourwheeler in drive and drove off in a sobbing disaster. I began screaming, "COME BACK, COME BACK, we have to take Landon back. I glanced over at Landon saw him stumble for a moment as he stared at his blood soaked pink gloves. Blood poured over the sides of his head. I dashed to him trying to steady him. Sally eventually realized her rationale of driving away when we had two injured riders was not the best option. We were all in shock. Landon was alive. But there was so much blood.

All of this was my fault?

Or was it Echos for being on the fence?

Or was it Sally's for not jumping off the tube?

Or ultimately was it mine for not stopping slow?

We analyzed it.

But ultimately I felt like it was my fault.

Still do.

All that BLOOD.

My doing.

More ransacking later.