Stardate 1607.20 – Fame
“Wow. It’s good,” I yelled. “And the crowd goes wild. Ahhhhhh.” I swear, I could smell the sweat evaporating off the baseball players in Wichita, Ks at the Wingnuts game as I gulped down my hamburger and beer. Oh, I was alive. Indeed. This year has been a rough one and the baseball game became my escape from my life as an author. The next ball jumped high into the air and fell back into the audience. The yelling crowd parted like a Tsunami away from the small child as the ball landed hard by his toes. My immediate thought, “Oh, I would rather be hurt than a child. That could have injured or killed him.”
What the fishhead was I thinking?? I have no idea. Within an hour, another foul ball zoomed into the audience in the box on the third level. The ball zipped right past, grazing my head, but I remained in shock, denying the ball touched me. Still fuzzy-headed, I looked around and watched as a guy explained the ball had hit two foot away from me. I kept checking my head because the burning sensation increased every five minutes. The man behind me said his fingers still hurt from trying to catch it directly behind my head. I asked him where the ball had landed. He and his wife showed me the dent in the metal behind my head. At this point in time, the pain in my head radiated trouble. Excusing myself, I sought out a nearby staff member. The ringing, dizzy and pain were there to stay. The staff checked me out and then moved me to a quieter location. When the ambulance picked me up, I covered my face knowing someone somewhere would recognize me. I overheard the crowd downstairs talking about how I had drank too much. “Drunken idiot.”
Right now, I wonder if someone had spread that lie to cover up the head wound and calm the masses. I guess I understand why if they did it. The Paramedic in the ambulance treated me like crap and placed an I.V. in my bad hand despite my pleas. To this day, I cannot receive acupuncture or needles in my old football injured hand where the nerves are damaged and cause me pain. The doctor treated me like a ducking drug addict before giving me ibuprofen. The trip home was a difficult one because the terrible storm. I had to have someone who shouldn’t drive, drive me home on the back roads so we arrived after one in the morning. A trip to a different emergency room and the primary health physician confirmed my concussion. The following weeks, I powered through with a concussion along with my previous ankle and wrist injuries.
Someone had recognized me from facebook, therefore I had found a message awaiting me when I left the hospital. Knowing I can no longer work in the real world led me to shut down. No more working in fastfood, restaurants, stores or anything. I later confirmed my life as a small-town celebrity, when I received yet another private message from a fan, explaining he/she masturbated while looking at my picture. This was not the first time, but it was the first time I really felt dirty in my adventure to get my name out there. My old habits rose from the dead and I expanded an effort to drive fans and friends away. “This is what you worked for: Fame,” I hear fans, family, friends and my husband say. My husband has quite frequently teased me about my need to be an attention whore, but this last incident hit close to home. I had worked to be myself. I have used my gregarious nature to explore and market on me. I like to model, act and entertain. Compliments about my photos encourage me to find new moments in time to capture. I am pushing on in the world of writing, expanding my marketing and freelance clients.
Signing off for now,