Forget You when It's Raining Men

It's time for the week when the radio station begs for donations!  This week is also known as time for me to listen to other radio stations because I already give my radio station money, and they don't play cool and unusual music during begging time.  So, other radio stations.

Heard a hilarious song this morning: Cee Lo Green sang "Forget You," and it made traffic quite bearable.  Just make sure you go looking for the "clean" version, which, in my opinion is way funnier than the unedited version could be.  Swear words would just limit my enjoyment of this ridiculous break-up song.

Also, for the third begging for donation period in a row, I heard "It's Raining Men."  Why?  It's eerie that this seems to happen every time . . .

Heard any good songs or groups lately?

These Three (4)

.
riding my bike as
evening falls if
I had stopped before

when I wanted to
(too early)
I would not have seen

doe and two fauns
these three
and so . . .
.

Midwest moderation

.

Last week's high: 93.

Last week's low: 31.

Midwest, haven't you heard,

"Everything in moderation"?

.

today's amusing found quote

.
yesterday a full moon
today "overindulged
wonton desires"
made me laugh
hungrily
.

Speaking of discouraging . . .

.
I should be used to this. 
I shouldn't be disappointed. 
I shouldn't let it reduce me to tears of frustration and hurt. 
Not again. 

But how do you get used to the people who are supposed to help you instead treating you with suspicion and threatening you on top of apparently being unable to actually help you?  I mean, I would hate life if I had their jobs, too, but do they really need to be this mean when they're dealing with people in pain and not sleeping well and not thinking straight and alone and in need of help?  Really? 

Maybe it's part of their job descriptions and they are actually doing their jobs.

What a discouraging thought.
.

Pub Singing and Merlin's Unrest

A friend invited me to a pub sing, and I was actually free, so I agreed to go.  To prepare, I pulled out my maritime music CD (hooray for random free promos) and gave it a listen.  I headed to the pub after an 11 hour day at work.

This is pub singing, not opera: loud, boisterous, informal, and slightly (increasingly) drunken.  Pitch is not the most important thing.  I'm not sure what is; maybe enthusiasm?  There were sea chanties and hymns and shaped note music.  I knew a couple of the songs and different versions of a couple others, so I couldn't really sing along, per se.  There were some folks who were amazing and a few who were terrible.   All of them were passionate about music.

I kind of wished the director of my a cappella choir and maybe some of the members could go to one of these.  I'm not sure why.  Maybe it's because I enjoy watching inhabitants of the Great White North encounter rhythm and emotion.  It makes them uncomfortable.  (At a concert I went to recently, the only people moving to the beat were a handful of children too young to have the joy of motion stamped out of them by peer pressure.)  I also think that they might have enjoyed themselves and learned something that could transfer to their classical singing.

My friend goes because he's learning harmony from it, he says.  It's definitely a good place to do that because when you don't know the songs, but you want to sing, you have no choice but to make up your own notes.  The repeated choruses tend to make this easier (as does the fast and loose pitch sometimes).

Did I mention the pitch issues?  It wasn't always as bad as I'm making it seem, but when a room made up of several professional singers can't seem to find the key because of the warbling soloist, you know it's not great.

My friend concluded, "I guess I'm not as fussy about pitch as you are."

My sister would get a kick out of that.  My ear for pitch always drove her crazy and made her nervous about singing in front of me.  And she wasn't even the tone deaf sister.

I seem unwilling to cover my reaction to bad pitch, even now.  I just can't enjoy it, no matter how much passion and love for music is involved.  Why is this?  The world may never know.

Perhaps it's related to why I apparently must move to music when I'm surrounded by people who are uncomfortable around people who move to music?  It doesn't feel like contrary orneriness, though.  I wonder.

They had good root beer.  I enjoyed myself.  Will I ever go again?  Maybe.  There's something undeniably compelling about random people loud enough to drown me out singing whatever the spirit moves them to sing . . .

What's scary

You know what's scary?  WebMD is scary.  I go there when I get some weird symptom, hoping it will tell me, "Eh, that's just life," not, "You may have toxic shock syndrome from strep after smashing your finger in the garage door." 

Seriously?!

I do not have time for a life-threatening infection.  Can a month go by where I don't have some new, weird medical problem?  At least a month?  Please . . .

Toad Herding for Fun and Profit

Yesterday night, my flimsy building key stopped working, and I was locked out of my apartment.  This was a bummer because I live alone and had no one to call and let me in at 10 pm. 

This morning, I called to arrange for a new key, and we agreed it could be shoved under my garage door, though the trauma of smashing the crap out of my finger in said door on Saturday was fresh in my mind. 

I got home and opened the garage door, looking for my ticket into the building, and a mid-sized toad hopped in and promptly got itself stuck thinking there was No Escape even though three directions were open to it.  It kept hopping further and further along the wall when it wasn't playing the If I Don't Move the Large Thing Menacing Me Will Forget I'm Here and Go Away and Leave Me in Peace game.   

I suspect that toads are not one of the brightest species in the ecosystem. 

There was no way I was going to just close the door and let the thing die and stink up my garage.  I tried to gently herd it out, and it just wasn't working until a lady walked by and, attracted by the sound of a possibly crazy person waving her hands and cell phone at the ground and trying to be some sort of toad whisperer, stopped to get a better look. 

I explained my problem.  She laughed at me as I kept trying to humanely get rid of my newly acquired amphibian, but she eventually got fed up and whacked that sucker back out into the driveway with a hand like a trowel. 

I was horrified as I watched it tumble and come to a dusty and very final stop, sure she'd killed the silly thing whose only crime was being stupid and confused.  After heart-stopping seconds of being stunned, it rolled over.

"It's alive!" I thought and rejoiced until it hopped toward my garage.  I stomped and waved it away and closed the door before any more drama or trauma ensued.  The woman walked away laughing as I thanked her.

I watched the toad as, at a loss, it headed back out into the middle of the parking lot where it hopped in strange, possibly concussed polyhedrons for a while, despite my encouragement to get out of the place where cars go.  I washed my hands of him eventually, as he seemed destined to end up flattened by someone's tire.

Good night, sweet toad.  May flights of angels sing thee to they rest.  One way or another.

Out again? Alas . . .

.
 I am almost out of ibuprofen.  Again.  It's discouraging.

Can you identify the item in question from this lineup?

 I always hope each new bottle of ibuprofen will be the last.  It never has been.  I started collecting them in 2007 in case a photo op like this one arose.

Yes, I'm having too much fun with this.

Some day, when the ibuprofen bottle I buy is the last, will I be able to type novels-worth of words again when I desire? 

Maybe.  Or maybe I won't be pain-free until I get to heaven.  That could be a long time.  And a lot of ibuprofen.  Sigh.

. . .

Yesterday perfection

.
Took a walk
Made progress
Hung up sun catchers and pointless, gauzy curtains
Organized
Finished a book
Swept the floor
Saw a tiny, nearly translucent frog hop away to avoid being crushed by the opening door
.

Musings on a weekend when I'm (still) unpacking

.
Robert Frost said
good fences
make
good neighbors.

I think loud air conditioners
do the same thing.
.

When summer acts like fall

Two perfect fall days in a row in August so far as it tries to make up for the horror of July.  When summer acts like autumn, I have to resist the urge to go find a patch of grass under a tree and just lie there doing nothing for hours.

I can't do nothing yet because I'm still puttering in the new place.  All the books are unpacked and sorted.  My study area is set up.  The living room area is bearable and traversable (sp?).  Now I can also enter and exit the bathroom without contortions, and there's really just one last hurrah of a pile by the door that needs to somehow move out to the garage (super old files I need to keep but will not likely be accessing ever).  I may be completely unpacked by this weekend, which would be so glorious.

Just in time to start getting serious about planning for my class that starts the last week of August . . .  Don't worry; it's only a half class, so there shouldn't be any meltdowns this term.  Good times.

Looking forward to autumn,
TMIA

Inhabiting new spaces

What I know about my new apartment:

• I have some very kind neighbors who help without even being asked.  (Some of them even before I pass them looking pathetic.)
• It's easier to like my neighbors when I have the AC on because then I can't hear them.
• The sliding toilet seat of doom will either improve my posture or destroy my sanity.
• I don't mind sleeping on the floor, and neither does my back.
• Over 90 degrees with matching humidity is a bit of a chore for the poor AC for some reason.
• I want to be done unpacking.
• The stairway I prefer sings if you walk up too fast.  (It also smells less of cat wee.)
• I still love alphabetizing, despite the pain.
• When I am done unpacking, there will likely be fewer bruises.  I sincerely hope.
• It is unfortunately likely that I will fall down the stairs at some point; it will then be rather difficult to navigate the labyrinth I have made out of this apartment.  (High priority: getting bed frame put together, so I can finish shifting and unpacking, so there will be enough clear space for me to negotiate with a cast, should the need arise.)
• I have a freezer again, and it is marvelous.  Once I clean off the stove, I can even make use of the freezer's few inhabitants.
• I still can't hang things straight.

Signing off clutching my checklists,
TMIA

in case you were wondering

I fell off the face of the earth due to packing for a move, moving, and unpacking.  I'm still unpacking, but there may be a return to our regular posting schedule soon . . .

abundance

.
This week I have been blessed
by the sight of an undeserved
abundance of cranes,
one perfect summer day,
a couple of good books,
bad news, good news,
and the anticipation of seeing
friends I only see once a year.
.

being attentive

.
I watched the rainbow as it started to disappear,
but then the kids started yelling, so I turned away,
and when I looked back, it was gone.

Have you ever seen a rainbow disappear all the way
to the bitter end?  Maybe rainbows are like fairies
in that Peter Pan play, fueled by belief, killed so easily

by distraction -even a moment- that results in (if not
disbelief) unbelief or something like it; not active
disbelieving but passive not believing not focusing, not
being attentive
.

Summer in June

.
Every day on the way home
my dead trees stand at the edge
of the marsh shocking
as nude bathers on a clothed beach
.

what we learned (from the EMG)

It is perhaps not surprising that when one runs electric current through nerves that are working just fine, thank you, (and sometimes overtime) said nerves twitch and transmit more pain signals for days.  (Yes, that's my excuse for nearly a week's absence of posting.)  By now, the purple marker dots where the nerves run have faded, but the bruises are still here.

So more physical therapy ahead if this new, aggressive doctor can convince OWCP that his new diagnosis is related to the original injury all those years ago.  I wish him good luck in his quest, and I really hope he has better luck than any before him.  If he does, maybe I can think that the reason why my ideal job fell through so devastatingly is because I need to be here working with this doctor because maybe he can help heal me as no one else has been able to so far. 

I seem to look for meaning in everything that happens to me once I get over the initial knee-jerk reaction, but I have such a short attention span, I usually forget before I can be disappointed if my wished for meaning doesn't come.

In other news, it's summer, and the sun came out today, so I lay outside and basked and read a book and forgot my watch, and it was a really good book, so pardon me while I go get some more aloe . . .

the tyranny of cottonwoods in June

.
ponds full of summer scum
puddles fuzzed with cottonwood fluff
handfulls of white down collect in every corner
.

How not to fall in love with a house

How not to fall in love with a house

• Don't meet the neighbors.
• Don't measure anything. 
• Don't think about exactly how things will best fit.
• Don't like the closets.
• Don't think about how you'll clean it.
• Don't think about how lovely the tree in the front yard will smell in spring.
• Don't notice all the places you could walk to (book store, another book store, library, Panera, Home Depot, park, every restaurant I ever go to).
• Don't notice how quiet it is. 
• Don't notice the pond and the turtles and the ducks.
• Don't think about what life will be like when you live there and not where you live right now.
• Just don't.

Hope sproinging eternal in rooms with perceived low ceilings

The sleep doctor has spoken.  I still have some work to do with being disciplined enough to get up when I'm supposed to no matter how tired I am (because I will always be tired, and lying in bed NOT sleeping for an extra half hour will not make me any less tired).  However, if I can't get this pain and nerve weirdness under control, it will keep waking me up a lot every night and interrupting what sleep I can get.

So I went to see a pain specialist.  He is very aggressive, has an idea for a diagnosis of thoracic outlet syndrome (TOC), which, like chronic pain, is kind of a divisive diagnosis in the medical community.  Some believe it's real; others don't.  Of course I couldn't have a single, definitive, concrete diagnosis!  What were you thinking, you silly person?

Next up is a fight with OWCP about another EMG.  EMGs are extremely unpleasant.  Seriously unpleasant.  And he wants me to have it done for both arms, something that should have been done the first time to establish a baseline.  (Now that my right hand is falling apart, it might actually show something worse than the left, so I think it will not be useful as a baseline.)  Oddly enough, the MRI was approved right away; it's kind of eerie, actually.  I'm not sure what to do with this unexpected lack of a predictable road block.  The new doc seems unfamiliar with OWCP, which could be a good thing.  He might not know what can and can't be done, so he might be able to accomplish impossible things through sheer force of will.  More power to him for having the forward momentum going! 

If it gets approved, I'll have to schedule it late in the day because I will not be able to go back to work after I have it done.  I won't even be able to drive myself back home to curl up into a twitching ball for the rest of the day. 

At least my arms are in really bad shape right now.  (Your prayers for the bad spell's continuation until after the test would be appreciated, oddly enough . . .)  If something's torn or whatever in the nerves, it might be more likely to show up now, but I'm not holding my breath waiting for the simple result.  If it's not TOC, I'm sure this doctor will keep looking.  He wants a real, solid diagnosis; he seems to think I really want one, too.  Sometimes I think it would be good to have one: when someone asks, I could tell them something more concrete than "chronic pain and probably something tiny and irreparable torn in my wrist."  Maybe I would care more about a diagnosis if I expected it to be something curable, but I don't.    The good thing about low expectations is that you often get pleasant surprises . . .

I also don't expect OWCP to accept any new diagnosis without a fight.  The good news is that, as I mentioned earlier, this new doctor seems like he'd be willing to wade into the fray and give them a fight.

Housing for the discouraged

So the buying a house thing also fell through.  I got tired of dealing with banks that were theoretically desperate to get rid of properties but unwilling to do so in practice.  I took another look through my last apartment search for something

• big enough to fit the books I'm currently storing offsite
• that had wood floors to help reduce my allergies
• that was cheaper than what I pay now (I have my rent and the monthly fee for the storage closet where I store all my books)

Surprisingly, I actually found something.

What I'm looking forward to

• more room for my kitchen magnets (not really)
• a freezer (frozen vegetables!)
• room for all my Minnesota books
• 670 square feet
• not being over the entrance (no more feeling every entry and exit, no more smoking below my window!)
• Open south windows
• a bedroom I can seal off to allergy-proof it
• less claustrophobia for those who visit
• not living next to the stairs (no more hearing all those giants clomping up and down all the time)
• lower rent
• not being right next to a highway (no more listening to the drag racers!)
• quieter living (stern, tough grandmother manages the place, and she doesn't tolerate noise)
• no bugs (apparently, they don't like going much higher than the first floor)
• playing with where to put stuff for maximum efficiency in use of storage space (graph paper!)

What I'm not looking forward to

• no microwave (for the 4 times a year I kind of need one)
• no dishwasher (good thing I don't use very many dishes)
• no disposal (does anyone have any experience with how to keep the sink from getting clogged?)
• 2 flights of stairs
• coin laundry
• coin laundry two flights of stairs away
• trying to find a cheap bed
• packing for the move
• the move
• the pain
• worrying about other people getting hurt during the move
• the need to get a portable AC for the bedroom since the AC is in the living room
• manual garage door
• coordinating the move, so it's as cheap as possible

Any advice on how to make this all as painless as possible?

imperfect

.
this is how spring kills:
branch dangles broken beneath
weight of blooming flowers
.

Mid-May

.
right now
this minute
go

stand
under that
crabapple tree
in bloom

enjoy
the scent
of heaven

stronger than
the stink
of the city
around you
.

today I want to believe

today I want to believe
fortune cookie fortunes are true

"You are headed in the right
direction.  Trust your instincts."

but they are so often wrong

My plans for the holiday

My plans for the holiday include
recovery from this cold
     (can you bore a virus to death?)
nothing constructive or practically valuable
reading, anime, manga
no significant interactions with other human beings
rest

Winter Carnivals and other insanities

What do you do when it's below freezing, winter is well underway, and you're going stir-crazy from being inside all the time?  If you live here, you have an outdoor winter carnival with a parade that makes those marching band kids actually appreciate their ancient wool uniforms!  And that parade lasts for more than three hours.  Oh boy!

So my friends who moved here last year took me to this event along with their tiny toddler, and we adults all gained a new appreciation for the joy of hot air balloons.  When they set off those jets, you feel like you're not actually frozen solid.  (Just nearly frozen and very, very stiff.) 

Their child is hilarious, very solemn in strange situations.  Not worried or afraid, merely extremely dispassionately observant.  I have no idea if she had a good time, but I sure got a huge kick out of watching numerous parade participants come over (with candy or necklaces or clown costumes and big, fake smiles) and totally fail to get any kind of reaction out of the child at all.  It's not like she ignored them; she just looked at them and really didn't see the need to get all jolly or anything.  It was still funny after two and a half hours and a couple dozen attempts.  I am so easily amused.

We actually left long before it was over because I guess we all just reached that point where we agreed, "This is ridiculous.  It's a parade that will never end, and we are built for other climes."

I think we still had to wait until the next hot air balloon float came by to thaw us enough to begin walking.

What do you do when winter makes you get cabin fever?

wisdom the crabapple tree passes on to me

.
some days
all you can do is
resist gravity
.


(I promise once I get this resettling thing settled, I'll stop copping out by only posting short pieces of poetry.  Maybe I'll go back to paragraphs.  Or at least longer poems. :)  Until then . . .

In some countries rain during a wedding is considered a blessing

.
Today the outdoor
wedding photographer prays:
cloudy skies, no rain
.

U-turns/Life

The kind of day when
you miss your exit by miles
and then turn around.

giving up haiku

I would settle for
sleep without dreams if only
I could get the sleep.

those worrisome spots out of the corner of your eye

.
tired enough to see
flashes of light and color
then: red-winged blackbird
.

Nostalgia in advance

When you are going to leave a place, do you get nostalgic in advance?  For some reason, I do. 

This, I tell myself, may be the last time I own this view.  I should savor these things now, store them in memory.

Or maybe not.

This may be the last

• spring when the runoff river flows through my parking lot, covering the channel with slimy, slippery mold.  
• winter I spend roasting above the lobby, hearing and feeling the door opening and closing through my bed-attached-to-the-wall all night.
• autumn my sunlight is cut off by the south wing.
• summer I'm separated from my books.

The future is looking brighter, drier, and quieter.  :)

This just in: I'm still scared of drunk people.

.
It's not terror, exactly, just wariness, edginess, an intense desire to escape.  I cover it better now, I think, and I'm okay if I don't actually know the person is drunk, but if I'm somewhere there's drinking, I'm on edge.  I wonder why that is.

It's too bad some of my friends don't know how to socialize without alcohol. 
.

house hunting for novices

.
So, have you ever bought a home?  Any advice/cautions/warnings/tips for me?
.

I'd rather be crooked

If V8 keeps your diet straight, I'd rather be crooked.  That stuff is just nasty.

I feel that I must disclose that I am not unbiased.  I had a tomato soup-related trauma in my youth, and, ever since, I can't stand drinking tomato anything.  I was looked upon as an alien at college because I was the only one who didn't think tomato soup and grilled cheese day (approximately once a week) was the best day ever.  I was able to conquer my distaste of cheese enough to occasionally eat the sandwich, but I felt slightly nauseated even being in the cafeteria with that smell everywhere.

So why am I drinking it?  Eh, there's a kind with a ton of fiber in it, and it's healthy.  (It definitely tastes of Aggressive Healthy yuck.)  And tomato sludge.  And beets.  Did I ever tell you my sad, beet-related food poisoning trauma?  I feel a bit bad for the beets; they had nothing to do with it, really . . .

Anyway, I'd rather be crooked, but I'm drinking it anyway because it's the Right Thing to Do.  Pardon me while I go gargle with mouthwash to banish the foul taste of rightness.

Are there any food-related traumas in your past that you have or haven't overcome as an adult?

body composition and other unexpected nightmares of corporate life

 Having a sedentary job has been an interesting change, and by "interesting" I mean "sometimes horrifying."  It's not that I've gained weight; instead I've had my body composition change drastically.  It's kind of bizarre.  I guess not being on your feet 7 hours a day does slow your metabolism a bit, and mine was slow to begin with.  Getting exercise every day is that much more of a priority, and strength/resistance-training classes are helping me rediscover my core.  Maybe my posture will even improve?  It had better, or I'm going to give myself all kinds of additional back problems when I actually get old.  Ah, it's good to be young . . .

a spring haiku from me to you

.

Spring is in the air.  

Also in my lungs.  Pardon 

me while I cough hack.

.

Flying high

Still a bit dizzy from the release of tension and a slight fever, I nevertheless considered yesterday a success.  I enjoyed the class I half-taught a lot.  Most of the class seemed to, as well.  I've gotten two emails from students who want to discuss it more!  Oh, it would be so fun to do a speculative fiction class at this school.  It would be a huge challenge, don't get me wrong, but the prep for the class was really thought-provoking and didn't ruin the book for me, so I think I could really enjoy putting such a class together.  Some day!

In other news, my plan to save money by not allowing myself to go to any of the Borders stores in my area that are closing  worked!  By the time I finished getting ready for my class and let myself take the time to go, they were all closed but one, and it was the first one I went to.  I'm glad they mentioned that they were the last "closing" store open, or I would have wasted a lot of time and gas money.  If self-control doesn't save the day (or wallet), sometimes laziness does.  :)

a Lullaby

.
It finally rained the other night, 
a long, soaking rain,
and I remember now
why winter is unbearable
sometimes, keeping all
that soothing rain
locked up tight
in the greedy clouds
or making me
jealous
by sending the sound
of rain elsewhere
when I need it here
to help me sleep.
.

Glad THAT week is over

.

I stop at the door 

on the way out and think, "Oh,

I should put on pants."

.

Supermoons and found poetry

A friend sent me this link, and I direct you there for the following line:

"Although a full moon

theoretically lasts

just a moment, 

that moment

is imperceptible to

ordinary observation."

So pay attention when you're watching the moon. :)

Yesterday it felt like spring

That breaking point sort of day
when it's still 30 degrees, but
suddenly you know it's nearly
spring, and you don't want to wear
your hood or your hat, but you still
wear your gloves
just because.

Dead trees in winter

You can always tell which are the dead trees even in winter
like lepers who've lost fingers
trunks and bigger branches
all that remain
standing

Something a friend shared with me

I'm not really a linkblogger, but I have to be today.  Check this out (preferably with good headphones).  Also, be sure to check out the link with more information about the project and how it came to be.  It's kind of amazing.

http://www.inbflat.net/

A socking development

Why do all my socks die in batches?  It's like they all just decide they've had enough at the same time, and suddenly, I have a lot of new rags. 

I hate getting new socks because they're like new towels: they're all fluffy and have all this excess cottony energy.  I hate wads of cotton collecting in weird places in my shoes.  And it takes forever to get all the excess worn away.  And then, soon after that, they die.  Sad.

I wonder if the socks would last longer if I didn't just buy the cheapest socks I can find?

Messing with My Head

We are trying to fool my brain here, so shhhhhh; don't tell it.  While we do that, we have a lot more time not spent in bed being annoyed about not being asleep, and we can write more.  Hooray!

The plan is that, since I get 6 hours of sleep or less on average, we will only let me be in bed for 6 hours.  This will make my brain know we mean business, and it will have to get really efficient to get close to 6 hours if I'm only in bed for 6 hours.  Then, once it learns to, you know, sleep while in bed, we can increase the time I spend in bed and also increase my amount of sleep. 

This is the theory. 

Let's see how stubborn and ornery my brain is in practice . . .

A not-unpleasant visit to a doctor (it happens sometimes)

I went to see an ENT, and he was one of the best doctors I've ever encountered.

• He actually read the forms I filled out.  Seriously.  I didn't slave away on useless paperwork I've already filled out a million times only to have it not even looked at.
• He asked a lot of questions.  And listened to the answers.  However, I think I've learned that if he asks the same question more than once, it means I'm giving the wrong answer.  It was kind of like those online applications that ask the same questions to try to trick you into being inconsistent, so they don't actually have to spend human time screening applicants.  Only not.  So, yes, apparently, I strain when I talk and sing.
• He did not immediately prescribe expensive medication.  Any time I can walk out of a doctor's office with instructions to drink more water and sometimes Gatorade and use a nasal saline rinse (recipe provided with an emphasis on the need to use pickling salt instead of table salt), I feel I have not been ripped off.
• He pointed out that I had a big gob of lotion on my face.  He said, "Oh, and I guess my nurse was too much of a coward to mention this, but you have a big blob of lotion on your face."  He also wiped it off.  Mortification . . . 
• He did not act like he knew everything after our 45 minutes together.  When I asked him if he thought all these other problems meant that at least I didn't have acid reflux, he said, "I have no idea.  You have so many other symptoms, we'll have to try to clear them up before we can even figure that out."
• He gave a follow-up time frame.  He said, "Try these simple things.  Come back in three months, and we'll see if we're on the right track.  Then we can talk about whether or not you have other problems."
• He hates my voice recognition software.  We sat in companionable silence as he typed up his notes right then and there after talking about how frustrating it can be to use the Dragon voice recognition software later.  It's bad for his blood pressure, too.  I can see why since he does not have a calm, even, boring NPR announcer voice with no emotion or inflection.

If all doctors were as helpful, compassionate, and competent as him, I think people wouldn't hate going to the doctor.  They would feel like they had an ally interested only in helping them heal.  Whoa.

Have you ever seen a doctor that restored your faith in the medical/healing professional?

seeing scars

a man at church in a front pew      with a head of tiny buzzed stubble
a huge scar   only visible from a particular angle behind
invisible to me when he turns his head and I see from any of the other angles

if we looked at the right angle
would we see souls like that
mangled and scarred
but only if seen from that one angle

would
we
look away

Ah, stress

This week
I learned
that I still
have stress-induced asthma.

Rough week at work.  Good thing I've been reading about ways to deal with stress.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  Keep inhaler on hand.

P.S. I'm so glad I'm not still working at RetailEstablishment.

What is it about snow falling

What is it about snow falling that saps me of the will to do anything non-hibernatory?  I wonder: if I'd just closed the curtains, could I have actually gotten myself together and accomplished something (other than reading The Name of the Wind, dishes, and cleaning), such as completing my tax research and submitting my taxes?  The world may never know because I was entranced by the sight of all that falling snow out of the corner of my eye as I sat on my tiny couch in my tiny room reading a large book of grand, epic adventures.  Except for the cleaning and dishes, it was pretty much perfect.

Two days of snow

two days of snow
curtain pinned open
hibernating

Not Hanging Curtains, an excerpt from Ways to Get Injured on the Sidelines

I was being so good.  Instead of trying to do it myself, I invited some friends over (thanks for your help, folks) to come hang my noise- and light-canceling curtains (bought with the gift card my sister and brother-in-law sent me for graduation a while ago).  In my past attempts at home improvement and tool-related tasks post injury, I've learned that independence and stupidity can often be linked, and it's better to just ask for help.

We had pasta and garlic bread and deadly chocolate desserts.  Their child wandered around my baby death trap apartment and only licked the TV and my cell phone.  And some rocks.  That I saw.  No post-it notes were harmed.  They hung the curtains.  Fun was had by some.  As they were getting ready to leave, and I was sliding lighter things back into place, a big, tall, heavy lamp fell off its chair/pedastel.

With my athletically trained, lightning-fast reflexes, I caught that sucker before it could hit the ground and break.  Too bad my catching hand is my left hand. 

I haven't gotten a whole lot of sleep since then.  Even though I didn't hang any curtains.

Sigh.

Maybe I need to actually leave my apartment when things are being improved/fixed/installed.  I should probably sit calmly in the hallway and practice breathing or something until there is nothing in my apartment that could possibly hurt me.  Or the apocalypse occurs, whichever happens first.

Assault on insomnia: The Sleep Study Edition

Now that I have some serious money available for medical expenses in my FSA, I am ready to try to get rid of my chronic-pain initiated insomnia. In fact, there's no better time because FSA limist will be capped much lower if the health care legislation is still around next year, and I'd rather do this with pre-taxed moolah.

What this means is that I went and had a sleep study done, and it was not very entertaining (for me or the poor techs who have to be at your beck and call all night). A sleep study is where you go to a place and sleep while wired to enough monitors and hardware to guarantee you have sleep problems that night even if you didn't have them coming in. Then you spend the next four days trying to get adhesive off your face and out of your hair.

Kimberly: Um, how, exactly do you get the adhesive out of your hair?
Tech (who has likely seen at least a thousand patients looking like this after a sleep study and thus should not make me feel embarrassed to look like this): Well, that adhesive is designed to dissolve in hot water. A lot of very hot water. I recommend you take a very long, hot shower and use the entire bottle of shampoo we provided. (Leaves, probably not to go snicker about how ridiculous I look with my hair full of adhesive.)
Kimberly: (thinking to herself to avoid thinking about the allergic reaction her skin is having to the electrode adhesive she's been wearing all night) Hey, that's kind of inteteresting. "Love" nowadays is kind of like that. A bond that dissolves in hot water . . . I hope I still remember that after I get out of the shower. I think I could get a poem or a really short, snarky essay out of that . . .

After showering and putting on clothes and getting ready to leave by going to the front desk.

Kimberly: I got most of the adhesive off, but I don't want to scrub my face to destruction. Do you have any adhesive remover?
Nurse: That would be a great idea! No, I don't think we do. Let me go check.
Kimberly: (reading the paper) Ah, the guy who sold me my car is trying to choose where he spends his prison sentence . . .)
Nurse: (coming back) Nope. It doesn't look like we do, but I'll definitely request it because it would be good to have on hand.  (Smiling like a helpful labrador retriever, she hands me a couple packets of something that says "Caution: May cause eye irritation.") We do have nail polish remover.  Um, it's up to you if you want to use it on your face.
Kimberly: . . .

I should get some results back soon.

Being sick is gross; also, how do you deal with office jerks?

I bet for once I'm the one driving my cube neighbor nuts. It might be an overall stalemate, though, because I'm miserable, too. I'm sure he really enjoys hearing me blow my nose every 37 seconds. At least when I'm trying to clear my nose, I can't hear him talking on the phone. :)

If only I could be this obnoxious while sitting next to the passive-aggressive meanie-head I've been working overtime for the last few days. Then again, it's probably good I never see him. It might be hard to keep from saying the hilarious/cutting things I've been thinking up to say, especially if he actually said some of the things he's written in his emails recently. Am I really working so hard to make a jerk like this look good?

I find myself curious to know if he realizes how awful of a co-worker he is. I hear stories from other people; it seems he treats everyone the same. Does he know the effects of his behavior or is he just awkward (not realizing he's being so mean, difficult, and disrespectful)? I wonder what would happen if I asked him? Would it be worse if he did realize or if he didn't?

How do you confront people like him when you know you have to keep working with them? How do you let them know when their thoughtlessness has crossed a line (especially when you suspect they are actually doing it on purpose) without making your working relationship worse?

one of those days

Today
I hate
doorknobs.

Confirmation that I am a young fogey

When I got back home after the holidays, I had a lot of mail waiting for me.  Menards was having a big sale.  I sat on my floor drooling over . . . the recliners.  Yes, rocking recliners in at least one non-hideous color!  I wanted one soooooo bad. 

No matter that I

• couldn't justify it in my budget
• couldn't transport it from the store
• couldn't actually fit it in my little 385 square foot cave. 

I wantssssss ittttttt.  So soft and rocky and lovely.  I could make it fit.  I could drag it home with a rope.  Rocky and soft.  My own, my precious . . .

Sometimes I hate being a practical adult with a modicum of self control.

deceptive

sun suddenly seen
fine blowing snow scatters
bright diamond hard
still seven degrees

the color of winter

snow whirls down
obscuring the gray
winter blue sky

Three things I love to smell

Three things I love to smell

oranges
mint
chocolate

An amazing thing that happened

 Behold.

My computer restarted. 

Yes, that sentence got its own paragraph because this event is a miracle!  My computer hasn't restarted in years, not since Windows SP2.  I've been told by numerous computer folks that there's no reason why it won't restart, but reason never stopped my technology from forging ahead in the discovery of new frontiers of glitchiness.  This time it did one of those auto downloads of Windows updates that requires a restart, and instead of showing a black screen of death, it actually truly started again.  Whoa.

What can I say?  It's one of my (many) useless minor super powers, such as always choosing the wrong checkout line.  I wonder if it was a passing thing or if it will actually happen again . . .

time travel snow

the kind of snow that
makes you dizzy if
you look up
as you're walking

no real wind to speak of
so the specks
descend slowly and dance
on tiny currents of air
you can't see until
you can't walk straight
unless you look straight
down to avoid being
hypnotized by the unhurried
deliberate randomness

tipped over into some
other dimension where
only the falling snow
matters

And so it begins: 2011

I was afraid no thaw would come, and we'd be stuck with 15 foot high piles of snow at every corner by March.  And then, weird weather to the rescue.  We had rain and thaw for several days.  Late on New Year's Eve, it refroze.

Why do people think staying up to watch a new year start is so special?  I'm too tired.  I stayed up anyway because of my insomnia, but still. 

On a positive note, this means I was able to enjoy the incredibly loud drunk man who greeted everyone who came into the building with some variation of "Happy, Happy New Year!" starting at 1 am and stopping just a few hours ago.  Maybe he wasn't actually drunk . . .

How's your new year going so far?

The Laws of Christmas Music on the Radio

• Thou shalt announce the artist's name.
• Thou shalt not play the same artist within the same half hour.
• Thou shalt announce the artist's name.
• Thou shalt not play the same song by the same artist more than once a day.
• Thou shalt announce the artist's name.
• Thou shalt not repeat the same song in the same day if thou canst help it.
• Thou shalt announce the artist's name.

Any you'd like to add?

Lessons Learned Lately

If the candle wick won't blow out, and it's spewing smoke, and you're worried it will set the smoke alarm off, you should NOT blow very hard on it because the candle wax is liquid and will go spraying everywhere, making you VERY GLAD you are wearing glasses due to an earlier melt-down.

So, um, what's the best way to remove and dispose of candle wax from the following surfaces?

• glass
• hair
• countertops
• walls with weak and cheap paint
• plates
• cardboard

(I already scraped it off my skin. No scars this time.  :)

Full lunar eclipse on the winter solstice indeed

I totally freaked out the employees of an optometrist today by crying in front of them.  (I apologize, desk lady, because I know it had nothing to do with you.)  Slightly mortifying, but it's been a long semester.  (At least it washed that goop out of my eyes.)

Last week, I stopped in to check and make sure they would accept the coupon I had, and they said they would extend it for me, and I was so happy.  I read what my insurance people gave me, and I thought I'd read all the fine print on the coupon, but, in the end, I had to pay $75 I didn't really have budgeted when I'd expected to pay $0.  And they charged $10 more per box of contacts than my regular place, so I could only get 3 boxes for what amounts to $75.  I am not making this up.

It's a scam.  I give up.  I can use the $75 to get 6 boxes of contacts next year when I have FSA money, save myself the hassle and the cynicism, and also save myself from finding out my vision has gotten even worse.  (I thought it had stabilized.)  Now I'm so worked up, I don't even trust the eye doctor.  I want to say he was lying about the prescription, too, because he knew when it gets up that high, the contacts cost even more. 

I think I should be avoiding humanity right now.  They don't deserve to have their happy Christmas season screwed up by an adult crying in front of them.

I really need some sleep.  It would also be nice not to be in pain.

In other news, full moon, full lunar eclipse, shortest day of the year.  It can only get brighter from here, right?

Apparently, I am quite low

. . . in iron, that is.  What foods are cheap, are rich in iron, require very little (read: no) preparation, and taste good?

What is it about snow?

What is it about snow
that makes me lose
all motivation to work
even if I have the curtains
closed?

I can't tell you how much I want 10 solid hours of unconsciousness right now

"I'm not sure what to diagnose.  It's complicated." 

That's what the sleep doctor told me. 

Cause and effect and symptoms are all mixed up, and she needs hard facts.  I will supply her with them in the new year when I have some money from my FSA to pay for them.  Then we'll see.  Something. 

I'm sure it will be complicated.  I apparently can't be otherwise. :-/

The Rabbit in the Moon

I saw the rabbit in the moon! 

This is significant because I have never seen "The Man in the Moon," which is what Americans are supposed to see when they look at the full moon.  (I blame manga.  And manwha, if I'm being fair.  Somehow, reading all those Japanese and Korean graphic novels has corrupted my vision. :) 

Back to the rabbit.  It was eerie.  I looked up, and there it was: a rabbit clearly made out of crater shadows on the moon.  I had never seen it before, and I haven't seen it since, but for that one time, it was clearly there.

I wonder if I would have seen it on my birthday if I hadn't been hibernating during that full moon.  Ah, well, I've seen if once, which is more than I can say for the Milky Way.  Blind spots indeed.

Ever seen any interesting shapes in the moon?  Do share.

Billboards and signs that make me laugh

• "Buy 1 chicken, get 1 free!"  (Fast food restaurant sign)  I really want to find a willing and gullible child, so I can tape the little one going in and asking how much it costs to get the free chicken and whether it's a hen or a rooster.
• "'Crouch without the Ouch' Ballroom Jeans" (Billboard for a clothing company that always has funny advertisements).  I snort every time I see this one.  It's just . . . well, I think it's funny.

Seen any good advertisements lately?

Roads not there

There is massive construction on the only road that leads away from my apartment.  Massive.  The location of the actual road changes weekly, sometimes daily.  Sometimes it's closed completely.  They're rebuilding the bridge over the highway, so the location of the exits changes frequently, too.  Right now, one is at an impossible angle, and I saw a miracle: a semi perched on the embankment after failing to make an impossible left turn onto the ramp.  A couple more feet, and it would have crashed onto the highway below.

Before the snow came, people drove like idiots even when things were clearishly marked by signs and lane painting and orange barrels.  Now that the snow is here and sometimes covers the road, I am not going to be taking that road anymore.  There are far too many idiots out there with drivers' licenses, and I don't want to meet them.

Sorry, Frost.  :)

Why he stopped by the woods that snowy evening

Snow falling light and thick and beautiful
covering the layer of ice
bitterly cold but not windy
magical blue white dusk
I know why he stopped by the woods
the hypnotism of watching woods fill up with snow
I know

To shop or to hibernate

That is the question. 

"Guess where I'm NOT going to be on Black Friday?" I asked several people earlier this week.

The answer, in case you were wondering, is RetailEstablishement.  I think I spent the last 6 Black Fridays working there.  This year, I am free.  I don't care what kind of deals they have.  Unless every book is a dollar, I will not be there, especially not at some ridiculous hour of the morning.

Any store that opens stuper (super + stupid) early should not be rewarded for punishing its employees.  This is my theory.

I was planning a total hibernation day, but I discovered yesterday that I am very close to a Half-Price Books I haven't ever raided, and it's calling to me like a siren.  Their sale lasts until 10.  Before that, my resolve to avoid driving wavered when the local comic shop offered an extra discount and a charity donation event at the same time.  They have lots of drool-worthy out of print stuff.  I should avoid spending money on anything but paying down debt right now, but I do have a list of books I can't find anywhere else (even online) . . .

I really don't want to be on the road with these crazy Black Friday Warriors, but . . .

Are you planning any Black Friday outings?  Completed any?  Was it worth it?

Why I like my physical therapist

The physical therapist looked back at the last two months of therapy and then said, apologetically, "If it were anyone else, after two months of therapy, most people would be at close to 100%.  But, since you're you, I'd give it another 8 months or so."

I looked at him mournfully and said, "You're supposed to say, 'Since you're special', not 'since you're you.'"

He laughed.  He's a good audience, as I have mentioned before.  It's not that he's unsympathetic; it's just that he's limped down this long road before.  Last time, he eventually gave up, but I kept doing his exercises, and, after 3 times the amount of time it would take for a normal human to be over a flareup of plantar fasciitis, I wasn't limping all the time.  From the PF, anyway.

There is something to be said about working with a therapist who knows how screwed up my body is right now: it's very nice.  "Your body just doesn't know how to fix itself right now," he said.  There is no frustration on his part with how slow my progress is even though I'm doing the ^*#&ing exercises.  (That means I don't have to sense his frustration and get more desperate or wonder if he believes me about doing the ^*#&ing exercises.)

Why I like my physical therapist:

• No false sympathy.  When I first started, he told me to do as many of this particular exercise as I could before the pain made me stop.  I think I did 4.  I asked him how many I should be able to do, and he said, "Normally, people can do 30 at a time.  2 sets of 30.  I can see why you have a problem tossing beanbags with that hip.  It's kind of pathetic."  Ahhhhh, refreshing.  I also can't lawn bowl, but at least I was smart enough not to try after the Bean Bag Incident.
• No false projections of how fast I should be able to do these things.  What he said after the first visit.  "I think you can get back to close to 100%.  It's going to take a long time, but you'll get better."  When I asked him his definition of a long time, he said without hesitating, "10 months."  What he said about the newest exercise: "2 sets of 20 is a goal.  That you should reach for."  ("Not that you should die for" was implied.)  I can sometimes do 30 of the first exercise; sometimes I can only do 12.  After 2 months.  Seriously.
• Real concern.  Since he knows this is my life, sees how exhausted I am, and has heard what I'm up against, he does what he can.  Last time, he tried to understand the neurological chronic pain thing because he wanted so much for there to be something that could be done.  (He may also have just agreed that I am a menace behind the wheel when I haven't had any sleep and hoped there was an alternative.)
• Not worrying about depression.  It's nice to have one health care professional (or just one adult, really) in my life who isn't waiting for me to get depressed.  Or maybe worried about me getting depressed would be a better way to phrase it.  I mean, not that I blame the others; there are plenty of reasons for me to get depressed.  I just don't have time.  My PT is a man who understands pain and gallows humor and doesn't get all Concerned. 
• I can almost always make him laugh.  The power.  I really need to not do that when he's twisting me into pretzel shapes to get my hips back into alignment.  He could break me one of these times, and I'd feel bad if I made him do that . . .

"You're kind of a mess," he said.  "When some things are too tight, some are too loose, some are too strong, and others are too weak, it's just a big mess.  But we will sort everything out.  Eventually."

I believe him.

Things I could watch for hours from inside

• clouds
• snow falling
• ice forming on a lake
• a dog and master romping in the snow
• tree branches giving up their burdens of snow when they try to carry too much

Things that hurt

Not sleeping
Getting up
Getting dressed
Driving to work
Work
Writing
Typing
Washing my hands
Drying my hands
Turning pages
Holding anything
Wearing gloves
Driving home from work
Getting a glass of water
Drinking a glass of water
Getting undressed
Lying in bed
Not sleeping

When Wally is your cube neighbor

Two short ones about my dreadfully annoying cube-dweller next door.

He can't possibly be

looking forward to his vacation

as much as I am.

*

Enjoy this moment;

don't waste it wondering when

he'll come in today.

Yep.  You can find poetry anywhere.  :)

those goofy, cynical days

day of the dead and
election day the same day
did it make you laugh?

The Life You Save or Something Like It

I've been thinking about suicide lately.  Not in a way that should worry you.  I basically blame the Fray for being on every radio station all the time.

It's my normal radio station's yearly fundraiser, and I already give every month, and it's painful to listen to people try so hard, so I've been getting some variety in my commute.  These new radio experiments have yielded dubious results, such as the transition from "It's Raining Men" to "How to Save a Life."  Mind-melting, really.

Anyway, it made me think of a great song by the Newsboys called "Elle G" from their 1994 album Going Public.  I think I loved that song even before I knew what it was really about, before I realized the clever play on words, maybe even before that boy in my class committed suicide.  That was a rough year; several people I knew died of illnesses or accidents, but that was my first encounter with suicide.

"Elle G" somehow perfectly captures that gaping emptiness regret stamps into you even when you never did anything less than kind to the person who committed suicide.  It seems to capture that huge hole left behind in the people who really had a relationship with the person who took that premature exit.  It captures the way you miss the person, similar but altogether different from the way you miss people who die in some tragic accident.  It also captures a bit of the raging theological argument surrounding suicide in the church. 

Did you know that traditionally suicides weren't buried in the consecrated parts of the cemetery (along with mothers who died in childbirth)?  As if where you were buried had any bearing on your eternal destination.  My anger is for the people who thought it did and did their own preliminary division of sheep and goats that arrogantly.

I remember encountering this in the movie Luther; I think it was one of the things that really cheesed Martin Luther off.  It also seems to cheese the Newsboys off.  Normally, the Newsboys can be fun and twisted, sarcastic and constructively snarky about things in the church that cheese them off.  They put the spotlight on the stupid in clever but obvious ways (a la Steve Taylor, someone they worked with a lot in the early years). 

It's surprising, really, how gently they treat the issue in the song.  Oh, they wrestle with the anger of those left behind, but they plead with those who would condemn people who commit suicide by asking the simple question, "How can we return that which we never did earn?"  They talk the longing to see the person, ask them why, ask them what they could have done.  They grasp God's promise to overcome evil with good and acknowledge that they don't know the answer to any of these questions.  "We haven't a hope beyond Your grace," they say.  The song is a lament, full of pain, and it ends oddly, sort of inexplicably hopeful and with a sort of "It Is Well with My Soul" conviction in the wake of devastation.  (The story behind that hymn is pretty powerful, too.)

It's a beautiful and powerful elegy.  It gets stuck in my head every time I hear it, and it makes me think.  Not bad for a pop song.

What I learned the day I visited the doctor's office

• Road rage is good for me.  It seems to get my blood pressure up to something more normal and lower my usually ridiculous heart rate.  Who knew my contrariness went that far.  Go figure.
• Book binges make my hip hurt, and I don't care.
• Despite all my problems, I am darn healthy for someone in my situation.
• Apparently, I strike the nurse as someone who would be a good teacher.  This makes me happy.

Revenge of the bibliophile!

It is done!  I have finished organizing my little off-site library with the help of a most excellent and flexible friend who does indeed have upper body strength as a result of having a not-quite-two-year-old child.  Babies, boxes, she can lift them all!

Yeah, it makes me a bit giddy.  All scanned in and alphabetized and content in their little home where their dust can't make my lungs work any harder.  It's a nice feeling. 

Of course, I had to miss another group event I was really looking forward to, and I will be paying for the strain I put on my arms for days, but I was already bottoming out in the pain spiral, and it feels nice to finish something.  Very nice.

Now on to the next thing.

Trying to do too much (never enough)

Maybe you can't
help them all, but
wouldn't you rather
be the child saving starfish
than the child stuck stopping
the flood with a finger?

The joys of Facebook, part XXXII

What do you do when a high school sports coach who made your life miserable wants to be your friend on Facebook?  How surreal.

I was never openly hostile (unlike her), but I wonder what makes her think I would want to reestablish contact?  I mean, this is the woman who yelled at me when I would have asthma attacks from pushing myself too hard in practice.  "When you wheeze like that, it brings down the team!" she would tell me.  Of course, when I would stop before having an asthma attack, she would glare at me and say, "When people don't give their best, it brings down the team."  I really couldn't win.

My senior year was hilariously awful.  I was at a conference for a week over the summer, and they put me out in a non air conditioned dorm (even though I had requested one with AC because of my asthma and allergies).  I didn't want to make a fuss (that's the mantra that always leads to my downfall).  It devastated my health.

During volleyball season, I was so ridiculously ill it wasn't funny.  Bronchitis, pneumonia, ear infections, etc., all at the same time.  But when I started that season, I was the best hitter on the team.  Before I even started getting really sick, that coach stuck me as an off-side hitter.  Our setter couldn't backset to save her life, so I basically never got to hit.  I still served 98%, though, even when I was sick.

And that's . . . pretty much the only good memory from my senior year of volleyball.  My stats were good despite all her efforts and my illness.  She didn't even try to promote me in the district honors, so I only got honorable mention and didn't even get to play in the senior all star game.  (Not that I could have, by that time.  I couldn't breathe just sitting down, and I ended up on all kinds of fun asthma meds, including prednisone, which made me bruise all over my body and bleed from my ears and generally have reactions that made the doctor go, "Hm.  Stop taking that.  Now.")  She's one of those people in authority that just seemed to hate the kind of person I was, and there was nothing I could do about it but take her abuse and mistreatment and go on with my life.

So why wouldn't I want to be "friends" on Facebook?

To be fair, I probably would have passed out if it was the high school Varsity basketball coach who wanted to friend me on Facebook.  He was even worse.  Ever since I won that basketball for having the best free-throw percentage during camp when he bought it specifically for his daughter, he was really an excessive jerk.  (And that's on top of the wretched things he did to my older sister.  What did we ever do to tick this man off so badly?  Nothing, as far as we can tell.)

Lest you think I just never got along with coaches, I generally did.  Just not those two.  :)

Why I'm glad week four is long over

Things I never expected when I agreed to teach a single online class

that I would have to put off cleaning and laundry and blogging and rest
that I wouldn't have access to my course until the students did
that the school would make so many assumptions that make my job difficult
that the logical resources a teacher needs would be missing, unavailable, not even considered
that a single class could add another 40 hours to my 40 hour work week
that I could get hoarse from dictating assignment feedback into my voice recognition software
that my left arm would hurt more
that my right arm would hurt a lot more
that I would sleep even less
that I would be even more afraid of what would happen if I get sick and lose my voice
that I would feel guilty for

• stopping for gas and a car wash
• getting physical therapy
• spending 15 minutes in a used clothing store to replace a pair of pants that were destroyed
• getting groceries
• exercising
• taking a shower
• eating
• going to the doctor
• meeting with my church small group

(because I could've been using that time to grade)
that I would have to stop reading and writing for pleasure to teach reading and writing to unscreened students who are not ready for this class
that this format does not allow the students who need to learn the most what they need to learn
that I would hate teaching this way this much
that I would want so badly to fix the papers even knowing how much time it would take
that I would be happy when students ignored my repeated pleas to set up conferences to prevent them from failing
that this happiness could make me feel more guilty
that I would not be able to catch up even after a month
that I would be so bad at boundaries

my perfect Saturday in October

I saw a fox today. 

It wasn't in my plans--as I made them Friday night--for my perfect Saturday in October.

• Get up on time.
• Do some grading.
• Exercise.
• Do some grading.
• Lay outside reading The Left Hand of Darkness in the bright, approaching 80 degrees sunshine.
• Do some grading.
• Clean.
• Do some grading.
• Go to bed early.

Instead, my acupuncture lady called as I was grading Friday night to ask if I could move our appointment to Saturday morning, and I said yes, grumbling a little because it was wrecking my perfect Saturday plans.

On the way to her house, I drove on that winding, riverside road, and the trees
I can't tell you how beautiful they were
I'd never seen them like that before
not in the morning
not in the fall
not with my silly prescription sunglasses that make everything red look like it's on fire
and some of those maples have turned all to fire

And then, on my way back home, an honest to goodness fox streaked across the lawn and across the road in front of me and into the fiery brush by the river, and I don't know if it was a red fox, but my glasses made it look like the thing was a long, lithe streak of fire, and I thought, what is a fox doing around here? 

And I thought, thank you God for a fox around here. 

And I thought, even if I don't get my grading or cleaning done, even if I have a gash on my shin from running into something stupid last night when I lost my balance, even if I still don't get much sleep tonight, even if I don't do anything else on my list, this was a perfect Saturday in October, and 
I couldn't possibly ask for more.

What I could learn from the leaves (and the trees)

They know when 

to give up, how to 

let go.  If only they 

could tell me "like 

this" and "now."

Can I un-quit quitting? and other positively negative thoughts

I have never wanted to quit anything so much in my life as I want to quit teaching this class.  I took a sanity day off work this week (thank you for that advice, Mom), and I got a lot of things I'd been putting off done, and a few new things organized, but I am still so behind that it's making me crazy.

I simply can't catch up possibly because, when I signed up to teach a single class, I seriously did not expect to be putting 30-50 hours a week into a class.  I have a full time job already.  I can't do this.  At least, I can't do this and maintain my high expectations for myself, and if I can't maintain my expectations for myself, is it fair to demand them of my students?  I'm in this horrible moral quagmire, and if I don't figure out how to bend sanely, I will break myself.

I lost another student in my online class last week.

Thought 1: I have failed!
Thought 2:  Well, that's one less set of papers to grade.
Thought 3: I am a horrible person for Thought 2.
Thought 4: Lucky.  I want to quit, too.
Thought 5: And another $200 disappears . . .
Thought 6: It's a good thing this was never about money.

Not that I'm neurotic.  :)

In my thesis (or my spiritual autobiography, as my amazing advisor calls it), I talked about this inability to choose correctly when faced with situations where I can't tell if I should go on (because if I do, maybe I will learn valuable lessons).  I also talked about how easy it is for me to let things go, to quit things because there is an easier thing on hand that I love and enjoy even if it is a bit challenging.  I think I decided to quit quitting, and I am seriously regretting that decisions.

I chose this madness over singing?  Why?!  If I could go back to singing, even if it meant giving up this dream of being a teacher and using my gifts to help people learn, would I do it?  If I could do so without letting anyone (myself possibly included) down, YES!!!!!  In a heartbeat.  But is that the right thing to do?  I'm tired; I've no time or inclination for hard questions.  I have three assignments to grade from last week and five more coming up this week.  I hate this, and it isn't fun anymore.

A person once said that it is always good to have misfortunate friends around because they always show you how much worse it could be.  I'm happy to be of use to you, my friends.  :) 

Also, so you don't think I'm totally negative, I AM SO GLAD NOT TO BE WORKING AT RETAILESTABLISHMENT DURING ALL THIS!!!!!!  Wait, that was negative.  But in a positive way.  Um, how about, I am so glad I have the regular job I have now!  That's true, too.

the sort of person who

I am the sort of person who can
use the words "anal-retentive"
and "systematic theology" in
the same sentence.

Drive with us (verrrrryyy slooooooowlyyy)

On the river parkway, I saw a raccoon trying desperately to stuff itself down a storm drain to avoid the early evening traffic "speeding" toward it.  I was part of a parade at the time, you know, the sort where one car's driver sees the 25 miles per hour speed limit sign and becomes convinced that if he or she approaches within 10 miles of the speed limit (as in, 15 m.p.h), his or her car will explode or be strafed by speeding cop firebombs or suddenly find that part of the road turns 90 degrees or something.

I started humming the theme song to The Racoons.  Did they ever release that cartoon on DVD?  Yes, yes they did, and I am not going to pay that much for a used copy, holy moly.  Maybe this is a job for Netflix.

It had the most ridiculous and awesome ending theme song.  It was called "Run with Us."  I bet the raccoon could have run with us and kept up.  It really had nothing to fear as we all drove at a leisurely pace all along the river road for five miles, trapped behind the parade leader, unable to get to our destinations by any alternate route.

At least it wasn't a bicycle rider this time.

See?  I can think positive.  :)

an autumn poem in summer

Fall

fell 

early this year

leaves turning 

in August and September

days that feel

like the best

November

days to

come

It's ALIVE!!!!

So, once again I dropped out of sight.  In honor of my first anniversary of blogging, my computer died.  Eventually a kind friend resuscitated it, and now I am almost caught up enough to get back to blogging.  So you'll likely hear from me for real this weekend.  Until then . . .

Things that make you want to sing

Take a look at this.  Such beauty.

Sports memories (sans cats)

They're having a softball tournament at work.  I got all excited and marked it with a follow-up flag.  Three girls have to be on the field at all times!  I don't think our department could have a team because we're 95% female.  Maybe someone else knows of a team that needs another girl!

Oh. 
I can't play anymore. 

I forgot.

I still remember a time when I could not imagine living without softball and volleyball.  I remember when I wanted to be the old person out there playing.  I wanted to be like my dad: the oldest person on the team and still capable of contributing.  I remember thinking that nothing could stop me.

I think I hear cats singing something about memories.  (But weren't those cats supposed to be old and rickety?)  Ah, well . . .

I wonder if there are softball tournaments in heaven.  Guess I'll find out when I get there.

My crazy bunny is still alive!

I saw it for the third time: my crazy little bunny.  (It may not even be the same one, but how many weird little bunnies could there be in that small area?)  It was once again darting out in broad daylight near rush hour traffic. 

The first time I saw him, I was sitting in the afternoon rush waiting to get onto a highway.  A tiny creature crawled out onto the sidewalk and promptly fell over.  It was kind of like a kitten wanting to play, only it was a rabbit, there was no one there to play with it, it was broad daylight, and wild bunnies don't usually do that.

The week after that, I was exiting that same highway, and the dumb critter ran out onto the ramp and hopped around a bit through the morning rush hour traffic before staggering off into the brush again.

Someone suggested distemper or perhaps a nice supply of fermenting fruit somewhere . . .

Anyway, I worry about the poor, strange little thing.  It's nice to see that (somehow) it's still alive.

Goldfish on the carpet and other amusing aftermaths

Does anyone have any advice about how to get ground up goldfish out of your carpet when the vacuum just doesn't get the job done? 

I should mention that I mean little cheese-flavored crackers, not, you know, real goldfish.  And I think they weren't even Goldfish, technically.  They were a generic kind of snack cracker most definitely NOT shaped like the Trademarked Goldfish.  Not that you can tell now . . . :)

two thoughts on August

The thing
I hate
about August
is those days
when the low
is so high
if I want to bask
I just fry.

The thing
I love
about August
is cicadas
screaming loudly
with joy
despite life's
brevity.

College Prep in Elementary School?

I recently received a postcard in the mail that made me wonder how on earth I got onto that mailing list.  It was for a college prep elementary school.  I am not making this up.  My initial reaction was, "Seriously?" 

I mean, I've always been a total brainy nerd, and in elementary school, I had no idea our school was, like, three grade levels above the average, and I had a wonderful time there.  But I think it would be different if the school's name and purpose was aiming for top college placement from Kindergarten.  It's almost Japanese . . .

Would you have enjoyed a highly competitive elementary school?  Did you ever wish your elementary school did more to make you college ready?  What was your school like?  Did you enjoy it?

Feeling lucky to be on the other side for now

"According to the U.S. Census Bureau, 30.6% of workers with a disability lived in poverty in 2006, compared to 9.2% of workers with no disability."

I came across that fact and wondered what the numbers looked like in, say, 2009.

I am feeling very relieved not to be in that nearly 31% anymore, but I also want to do something to help the people those number represent, which I suspect has grown with the recession.  I wonder if I'll ever have the energy to try.

Priorities: rearranging a life

I just got offered a class to teach at a local university, and I find myself suddenly faced with a priority crunch. 

I was going to audition for a singing group that rehearses Monday nights.  Tuesday nights, I have a writing group.  Wednesday nights I lead a small group from church.  Thursday night is when the anime club I belong to meets.  Friday night through Saturday night, I clean and collapse.  Sunday is two flavors of church and  sometimes a writing group and spending time with a friend.  There is no way I can do all that, handle a new full time job, and juggle a part-time job on top of that.

I am inclined to just scrap it all and focus on the jobs this semester. 

• M: I haven't auditioned yet, but even if I do, I might not make it, so maybe I should table this one for now.  Or maybe I should go for it and pray that if it's a bad idea, I won't get in.  Will I be in any shape to audition next year?  Probably not after a whole year off, but there's no way I can fit the a cappella choir I've sung with for the past six years into the new job schedule in the first six months. 
• T: I've been having trouble getting people to show up to the writing group, and I was only really doing it to force myself to do research on publishing, which I don't really care about, because if I don't have teaching experience, I need some pieces published to potentially get hired, which I already am, so this is something I don't need to torture myself with anymore. 
• W: My small group wants to meet on another night, so this could be a good time to disengage from that commitment. 
• Th: I don't NEED the anime club, and they don't need me since I really don't contribute much of anything (hooray for passive entertainment), but I do enjoy watching things on a big screen and not being required to be in charge. 

On the other hand, in college I learned that you should start out with way more than you can handle, and you can whittle down as you go, deciding what's important.  Of course, I don't have that youthful energy anymore to keep it up for a whole quarter before disengaging . . .

How do you prioritize?  Do you have any advice on what I should sacrifice and what I might want to consider keeping?