Ever have a day that starts with "Why does my neck feel like it's being stabbed with a rusty ice pick?" accelerates with "That guy? You can't reach him because he's in jail. For a while." hits an apex at "Are you still in the hospital? Can I come visit?" and decrescendos on a "Can this class just fucking end? For the love of God, if I had that rusty ice pick I would soooo be stabbing my brain out"?
If you do, you will be pleasantly surprised to learn there is a catholicon for just such a day: discovering that TWO strangers have you in their blogroll. I'm on a few, but I suspect they're pity-links. My dubiosity has to do with most of my friends being much better writers than me. Realizing that someone( someones!) stumbled across this blog and didn't hate it or anything gives me the sensation of being awash in warm-fuzzies.
Please don't run away now.
*Not to be confused with Triffids.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Take Two Stummies and Call Me in the Morning
How am I going to know if this is worth it?
I have a suspicion that I will not know if keeping this job and going to school is worthwhile until it is over, which will be about another year and a half. If our actions define us, is this really who I want to be? I had a couple of hours that I refused to spend doing homework last night, and I had no idea what to do with myself. I don't keep in touch with my friends like I should, my hobbies are dwindling, I can't sleep enough, I feel BORING, and wonder if I can have a mid-life crisis at 26 (I guess if I die at 52 it is technically possible, but still).
I do what I do in hopes I will be satisfied later. But...what if there isn't a later? Why can't I be satisfied with my current job and find fulfillment elsewhere? Maybe, in volunteering or recommitting myself to taekwondo or making babies or something. Maybe fulfillment lies in throwing dinner parties for my friends, so we can eat and laugh and share the love. I have the utmost admiration for the people I work with who do their jobs well. Am I asking too much of myself to stick around and become one of them?
Cultivating happiness is up to me.
I would like to subcontract the work to someone who knows what they are doing. Feel free to e-mail your resume.
I have a suspicion that I will not know if keeping this job and going to school is worthwhile until it is over, which will be about another year and a half. If our actions define us, is this really who I want to be? I had a couple of hours that I refused to spend doing homework last night, and I had no idea what to do with myself. I don't keep in touch with my friends like I should, my hobbies are dwindling, I can't sleep enough, I feel BORING, and wonder if I can have a mid-life crisis at 26 (I guess if I die at 52 it is technically possible, but still).
I do what I do in hopes I will be satisfied later. But...what if there isn't a later? Why can't I be satisfied with my current job and find fulfillment elsewhere? Maybe, in volunteering or recommitting myself to taekwondo or making babies or something. Maybe fulfillment lies in throwing dinner parties for my friends, so we can eat and laugh and share the love. I have the utmost admiration for the people I work with who do their jobs well. Am I asking too much of myself to stick around and become one of them?
Cultivating happiness is up to me.
I would like to subcontract the work to someone who knows what they are doing. Feel free to e-mail your resume.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Mawwiage
Last Saturday was my brother's wedding. I was special enough to be related to the groom and be the Best Chick, I was also special enough to be forgiven for not being the perfect Best Chick. I did throw a shower with my mom and sister, but I slept through the bachelorette party (which I didn't throw), and then there was the toast.
My mental process basically goes: "La de da de da, oh, was I supposed to do something just then? La la laaaaaa!" It also goes: "Thank God I'm not the Best Dude, so I don't have to give a toast in front of an auditorium full of people who are perfectly capable of judging me. Oh, I do? Really? Tomorrow? With the people there? Fuuuuuuck."
Brother suggested I write a toast like I would blog, thennot say fuck so much clean it up for mom. So I wrote it on the way from the auditorium to the rehearsal dinner. Now you get to read it.
"I'm Danger, Brother's little sister. I've known him my whole life, but I didn't have the pleasure of meeting Amanda until three years ago whe she was his date for a wedding. I first thought, "Wow, is she old enough to be out this late?" and "She's really very cute, so why's she with Brother?" Luckily for some of us [patting Brother on shoulder], making a marriage last isn't about being equally pretty. It's more about understanding you will never change your spouse, no matter how much money you offer them to do so. This marriage is going to last because of your love, friendship, desire, and commitment. Amanda, welcome to the family, I am so happy to have you as a sister. Brother, good job. Here's to your marriage, the best decision you'll ever make."
I loved this wedding. It was a great wedding. It was pretty and funny, just like the newlyweds. My brother looked over at me when he put the ring on her finger, his expression almost made me double over with laughter. And then there were the animated vows, and the minister leaving the mike on after we exited the ceremonial area, and that fly that really liked Brother's hair. Every time I looked at my mom during the ceremony I would start to tear up, and I'd have to dissociate to stay in control of my tear ducts. She was so pretty, and so fragile, and she had to persist for so long to see this wedding. She had to have extra transfusions and sit in a wheelchair to rest in order to have enough energy to walk down the aisle and visit with people, but she did what it took.
Possibly the strangest part was having my hair professionally wrangled. That happened last in the second grade. My husband seemed to enjoy seeing me in a dress and make-up and other girly stuff. He better not get his hopes up, because I don't do this stuff for just anyone.
Unless he makes an offer I can't refuse.
My mental process basically goes: "La de da de da, oh, was I supposed to do something just then? La la laaaaaa!" It also goes: "Thank God I'm not the Best Dude, so I don't have to give a toast in front of an auditorium full of people who are perfectly capable of judging me. Oh, I do? Really? Tomorrow? With the people there? Fuuuuuuck."
Brother suggested I write a toast like I would blog, then
"I'm Danger, Brother's little sister. I've known him my whole life, but I didn't have the pleasure of meeting Amanda until three years ago whe she was his date for a wedding. I first thought, "Wow, is she old enough to be out this late?" and "She's really very cute, so why's she with Brother?" Luckily for some of us [patting Brother on shoulder], making a marriage last isn't about being equally pretty. It's more about understanding you will never change your spouse, no matter how much money you offer them to do so. This marriage is going to last because of your love, friendship, desire, and commitment. Amanda, welcome to the family, I am so happy to have you as a sister. Brother, good job. Here's to your marriage, the best decision you'll ever make."
I loved this wedding. It was a great wedding. It was pretty and funny, just like the newlyweds. My brother looked over at me when he put the ring on her finger, his expression almost made me double over with laughter. And then there were the animated vows, and the minister leaving the mike on after we exited the ceremonial area, and that fly that really liked Brother's hair. Every time I looked at my mom during the ceremony I would start to tear up, and I'd have to dissociate to stay in control of my tear ducts. She was so pretty, and so fragile, and she had to persist for so long to see this wedding. She had to have extra transfusions and sit in a wheelchair to rest in order to have enough energy to walk down the aisle and visit with people, but she did what it took.
Possibly the strangest part was having my hair professionally wrangled. That happened last in the second grade. My husband seemed to enjoy seeing me in a dress and make-up and other girly stuff. He better not get his hopes up, because I don't do this stuff for just anyone.
Unless he makes an offer I can't refuse.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Four Weeks to Go
Has it already been a week since I posted? Good thing I'm not NaBloPoMo-ing or I'd feel like a failure. After working on my take-home test until 4am last Wednesday, I rewarded myself with sleep. 6:30am came a little to soon, I was rather delirious and tried to divide 187 by 51 on my alarm clock/cell phone before falling back asleep. That didn't work out so well, and I was an hour late to work. And that test? The teacher didn't collect it. He reported he missed 5 questions when he took it, incidentally that is how many I missed (except I guessed on some, and these weren't educated guesses, I just circled things in the most aesthetically pleasing way).
I have less than a month of this semester left, whoo-hoo! If I got an A on my last chemistry test, I will start planning my reward trip to Chicago. This time next month I could be deciding if I want to wear my tuxedo shirt or my gray thermal shirt to the Art Institute, rather than scrambling to comprehend tomorrow's chem lab.
This morning the mother of a patient called to tell me her son had been arrested last night, and she needed me to go to court in 45 minutes and tell them what meds he takes. HA ha ha ha! I am not allowed to say anything in court, so her request was impossible. However, I did have our nurse call the jail's medical team to coordinate medication. When I told the mom that it was taken care of, but I would not go to court, she told me that was bullshit and as his caretakers we should do more for him and we are worthless. A year ago, I would have cried. Today, I shrugged it off. I did my job, I didn't break protocol, and I am not his caretaker, I'm a social worker. Besides, she has a terrible reputation around the office, so I just don't care.
My co-workers and I have been striving to make the office a more enjoyable place. Just yesterday we hid our cell phones in F-bomb's office, then all called at once. Monday I had a cell phone hidden in his ceiling, but I was gone too much to time my calls to his presence. Since he doesn't seem to know anything about it, we can try it again later. I've also stopped squelching my sarcasm as much. It amuses me, and with the turnover rate we've had lately they can't afford to fire me. It's a win-win, baby.
I have less than a month of this semester left, whoo-hoo! If I got an A on my last chemistry test, I will start planning my reward trip to Chicago. This time next month I could be deciding if I want to wear my tuxedo shirt or my gray thermal shirt to the Art Institute, rather than scrambling to comprehend tomorrow's chem lab.
This morning the mother of a patient called to tell me her son had been arrested last night, and she needed me to go to court in 45 minutes and tell them what meds he takes. HA ha ha ha! I am not allowed to say anything in court, so her request was impossible. However, I did have our nurse call the jail's medical team to coordinate medication. When I told the mom that it was taken care of, but I would not go to court, she told me that was bullshit and as his caretakers we should do more for him and we are worthless. A year ago, I would have cried. Today, I shrugged it off. I did my job, I didn't break protocol, and I am not his caretaker, I'm a social worker. Besides, she has a terrible reputation around the office, so I just don't care.
My co-workers and I have been striving to make the office a more enjoyable place. Just yesterday we hid our cell phones in F-bomb's office, then all called at once. Monday I had a cell phone hidden in his ceiling, but I was gone too much to time my calls to his presence. Since he doesn't seem to know anything about it, we can try it again later. I've also stopped squelching my sarcasm as much. It amuses me, and with the turnover rate we've had lately they can't afford to fire me. It's a win-win, baby.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
No Rest for the Wicked
No, my clock thingie didn't screw up, I am awake at 2:30 in the AM. And I'm pissed. Trig has been laughably easy, mostly because we're not actually learning anything. My last class marked a whole 1.5 chapters of knowledge spread out over 2 months. We covered 1.5 chapters in chemistry on the first day. Jebus, this class isn't even costing me $200 (w/o the book) and it's overpriced. It's like the K-Mart Special of higher education.
Tomorrow I have a take-home test due in trig. It covers all of chapter 3. He has not taught all of chapter three. That's why I am on borrowed internet searching wikipedia for clues about half-angle identities five hours before I have to be at work. Sadly, I have an A+ until this test is graded. I will likely not maintain it, and if I'm stumped, the rest of the class will probably fail miserably. I'm not at the top because I'm good with digits ('cause I'm NOT), but because no one kept up their math skills while in prison.
Tomorrow I have a take-home test due in trig. It covers all of chapter 3. He has not taught all of chapter three. That's why I am on borrowed internet searching wikipedia for clues about half-angle identities five hours before I have to be at work. Sadly, I have an A+ until this test is graded. I will likely not maintain it, and if I'm stumped, the rest of the class will probably fail miserably. I'm not at the top because I'm good with digits ('cause I'm NOT), but because no one kept up their math skills while in prison.
Monday, November 5, 2007
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