A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!"
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”
(apologies to Stephen Crane)
2012 is here (though perhaps not for too long, if the doomsayers are correct and you never know-- a broken clock is right twice a day). I'm unspeakably relieved that 2011 is done, without any more damage wrought. It did bring me a few presents, like divorcing parents plying their child with therapy and gifts once they realize the impact of their actions. Which is not to say that I don't appreciate these bits of goodness-- mixed bags of success in unlikely places, unexpected love, rare moments of light that shine all the brighter against the darkness of the rest of the year. But the darkness, the pall that has hung over my life for almost a year is still quite undeniably there. I think I overestimated my own resiliency, especially with how difficult the holidays were. Trust me, little can completely sap that holiday spirit like accidentally ordering Christmas presents for your deceased little brother. Nor can I really enjoy the Steelers this season, lacking my brother (the king of Steelers criticism) and his non-stop bitching. And so on. Every little thing leads to a train of thought that leads back to the massive amount of grief that I'm apparently still processing. In ultra slow motion.
So, to sum up? It's still one day at a time.
Showing posts with label navel-gazing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label navel-gazing. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Saturday, August 6, 2011
splash.
I'm about to leave for the pool for my last practice before tomorrow's big swim. Just a short, kick-heavy practice. My triceps were a little sore yesterday from Thursday's work, and then my contact started hurting on the one night I forgot my glasses and I had to cut everything short. Bleh. Not that it matters, because my practice has gotten so screwed up these past two weeks.
I can't say enough how I'm really tired of deaths/ funerals/ and all of that stuff. But when I was telling my boss that, she told me that one of my coworkers is in hospice... so I guess there's going to be another one to get through before the year is over. Joke's on me.
I've been seriously considering pulling out of the swim. It was always going to be a stretch, and then this? It's been terrible. NOTHING has gone right. Everything from a rash aggravated by chafing to a funeral to staying very late at work on a semi-regular basis has reduced time available to swim. I am a textbook case of How Not to Prepare for Your First Open Water Event.
But my coworkers kicked in a combined $71, which put me over $300 for the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network. And a few of them were so sweet and encouraging... well. I was always going to be slow and make a fool out of myself anyway, right? So here we go. I just hope I don't drown or die from a rabid jellyfish attack. As I said, I wouldn't even attend my own.
I can't say enough how I'm really tired of deaths/ funerals/ and all of that stuff. But when I was telling my boss that, she told me that one of my coworkers is in hospice... so I guess there's going to be another one to get through before the year is over. Joke's on me.
I've been seriously considering pulling out of the swim. It was always going to be a stretch, and then this? It's been terrible. NOTHING has gone right. Everything from a rash aggravated by chafing to a funeral to staying very late at work on a semi-regular basis has reduced time available to swim. I am a textbook case of How Not to Prepare for Your First Open Water Event.
But my coworkers kicked in a combined $71, which put me over $300 for the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network. And a few of them were so sweet and encouraging... well. I was always going to be slow and make a fool out of myself anyway, right? So here we go. I just hope I don't drown or die from a rabid jellyfish attack. As I said, I wouldn't even attend my own.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
timely coincidences
Some days the universe speaks to you and other days it literally sings to you. Like feeling physically and mentally blown and hearing a favorite song twice-- both acoustic and standard versions-- on the radio on the way home. That happened to me last week, but I sure could have used that tonight.
Sidenote: I'm copping to the fact that I actually listen to the radio and no, I don't own an iPod (and yes, I'm tempted to frame it as more of a statement against the isolation inherent in using iPods and similar technology-- but closer to the truth, it's never been in my budget and I despise iTunes). But anyway. Forsake the radio completely and you forsake the random magic of hearing exactly the right thing at the right time without assembling and scanning a playlist.
And then sometimes, a friend finds the exact video you need to see at the exact right time.
Sidenote: I'm copping to the fact that I actually listen to the radio and no, I don't own an iPod (and yes, I'm tempted to frame it as more of a statement against the isolation inherent in using iPods and similar technology-- but closer to the truth, it's never been in my budget and I despise iTunes). But anyway. Forsake the radio completely and you forsake the random magic of hearing exactly the right thing at the right time without assembling and scanning a playlist.
And then sometimes, a friend finds the exact video you need to see at the exact right time.
Friday, December 31, 2010
happy(ish) new year
My New Year's has gone so far awry it's not funny. I appear to have caught bronchitis from my brother, and, of course, after getting so stir crazy that I just had to get off my couch, the normally reasonably reliable Jeepers' check engine light came on. When most places are already closed for the holidays and it looks like I'll be waiting until Monday to have anyone look at it. Of course. But aside from my confinement and boredom, it's traditional at the end of the year to reflect on the year that was and try to pretend that we can exert control over the year that will be. Except, well, I don't want to jinx myself or set myself up for disappointment. No pretending I can control things that much-- man proposes and God disposes, and all that. So. Just reflection on the year that was.
I think it's safe to say that 2010 has brought quite a few changes. Finally got the damn masters degree after years of procrastination (long term relationships will do that). I also bought a car, got lucky enough to entertain multiple job offers, got a job at my preferred agency, and moved a few hundred miles away to a place where I hardly know anyone. I learned how to sail small craft & got my little red book certification. I now have done enough long-ish haul drives by myself to be frustrated by those who are clearly not regular interstate drivers. The brats are adjusting, and I'm, well, perhaps not used to but resigned to being a Steelers/ Pens fan in Ravens/ Caps territory. I still find the "hon" thing funny, though. They're so possessive 'round these parts of that little word that I don't have the heart to mention that it's pretty common back home.
Of course, while I've reaped the benefits of moving hundreds of miles away from most people I care about and who care about me... and the disadvantages. I still hardly know anyone here all that well (trying to work on that...), which has been made all the more clear by my current situation. But. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? I mean, I guess I could have found a job back home, but it would have been harder to find one at all and whatever I found would have been a compromise that would have taken me further away from the ultimate direction I want my career to take. Neither was an appealing choice, but I need to make up for lost time. So here we are.
I think it's safe to say that 2010 has brought quite a few changes. Finally got the damn masters degree after years of procrastination (long term relationships will do that). I also bought a car, got lucky enough to entertain multiple job offers, got a job at my preferred agency, and moved a few hundred miles away to a place where I hardly know anyone. I learned how to sail small craft & got my little red book certification. I now have done enough long-ish haul drives by myself to be frustrated by those who are clearly not regular interstate drivers. The brats are adjusting, and I'm, well, perhaps not used to but resigned to being a Steelers/ Pens fan in Ravens/ Caps territory. I still find the "hon" thing funny, though. They're so possessive 'round these parts of that little word that I don't have the heart to mention that it's pretty common back home.
Of course, while I've reaped the benefits of moving hundreds of miles away from most people I care about and who care about me... and the disadvantages. I still hardly know anyone here all that well (trying to work on that...), which has been made all the more clear by my current situation. But. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? I mean, I guess I could have found a job back home, but it would have been harder to find one at all and whatever I found would have been a compromise that would have taken me further away from the ultimate direction I want my career to take. Neither was an appealing choice, but I need to make up for lost time. So here we are.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
I do not like this GPS, Sam-I-Am. I like it less than green eggs and ham.
My family gave me a TomTom Go for my birthday, and I have to confess. I fricking hate it. HATE. IT.
I appreciate my family's obvious concern that I find my way around. And their concern for my safety, and their observation of my birthday. But I want my old crappy GPS back. This thing? It's new, and yet it recognizes fewer places than my old GPS. This doesn't recognize shopping centers or major stores like Ikea that have been in place for about A DECADE. Or highways that have been in place for two YEARS now.
If I search for an address on Google or Bing, I can enter the number, street name, and zip code. Boom. The supposedly superior TomTom mapping software? Oh, no. You have to enter the FULL address, including "US." Because yes, apparently they think you're somehow magically going to DRIVE to an ISLAND in the south fricking PACIFIC even though you have a ZIP CODE.
But most offensive? It's CONSTANTLY trying to sell me shit. I won't buy an iPhone because I don't want to be constantly subjected to marketing every time I use it. Ohh, you need this app, you need this song, blah blah blah. It's the same thing with TomTom. Updates start at $40 a year. You can get all manner of mildly amusing voices starting at $15 a pop (personally, any amusement would evaporate the third time mine told me to go the wrong way down a one-way street or turn where no turns are permitted-- which happens every time I drive down one near my apartment). I get that they're trying to salvage what they can as GPS devices become obsolete in the face of smartphones, but really? How about you just make the damn thing work correctly in the first place?
I appreciate my family's obvious concern that I find my way around. And their concern for my safety, and their observation of my birthday. But I want my old crappy GPS back. This thing? It's new, and yet it recognizes fewer places than my old GPS. This doesn't recognize shopping centers or major stores like Ikea that have been in place for about A DECADE. Or highways that have been in place for two YEARS now.
If I search for an address on Google or Bing, I can enter the number, street name, and zip code. Boom. The supposedly superior TomTom mapping software? Oh, no. You have to enter the FULL address, including "US." Because yes, apparently they think you're somehow magically going to DRIVE to an ISLAND in the south fricking PACIFIC even though you have a ZIP CODE.
But most offensive? It's CONSTANTLY trying to sell me shit. I won't buy an iPhone because I don't want to be constantly subjected to marketing every time I use it. Ohh, you need this app, you need this song, blah blah blah. It's the same thing with TomTom. Updates start at $40 a year. You can get all manner of mildly amusing voices starting at $15 a pop (personally, any amusement would evaporate the third time mine told me to go the wrong way down a one-way street or turn where no turns are permitted-- which happens every time I drive down one near my apartment). I get that they're trying to salvage what they can as GPS devices become obsolete in the face of smartphones, but really? How about you just make the damn thing work correctly in the first place?
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Last bits
It's funny how the most mundane activities can trigger strong reactions. Yesterday, I changed the bag in my sweeper-- and it occurred to me that this bag was in my sweeper when I did the final cleaning of my old apartment. The dust and pollen and miscellaneous floor dirt were Pittsburgh in origin. The cat fur in the bottom was shed in Pittsburgh. This new bag will be filled with dust and pollen and miscellaneous floor dirt and cat fur that are all Baltimorean in origin. It's a weird milestone. And this weekend, I saw my first movie in Baltimore (I deserved a break after having my weekend plans ruined, though "break" is a bit of a stretch when Deathly Hallows had me in tears practically every ten minutes). Funny how time flies.
Speaking of which, I forgot to mark my Peteversary. So it's my third Peteversary plus one month-- and I happen to have taken this picture one month after taking him in to foster, so it all works out. Look at how bald and skinny he was-- and that was after a month of healing, fur regrowth, and fattening (Z also put on a few pounds from all the extra treats, funny enough). God, it still makes me so angry when I think about what kind of owner could neglect him that much.
In other news, (yeast-risen) oatmeal bread with molasses is a success. I added a bit of cardamom, which added a subtle something or other that complimented the molasses. Alas, as usual? This wan an unplanned experiment and I didn't take notes. Impulsive breadmaking, then I was inspired to quickly zap oats and water to make oatmeal to add in, then saw the remaining third cup of molasses and thought it would be a good changeup from the honey I usually put in oat bread... you know how it goes. We'll see if I can recreate it some time.
Speaking of which, I forgot to mark my Peteversary. So it's my third Peteversary plus one month-- and I happen to have taken this picture one month after taking him in to foster, so it all works out. Look at how bald and skinny he was-- and that was after a month of healing, fur regrowth, and fattening (Z also put on a few pounds from all the extra treats, funny enough). God, it still makes me so angry when I think about what kind of owner could neglect him that much.
In other news, (yeast-risen) oatmeal bread with molasses is a success. I added a bit of cardamom, which added a subtle something or other that complimented the molasses. Alas, as usual? This wan an unplanned experiment and I didn't take notes. Impulsive breadmaking, then I was inspired to quickly zap oats and water to make oatmeal to add in, then saw the remaining third cup of molasses and thought it would be a good changeup from the honey I usually put in oat bread... you know how it goes. We'll see if I can recreate it some time.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
A west country girl with a big fat cat that looks into her eyes of green
Today marks four months since I drove a jeep full of plants and two miserable cats down the long road to Baltimore. I think the cats have finally more or less recovered, though the plants have been less resilient. And me? Well... that's more complicated. I miss home. I was in one of the most amazing areas for over a decade. But I needed to move on, move away, get away from the ghosts of the past and the familiar places so patinated with memories as to be petrified. Most days I think I took the right job. I like being closer to the coast and New York and DC, but I'm not sure that Baltimore is the city for me. The jury's still out on that. But I can always move. In fact, I think I will in the not too terribly distant future.
I've now worn my wool coat and scraped frost-- actual frost-- from my windshield two mornings in a row. I also wore non-khaki type pants today for the first time since wearing a suit during orientation. Woe. I'm not quite ready for it to be winter just yet. Though the summer was long and painfully hot (literally when sitting on seats that have baked in 105 degree heat all day), I feel like I missed something. Perhaps because fall has felt so short. Labor day came, but it was marked only by the closing of the complex's pool and the appearance of children waiting for buses in the morning. It remained unseasonably warm-- to me, anyway. True, I was born & bred a northerner and all, but it's not THAT far south of the Mason-Dixon line here. And then a few short weeks, not even a full month, of what I consider fall, and then BAM! We're into winter now.
Granted, this would be the beginning of the rainy season back home. November means perpetually leaden skies spitting icy rain that soaks through your hair and coat. It means trudging from a too-cold office to a coffee shop or noodle place with windows heavy with condensation to a tiny apartment where the radiator clanks and hisses all night while sleet ticks against the window. It's a fantastically cold and lonely time of year, even if you're paired up. Pairing up this time of year is really a desperate charade with the end game of keeping warm. Oooh, listen to moody, cynical me.
Which is probably why I'm in a Nick Cave listening mood lately. And doing my best PJ Harvey. Come take him by his lily-white hands, come take him by his feet.
I've now worn my wool coat and scraped frost-- actual frost-- from my windshield two mornings in a row. I also wore non-khaki type pants today for the first time since wearing a suit during orientation. Woe. I'm not quite ready for it to be winter just yet. Though the summer was long and painfully hot (literally when sitting on seats that have baked in 105 degree heat all day), I feel like I missed something. Perhaps because fall has felt so short. Labor day came, but it was marked only by the closing of the complex's pool and the appearance of children waiting for buses in the morning. It remained unseasonably warm-- to me, anyway. True, I was born & bred a northerner and all, but it's not THAT far south of the Mason-Dixon line here. And then a few short weeks, not even a full month, of what I consider fall, and then BAM! We're into winter now.
Granted, this would be the beginning of the rainy season back home. November means perpetually leaden skies spitting icy rain that soaks through your hair and coat. It means trudging from a too-cold office to a coffee shop or noodle place with windows heavy with condensation to a tiny apartment where the radiator clanks and hisses all night while sleet ticks against the window. It's a fantastically cold and lonely time of year, even if you're paired up. Pairing up this time of year is really a desperate charade with the end game of keeping warm. Oooh, listen to moody, cynical me.
Which is probably why I'm in a Nick Cave listening mood lately. And doing my best PJ Harvey. Come take him by his lily-white hands, come take him by his feet.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
core dump
In the past 36 hours, I've...
Now let's see how much shit I get from Ravens fans this week after they barely beat the Bills. I'm very disappointed in Buffalo. I mean, this week the Brownies apparently remembered that they're a professional football team whose primary function has been to spoil things for superior teams for the past few... well, for a while (sorry, hpo!). But nooo, Buffalo apparently looked in the mirror and remembered that they're still the Bills and they just suck. Oh well. At least we're still atop the division.
So. How was YOUR weekend?
- driven 500 miles
- bought a drop dead gorgeous heritage variety pumpkin for cooking
- been menaced by pygmy goats performing a dramatic interpretation of Dawn of the Dead
- seen a civil war reenactor in full uniform fiddling with an iPhone
- met a new family member
- made a commitment to dye my hair red again (it's a strawberry kind of winter)
- watched PBT's absolutely amazing interpretation of The Three Musketeers
- had two cats and a dog sleep fall asleep on me while I watched TV
- enjoyed the dulcet tones of Bill Hillgrove calling Pitt on Saturday and the Steelers today
- looked like a suspicious person to the Somerset rest area patrons
- been rudely reminded that I need to drive as though east coast drivers are trying to kill me, because they are
- been attacked by two very irate felines
Now let's see how much shit I get from Ravens fans this week after they barely beat the Bills. I'm very disappointed in Buffalo. I mean, this week the Brownies apparently remembered that they're a professional football team whose primary function has been to spoil things for superior teams for the past few... well, for a while (sorry, hpo!). But nooo, Buffalo apparently looked in the mirror and remembered that they're still the Bills and they just suck. Oh well. At least we're still atop the division.
So. How was YOUR weekend?
Thursday, October 21, 2010
They're coming to get you, Barbra
Another Thursday and I'm finally posting again. Part of the reason for light posting is because work (and life) were quiet-ish for a while and have, well, stopped being quiet now. More to be done, less time to write. Or, more precisely, to write for myself and not for work. Never underestimate the value of being at least semi-competent at writing, kiddos-- shockingly few professionals are. Another reason for light posting is that I'm still deciding what details I'm comfortable releasing into the wild of the internets. Discretion, valor, better part of, and all that make for a limiting blogging experience.
So, what can I talk about? Well, today was yet another Welcome To The World Of The Federal Employee kind of day, when I found myself incredibly irritated with tourons in DC. I had to go down for training at an agency that, like so many agencies, is fairly close to the mall and monuments. I may not live or work there-- and indeed, I am usually one of those visitors I'm demonizing-- but god DAMN people, some of us have to get TO WORK. So MOVE your ass and stop blocking sidewalks and stop stopping short to take pictures.
It was a new thought, an alien thought that found purchase as I go from one of them to one of another set of them. And the federal employee boots got broken in just a little more.
At any rate, I'm relaxing after an 11 hour workday (where my coworker sincerely offered a hug because it was just that frazzling) with CodependentKitty, a delicious beverage, and what's this? Night of the Living Dead on cable? Perfect. "Yeah, they're dead. They're... all messed up." If for nothing else, I love Halloween for all of the classic horror films. I really wish I had The Shining on hand-- the theme song was on the shuttle driver's playlist as he drove us into DC, giving me an absolute fit of giggles. Too bad my popcorn-making pot is dirty, else my night would be complete. I'll settle for finishing this post & making it look a little more seasonally appropriate around these parts.
So, what can I talk about? Well, today was yet another Welcome To The World Of The Federal Employee kind of day, when I found myself incredibly irritated with tourons in DC. I had to go down for training at an agency that, like so many agencies, is fairly close to the mall and monuments. I may not live or work there-- and indeed, I am usually one of those visitors I'm demonizing-- but god DAMN people, some of us have to get TO WORK. So MOVE your ass and stop blocking sidewalks and stop stopping short to take pictures.
It was a new thought, an alien thought that found purchase as I go from one of them to one of another set of them. And the federal employee boots got broken in just a little more.
At any rate, I'm relaxing after an 11 hour workday (where my coworker sincerely offered a hug because it was just that frazzling) with CodependentKitty, a delicious beverage, and what's this? Night of the Living Dead on cable? Perfect. "Yeah, they're dead. They're... all messed up." If for nothing else, I love Halloween for all of the classic horror films. I really wish I had The Shining on hand-- the theme song was on the shuttle driver's playlist as he drove us into DC, giving me an absolute fit of giggles. Too bad my popcorn-making pot is dirty, else my night would be complete. I'll settle for finishing this post & making it look a little more seasonally appropriate around these parts.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
stinkbugs and sleepwalking
Some days I feel like I'm regressing. Not just when I notice how long my hair is getting again, or when I'm wearing black-ish nail polish (which is ostensibly chic-ish once more), or even when I noticed that I was wearing a plaid shirt and light wash jeans (maybe I'll be lost in the 90s again for Halloween this year!), but when I encounter a (EUCH!) cockroach mere days after my apartment was supposedly treated or (EUCH!) two* stinkbugs that snuck into my bedroom and I just want to assume the fetal position because I really DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH IT, but I HAVE to because I'm an ADULT who lives ALONE and junk so there's NOBODY ELSE and I don't want to NOT KNOW where they are so I HAVE to take care of them IMMEDIATELY. So, euch.
*I'm not sure if they were two, or the same one I sucked up into the vacuum cleaner managed to escape and plot its deadly revenge upon me. The situations are equally disturbing.
Alright, now that I've mostly got that out of my system, can I tell you what a freaking weird week it's been? Not really, because that would be revealing far more detail on a blog about work and other sensitive matters. But I assure you, it's been a bizarre week. Not just a bizarre week, but a bizarre ass week. And when a week has earned the "ass" modifier, you know it has been quite a week indeed.
Of the things this week that I do feel at liberty to share with the (totally hypothetical) large audience (did I mention hypothetical? I know I can count my readers with one hand) that may potentially see this blog, I can share why I remembered why I don't really wear red lipstick. For one thing, I spent my day paranoid that I looked like a clown when it was fresh and that it looked gross and uneven when more than five minutes old. For another, it gets everywhere. By which I mean EVERYWHERE. Lame.
Also lame? The noises that woke me up at quarter to four this morning. Because then I couldn't get back to sleep and I sleepwalked (sleptwalk? sleptwalked?) through the day. Not a good way to go through the kind of day where you need to be on point with teeny details while everything seems fraught with delicate interpersonal relationships.
*I'm not sure if they were two, or the same one I sucked up into the vacuum cleaner managed to escape and plot its deadly revenge upon me. The situations are equally disturbing.
Alright, now that I've mostly got that out of my system, can I tell you what a freaking weird week it's been? Not really, because that would be revealing far more detail on a blog about work and other sensitive matters. But I assure you, it's been a bizarre week. Not just a bizarre week, but a bizarre ass week. And when a week has earned the "ass" modifier, you know it has been quite a week indeed.
Of the things this week that I do feel at liberty to share with the (totally hypothetical) large audience (did I mention hypothetical? I know I can count my readers with one hand) that may potentially see this blog, I can share why I remembered why I don't really wear red lipstick. For one thing, I spent my day paranoid that I looked like a clown when it was fresh and that it looked gross and uneven when more than five minutes old. For another, it gets everywhere. By which I mean EVERYWHERE. Lame.
Also lame? The noises that woke me up at quarter to four this morning. Because then I couldn't get back to sleep and I sleepwalked (sleptwalk? sleptwalked?) through the day. Not a good way to go through the kind of day where you need to be on point with teeny details while everything seems fraught with delicate interpersonal relationships.
Monday, October 11, 2010
insert clever title here
Because I am a (allegedly) lazy ass federal employee sucking at the teat of the taxpayer-- though I am most assuredly also a taxpayer, so I'm still trying to figure that out-- I'm home today. Though I have a lot of things to do, and I'm severely sleep deprived. So whilst I await my laundry-- and I assure you, it's not nearly all of the laundry I have to do, just the laundry that I needed to get done so that I don't have to rewear more clothes-- I finally downloaded pictures from my camera so I can start posting to Flickr again. I mean, I paid for the Pro status so I'd better use it.
The problem with slightly older pictures for someone in my position (that is, a recent transplant) is that they make you homesick. I saw a very large (Orthodox) Jewish extended family in Target yesterday-- and was immediately pierced with longing for my crappy but homey apartment and all of Squirrel Hill. All of the east end. I miss the 61C (the cafe, but I kind of miss the bus too now that I don't use public transportation daily) and having that kind of cozy hangout open until late. I miss stir fry with rice cakes from Rose Tea and dropping by the Sq. Hill CLP branch. I miss happy hours at Kelly's and Big Azz margaritas from Mad Mex, and not being surrounded by tacky purple.
The problem with slightly older pictures for someone in my position (that is, a recent transplant) is that they make you homesick. I saw a very large (Orthodox) Jewish extended family in Target yesterday-- and was immediately pierced with longing for my crappy but homey apartment and all of Squirrel Hill. All of the east end. I miss the 61C (the cafe, but I kind of miss the bus too now that I don't use public transportation daily) and having that kind of cozy hangout open until late. I miss stir fry with rice cakes from Rose Tea and dropping by the Sq. Hill CLP branch. I miss happy hours at Kelly's and Big Azz margaritas from Mad Mex, and not being surrounded by tacky purple.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
We can't stop here. This is bat country.
Hunter S. Thompson made my little whiteboard this week at work. The resultant conversations made me nostalgic for undergrad days.
I turned my heat on. It was either that or I learn how to function with two cats permanently attached to my lap. I daresay fall is definitely here.
At some point, I'll get around to looking over my pictures from the Banks and post them to Flickr. It was a depressingly awful trip-- sick, almost non-stop rain, speeding ticket of questionable fairness, and cutting my part even shorter so I could skedaddle before the briefly nameable tropical system made the drive back to Baltimore even more fun. No sailing. I didn't make it to see all of the lighthouses. My swimsuit went unworn. Pretty pathetic. At least NuJeep got to ride the ferry and go on the beach. Talk about putting it through its paces.
I think the only drivers scarier than Maryland drivers are Virginia drivers. Seriously. I was on 64 between Hampton & Richmond in a driving rain, water ponding across the road, visibility down to 25 yards... and for about five miles, I had a tiny silver-grey car tailgating me. With no headlights on, for extra invisibility. Really freaking unnerving.
At any rate, let's focus on the positive. One week from today I'll be in NY, dragging my momma to MOMA to see Mats. Yay! I do so like New York, like any good East Coaster that doesn't actually live there. Not in the possessive kind of way that people who live in the New Jersey or Connecticut or Long Island exurbs do, but in the respectful, what an amazing city kind of way. Even though I'd still rather live in Pittsburgh over Manhattan. And now I'm only three hours away and a Megabus ride away. Speaking of which, I should probably finish going through my pictures from May...
I turned my heat on. It was either that or I learn how to function with two cats permanently attached to my lap. I daresay fall is definitely here.
At some point, I'll get around to looking over my pictures from the Banks and post them to Flickr. It was a depressingly awful trip-- sick, almost non-stop rain, speeding ticket of questionable fairness, and cutting my part even shorter so I could skedaddle before the briefly nameable tropical system made the drive back to Baltimore even more fun. No sailing. I didn't make it to see all of the lighthouses. My swimsuit went unworn. Pretty pathetic. At least NuJeep got to ride the ferry and go on the beach. Talk about putting it through its paces.
I think the only drivers scarier than Maryland drivers are Virginia drivers. Seriously. I was on 64 between Hampton & Richmond in a driving rain, water ponding across the road, visibility down to 25 yards... and for about five miles, I had a tiny silver-grey car tailgating me. With no headlights on, for extra invisibility. Really freaking unnerving.
At any rate, let's focus on the positive. One week from today I'll be in NY, dragging my momma to MOMA to see Mats. Yay! I do so like New York, like any good East Coaster that doesn't actually live there. Not in the possessive kind of way that people who live in the New Jersey or Connecticut or Long Island exurbs do, but in the respectful, what an amazing city kind of way. Even though I'd still rather live in Pittsburgh over Manhattan. And now I'm only three hours away and a Megabus ride away. Speaking of which, I should probably finish going through my pictures from May...
Friday, August 20, 2010
tomorrow's just an excuse away
There's something vaguely ominous about this week being my last full week of 30. In seven days I am really, truly, irrevocably In My Thirties. While I'm hardly ashamed of my age-- no perma-29 for me, unlike my mother-- my response has been to be generally immature all week. Nothing major, just doing things like blasting Smashing Pumpkins while driving around aimlessly and eating breakfast for dinner.
(That really is a fantastic song)
I think part of the nagging unsettled feeling is the sadness that I'm officially closing out my apartment. My little piece of Pittsburgh will cease to be mine and become just another memory to gather dust and cobwebs. No going back now, no olly-olly-ox-in-free. No more studio that I mockingly called the penthouse and still imagine it waiting there (as it was months ago), waiting for me to come home (even as I sit on the same couch here in Baltimore). Now I don't even have a bed at my parents' (that now resides in my guest bedroom for when they visit). Believe you me, there's nothing that makes you feel more like you don't belong than having to sleep on a godforsakenly uncomfortable couch without even a pillow at "home."
But. Closing one chapter means truly starting the next. Now that I won't be driving to Pittsburgh practically every weekend (I swear, I know 70 & the PA turnpike as well as my route to work anymore), I can focus on developing a life in Baltimore.
If only I knew what to do with myself.
(That really is a fantastic song)
I think part of the nagging unsettled feeling is the sadness that I'm officially closing out my apartment. My little piece of Pittsburgh will cease to be mine and become just another memory to gather dust and cobwebs. No going back now, no olly-olly-ox-in-free. No more studio that I mockingly called the penthouse and still imagine it waiting there (as it was months ago), waiting for me to come home (even as I sit on the same couch here in Baltimore). Now I don't even have a bed at my parents' (that now resides in my guest bedroom for when they visit). Believe you me, there's nothing that makes you feel more like you don't belong than having to sleep on a godforsakenly uncomfortable couch without even a pillow at "home."
But. Closing one chapter means truly starting the next. Now that I won't be driving to Pittsburgh practically every weekend (I swear, I know 70 & the PA turnpike as well as my route to work anymore), I can focus on developing a life in Baltimore.
If only I knew what to do with myself.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
No, really, I'm not making this up.
I HAVE HAD WEEZER STUCK IN MY HEAD FOR DAYS, PEOPLE. Do you KNOW what this is DOING TO ME? And Weezer is just not the band to have stuck in your head when you're trying to hurry up and get over a completely inappropriate crush. Just saying.
People who've known me for a while (you know who you are) are accustomed to me being, well, me. When I meet new people, it's always a little challenging. I mean, I've kind of bounced around for the first 30 years of my life trying different things. People who've known me for a while know this, but people who are just meeting me for the first time get kind of weirded out. Take the following statement: I am an alumna of a sorority.
You have a certain image in your head. Doesn't matter what. Could be a dumb blonde with big rack. Could be a complete snob. Then take the next statements:
I have a chemistry degree from a top private university and a public health degree from a top public health program. Okay, now reconcile it with the first statement. Your image has been refined-- probably more of a snob. Parents probably white collar professionals, if not bohemian artist types. Take the next statement:
I was a girl scout and attended Catholic school for 13 years. Goody two shoes. Totes. Then take the next step:
Former junior volunteer firefighter. Former Jeopardy! champ. Okay, wait. That's kind of pushing the limits of credibility, isn't it? Shit just comes up in conversation-- do you have any sort of first aid/ emergency experience? Well, yes, I had CPR and first aid certs for a long time that I just let lapse, and I was a vollie for two years. And I was defacto floor marshal at my former job thanks to working evenings. I mentioned missing my burgundy hair, then had to find the only easily found photo of me with burgundy hair to prove that it works with my complexion-- my Jeopardy! photo. So I talked about J! and firefighting today to coworkers. It's awkward, because it makes me feel like I'm bragging. Jeopardy was a lot of fun, but it's not like I did super well. Firefighting is hard work-- and sometimes, people die. Tragedy does not make for pleasant conversation. It's just, people ask how you know something or about your experiences or whatever, and stuff comes up. I just happen to be like a minor league Forrest Gump who's happened to have a variety of weird experiences-- nothing glamorous like more fortunate acquaintances that have had the money and time to travel extensively and do all kinds of cool stuff, but way more than a kid from the Mon Valley usually has under their belt. And it makes me really uncomfortable when people make a big deal about stuff-- like my cube neighbor, who told, like, everyone that I was on Jeopardy. I mean, it's cool and all, and he was just being nice, but I'm really uncomfortable with that much attention. And then I'm worried that the people he told thought I was some kind of braggart wanting my ego stoked. You know what I mean?
Anyway. Just something that bugged today. My mom, being my mom, would probably just tell me that I should be proud, blah blah blah. But that's what moms say.
People who've known me for a while (you know who you are) are accustomed to me being, well, me. When I meet new people, it's always a little challenging. I mean, I've kind of bounced around for the first 30 years of my life trying different things. People who've known me for a while know this, but people who are just meeting me for the first time get kind of weirded out. Take the following statement: I am an alumna of a sorority.
You have a certain image in your head. Doesn't matter what. Could be a dumb blonde with big rack. Could be a complete snob. Then take the next statements:
I have a chemistry degree from a top private university and a public health degree from a top public health program. Okay, now reconcile it with the first statement. Your image has been refined-- probably more of a snob. Parents probably white collar professionals, if not bohemian artist types. Take the next statement:
I was a girl scout and attended Catholic school for 13 years. Goody two shoes. Totes. Then take the next step:
Former junior volunteer firefighter. Former Jeopardy! champ. Okay, wait. That's kind of pushing the limits of credibility, isn't it? Shit just comes up in conversation-- do you have any sort of first aid/ emergency experience? Well, yes, I had CPR and first aid certs for a long time that I just let lapse, and I was a vollie for two years. And I was defacto floor marshal at my former job thanks to working evenings. I mentioned missing my burgundy hair, then had to find the only easily found photo of me with burgundy hair to prove that it works with my complexion-- my Jeopardy! photo. So I talked about J! and firefighting today to coworkers. It's awkward, because it makes me feel like I'm bragging. Jeopardy was a lot of fun, but it's not like I did super well. Firefighting is hard work-- and sometimes, people die. Tragedy does not make for pleasant conversation. It's just, people ask how you know something or about your experiences or whatever, and stuff comes up. I just happen to be like a minor league Forrest Gump who's happened to have a variety of weird experiences-- nothing glamorous like more fortunate acquaintances that have had the money and time to travel extensively and do all kinds of cool stuff, but way more than a kid from the Mon Valley usually has under their belt. And it makes me really uncomfortable when people make a big deal about stuff-- like my cube neighbor, who told, like, everyone that I was on Jeopardy. I mean, it's cool and all, and he was just being nice, but I'm really uncomfortable with that much attention. And then I'm worried that the people he told thought I was some kind of braggart wanting my ego stoked. You know what I mean?
Anyway. Just something that bugged today. My mom, being my mom, would probably just tell me that I should be proud, blah blah blah. But that's what moms say.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
T-minus 30 days
Exactly one month left in Pittsburgh.
I am no longer homeless in Baltimore. I found a nice quiet place with two bedrooms, a large! balcony, a smaller but nice pool, and is cat-friendly. The residents I met have lived there for ages (literally over a decade). And if it turns out to be less nice than it seemed for the 90+ minutes we were there, it's just for a year. The area itself is, well, going to be an adjustment as a whole.
I'm alternating between excited and up for adventure, nervous enough to make myself sick, absolutely NOT wanting to pack and carry my stuff downstairs, and deeply saddened by knowing that I'm leaving definitely for two years, probably for good. There's that twinge of guilt when talking to some people who are genuinely sad to see me go, and that twinge of hurt at non-responses to my invitations to do something before I leave. It's a roller coaster of fun.
But onwards and upwards. Or further up and further in. Something. It's amazing to me how something as simple as a long shower can make you feel better. And it's amazing to me how my one horrifically damaged orchid clings to life, growing a keiki and three tiny new canes. My harlequin phal also has a keiki, plus one bud. My Den atroviolaceum is still in bloom-- two months and counting. I will no longer have a window in my bathroom in my new place-- my orchids are going to require some planning. I need a moderately large table top terrarium, but trying to find one that's tall enough to accommodate my Aliceara and does not come already filled with plants is tricky. Amazon, you have failed me.
Speaking of collections, I need to photograph my Fiesta collection as I pack it up. I do have a decent sized collection now, though I can't positively identify one bowl. I mean, I know it's Fiesta-- it came from the factory store-- but what it is...hmmm.
I wonder if my postcard collection is going to turn up?
I am no longer homeless in Baltimore. I found a nice quiet place with two bedrooms, a large! balcony, a smaller but nice pool, and is cat-friendly. The residents I met have lived there for ages (literally over a decade). And if it turns out to be less nice than it seemed for the 90+ minutes we were there, it's just for a year. The area itself is, well, going to be an adjustment as a whole.
I'm alternating between excited and up for adventure, nervous enough to make myself sick, absolutely NOT wanting to pack and carry my stuff downstairs, and deeply saddened by knowing that I'm leaving definitely for two years, probably for good. There's that twinge of guilt when talking to some people who are genuinely sad to see me go, and that twinge of hurt at non-responses to my invitations to do something before I leave. It's a roller coaster of fun.
But onwards and upwards. Or further up and further in. Something. It's amazing to me how something as simple as a long shower can make you feel better. And it's amazing to me how my one horrifically damaged orchid clings to life, growing a keiki and three tiny new canes. My harlequin phal also has a keiki, plus one bud. My Den atroviolaceum is still in bloom-- two months and counting. I will no longer have a window in my bathroom in my new place-- my orchids are going to require some planning. I need a moderately large table top terrarium, but trying to find one that's tall enough to accommodate my Aliceara and does not come already filled with plants is tricky. Amazon, you have failed me.
Speaking of collections, I need to photograph my Fiesta collection as I pack it up. I do have a decent sized collection now, though I can't positively identify one bowl. I mean, I know it's Fiesta-- it came from the factory store-- but what it is...hmmm.
I wonder if my postcard collection is going to turn up?
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
counting the days
I had a King family reading fest-- Under the Dome and Horns. Dome was not great, but far better than most of SK's recent stuff. Horns was even better than Heart Shaped Box. There are little bits in Dome where you can so tell that SK has had a corgi (one of the main characters has one). It's really funny, though you might have to have one to really appreciate it.
Bleh. I'm so bored, waiting around to hear whether anyone wants me to do anything for a month. I've put in with several temp agencies and volunteer inquiries to see if I can give these few weeks some shape. I'm not used to this.
I'm also kind of tired of feeling like those closest to me don't exactly respect my career choices. I consider myself fairly moderate (except when it comes to social issues), but that still puts me pretty far to the left of most of my family. Guess that's what happens when you actually listened when the nuns talked about the original dirty hippie. Anyway, I chose to study public health/ health policy and now I'm choosing to work for the feds in a pretty important, pretty big agency. Which is like, the antithesis of conservatism on the face of it. Public health is all about pragmatic liberalism. And wanting to work for the feds automatically makes me a pencil-pushing bureaucrat worthy of withering contempt. It kind of sucks when the congratulations are tempered with the suspicion that they think I'm an idiot.
Let's think about something happy now. Ducks?
see more Lolcats and funny pictures
It's funny because I did have ducky minions once. They were so excited by crackers that they followed me around and even allowed me to pet them.
Bleh. I'm so bored, waiting around to hear whether anyone wants me to do anything for a month. I've put in with several temp agencies and volunteer inquiries to see if I can give these few weeks some shape. I'm not used to this.
I'm also kind of tired of feeling like those closest to me don't exactly respect my career choices. I consider myself fairly moderate (except when it comes to social issues), but that still puts me pretty far to the left of most of my family. Guess that's what happens when you actually listened when the nuns talked about the original dirty hippie. Anyway, I chose to study public health/ health policy and now I'm choosing to work for the feds in a pretty important, pretty big agency. Which is like, the antithesis of conservatism on the face of it. Public health is all about pragmatic liberalism. And wanting to work for the feds automatically makes me a pencil-pushing bureaucrat worthy of withering contempt. It kind of sucks when the congratulations are tempered with the suspicion that they think I'm an idiot.
Let's think about something happy now. Ducks?
see more Lolcats and funny pictures
It's funny because I did have ducky minions once. They were so excited by crackers that they followed me around and even allowed me to pet them.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
no, you can't go back
Carnival makes me feel old now. I don't know where I'm going to be even two months from now, nor do I know the next time I'll be around for Carnival, so I thought I should go for a little bit even though I have the Master Essay of Damocles hanging over my head.
Despite officially severing all ties other than "alumna" not that long ago, so much has changed on campus that it was rather disorienting being back. For one thing, I didn't smell the weird smells that I came to associate with Mother Wean. I suppose that's from CS migrating to the Gates monstrosity. The asbestos and mercury mines known as the undergraduate chemistry labs have been replaced with sleek, modern counterparts while the originals have been completely converted to classroom and other spaces. There are huge windows in lecture halls where I learned calculus in almost complete darkness, and while I participated in my sorority transforming into another, the all new house is filled with all new sisters who have no concept whatsoever of who or what the chapter used to be. The few who straggled back clung to one another, familiar faces in a sea of strangers in a familiar place turned strange. Another group was the opposite. So many in virtual stasis, reluctant to truly change even as they age. I don't think that I'm aging that much myself just yet. Or am I? People had issues recognizing me, I think. Even people who are FB "friends". I look like crap at present, even worse than usual-- but despite the lines under my eyes and the noticeable effects of not having time to be as active as I'd like, I still have to show my license to prove that I'm thirty. I'm a more natural "redhead" growing my hair out, so there's that cue lost (whether I was known as a someone with long, blond hair or short, burgundy hair), but I'm still taller than at least 80% of the males on that campus. Being virtually invisible has its advantages at times. It's nice to quietly observe and selectively interact. I didn't stay long-- a trip around midway, token appearances, a few hellos and renewed acquaintances, then fading away.
Hm. Exhaustion and a nightcap make for one loquacious (though by no means eloquent) blogger. I think that means it's time for bed.
Despite officially severing all ties other than "alumna" not that long ago, so much has changed on campus that it was rather disorienting being back. For one thing, I didn't smell the weird smells that I came to associate with Mother Wean. I suppose that's from CS migrating to the Gates monstrosity. The asbestos and mercury mines known as the undergraduate chemistry labs have been replaced with sleek, modern counterparts while the originals have been completely converted to classroom and other spaces. There are huge windows in lecture halls where I learned calculus in almost complete darkness, and while I participated in my sorority transforming into another, the all new house is filled with all new sisters who have no concept whatsoever of who or what the chapter used to be. The few who straggled back clung to one another, familiar faces in a sea of strangers in a familiar place turned strange. Another group was the opposite. So many in virtual stasis, reluctant to truly change even as they age. I don't think that I'm aging that much myself just yet. Or am I? People had issues recognizing me, I think. Even people who are FB "friends". I look like crap at present, even worse than usual-- but despite the lines under my eyes and the noticeable effects of not having time to be as active as I'd like, I still have to show my license to prove that I'm thirty. I'm a more natural "redhead" growing my hair out, so there's that cue lost (whether I was known as a someone with long, blond hair or short, burgundy hair), but I'm still taller than at least 80% of the males on that campus. Being virtually invisible has its advantages at times. It's nice to quietly observe and selectively interact. I didn't stay long-- a trip around midway, token appearances, a few hellos and renewed acquaintances, then fading away.
Hm. Exhaustion and a nightcap make for one loquacious (though by no means eloquent) blogger. I think that means it's time for bed.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
I want to run/ I want to hide
Some days you just need to run away. Today was one of those days. I spent the morning hiking through the park conveniently between myself and the blood drive where I needed to go (I couldn't donate anyway this time because I'm still on antibiotics-- I just blew off the appointment because Schenley was gorgeous and Phipps called out for me to stop by), then driving out into the country. It was a good day to ramble. The radio cooperated, with lots of 90s/ early 00s (I haven't listened to Dirty Vegas in ages!) and oldies to accompany with my crappy voice. Poor jeepzilla is not happy that it's 80-something. Poor jeepzilla needs a radiator. But still it goes, and every time I arrive safe and sound I pat the dash. That'll do, jeep. That'll do.
Yes, really. Or "Good job jeep."
Now I'm exhausted. Full of grilled chicken and the most delicious fresh asparagus (nice and thin, very tender) and home again with DamnCat and FatCat, both of which are acting out because TheHuman had the temerity to leave them alone. Heaven forfend! DamnCat is actually half on the chair, half on top of my backpack, and glaring at me for daring to not throw myself at her tiny paws in supplication. FatCat just demolished the fourth out of the six drawers in my dresser. Can kids be any worse than the brats (who are now SociopathCat and NutjobCat)?
Kids. Yeah, I guess once I graduate... and get a job... maybe then I'll dip another toe into the dating pool. We'll see. I'm tired of guys who lie, guys who use you to work out their issues from their exes, guys who use you to cheat on their alleged exes, guys who are intimidated by my education, guys who feel hopelessly emasculated when they see jeepzilla is about five times as big as their vehicle, short guys with Napoleon complexes, non-drinkers that suggest meeting up at brewhouses, guys who drink out of flasks, guys who think that rolling chicken in Cheez-it crumbs is the height of culinary sophistication, guys who yell at you on a first date (then wonder why their "debating" doesn't get you hot), guys who literally do not own more than five books-- including the manual for their computer, guys who cannot accept any disagreement (even a preference for tea over coffee), guys who tell me that I'm a terrible Catholic-- not for supporting gay marriage or being pro-choice, mind you, but for thinking there should be female and married priests. Really, I know I'm far from perfect, but can you blame me for being just so tired of it all?
Sometimes I wonder what might have been, were certain things a little different. If only I had been single when I met that one person, or if this or that didn't happen. I think we all do that kind of thing. There's one in particular... but it doesn't matter. Years too late now. I hope that they're happy, but I refuse to give in to temptation and google them or look them up on Facebook to find out. Besides, I am, as La Mère has observed, disturbingly independent. I do not need a boyfriend or spouse to make me whole and happy. If anything, being attached held me back in the past. Someday, I'll meet someone who reads as much as I do and can obsessively follows the NFL, with a diverse palate and an appreciation of cult film-- who also lets me pick the music we listen to in the car half of the time. I've realized that radio/ music hogs are a major peeve. But I'm hardly suffering for want of a significant other.
Ah well. I am so very tired, but there are miles to go before I sleep.
Yes, really. Or "Good job jeep."
Now I'm exhausted. Full of grilled chicken and the most delicious fresh asparagus (nice and thin, very tender) and home again with DamnCat and FatCat, both of which are acting out because TheHuman had the temerity to leave them alone. Heaven forfend! DamnCat is actually half on the chair, half on top of my backpack, and glaring at me for daring to not throw myself at her tiny paws in supplication. FatCat just demolished the fourth out of the six drawers in my dresser. Can kids be any worse than the brats (who are now SociopathCat and NutjobCat)?
Kids. Yeah, I guess once I graduate... and get a job... maybe then I'll dip another toe into the dating pool. We'll see. I'm tired of guys who lie, guys who use you to work out their issues from their exes, guys who use you to cheat on their alleged exes, guys who are intimidated by my education, guys who feel hopelessly emasculated when they see jeepzilla is about five times as big as their vehicle, short guys with Napoleon complexes, non-drinkers that suggest meeting up at brewhouses, guys who drink out of flasks, guys who think that rolling chicken in Cheez-it crumbs is the height of culinary sophistication, guys who yell at you on a first date (then wonder why their "debating" doesn't get you hot), guys who literally do not own more than five books-- including the manual for their computer, guys who cannot accept any disagreement (even a preference for tea over coffee), guys who tell me that I'm a terrible Catholic-- not for supporting gay marriage or being pro-choice, mind you, but for thinking there should be female and married priests. Really, I know I'm far from perfect, but can you blame me for being just so tired of it all?
Sometimes I wonder what might have been, were certain things a little different. If only I had been single when I met that one person, or if this or that didn't happen. I think we all do that kind of thing. There's one in particular... but it doesn't matter. Years too late now. I hope that they're happy, but I refuse to give in to temptation and google them or look them up on Facebook to find out. Besides, I am, as La Mère has observed, disturbingly independent. I do not need a boyfriend or spouse to make me whole and happy. If anything, being attached held me back in the past. Someday, I'll meet someone who reads as much as I do and can obsessively follows the NFL, with a diverse palate and an appreciation of cult film-- who also lets me pick the music we listen to in the car half of the time. I've realized that radio/ music hogs are a major peeve. But I'm hardly suffering for want of a significant other.
Ah well. I am so very tired, but there are miles to go before I sleep.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Happy Easter, or as is said in our church: Хрїстóсъ воскрéсе! Воистину воскресе!
Or if you go old school: Χριστός ἀνέστη! Ἀληθῶς ἀνέστη!
My miserable cold of three weeks and counting turns out to be a persistent sinus infection spreading to the chest. So, for those of you counting at home, this month has featured almost going blind/ essentially not being able to use my right eye for a week and a half, a three week and counting nasty sinus infection that didn't want to stay in my sinuses, and a grievously ill (to the point where we thought he was dying) doggie. Among other things. Is it any wonder that I feel a little... cursed? Of course, none of these things is terribly conducive to work and I'm desperately behind, which is why I left for the library on a Sunday morning instead of doing Easter things as I'd prefer. Except, in keeping with the cursed theme, the med school library is on an unannounced holiday schedule and isn't opening until noon. If there weren't paper materials in this library I need to see, I would have gone elsewhere. As it is, by the time I went elsewhere, this library would be open. So I've been killing time in a school with which I'm not entirely familiar, on an uncomfortable little couch stuck between elevators and escalators. There's no room to spread out and start doing real work, and everything I've got is in full view of every random person walking past (yes, I know you're reading over my shoulder as I type, random girl).
Sigh.
Anyway, back to the holiday. Easter is actually my favorite religious holiday, and I'm really tired of the whole "Look at how irreverent I am" crap I see from certain quarters. Look, it's fine if you're not religious, but "ironic" hipster offensiveness is still plain offensive. Yes, I know that there are a frightening number of nutjobs that use religion as an excuse for everything from asshattery to murder, but clearly I'm not one of them, and I hardly think it's appropriate to be an ass to someone you know (or even "know") as a way of striking back or something at those nutjobs.
Fifteen more minutes until the library opens. Fricking finally.
Or if you go old school: Χριστός ἀνέστη! Ἀληθῶς ἀνέστη!
My miserable cold of three weeks and counting turns out to be a persistent sinus infection spreading to the chest. So, for those of you counting at home, this month has featured almost going blind/ essentially not being able to use my right eye for a week and a half, a three week and counting nasty sinus infection that didn't want to stay in my sinuses, and a grievously ill (to the point where we thought he was dying) doggie. Among other things. Is it any wonder that I feel a little... cursed? Of course, none of these things is terribly conducive to work and I'm desperately behind, which is why I left for the library on a Sunday morning instead of doing Easter things as I'd prefer. Except, in keeping with the cursed theme, the med school library is on an unannounced holiday schedule and isn't opening until noon. If there weren't paper materials in this library I need to see, I would have gone elsewhere. As it is, by the time I went elsewhere, this library would be open. So I've been killing time in a school with which I'm not entirely familiar, on an uncomfortable little couch stuck between elevators and escalators. There's no room to spread out and start doing real work, and everything I've got is in full view of every random person walking past (yes, I know you're reading over my shoulder as I type, random girl).
Sigh.
Anyway, back to the holiday. Easter is actually my favorite religious holiday, and I'm really tired of the whole "Look at how irreverent I am" crap I see from certain quarters. Look, it's fine if you're not religious, but "ironic" hipster offensiveness is still plain offensive. Yes, I know that there are a frightening number of nutjobs that use religion as an excuse for everything from asshattery to murder, but clearly I'm not one of them, and I hardly think it's appropriate to be an ass to someone you know (or even "know") as a way of striking back or something at those nutjobs.
Fifteen more minutes until the library opens. Fricking finally.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
tonight, on insomniac theatre
I redo my blog layout, because one can only toss and turn for so many hours before doing something semi-productive. I'm curious to see how it turns out when I fully regain my normal vision (which should be in about another week, according to the ophthalmologist I saw today).
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