It's been a long, exhausting week here on the West Bank. All I can say is that at least Moshe hasn't started building a wall. There is no room here for ghettos. There is no peace yet, but I think there is a mutual cease fire.
Honestly, I cannot explain what exhausted me this week. Nothing much has really happened. I had a couple of extra trips to the health center, but nothing important. Maybe it's just that I haven't had a decent night's sleep since the Saturday before last. Underdeveloped puppy bladders suck. I'm sure the DH has it worse because at 2:00am, I just wake him up and make him trek down the stairs to take the puppy out. Yes, I'm evil like that. I firmly believe it is one of my wifely duties.
At the coffee shop this morning I made good progress on my article. I have some ideas that I think will be interesting. I'm just not sure how it all still has to do with hospitality. I'll figure that out. Don't forget, I'm a rhetorician, I can make it all sound good even if it makes no sense. Well, that is not really true, but good sources help. One of my editors suggested...doesn't that sound cool, I have editors, anyway he suggested I look at Kathleen Jamieson's work. It's really perfect for what I want to write. Woo Hoo!
A few weeks ago I received a letter from the hospital. It asked me to contact my insurance company because it had not responded to the hospital's claim. I didn't get around to it right away and two days later I received a card in the mail from the insurance company saying that they knew there was a claim and not to contact them. So, I left all alone.
Then, yesterday, I received another letter from the hospital asking me to contact my insurance company. So, I called the number on the letter to tell them the insurance company told me not to contact them. I talk to an exceptionally rude woman who treated me like I told the insurance company not to pay. She said, "Well, it's been since October and they haven't paid." As politely as I could I got off the phone, but now I'm really pissed. The hospital has an entire office of people whose JOB is to deal with insurance companies. It's not my job! Seriously, people. What if I had died would they hound the DH like this?
Reading about Bill Clinton's 1991 presidential campaign has be reliving my youth...or, well, rethinking it.
Once I asked my mom when/why she thought I became a feminist. The easy answer was when I did a research paper about it my sophomore year. My mom doesn't usually go with the easy answer. She, like so many other women, equated feminism with the desire to work outside of the home. Her answer was that since she and her mother and many of the other women in my life worked I'd grown up around feminism. It's true. My mother has worked outside of the home ever since I can remember. In fact for a while she was my grandmother's boss -- weird, huh. There were, however, other influences in my life. My favorite Aunt and my paternal grandmother both stayed at home. My aunt had 4 daughters to raise...well, 5 if you count me. I guess since my own mother was always working outside of the home (because we were poor and she had to) I internalized that choice. It didn't ever occur to me that working outside of the home was a choice...or a part of a political stance.
After we moved out west and my mother went back to school, she would have her friends over to study. Whether she or I realize it or not that experience instilled in me the value of education. I saw all of those women stuggle, graduate, and get "decent" office jobs. Hey, when your only work experience was cleaning houseboats an office job looks like a big step forward. Once my mom got her job in the office at the college, she'd talk about and bring over her friends from work. One woman in particular made an impression on me. Christine really was a feminist and, next to my own mother, my first influence. She went out with her husband to buy a car (this was in the 80's) and puposefully paid more because she bought the car at the lot where the salesman talked to her instead of her husband. This was going to be HER car afterall. When I was younger I thought that was the coolest story and that was exactly what feminism meant for me.
As I said I did a research report about feminism my sophomore year of high school. All I really remember is that I did an interview, which I'm sure was full of lame questions and that every other person in the class did stuff like gun control and legalizing prostitution. It wasn't until my senior year, when in a moment of procrastination, I used that research paper again. I reworked it to fullfil an assignment. Once I'd turned the paper in, I didn't think about it again...until, the teacher made me read it outloud. Seriously. For the rest of the year he would ask me what I thought of stuff, as if my opinion were somehow different because I'd said in a paper I was a feminist.
Needless to say that experience turned me off for a little while, well that experience and then the Clinton campaign. I remember how hard it was to be young and idealistic when feminists were getting such poor treatment in the press and media. I also had a hard time reconcilling my own love for the men in my life with an understanding about their sexism. It wasn't until I came back to graduate school that I learned to say simply, "I am a feminist" without providing some sort of caveat.
It would have been just as easy for me to absorb the "stay at home" narrative, but I think my mother's independance and respect for learning was much more of an influence on my than I give it credit for. Growing up poor wasn't always easy, but it instilled values that I sometimes forget and take for granted.
There's no excuse for not working right now. Really. I'm at school. I have all my books, etc. Actually, I really like the book I'm reading right now. I'm glad my editor recommended Kathleen Jamieson.
The problem is I know I'm going to be here all day. I've become jaded and spoiled. Normally, I show up to campus for my office hours and class. That's it. This week I have to be here everyday. Today, today I have to be here until at least 4:30pm. Grr. Arrgh. At least I'll eventually be so bored that I have to work. How do people manage an 8 hour day?
It's true. A student wrote that on an official evaluation. Luckily I wasn't teaching a course in Feminist Theory, because then I would have really failed.
As I sat in bed watching Juno, I was still bothered by Bleeker's lack of involvement in the whole situation. Then the DH came home laid down on the bed and said of Jason Bateman. "He's really gross in this movie." I said, "Yes he is" before I realized we were commenting on two completely different aspects of the film.
The DH thinks Mark is gross for hitting on Juno and, possibly, for abandoning his wife. We agree about that. However, as I listened to Vanessa tell Mark about his "stupid" shirt, I realized this was another aspect of Mark that was gross. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks he still might end up Kurt Cobain - before the suicide; and/or they are upset because they thought they'd die before they were 27 - either way, he is tied to his rock star fantasies.
The shirt is stupid, not because Vanessa doesn't like the band, but because it demonstrates the way Mark is fixated on his past. In the film it is easy to see how Vanessa is fixated and demaning. The house is a shrine to it. It's easy not to see,until it is too late, how tenaciously Mark is clinging to something else. I just want to point out that Vanessa's critique of Mark is a valid one. It's as valid as the critique the film makes of Vanessa; and, it's every bit as "gross" as Mark trying to kiss Juno. However, I think there are a lot of men and women who don't sympathize with Vanessa's position. Heck, the film doesn't even sympathize with her. Just think for a minute of what you remember of Vanessa. It makes fun of her. It is a comedy after all.
There is no one perfect way to "grow - up." In many ways Vanessa is just as wrong as Mark, but by portraying Mark as this cool guy the film is sympathetic to him. It lulls us into forgetting that in reality we should all be able to grow and change.
I just got a call from the neurologist. The MRI looked good. The disection has healed, which means...I get to come off the rat poison and start taking 325mg of aspirin. Woo Hoo!
As you probably know, we have an interesting history with animals. Yasser had to have hip surgery on his left leg before his was year old. Malenovka has a chronic respiratory infection and sneezes everywhere. Cat boogers do not come off the wall easily.
What you probably don't know is that last week we did something really, really stupid. We got a puppy. Isn't he the cutest thing ever? His name is Moshe. It's a nice Israeli name. We figured it was appropriate. We thought we'd try to make a little peace here on the West Bank. We didn't tell anyone at first because it's that stupid.
Do you think you know where this story is going? Last night the DH came home from work and took the dogs out to go to the bathroom. On his way back up Yasser tripped him and the puppy jumped from his arms. Moshe now looks like this Yeah. He broke his leg. We spent most of last night at the emergency vet. Can you see the cast/band that wraps around his belly? They told us we'd might have to move it around so it didn't block his little penis. Well it did block it and we had to hold it back and cut it so that he could pee. We'll have the regular vet fix it today. His poor little penis was all bloated with pee. It was terrible. For now, we're just trying to keep him as immobile as possible. They said it should heal in about 4 weeks.
Yesterday I spent some time in a tube. Not THE tube. A tube. It was MRI day. It wasn't that bad when I felt better and knew what was going on. They put this cage over my head that made me feel a little like Hannibal Lecture. They had to do one test over because I moved to much. But, I am telling you I didn't move AT ALL. From then on they told me not to even swallow. Do they not realize the one effect I can say I have from the stroke is an excess of spit. Really. All day long it's like someone stuck a big juicy steak in front of me. I'm afraid I'll drool on myself without noticing. So, you try it. Don't swallow for 6 minutes. I think they'll call me later with the test results. Frankly, I was so glad to be out of the noisy tube that I forgot to ask. Dumb. I know. Eh.
On a better note... I get to watch the new BSG today! Whoo Hoo! Other obligations kept me from watching last night. Actually a sleeping pill and the best of all sedative (The Empire Stikes Back) kept me from watching last night. Anyway everyone is coming over today to watch, which is good because now we can fast forward through commercials! It is, however, also bad because now I have to clean the house.
About The Empire Strikes Back, is there anyone else who cannot watch this movie without falling asleep before they make it off the ice planet? Sleeping pill or not, all I have to do is put the dvd in and I am out. It's like they've secretly embed opioides in it.
The psychiatrist finally called me back to go over my test results. He didn't give me an actual IQ, which is fine. The good news is....I am not an idiot! It is a load off my mind.
He did say that the time I take switching from subject to subject is a little slow. We'd already talked about that. He seemed concerned that a question during a lecture might throw me off for a few seconds.
Well. I try not to lecture. And. I've always taken a few seconds to get "back on track."
He also said that it's only been three months and this will probably get better over time. Until then "avoid multi-tasking." Ha!
Time to resume the inappropriate humor. As you may, or may not, know one of the signs of a stroke is lack of muscle control on one side of the body...this includes the face.
What you really may not know is that I have a sleepy right eye. It's really hardly noticeable unless I'm tired. The more tired I am, the more that eye droops. Once you figure it out, I really can't lie about my state of being. Jokingly, I used to call it my "stroke" face. Really. Do you see the irony?
The DH told me that one of things I said in response to being told about my stroke was, "I guess I can't joke about my face anymore." Or, something like that. You know, it's really weird to be told things you've said, but don't remember. Normally, I can at least remember the situation, the people involved or something like that, but when other people tell me things I said in the hospital, I have no idea what they are talking about. It's odd...to say the least.
The DH says he knew it was bad when I asked him to get me a People magazine. I typically don't read People.
Fortunately, my face was fine after the stroke. Since, I am super tired today, my sleepy eye is in rare form. I declare "stroke" face back in session.
I know from South Park it's not supposed to be funny for 20 years, but I am not that patient. Plus, it's my face and my stroke. I think that clears me for decision making.
As a rule, if it is past 5:00pm, I do not nap. Really. I try to be a "good" sleeper - keep my naps to 15 -30 minutes, don't nap too late, only use the bed to sleep and you know. Do not sleep on the couch or anywhere else. I don't have non-stroke related sleeping problems, but I think it a good idea not to tempt fate. Mostly, I think I try to be good because the DH's sleep habits are soooo messed up it's ridiculous.
However, tonight after dinner, I laid on the couch and fell asleep for about an hour. This day just wore me out. Initially, I thought I'd have to go to school way early...so, I was up and ready before we negotiated a later start time to my day. Let me tell you, I hated teaching at 1:00pm even before it started.
I like to teach in the morning because, like most other things, I like to get it done. Can I do that at 1:00. No. I sat around the house, trying not to be nervous. When I did manage to get out of the car without the DH pinning a note to my jacket...just mittens, I went to the bookstore and the coffee-shop. (They are both in the student union and connected.) It all took about 20 minutes, but I kept feeling like I was late for class. Grr. Arrgh.
The first day of teaching went fine. There are a couple of things I'll need to mention on Friday, but no major disasters. As the DH has noticed, I'm a little snarkier than I used to be. I think the one thing I lost in the stroke was a filter or two. Since I don't plan to tell this class about the stroke, I had to think of another way to explain all of that. I told them there is a teaching rule about not using sarcasm in the classroom, but that I am not very good at following it. I told them that mostly I'm kidding. That if I unintentionally offend someone they need to talk to me about it. I kind of stress the point. They probably thought I was nuts, but...oh, well.
Like with most things about my life, I'm not actively trying to keep the stroke from them. I just didn't want to open with it. To me, that would seem like a gratuitous plea for sympathy, which is not what I want. I'm sure it will come up sooner or later. I'm not very good at self-censorship. Since, I bought the most OBVIOUS medic-alert bracelet you've ever seen someone will ask sooner or later. It didn't look that bad when I ordered it. I swear.
I haven't been to Reassigned Time for a while so I don't really know what this is all about, but it looks interesting and like something to do for the million hours before I actually teach today.
Reading though the last few days would probably help me out, but I'm too lazy for that. Since I took the blogs I read away from the sidebar, it will give me a good chance to share a few of them again. Here are the rules for this thing...
One thing I'd like to make clear, this is the logo of an award. It's not my award. I am not trying to take anyone's award.
Please put the logo of the award (above) on your blog if you can make it work with your format.
Link to the person from whom you received the award.
Nominate 7 or more blogs.
Put the links of those blogs on your blog.
Leave a message on their blogs to tell them.
Reassigned Time - Don't worry, this won't count toward my 7. I read Dr. Crazy because she is often the person who says what I am thinking. She's is one of the inspirations for this blog...especially, when it was more academic. Most of my decent professional post ideas come from her. I think the inspiration award is really hers and she deserves.
1. Redneck Mommy - Tannis' writing makes me laugh, cry, and fume. I'm even considering a move to Edmonton just to be close to her.
2. Redshirt Knitting - I know Erika and we have some mutual friends. Being new to knitting, it's fun to watch someone start...and, actually finish projects. Erika inspired me to face my yarn stash and start working through it. I don't have the guts to add up all the yardage, but at least I've started some projects to use it up.
3. I Still Hate Pickles - I know Kirsten too. She, and her writing, deserve a little more attention. But I really just keep going back for the cute Sawyer and Tex photos.
4. Dr. Heidi - She keeps me thinking about my own teaching and also keeps me informed on all things in the Whedonverse.
5. The Wind in your Vagina - Black Hockey Jesus rocks my world. In his posts he somehow manages to put all the crap that I read to everday use. Be prepared to wish you could write like this.
6. Shakesville - No list like this would be complete if I didn't include the gang and their teasoppons. Shakesville is one of the first blogs I started and reading and the only one that still shows up on my reader. Melissa McEwan keeps this space up and running. She and all of her contributors work hard to make sure that we all remember that there is still a feminist movement and it needs our attention.
7. You - If you have a blog you'd like me, and hopefully a few other people, to look at let me know.
This is old stuff, which a lot of you can avoid. I don't think I've posted it here before, but Dr. Heidi made me think of it and I wanted to share.
I believe in Angel. No, I am not some raving Joss Whedon fan who wishes she was a slayer and could (with her cadre of super cool friends) save the world and date sexy vampires. I didn't start watching until late in the game, and I don't own any seasons on dvd. Okay, so I do own Firefly, but that is a different essay. Still, I believe in Angel. Rather, I should say I believe that we can all learn a little something from the vampire with soul. In "Deep Down," the opening episode to season four, Angel returns from being trapped in a coffin underwater for three months to confront his son, Connor, who put him there. Without getting too far into their complex story, their relationship is a little dysfunctional because Connor was raised to hate and destroy all vampires, especially Angel. Hence, the whole putting him in a coffin thing.
Angel explains to Connor what he figured out at the bottom of the ocean. "I did get the time to think. About us. About the world. Nothing in this world is the way it ought to be. It's harsh. And cruel. But thats why there's us. Champions. It doesn't matter where we come from. What we've done or suffered or even if we make a difference. We live as though the world was as it should be. To show it what it can be."
This is it, this is what makes me believe in Angel. "We live as though the world was as it should be. To show it what it can be." It's simple. But, say it out loud, give the appropriate pause for that period, and listen to how it sounds. It carries magic. Not the magic that lets us dream of champions, believe that vampires can have souls, and find answers to life's questions in a television show, it's a deeper magic. There is hope in that passage, a hope I sometimes forget about, because there is another truth in that passage.
"Nothing in this world is the way it ought to be. It's harsh. And cruel." It is easy, especially today, to only see what is wrong with the world. From natural disasters to political outrages, from social injustice to individual assaults we are inundated by all the things that are wrong (and those don't cover the struggles we face in our personal lives). The occasional human interest story does nothing to ameliorate the despair that can set in when it seems as if nothing ever changes.
Josh Whedon is right. We need champions. If only to give us hope. Not the hope that they will save the day, the hope that we can save it ourselves. I know it sounds naive and starry-eyed, but what if we could believe in Angel. What if we could believe that if we show the world what it is capable of, the world will change? What if we believed in the magic of hope? I could hardly be called a champion, but isn't that the point. Like Angel said, it doesn't matter if we make a difference, it's about how we live. There are sillier things than believing in vampires. So, I'll believe in Angel. "We live as though the world was as it should be. To show it what it can be."
Last week I had to join Disqus. Well, it was a "had" to, but in order to comment somewhere I needed to do it, so I did. The point is that since I can't figure out how to cancel my account. I've really looked. Really. If the "cancel account" option is there it's really well hidden. Now, I thought, if I can't get rid of it, I'll use it. Would someone please throw me a comment so I can make sure it's all working right.
I realized I need to let you in on the joke. Well, it's not really a joke, but it needs some clarification. In the hospital they began my treatment with an iv of heparin. Heparin is a fast-acting and strong anti-coagulant.. It is delivered by iv because it's effects do not last long. My understanding is it is a first-response measure during a stroke. As I was on the heparin, they began to give me coumodin to help keep my blood thin and keep it from coagulating. As I was released from the re-hab ward, the doctor called the coumodin rat poison. He wasn't kidding.
Technically, I'm not on coumodin anymore. I'm on the generic version warfarin. Here is what wikipedia has to say about warfarin.
Warfarin (also known under the brand names Coumadin, Jantoven, Marevan, and Waran) is an anticoagulant. It was initially marketed as a pesticide against rats and mice, and is still popular for this purpose, although more potent poisons such as brodifacoum have since been developed.
Wikipedia is not the most reliable source in the universe, so here is what the OED says about warfarin.
A water-soluble crystalline anticoagulant used as a selective rodenticide, and as a prophylactic against embolism in the treatment of thrombosis; 3-(3-oxo-1-phenylbutyl)-4-hydroxycoumarin, C19H16O4; (also warfarin sodium) the sodium salt of this.
Please note the fancy words for rat poison. So, while I do try to avoid weird chemicals, I am not kidding when I say I take rat poison everyday.
Today a fellow graduate student posted a comment about Stanley Fish's article in the NYT.
If you work in the Humanities, you know Stanley Fish. If you don't work in the humanities, think of a venerated, thoroughly established professor in your field. The one who actually helped to generate "new theory" in your field. That is who Stanley Fish is to the literary world. However, it's not necessarily who Stanley Fish is to the Rhetoric and Composition world.
This article is meant mainly to provide a book review for a former student, Frank Donoghue. In doing so, it must provide yet another description of how the University is not what it was...blah, blah, blah. Although, I think that Fish does a pretty good job of not falling too far into that trap. He does what he has to because the University if the subject of the book he is reviewing. It's good to see someone other than a rhet/comp person address the adjunct situation, but neither Fish nor Donoghue provide a solution.
Fish says of adjuncts, "Humanities professors like to think that this is a temporary imbalance and talk about was of redressing it, but Donoghue insists that this development, planned by no one but now well underway, cannot be reversed." It's true. I've spoken before about adjunct teaching and my desire to avoid that avenue, but let's face it, if it gives me a job, I'll do it. In reality adjuncts are now a part of the University system, which means two things. They need to be given some job security. In order to really do that the system of tenure needs to be revised.
From Fish's review, it doesn't seem like Donoghue addresses tenure, but it's a system that clearly needs an overhaul. Just think about life outside the University and you'll see that tenure no longer fits. It was designed in a time when people mostly stayed where they were...or, they went somewhere with the intention of staying. Now, even without the pressure of the job market, people move around more, change careers, etc. Tenure is designed to make sure you stay put in a world where that is not necessarily what people want.
I don't have a solution to the current issues with tenure, but it is something I wish Fish would have at least mentioned in his article. Until people like Fish, people who benefitted from that system can see, and say publically, that it no longer works there will be no impetus to change it.
About a month ago, I was seriously ready for this semester to start. Now, it's way too soon. I don't start teaching until Wednesday. The last time I checked only 7 students registered for my class.
A friend almost lost his class and I kind of wish they would just take mine. Don't get me wrong, I'm ready to teach. It's makes me a little nervous right now. When my friend almost lost his class they were going to make him work the time equivalent in the WC. I volunteered to switch places. (He really needs to teach this semester for research.) Now, I think it would have been a nice way to ease back into things if I only worked in the WC this semester. It would fit because I am an intern in the WC training class. Instead, I get to teach my own class, intern, and maybe work in the WC. We're going to talk about it next week. It's certainly not that WC work is easier. I think it is harder than teaching and I don't feel like I've ever been stellar at it. One to one communication is just easier for me. I wish we would have thought of a WC position earlier.
On a completely different note...as you may have noticed I've had a lot of time for TV these days. Because the 5pm-8pm time slot is so abysmal, I started watching NCIS. It's actually not a bad show, in spite of the fact that all the characters are a specific type. Ted Bundy...I mean Mark Harmon is the surly father figure who always goes with his gut. Abby (Pauley Perette) is the crazy goth-on-the-outside, but incredibly perky brilliant scientist. McGee is the newbie...sorry, proby (probationary). He's math whiz, geek kind of doughy faced, but thoughtful and tries to be manly. DiNozzo is the young-male lead, he's a womanizer with the heart of gold complete with the Italian name. He's always impugning McGee's masculinity. David McCallum returns to television as the eccentric, loquacious, m.e. who likes to talk to the bodies. You see this show is great, not because of the writing or acting, but because there is nothing to challenge the viewer.
All of that would be fine. It helps to keep your mind on plot, which is usually topical and often takes a different approach to topics than you might think. Here it comes...wait for it, wait for it...HOWEVER, this show although it does have some strong women characters, completely reinforces some pretty typcial gender roles - particularly when it DiNozzo tries to woo a character. In short the character is the guy at the bar that you would end up throwing a drink on, but on the show it's supposed to be charming and endearing. I started paying attention and really thinking about this when I saw an episode set in a state park. I know therre are many, but this one is where they initially think the guy was mauled by a bear. One of the park rangers is really pretty, passionately anti-hunting, and loves her job. Of course, DiNozzo immediately tries to hit on her. She holds out for a while, but can't resist the charm. It's all going swimmingly. They're supposed to have a date, but then disaster strikes. As she sits on his dek, the ranger starts to rearrange her long hair. She lifts up her arms and..."Oh Noes!!!" She doesn't shave. DiNozzo actually gags, but hangs in there until she puts her leg up on a file cabinet and he can see her legs are nice and hairy too. He makes up some lame excuse to get out of the date and the park ranger looks confused.
Seriously. Do I need to even spell out the problem with the "Ewww...she's hairy" moment? Don't worry, I know you can do that one on your own. I've got different fish to fry.
Let's talk about Ziva David, she is the third member of Gibbs' team. She's supposed to be a former Moussad agent, who now works for us. She's secretly in love with DiNozzo and she shaves. A position she earned by killing her half-brother. Eh. I warned you all about the writing. Cote de Pablo does a fine job. It's the character I have issues with. From what I've noticed there are not any amazingly anti-arab episodes, but the mere presence of her character is a comment on US/Israeli/Palesitinian relations. When she tosses off lines like, "I've seen a 12 yr. old suicide bomber." There's no doubt of whom she is referring. The show is so contemporary and topical, but because they have this character they avoid dealing with the US/Israeli relationship, while tacitly being pro-Israeli. It's a little weird.
That's probably enough analysis of a show that doesn't warrant it.
While I cannot post a picture of myself, enough of you know what I look like to find this amusing. In fact, many of you have heard the story. If you have heard it...just ignore this post.
This is a true story from sometime this summer. I think it was around August. All I really remember is that it was warm. For some reason, around 10 at night I had to stop by the Walgreen's. Now, I usually try to avoid this particular branch because a former student works there. I think I needed something so I stopped on the way to pick the DH up from work. The point isn't my shopping in the evening it's what happened afterwards.
I got whatever it was I needed and left the store. I drive an old black toyota avalon with out of state plates. It's one of the first series of Avalons. I inherited the car from my mother in law, so there isn't anything much more suburban unless it's a mini-van. I may look young, especially at night. I could probably pass for 25.
So, as I was pulling out of the parking lot looking all suburban and innocent a young, woman about 6-8 mos pregnant stopped me. Her truck had out of state plates, so I figured she was going to ask me for directions. She did, kind of...
"Excuse me, Miss." (One of the good things about southern living is politeness.)
"Yes." I said as I stuck my head out the window.
"There was a store down the street that used to sell...um..." She trailed off. Not wanting to say it.
"Oh! Yeah, it just moved across the street. You can see it right over there." I pointed.
"Thank you." She said.
I tried to find a website to link to, but they don't seem to have one. Priscilla McCall's is an Adult store. Why in the world this girl looked at me and thought I'd know where the closest sex store was, I have no idea. But I did know exactly where it was, although I haven't visited the new location.
It's a better story if you know me. Just walking down the street, I don't exactly look like someone who owns toys or porn of any sort. So, it's funny. Trust me.
Battlestar Galactica came back on the air last night. Whoo Hoo! A couple of friends, who don't have cable, came over to watch it. We had fun even though we had to explain a lot to the CP and the DH. I'm sure I will go back and re-watch the episode sometime this week, my first impressions were okay.
SPOILERS
They (possibly) reveal Ellen Tigh as the final cylon. I only say possibly because the realization came to Tigh in a flashback. I'm sure it's correct, but I was a little disappointed. My friends thought it might end up to be some unknown copy of Zack Adama, which I think would have been cool. I was also rooting for Kat. Ellen, well, she wasn't a very sympathetic character to begin with, but it does kind of explain why Saul put up with her.
I didn't like DuWalla, but her suicide was a little sudden. She was, next to the president, the most upset about Earth.
I'm not sure how I feel about the Starbuck trajectory. Once she found her body, I was pretty sure it would be some sort of "sent" back by the Cylon God thing, but I don't want to see her suddenly die or anything once her mission is complete.
Overall, I'm looking forward to the rest of the show. Oh, and I really like Lee in his new role as a politician. There is a different confidence about him that I like.
If you cross section a vein/blood vessel there are three layers the tougher outer layer, the muscular layer, and then a thin layer between the muscle and the area where the blood actually flows.
Apparently what happened to me is that the thin layer tore/ruptured somehow and the blood then made a path through my muscle layer. That path can cause a blockage in the flow of blood through the regular area. Sometimes it can create clots that are then pushed through and end up in the brain causing a stroke. There is a big fibro-muscular something or other name for all of this. Once the stroke is relieved the vein can either repair it self - start flowing normally, or the brain will develop other routes and sources for blood. Or the area will continue to be blocked requiring a shunt.
In order find out if I require a shunt I'll have to have an MRI. If the MRI shows a normal blood flow, then everything is good and that is that. If the MRI is inconclusive, I'll have an angiogram to test the area. The angiogram will show whether or not a shunt is necessary; and, if it is necessary they can put it in right then.
But, the MRI is first. Yeah, noisy small tubes in my future. I know I had an MRI when I was first in the hospital. I don't really remember what it was like, but I do remember it because it was so noisy. Maybe I'll actually get to use the earplugs I received in a care package during comps.
Well, I did write a letter. It had some unexpected consequences. One of you knows already and I'll fill in other people I know, but, I want to be cryptic about it here to protect my identity.
Instead, I'll state how craptactular I think it is that my little sister has to take the dog to be put down. (Before you are too up in arms about the putting him down business...this dog is OLD. He is not healthy and this probably would have been more humane to do about two years ago.)
Yes, it's been my father's dog for a long time now, and I can understand him being too upset to do it; HOWEVER, the Lil' Brat has lived with that dog since she was 9 or 10. I was actually out of the house the final time when they inherited the dog from my aunt. She shouldn't have to do this either. Can't the step-mother be good for something? Grr. Arrgh.
As you can tell, I have no shortage of places to channel my anger.
During my undergraduate career I went to school with several Heathers, Davids, Sarah's. As a result, we would often call people by their full names. Soon it became normal. I have close friends I even think of with two names. It is, however, in other contexts pretty strange.
Since I've been blessed with some quality daytime television time, I've noticed that on shows like "The New Detectives" when they talk about a suspect, who is going to end up the killer, they always use a full name. For example, I just heard this, "Detectives went to John Smith's house to speak to him. John Smith's mother answered."
It's amazing what you notice when watching daytime television.
When you've slept for 18 hours the day before, you ought to be able to get up when you need to. I am not anyone's mother and I don't appreciate trying to wake anyone up.
I had to take yesterday off because I hit the bottle pretty hard on Friday night. I wasn't sick yesterday, just not very communicative.
Saturday, I had a good time with the CP. She had a photoshoot and I tagged along to make sure she showed off her cleavage properly.
Today. I made a hat. It worked up really quickly while I sat in the coffee shop listening to a book on tape. It's a pretty cool hat and it actually really fit my head!
I haven't really mastered that. Last night, I got more than a little tipsy. I'm definitely paying for it today. Ugg. I think I learned my lesson. It was fun at the time, but now I feel like my stomach is an empty pit churning up acid.
A friend mentioned that she wants another tatoo, but she doesn't know what. I want another tattoo, but I don't know what and I don't know where.
I have an idea for both, but I realized last night that I'm probably not supposed to do that. I'm sure my supposedly excessive bleedy-ness makes it a no-no. However, I want to commemorate this experience in some way. Sure, writing about it is something, but a tattoo seems in order. It seems a different representation, more emotional. Since I tend to deal with things by intellectualizing them (no my therapist didn't have to tell me that), I feel like a tattoo would represent something more.
In a complete change of subject, here's an excerpt of intellectualization:
On the rehab floor they are quite serious about patients not getting out of bed.Since most of us had had a brain injury and didn’t have the best motor skills it’s understandable.One night, when I knew the DH was coming to stay, I heard a pounding on the door at the end of the hall.It was late.I didn’t know if they locked the floor.The nurses didn’t seem to hear it, so I did what any polite person would do, I got out of bed to answer the door.Two steps from the bed to the sink.Then I could use the wall to help me get to the door.I didn’t even make it to the sink.I fell and ripped out my i.v.Nurses and nurse technicians swarmed around me.Someone asked, “Did you have to go to the bathroom?”I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble, so I said, “yes.”It didn’t matter what I said.From that point on I had a bed alarm.A strip was placed in my bed and my wheelchair.I had to call a nurse technician every time I had to go to the bathroom.A piercing alarm went off if I tried to get up at all.
Of course it took me about five minutes to figure out how to turn off the alarm, but I always, always called for help so no one would know that I’d turned it off.They would just assume whoever was on the shift before forgot to turn it off.The rehab ward was my home for two and a half weeks.As I got better, it became more and more difficult to handle being cooped up.
There was a television in my room, but it has the same six channels twice.Once I got into my wheelchair and dressed for the day, I tried to keep the television off.Some people have a habit of trying to credit me with my recovery.“Oh, you’re so brave and you’ve worked so hard.”Not really.I was lucky.That is really all it was.However, if they absolutely must credit me with something, I didn’t turn on the television.Granted everyone else on the floor was at least twenty years older than I am.Their former daily routines probably included the television.Before the stroke I was busy all day.Well, I would sneak in a nap, but I really didn’t watch day-time television.
Not watching television meant I had to find other things to do.Much to the staff’s chagrin I started to do laps of the floor in my wheelchair.I would wheel out my door and down the hall to thecommon room, down the far hall, and then turn around and turn back to my room.I visited other patients I met in therapy session.The goal of all that wheeling around was to help get my strength back.I’d make different rules.One time I could only use my arms, the next time I could only use my feet.When I was in my room I’d roll back and forth just using my left arm or left leg.I’m sure the nurses going by thought I was crazy.
When I was bored with rolling around and there was no one to visit, I’d sit in my room and do crossword puzzles or color mandalas.It was hard.The book of puzzles was the Dell “Easy” puzzles and I knew I should be able to get them.It frustrated me.At the beginning coloring inside the lines of the mandalas was hard.As I recovered my motor skills came back and it became easier.The puzzles also became easier.The brain is a lot like any other muscle.Although, my stroke was relatively mild, I did my best to exercise my brain.If there is one thing I think really helped my recovery I think it was turning off the television.
Being on the rehabilitation ward was also beneficial.It meant that I could get some therapy everyday. Everyday I had at least half an hour, if not more, of physical therapy, occupational therapy, and speech therapy.After about two sessions, I didn’t need the speech therapy any more, but I continued with occupational and physical therapy.Occupational therapy is kind of a misnomer.It’s really about re-learning to care for yourself showering, dressing, cooking, cleaning.It dealt mainly with my arms and upper body.Physical therapy was about learning to walk again and strengthening my lower body.
In occupational therapy we would often be a part of a group and play games.The games always seemed really childish.For example, we would hit or kick a balloon back and forth.It sounds easy, but try doing it with only your left hand or with a walker in front of you.Since the majority of patients on the rehab floor were older and trying to get home, we would often cooking things in the fake apartment.I remember my first day I baked muffins.It made me laugh because I love to bake and usually make muffins and things from scratch.Here I was in this fake kitchen making muffins from a mix.All I had to do was add water.
The day that really stuck with me was when a group of us 3 patients and 2 physical therapists made pudding.Although something like making pudding does make you test your memory of where everything is, your ability to read and follow directions, and your patience I was really frustrated.For lack of a better term, it felt “beneath” me and my abilities.In fact that is really my one criticism of the rehabilitation ward.Not many patients would be able to articulate it, but I am sure I am not the only one who often felt infantilized by the activities.
It was not necessarily the activities themselves.When I understood the nature of the activity, and how it would help me, I was fine.Often, however, I was asked to play some game or do something clearly labeled for toddlers.One day, in physical therapy, I was asked to shoot baskets with a basket ball and a “Little Tykes” basketball hoop.As I stood there, shooting basket after basket, I realized, “They should really have a hoop that doesn’t say ‘Little Tykes” on it.”Yes, many of us, were like toddlers in our development, but it is a blow to your ego and motivation to have others treat you like that.
This was the brain injury rehabilitation floor.It was populated by people in their 70’s or 80’s, who may have had a stroke or fallen in their home; younger African-American men, who may have had car accidents or some other trouble, and myself.I was certain I was not the only patient bothered by playing a Memory game for 2-4 year olds.It’s probably cheaper to get the stuff for toddlers, but it is at a psychological price.
Sitting on the couch bored out of my mind, which is how I spend most nights (the CP can verify that), I knew I wanted to write a post, but didn't have anything to write about. That's when I took the time to venture over and read the roast of Tanis.
For anyone who's read her blog for a while, it is quite funny. Her posts are really long. I put down the DH's computer and got in the shower. In the shower it hit me. I need to post about boobs. What else do I have?
Although I read a few mommy blogs, I am not, and possible never will be, a mother. I disowned my red-neck heritage when I finally really left home at 23.
But, boobs? Boobs I have in the bag. I may not have fancy nipple rings, but I think my left breast could encompass all of Tanis' rack. In fact I think boobs are just what this blog needs.
Why should I write about my boobs? Well, first I think it will get me some creepy google action. Secondly, I've had them all of my life. In fact, they officially outgrew my mother's when I was 12. Thirdly, while I don't have hardware, I'm sure there are not a lot of people out there who can play tetris in their clevage.
For some reason, the electrodes they put on my chest left a mark. It's like I went to the tanning bed with them on. The result seems to be permanent. At least they haven't faded since the hospital. I didn't notice them at first, but now they are all I can see. Did I mention that I don't ever remember having electrodes on?
They are not even semetrical. There's two on one side and just one on the other. It woudln't matter except I don't own a turtle neck. In fact most of my shirts are designed to show off the clevage. Every time I look in a mirror, there they are just staring at me. They're not even full squares, but a square with in a square.
The DH think I just need to put a sticker on the center and go to the tanning bed. They do sell stickers there, but they are all shaped like the playboy bunny. So, I guess until I can get some sun this summer, I'll be humming the Tetris song.
It's too early to have this much done.
I've already made muffins, had my coffee, and almost completed a top secret project. Now, I'm really ready for a nap. The problem is that the dog needs a walk and I feel the need to make it two days in a row.
My current password is the name of one of my animals and a number or two...so don't try to figure it out. Just know that it usually takes me about three tries to type it correctly.
The CP came over to the house this afternoon. We went to the store and then made nachos for dinner. It was really good and I ate way too much. Now, I'm procrastinating the clean up process.
It felt good to socialize a little. I've been spending way too much time with NCIS lately. Funny though, I still can't think of Mark Harmon as anyone but Ted Bundy. Some how it doesn't ruin the new character for me.
My mom called today. There are flood warnings for home. They canceled several different schools today. It's crazy out there. At least they don't have hurricane force winds....yet.
We are back down to one dog. It was tough to give Lody back, but we did it. Now we just need a second dog of our own. It's been so good for Yasser. He's much more independent these days. He still wants to be in the same room, but not necessarily right on top of you.
There are still only 5 people registered for my class. I've decided not to worry about it. We'll still discuss the syllabus on the first day and decide what to do about the assignments. I just don't feel like making up alternatives I may never use. Grrr. Arrgh.
Since I will run out of my rat poison before the appointment I made, I had to make an appointment for this Friday. Seriously, my discharge doctor told me it was really just rat poison. I'm not sure if that was supposed to make me feel better. It sucks because now I may not be able to watch the CP get put into a tube. Since all I really remember of the MRI is the noise and I bet they want to do another one later, I'd like to see it done on someone else. Grrr. Arrgh.
In general, I've felt a little better the last couple of days. I guess therapy really does work. Maybe it's just my emotional incontinence leveling out. Sorry, I just love that phrase. It cracks me up. I think about Anthypophora's comment about Depends, and the CPs former emotional constipation, and it's over. Usually I end up rolling on the floor, which just proves my emotional incontinence.
Today Lody has to go home. It will be sad when Ms. Ecuador comes to get him. He loves us both when we come home and Yasser has even started instigating play.
Today I also asked my regular person for antidepressants. We talked about it. I cannot get in to see the prescribing psychiatrist until February. I'm not sure if it will be worth it then. It also sounds like if I go to that psychiatrist, I'll have to switch from my psychologist and I don't really want to do that. I could ask my regular dr. to prescribe the anti-depressants for me. I see her a lot sooner than February. However, I don't know if I want to. The last time I was at the psychologist I was pretty certain I wouldn't need drugs. I think the most important thing is that I am willing to say that I could. I just don't want to ignore an avenue of help because I'm being stubborn.
Today was the day of my big Psychological tests. For some reason, I was terribly worried about them. It wasn't really that bad.
They did a few reaction tests and an I.Q. test. The psychiatrist will call me with the results, which strikes me as a little wierd.
The best part about today was that they made me play with blocks. I had to look at the card and make the same pattern. I felt like Dudley from The Royal Tannenbaums. Of course I cannot tell time! (It's just something from the movie that the DH and I joked about.)
That was actually the second best part, the best part was when the psychiatrist told me I was "emotionally incontinent." Yeah, I almost laughed out loud.
There was more math to do in my head. Yuck. And who the hell just happens to know the speed of light? At least I got the question about who wrote Faust correct.
I know you thought I might shut up for just one day, but you were wrong.
I probably would have shut up, but the DH is making me sit on the couch and watch football with him. Football. Although I used to twirl flags during halftime, I have no idea about football.
Today, in an attempt to cheer myself up, I tried to think of a list of all the things I am able to do now.
pee by myself.
Heck, after all that the CP has been through, I should just be happy to pee at all.
Be alone. The twenty-four hour watch was it's own kind of hell.
Go up and down the stairs one foot over another. (You try it one step at a time.)I'm also allowed to do so without calling the DH when I switched levels.
DRIVE BY MYSELF. I've been to two, count them two, different stores all by myself. The first time I had to go to the grocery store for some sugar. Sugar. It was all I needed. I walked up and down every aisle of that store drunk with the knowledge that no one was waiting for me. Today, I braved the manic conditions of W----- to go to the yarn store. I know, I know, yarn is the last thing I need; however, the CP had a pretty clear request for her impending birthday and I actually didn't have the appropriate yarn.
The trick to driving by myself is telling the DH while he is asleep and promising to call when I get there. I know it's tricksy, but I have to do it. Sometimes a girl just needs to be alone.
Tomorrow is the big day of psychological testing. I am nervous about it. Don't worry, I'm sure you will hear all about it.
A friend of my from MN recently got back in touch. We've been emailing back and forth. In the process, I've had to explain my dissertation topic. Whew. If I didn't already know what a farce this degree was, I'd have been in for a real shocker.
We, yes I'm using the infamous 'we', all want to believe that what we do matters and that we'll make an impact on the world. The reality is that we sit around and talk about what is best for others...whether or not we know who they are. It's going to piss off some of the lit people I know out there, but I do think that we come the closest to really achieving anything in R/C. However, I still don't think we get anything done. No one outside our profession reads about what we do. We're philosophers without the degree. If we, both Lit and R/C people, are lucky we help students to write and think. It's all we can do. It's all we can hope.
It's why that guy from California is wrong. When we teach writing we teach the ability to use a tool. To properly use that tool, we have to understand it's components. Rhetoric, when used in the classroom, helps us to use the tool that is writing. The ability to identify to whom we are speaking/writing, what will appeal to them, and to craft our message accordingly is an important skill. It will not automatically make you a brilliant Victorianist, but it will get you through the class about the Victorian that you need to graduate.
While it doesn't do us any good to think that our work is going to change the world, we should at least keep trying. As we teach students to write, and therefore to think, we need to remember that the skill is enough. Everything else we attempt to package with it is just fluff.
I know I've mentioned being against it before, but I think at my appointment next week I am going to ask to be put back on anti-depressants. As I mentioned, one of the things I've noticed is that I am quite a bit more weepy. I've always been an easy crier, but this has to stop. I also know it's normal to be depressed about it all, but I need a chance to move on. I also need to be able to hold it together in front of a classroom. It would just be nerves that made me tear up, but since I don't plan to talk about everything with this class, I'd rather not.
If my psychologist agrees hopefully I can get started and be evened out for the beginning of the semester. I don't anticipate this being a long term project, just a month or two. I just need to be able to hold it together for a semester. This summer, I can fall apart again.
Okay, so I cannot let it stand. I have to post something with at least a little content. Although, there has been precious little in the way of content around here. What the heck, it's the holidays.
Today, started with a trip to the coffeeshop. The mom & pop place up the road is closed until tomorrow, so do you know how far I had to go for coffee? A long way. The good part about the long trip to the coffeeshop is that I got to use a gift card for Christmas and it puts me right next to the bougie grocery store. As a result we're having good steaks for dinner tonight. We also went to the new bookstore in that area. It was okay.
It's been hard today. One of the things I've noticed since October is that I am more weepy. (I hate that.) If you add to that a time meant for reflection and it's a recipe for a girl just barely holding on to her cookies all day. I know it's natural to be all weepy about almost dying and stuff. But, I'm all weepy about seemingly unrelated and stupid things. I don't mind a good cry. I just want to make sure I don't have to do it in public. Most people consider tears a weakness. I just want to be able to suck it up again.
Monday, I have to do the big psychological testing day. I've been nervous about that for about a week now. I think it boils down to basic test anxiety, but we'll see.
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