Okay, things got a little crazy there for a while. The last couple of weeks of class were a bit insane, and I was starting to get a little freaked out by some of the posts to my blog entries... While I love being told how people love my writing style, the similarity of the postings makes me doubt the sincerity of the sentiment... and makes me wonder if I'm in some political office and people are telling me how the "really feel" by copying and pasting e-mail content to me. It's strange.
I guess it's a way to increase readership or whatever, and that's great... but even the blogs I like to read are blogs I seldom read. Part of it is my crazy life, and the other part of it is... the rest of my crazy life, I guess.
Anyway, the facebook folks know this, but I'll share for the rest of you: I had Binx in my care for several days. I am pretty sure he's no worse for having experienced this. Jordan came over last weekend and we stayed up too late playing Super Mario Brothers Wii the night before church.
Oh, and I got an A- in that class that I was having such a frustrating time with. A smaller part of my frustration comes from the style of writing. I hate reading that sort of writing, so I loathe writing it. I don't get the style, anyway. Why do you want to make getting information such a horrible freakin' chore?
I just deleted the rest of that tirade. Gone... mourn it, yet be thankful.
So that's my life. I'll try to get back to daily posts if for no other reason than to bother people.
Oh, and I've yet to hear from the sleep study folks. I think I need to make a phone call tomorrow, eh?
It's not even a blog, really... I just made it so I could get an account. It was a harrowing experience, and I don't want to relive it... just leave me alone!
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Anybody Got Any Short'nin' Bread?
So I went to the doctor for my "Health & Wellness Visit"... which is like a physical, but with a longer name... and fewer awkward moments.
I got to finally mention all of the things I've been wanting to ask my doctor about for a while, so that was nice.
They didn't want me to eat anything for twelve hours, which is easy to do when you make the appointment for fairly early in the morning and you don't keep much in the way of food in the house. But because they asked this of me, I started wondering last night if this meant anything in particular... especially involving the digestion system... and more specifically, the end bit of it.
So I called Say, who was busy working a crazy-long day and thus didn't answer. I left her a message asking if the doctor was going to do that thing where I'd at least like a little sweet talk before he started, and said some other stuff and left it at that. I was at rehearsal, so when Say didn't call back for a while, I found Mark, who is a nurse, and asked him. He assured me it was all about blood work, not butt work.
Say confirmed this on a message she left after I called her again during the break to ask how she could abandon me in the middle of a medical emergency like this...
Imagine my discomfort this morning, then, when the nurse got out some rubber gloves and a tube of... I'm trying to think of a non-gross-sounding word for it... and I've failed, so we'll move on.
She said, "I'll get these out, just in case..." and left the room.
Now that was a fun wait. There is some mental preparation that goes into this. I mean, I hardly know the man...
Sorry for the delay that you didn't notice because it happened as I was typing this, not as you were reading it. I was just cracking myself up with all the possible next lines. I've opted to just pretend I didn't just set up a bawdy joke.
So he comes in, we go through all the questions and the awkward non-hind-end touching that goes with a "Health and Wellness Visit"... which is all above the waist, for those of you with your mind in the gutter... or at least below the waist. And I ask my questions, and he asks counter-questions, and the whole time the pair of gloves and the tube of whatever are just hanging there in the air between us, the elephant in the room, as it were. But, you know, and elephant that can hang in the air sort of thing.
Finally, he points to the items and says, "We're not going to do that today. I think they just get those out to scare people."
I sighed a big sigh of relief, and then immediately felt bad, so I said, "Don't get me wrong. I do like you, but as a friend only..."
I kid.
Anyway, nothing exciting to report. All of the little this'n'thats I was asking about were either answered with, "We can do that if you want, but you're okay if you don't" or "Losing weight and exercising will help with that", and for the most part I called all of those in the second category before I even went in to see him.
I am going to do another sleep study, even though the one 5 years ago was enough to get me on a whatchamahookey... because it was 5 years ago and I never got on a whatchamahookey.
I'm looking forward to it, however. Apparently there are many health benefits to a good night's sleep.
I got to finally mention all of the things I've been wanting to ask my doctor about for a while, so that was nice.
They didn't want me to eat anything for twelve hours, which is easy to do when you make the appointment for fairly early in the morning and you don't keep much in the way of food in the house. But because they asked this of me, I started wondering last night if this meant anything in particular... especially involving the digestion system... and more specifically, the end bit of it.
So I called Say, who was busy working a crazy-long day and thus didn't answer. I left her a message asking if the doctor was going to do that thing where I'd at least like a little sweet talk before he started, and said some other stuff and left it at that. I was at rehearsal, so when Say didn't call back for a while, I found Mark, who is a nurse, and asked him. He assured me it was all about blood work, not butt work.
Say confirmed this on a message she left after I called her again during the break to ask how she could abandon me in the middle of a medical emergency like this...
Imagine my discomfort this morning, then, when the nurse got out some rubber gloves and a tube of... I'm trying to think of a non-gross-sounding word for it... and I've failed, so we'll move on.
She said, "I'll get these out, just in case..." and left the room.
Now that was a fun wait. There is some mental preparation that goes into this. I mean, I hardly know the man...
Sorry for the delay that you didn't notice because it happened as I was typing this, not as you were reading it. I was just cracking myself up with all the possible next lines. I've opted to just pretend I didn't just set up a bawdy joke.
So he comes in, we go through all the questions and the awkward non-hind-end touching that goes with a "Health and Wellness Visit"... which is all above the waist, for those of you with your mind in the gutter... or at least below the waist. And I ask my questions, and he asks counter-questions, and the whole time the pair of gloves and the tube of whatever are just hanging there in the air between us, the elephant in the room, as it were. But, you know, and elephant that can hang in the air sort of thing.
Finally, he points to the items and says, "We're not going to do that today. I think they just get those out to scare people."
I sighed a big sigh of relief, and then immediately felt bad, so I said, "Don't get me wrong. I do like you, but as a friend only..."
I kid.
Anyway, nothing exciting to report. All of the little this'n'thats I was asking about were either answered with, "We can do that if you want, but you're okay if you don't" or "Losing weight and exercising will help with that", and for the most part I called all of those in the second category before I even went in to see him.
I am going to do another sleep study, even though the one 5 years ago was enough to get me on a whatchamahookey... because it was 5 years ago and I never got on a whatchamahookey.
I'm looking forward to it, however. Apparently there are many health benefits to a good night's sleep.
Things To Do While Killing Time Because A Website Is Down...
Actually, this is the only thing I'm going to be doing while waiting, and that's just because I thought I'd write something before I hit the sack...
Apparently there's a bad flu going around. It needs to miss me. Someone pass that along to it from me.
So I've got that 365 (and then some) Days of ME blog going on, right? But my hope was it would encourage other people with digital cameras to take pictures of me and e-mail them to me that same day--thus making me feel like the beautiful superstar supermodel I already know I am... but don't feel like, apparently.
However, the best I've managed so far is to ask people to take pictures of me with my camera. That's fun and all, but there are all these misconceptions now...
Misconception 1: I can be the only one in the shot.
Response: Nuh-uh... look at that pic of me putting Visine in Dane's eye!
Misconception 2: I don't like having my picture taken.
Response: Um... well, I used to not like it so much, but then realized people can see me when there isn't a camera pointed at me, so what's the point? Actually, I used cringe a little when I'd see myself in a photo, but you'd be amazed at how much looking at a picture of yourself every day can actually make that lessen...
I'm done with misconceptions. So there were only 2.
Anyway, I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow, and I'm just certain I'll be taking blood pressure meds by the end of the day... and my mind keeps going to the list of things I have to tell the new doctor, as well as things to ask him... and then my mind goes to all the ways there are to get sick and get sicker, and I start wondering if they'll find some secret awful thing tomorrow... and then I remember about my blood pressure and try some breathing exercises...
And I keep waiting for the district site for teachers to open back up... and then the blood pressure thing comes to mind again...
Which is why I'm going to bed now.
Apparently there's a bad flu going around. It needs to miss me. Someone pass that along to it from me.
So I've got that 365 (and then some) Days of ME blog going on, right? But my hope was it would encourage other people with digital cameras to take pictures of me and e-mail them to me that same day--thus making me feel like the beautiful superstar supermodel I already know I am... but don't feel like, apparently.
However, the best I've managed so far is to ask people to take pictures of me with my camera. That's fun and all, but there are all these misconceptions now...
Misconception 1: I can be the only one in the shot.
Response: Nuh-uh... look at that pic of me putting Visine in Dane's eye!
Misconception 2: I don't like having my picture taken.
Response: Um... well, I used to not like it so much, but then realized people can see me when there isn't a camera pointed at me, so what's the point? Actually, I used cringe a little when I'd see myself in a photo, but you'd be amazed at how much looking at a picture of yourself every day can actually make that lessen...
I'm done with misconceptions. So there were only 2.
Anyway, I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow, and I'm just certain I'll be taking blood pressure meds by the end of the day... and my mind keeps going to the list of things I have to tell the new doctor, as well as things to ask him... and then my mind goes to all the ways there are to get sick and get sicker, and I start wondering if they'll find some secret awful thing tomorrow... and then I remember about my blood pressure and try some breathing exercises...
And I keep waiting for the district site for teachers to open back up... and then the blood pressure thing comes to mind again...
Which is why I'm going to bed now.
Monday, March 08, 2010
Why I Should Not Be Allowed To Own Sharp Objects
I only wish I was lying about this.
I have cut myself again. And I'm not even goth. What's that about?
So, last night I broiled up some red meat for dinner... a late dinner, but dinner. As I was carrying my plate and utensils (utensils resting on the plate, mind you, a bad choice about which I have now learned my lesson) from the cooking area to the dining area, the steak knife started to fall.
My brain decided since something was falling, I had to catch it.
The knife, falling blade first, went into my thumb and kinda "bounced" out.
Remember how last time I said blood was everywhere or whatever? This time it really was. I thought I was gonna have a full-on freak-out.
About the time I was thinking maybe a trip to the emergency room was in order, I realized the bleeding had... well, not stopped, but seemed to have every intention of considering the possibility of stopping sometime before bedtime.
So then I got to clean up blood from all over the place, which is good practice should I decide to slaughter my own cattle.
On the up side, this has made me go see a doctor, which means it has made me finally make a decision about which doctor suggestion from co-workers would be the best one.
I've got a good feeling about this doctor. He may be the one. I didn't ask, but he appears to be younger than me--so, odds are, I won't have to doctor-shop again until after I'm dead.
Anyway, I just wanted to share, in case you were wondering why it looked like all my spaces were typed by my right hand.
I have cut myself again. And I'm not even goth. What's that about?
So, last night I broiled up some red meat for dinner... a late dinner, but dinner. As I was carrying my plate and utensils (utensils resting on the plate, mind you, a bad choice about which I have now learned my lesson) from the cooking area to the dining area, the steak knife started to fall.
My brain decided since something was falling, I had to catch it.
The knife, falling blade first, went into my thumb and kinda "bounced" out.
Remember how last time I said blood was everywhere or whatever? This time it really was. I thought I was gonna have a full-on freak-out.
About the time I was thinking maybe a trip to the emergency room was in order, I realized the bleeding had... well, not stopped, but seemed to have every intention of considering the possibility of stopping sometime before bedtime.
So then I got to clean up blood from all over the place, which is good practice should I decide to slaughter my own cattle.
On the up side, this has made me go see a doctor, which means it has made me finally make a decision about which doctor suggestion from co-workers would be the best one.
I've got a good feeling about this doctor. He may be the one. I didn't ask, but he appears to be younger than me--so, odds are, I won't have to doctor-shop again until after I'm dead.
Anyway, I just wanted to share, in case you were wondering why it looked like all my spaces were typed by my right hand.
Saturday, March 06, 2010
I may as well confess now: I've fallen off the walking wagon... or I've climbed on it. I don't know. I get confused about the wagon and what it means. I mean, I know if you fall off the wagon, you've started drinking again--which makes very little sense, because you'd have more balance and ability to stay on a wagon if you weren't drinking, but that's neither here nor there...
Since falling off the wagon implies something "bad", I think it'd be best to say I've fallen off the walking wagon... but being on the wagon seems to imply and absence of doing something.
Whatever. I need more people nagging me on facebook about the walking thing. Only my aunt Rachel has asked anything (and I avoided answering her, as I was convinced I'd get back on a regular schedule very soon).
I have no excuse except that the first time I missed I had a good excuse... and I think Terry Pratchett's character Sam Vimes puts it best in Thud! when he thinks, "Once you had a good excuse, you opened the door to bad excuses."
Anyway, whatever, I'm picking back up regularly tomorrow. There, I've typed it, so it must happen.
Barring, you know, alien attacks and whatnot.
Anyway, I've had a very full day, and should be in bed by now. I hope you're all having a wonderful time, and may the wind always be at your back, unless you're wanting to go slower. Or something.
Since falling off the wagon implies something "bad", I think it'd be best to say I've fallen off the walking wagon... but being on the wagon seems to imply and absence of doing something.
Whatever. I need more people nagging me on facebook about the walking thing. Only my aunt Rachel has asked anything (and I avoided answering her, as I was convinced I'd get back on a regular schedule very soon).
I have no excuse except that the first time I missed I had a good excuse... and I think Terry Pratchett's character Sam Vimes puts it best in Thud! when he thinks, "Once you had a good excuse, you opened the door to bad excuses."
Anyway, whatever, I'm picking back up regularly tomorrow. There, I've typed it, so it must happen.
Barring, you know, alien attacks and whatnot.
Anyway, I've had a very full day, and should be in bed by now. I hope you're all having a wonderful time, and may the wind always be at your back, unless you're wanting to go slower. Or something.
Wasn't It Christmas Like Just Yesterday?
In one week I'll be starting our Spring Break. What's up with that?
It seems like just a short time ago it was Winter Break and I was enjoying some sleeping-in time... and I guess it was more recent than what I'm used to since we did get that extra week of Winter Break with all the snow and crazy cold. But still, it doesn't seem like it's been however-many weeks...
I remember being very young and taking trips to Hannibal from Center. It seemed like the trip took months... or at least several hours.
And now years pass as if they're almost nothing. If I wasn't taking pictures daily, I might think nothing ever happens... as it stands, I think nothing ever happens other than me taking some pictures.
I kid.
Remember when time took forever? I remember thinking it would be forever before I was a senior in high school, about to graduate. Since graduation, I've had almost enough time to fit in two more K thru 12 school careers... May of 2011 will mark 26 years since I got out of high school.
And it seems like freakin' yesterday... while also seeming to be so far in the past it may as well have been Ancient Greece.
I find myself anticipating stuff a lot less. Is that just part of getting older? Don't get me wrong, I look forward to things, but I don't fret about having to wait for them to happen. I know they will happen, and I know the less I think about them, the less time it will seem to take between now and the event in question.
Very strange, this perception of the passage of time. Ever since I first noticed this strange "time seems to speed up as I get older" thing, I've had a theory that our perception of time is tainted by how much time we've been alive. Kids think time goes so slowly because a day is a much larger percentage of their life-to-date than it is for some 43-year-old.
This is where I could use Dane sitting next to me. He'd be able to tell me what fraction of my life today was and what fraction of Binx's life today was. I could figure it out, but it seems a shame not to have Dane do it.
Anyway, wasn't it Christmas like just yesterday? At the rate we're going, isn't Thanksgiving going to be like tomorrow?
It seems like just a short time ago it was Winter Break and I was enjoying some sleeping-in time... and I guess it was more recent than what I'm used to since we did get that extra week of Winter Break with all the snow and crazy cold. But still, it doesn't seem like it's been however-many weeks...
I remember being very young and taking trips to Hannibal from Center. It seemed like the trip took months... or at least several hours.
And now years pass as if they're almost nothing. If I wasn't taking pictures daily, I might think nothing ever happens... as it stands, I think nothing ever happens other than me taking some pictures.
I kid.
Remember when time took forever? I remember thinking it would be forever before I was a senior in high school, about to graduate. Since graduation, I've had almost enough time to fit in two more K thru 12 school careers... May of 2011 will mark 26 years since I got out of high school.
And it seems like freakin' yesterday... while also seeming to be so far in the past it may as well have been Ancient Greece.
I find myself anticipating stuff a lot less. Is that just part of getting older? Don't get me wrong, I look forward to things, but I don't fret about having to wait for them to happen. I know they will happen, and I know the less I think about them, the less time it will seem to take between now and the event in question.
Very strange, this perception of the passage of time. Ever since I first noticed this strange "time seems to speed up as I get older" thing, I've had a theory that our perception of time is tainted by how much time we've been alive. Kids think time goes so slowly because a day is a much larger percentage of their life-to-date than it is for some 43-year-old.
This is where I could use Dane sitting next to me. He'd be able to tell me what fraction of my life today was and what fraction of Binx's life today was. I could figure it out, but it seems a shame not to have Dane do it.
Anyway, wasn't it Christmas like just yesterday? At the rate we're going, isn't Thanksgiving going to be like tomorrow?
Thursday, March 04, 2010
It's Better Than Drinking Alone
I need to be clear at the beginning here: I enjoy living alone. I enjoy being alone. I can be just as lonely in a crowd of people I know and love as I can be by myself (not to say I always am lonely in a crowd of people I know and love, I'm just saying it's possible), so being by myself doesn't bother me, usually. I guess mostly because I believe in a way we're all alone on some level, even if we're with the person we love the mostest, etc., because in the end it's just us in here ("in here" being "in our own heads").
And maybe I've always been some sort of near-misanthrope, or maybe I grew into it, or maybe I just don't trust people as much as I used to... or maybe I get tired of rambling on in person and seeing the boredom on the faces of others... it's much easier to ramble here, as I don't have to watch the glazed look come over people as I type.
And I really do get irritated when I have something to do or somewhere to go... nothing major, mind you, but the major part of me just wants to stay home and... stay home.
Don't get me wrong, if you want to come by and hang out, I'm good with that. Heck, if you even suggest we go out and do something, I'm all about that, too. I guess I should clarify: if you're someone I can't stand or some major force of evil, that does not apply to you.
But "having to go somewhere" wears me out. Often, I enjoy myself when I go, but the thought of having to go somewhere is not pleasant. It's like how I feel about stand-up comedy acts. I loathe the idea of seeing one, but the experience is something I enjoy.
I don't know. Maybe I'm crazy.
Aren't you glad I said I wanted to be clear? Imagine what this would have read like if I'd started off wanting to be confusing...
So my point is: I don't mind being alone. In some ways, I crave it. I grew up in a house full of people. I sometimes think my mind feels I deserve all the alone time I can get. I love to have company over, and I love to be with friends and family... and I'm back to being all contradictory and confusing...
Who cares... the reason I started writing this was to reveal something somewhat personal about myself. The other night I had occasion to wish someone good-night at bedtime. I have done this on occasion with young'n's I was babysitting, and even with adults who had taken me in when whatever recent disaster had waltzed its way in to my life via whatever door or window I left open for it. It doesn't happen often that when I am about to go to bed I wish someone "good night" or have someone wish me something similar... and you'd think if I was going to have a big reaction to it, I would have by some point long before now.
But I had a really strange reaction to this. Maybe it was the full moon, or the planets were aligned just right, but I sort of ached. My mind flew back to being a kid with a house full of brothers and sisters, and everyone doing a Walton-esque good-night from their beds, and my brain went a little wonky, wondering two things: When was the last time I really thought about someone saying "good night" to me and me getting to wish the same in return, and how did I get to this point from growing up in a family that actually did the Walton closing scene thing (eventually we'd start wishing John Boy and Mary Ellen a good night, as well).
Anyway, the point of this post was to share I had this moment. It hasn't changed my life or made me want to be a better person or a worse person or a more open or more closed person. I just had this moment where my world spun around my head for a moment, and I did a bit of a free fall, looking at my life as if seeing it for the first time.
In other news, I hope I was able to correctly convey the whole thing about Ben & Killy without making it sound like Ben was all worried about the money. My point was Ben was left with a really horrible decision, and made what most anybody who knew the facts would consider to be the right one, but still felt awful about it (and probably still does). Ben is one of the nicest guys on the planet, and I'd hate to give anybody any idea to the contrary. If we were in a timeline where Tricia never met him, I'd be hunting him down so I could introduce her to him.
Also: I still can't find that pic of the girls with Killybutt. I had printed several pictures from that day, but I can't seem to narrow down the date or find the little memory stick or whatever that has them on it. Very frustrating.
Now, don't everybody go wishing me good night. It's not going to make me have a moment every time, and it's not like I have this burning need to wish someone "good night" or hear it from someone. I just wanted to say I had a very strange reaction to it the other night, and ask if anyone knew of a good psychologist.
And maybe I've always been some sort of near-misanthrope, or maybe I grew into it, or maybe I just don't trust people as much as I used to... or maybe I get tired of rambling on in person and seeing the boredom on the faces of others... it's much easier to ramble here, as I don't have to watch the glazed look come over people as I type.
And I really do get irritated when I have something to do or somewhere to go... nothing major, mind you, but the major part of me just wants to stay home and... stay home.
Don't get me wrong, if you want to come by and hang out, I'm good with that. Heck, if you even suggest we go out and do something, I'm all about that, too. I guess I should clarify: if you're someone I can't stand or some major force of evil, that does not apply to you.
But "having to go somewhere" wears me out. Often, I enjoy myself when I go, but the thought of having to go somewhere is not pleasant. It's like how I feel about stand-up comedy acts. I loathe the idea of seeing one, but the experience is something I enjoy.
I don't know. Maybe I'm crazy.
Aren't you glad I said I wanted to be clear? Imagine what this would have read like if I'd started off wanting to be confusing...
So my point is: I don't mind being alone. In some ways, I crave it. I grew up in a house full of people. I sometimes think my mind feels I deserve all the alone time I can get. I love to have company over, and I love to be with friends and family... and I'm back to being all contradictory and confusing...
Who cares... the reason I started writing this was to reveal something somewhat personal about myself. The other night I had occasion to wish someone good-night at bedtime. I have done this on occasion with young'n's I was babysitting, and even with adults who had taken me in when whatever recent disaster had waltzed its way in to my life via whatever door or window I left open for it. It doesn't happen often that when I am about to go to bed I wish someone "good night" or have someone wish me something similar... and you'd think if I was going to have a big reaction to it, I would have by some point long before now.
But I had a really strange reaction to this. Maybe it was the full moon, or the planets were aligned just right, but I sort of ached. My mind flew back to being a kid with a house full of brothers and sisters, and everyone doing a Walton-esque good-night from their beds, and my brain went a little wonky, wondering two things: When was the last time I really thought about someone saying "good night" to me and me getting to wish the same in return, and how did I get to this point from growing up in a family that actually did the Walton closing scene thing (eventually we'd start wishing John Boy and Mary Ellen a good night, as well).
Anyway, the point of this post was to share I had this moment. It hasn't changed my life or made me want to be a better person or a worse person or a more open or more closed person. I just had this moment where my world spun around my head for a moment, and I did a bit of a free fall, looking at my life as if seeing it for the first time.
In other news, I hope I was able to correctly convey the whole thing about Ben & Killy without making it sound like Ben was all worried about the money. My point was Ben was left with a really horrible decision, and made what most anybody who knew the facts would consider to be the right one, but still felt awful about it (and probably still does). Ben is one of the nicest guys on the planet, and I'd hate to give anybody any idea to the contrary. If we were in a timeline where Tricia never met him, I'd be hunting him down so I could introduce her to him.
Also: I still can't find that pic of the girls with Killybutt. I had printed several pictures from that day, but I can't seem to narrow down the date or find the little memory stick or whatever that has them on it. Very frustrating.
Now, don't everybody go wishing me good night. It's not going to make me have a moment every time, and it's not like I have this burning need to wish someone "good night" or hear it from someone. I just wanted to say I had a very strange reaction to it the other night, and ask if anyone knew of a good psychologist.
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
When Buddy Welcomed Killian Home
Hey, sorry I haven't been writing for a while. Mostly I'm sorry to me, because I think there's about 28 of you following this via whatever BlogSpot uses, and another 30 or so via facebook, and of those, I don't know that "follow" is an appropriate word. Maybe more like, "occasionally have time to read". And it's cool. I ain't hatin'. I'm just saying I'm mostly sorry to me because I'm trying to get into the habit of writing for fun more, as I've gotten out of that habit at some point over the past 25 years or so.
Anyway, I'm writing. And be warned: this is going to be one of those long blathering posts that many of you... may or may not have read in the past and may or may not have hated.
We got Dane moved on Saturday. Cody and I drove to Ben & Tricia's around 9:00 or so to borrow Ben's truck. I'd forgotten to remind Ben I needed to borrow it, but it was all good when I got him called on the way there. He and Tricia were out, but the truck was at the house.
Cody went in the house first, as I was throwing something away, and when I got in, I saw Killian and was thankful that Killian has a good memory and had met Cody before. However, I didn't see Guinness anywhere. Like an idiot, I searched all over the house and out back, worried they'd accidentally left him outside before they went out. I asked Killian a couple of times where Guinness was, but his hearing has been a thing of the past for a while, so he basically ignored me. Also: dog.
When I first started hanging out with Ben & Tricia here in KC, the only dog they had was Buddy (or Bud Light, as all the dogs are named after alcoholic beverages... a funny tradition that I'd like to carry on with my pets, but I'd use condom brand names or something). I don't know what Buddy was. I would try to describe him to people who knew breeds, but never got the right answer. It's easier to just hope Tricia will post it on here as a comment. He was a little white furry thing with a missing paw. He was one of those little dogs who behaves as if he's a big dog.
I'm not a pet person, really. The allergy thing doesn't help. Also, the fact Patsy was all done with pets and all the fun that went with them by the time I was born (something Sara somehow got around, as I recall) meant that my main pet experience was via Shawn Couch and his dog, Cocoa.
Let us pause for a moment while I remember Cocoa. I forgot how much I loved Cocoa until this very minute.
Also, I love cocoa, but I'm not going to make any right now.
While I'm not (sorta not) a pet person, I do love a puppy or a kitten. When Ben & Tricia first got Killian, he was this cute little puppy we never should have let sit on the furniture but did anyway. Golden lab, or something... but with red hair... so golden red Irish lab? I don't remember him barking with an Irish accent, but who knows?
My favorite (sort of) Killy moment was when Ben & Tricia both had to go out of town while I was (I think) staying at their house (this would be the first of many such times, I believe... that is to say I believe it was the first, not that I believe there were many such times, as I have experienced the other such times and can count like a troll: one, two, many, lots). When I came home from... maybe the airport... I can't remember now... whatever... when I came home Killy had ripped the hell out of the family room furniture in a fit of puppy rage at being left at home.
I was all like, "Ooooooooooooooh you are in sooooooooooooooooo much trouble when they get home!"
Burn.
Killy had longer hair, so I think he sometimes caused my eyes to go a little red and irritated. But he was a big dog that didn't act like a big dog...
And my past tense is so giving away the plot, isn't it?
Turns out the last time I saw Killy was after I returned the truck to Ben & Tricia's Saturday afternoon. I don't even remember seeing him that time. I remember more asking him where Guinness was and him totally ignoring me because he couldn't hear a thing.
Sunday morning was bad for Killy, and Ben had to take him to the vet. I didn't know anything until I read Tricia's facebook saying it was a sad day. Before I could call to ask her why, she called me. Tears from her, wailing from the girls in the background... and me trying to process. And while she's talking to me, Ben called me. So once I got the plan for the burial and hung up with Tricia, I called Ben.
Ben told me more detail about the morning, and how it wasn't an easy decision, even though they would have had to have spent crazy dollars to keep him alive--and I guess that's a nice testimony to human nature: when the chips are down, money might be a factor, but it isn't the be-all and end-all... unless you're an insurance company, I guess.
So Killian went to sleep, and he was taken to the farm where Buddy was laid to rest several years ago.
The whole thing gave me an idea of writing a children's book about it, more about Killy the puppy running and running after having a dream about being old... and running into a field where his friend Buddy welcomed him home... and the adventures they have there.
I doubt I'll write it, unless someone is a great artist and would illustrate a one-off (or two-off, I guess, since there are two girls) copy for the girls. Think about it, artist types!
I know I have a great picture of the girls goofing around on the floor with Killy. Of course, I can't find the thing to save my life right now, and that's making me crazy. I'd love to be able to bring them each a copy of that picture on Sunday.
Killy (or Killybutt, as I more often called him) and I had a bond that I did my best to hide from Tricia. But she saw through it, just like she saw through my apparent distaste for Buddy (yeah, YOU try getting a baby-near-toddler Olivia to say good-bye to Buddy before he's going off to be put to sleep without tearing up a lot). Killy was a very huggable dog. And he didn't care what time you got up, as long as you let him go out before you went to bed at 4:00 in the morning.
Killybutt will be missed, and I'll be one of the main missers. I freely admit it.
Now dog-owners, go hug your dog.
Anyway, I'm writing. And be warned: this is going to be one of those long blathering posts that many of you... may or may not have read in the past and may or may not have hated.
We got Dane moved on Saturday. Cody and I drove to Ben & Tricia's around 9:00 or so to borrow Ben's truck. I'd forgotten to remind Ben I needed to borrow it, but it was all good when I got him called on the way there. He and Tricia were out, but the truck was at the house.
Cody went in the house first, as I was throwing something away, and when I got in, I saw Killian and was thankful that Killian has a good memory and had met Cody before. However, I didn't see Guinness anywhere. Like an idiot, I searched all over the house and out back, worried they'd accidentally left him outside before they went out. I asked Killian a couple of times where Guinness was, but his hearing has been a thing of the past for a while, so he basically ignored me. Also: dog.
When I first started hanging out with Ben & Tricia here in KC, the only dog they had was Buddy (or Bud Light, as all the dogs are named after alcoholic beverages... a funny tradition that I'd like to carry on with my pets, but I'd use condom brand names or something). I don't know what Buddy was. I would try to describe him to people who knew breeds, but never got the right answer. It's easier to just hope Tricia will post it on here as a comment. He was a little white furry thing with a missing paw. He was one of those little dogs who behaves as if he's a big dog.
I'm not a pet person, really. The allergy thing doesn't help. Also, the fact Patsy was all done with pets and all the fun that went with them by the time I was born (something Sara somehow got around, as I recall) meant that my main pet experience was via Shawn Couch and his dog, Cocoa.
Let us pause for a moment while I remember Cocoa. I forgot how much I loved Cocoa until this very minute.
Also, I love cocoa, but I'm not going to make any right now.
While I'm not (sorta not) a pet person, I do love a puppy or a kitten. When Ben & Tricia first got Killian, he was this cute little puppy we never should have let sit on the furniture but did anyway. Golden lab, or something... but with red hair... so golden red Irish lab? I don't remember him barking with an Irish accent, but who knows?
My favorite (sort of) Killy moment was when Ben & Tricia both had to go out of town while I was (I think) staying at their house (this would be the first of many such times, I believe... that is to say I believe it was the first, not that I believe there were many such times, as I have experienced the other such times and can count like a troll: one, two, many, lots). When I came home from... maybe the airport... I can't remember now... whatever... when I came home Killy had ripped the hell out of the family room furniture in a fit of puppy rage at being left at home.
I was all like, "Ooooooooooooooh you are in sooooooooooooooooo much trouble when they get home!"
Burn.
Killy had longer hair, so I think he sometimes caused my eyes to go a little red and irritated. But he was a big dog that didn't act like a big dog...
And my past tense is so giving away the plot, isn't it?
Turns out the last time I saw Killy was after I returned the truck to Ben & Tricia's Saturday afternoon. I don't even remember seeing him that time. I remember more asking him where Guinness was and him totally ignoring me because he couldn't hear a thing.
Sunday morning was bad for Killy, and Ben had to take him to the vet. I didn't know anything until I read Tricia's facebook saying it was a sad day. Before I could call to ask her why, she called me. Tears from her, wailing from the girls in the background... and me trying to process. And while she's talking to me, Ben called me. So once I got the plan for the burial and hung up with Tricia, I called Ben.
Ben told me more detail about the morning, and how it wasn't an easy decision, even though they would have had to have spent crazy dollars to keep him alive--and I guess that's a nice testimony to human nature: when the chips are down, money might be a factor, but it isn't the be-all and end-all... unless you're an insurance company, I guess.
So Killian went to sleep, and he was taken to the farm where Buddy was laid to rest several years ago.
The whole thing gave me an idea of writing a children's book about it, more about Killy the puppy running and running after having a dream about being old... and running into a field where his friend Buddy welcomed him home... and the adventures they have there.
I doubt I'll write it, unless someone is a great artist and would illustrate a one-off (or two-off, I guess, since there are two girls) copy for the girls. Think about it, artist types!
I know I have a great picture of the girls goofing around on the floor with Killy. Of course, I can't find the thing to save my life right now, and that's making me crazy. I'd love to be able to bring them each a copy of that picture on Sunday.
Killy (or Killybutt, as I more often called him) and I had a bond that I did my best to hide from Tricia. But she saw through it, just like she saw through my apparent distaste for Buddy (yeah, YOU try getting a baby-near-toddler Olivia to say good-bye to Buddy before he's going off to be put to sleep without tearing up a lot). Killy was a very huggable dog. And he didn't care what time you got up, as long as you let him go out before you went to bed at 4:00 in the morning.
Killybutt will be missed, and I'll be one of the main missers. I freely admit it.
Now dog-owners, go hug your dog.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
You Know That Thing I Hope Everyone Else Does...
You know that thing I hope everyone else does, where you are thinking back to your younger years and of people you hadn't thought of in a long time--maybe even people you cared deeply for at the time, but somehow lost touch with... and then you decide to Google them and see if you can find out what had happened in their lives in the intervening 25 years or so...
You know that thing, right? I'm not the only one who does that, right?
Just humor me. I'm feeling all fragile and stuff now.
So I just spent some time doing that, and found a lead on someone who really meant a lot to be back in the day... and if the person I found on facebook is the same person (hard to really tell from the picture, as it is from a much more recent time than 25 years ago), it's a bit heartbreaking because this person seems to have changed a lot.
I don't mean the looks... I mean judging by the things under "I'm a fan of..."
Anyway, as if I haven't had enough lessons about not digging in the past...
In other news, I think I've booked my weekends until Spring Break! This would be good news if I ran some sort of business that involved booking events or jobs or whatever. I mean, it's not really a bad thing, it's just I'm a person who enjoys an open schedule.
You know, maybe I could kill some time one day and do a Venn diagram of the me from now and the me from 25 years ago. I wonder what would overlap? I wonder if I can even channel the me from 25 years ago...
Whatever. I think I'm going to bed. It's not that you aren't all swell people and all. It's just that I'm tired.
You know that thing, right? I'm not the only one who does that, right?
Just humor me. I'm feeling all fragile and stuff now.
So I just spent some time doing that, and found a lead on someone who really meant a lot to be back in the day... and if the person I found on facebook is the same person (hard to really tell from the picture, as it is from a much more recent time than 25 years ago), it's a bit heartbreaking because this person seems to have changed a lot.
I don't mean the looks... I mean judging by the things under "I'm a fan of..."
Anyway, as if I haven't had enough lessons about not digging in the past...
In other news, I think I've booked my weekends until Spring Break! This would be good news if I ran some sort of business that involved booking events or jobs or whatever. I mean, it's not really a bad thing, it's just I'm a person who enjoys an open schedule.
You know, maybe I could kill some time one day and do a Venn diagram of the me from now and the me from 25 years ago. I wonder what would overlap? I wonder if I can even channel the me from 25 years ago...
Whatever. I think I'm going to bed. It's not that you aren't all swell people and all. It's just that I'm tired.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Nothing Lasts Forever!
I finally missed a day of posting on here! If you knew about my late evening last night, you'd forgive me. However, we'd have to be hanging out somewhere alone, with a couple of beers (or boxes of chocolate, or hours of Buffy the Vampire Slayer episodes, or whatever it is that works for you) under our belts before I'd delve into the details very much.
Suffice it to say, I thought the night was going to end much earlier than it did. No, really, I demand that you suffice it. Suffice, already! SUFFIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICE!
I have no idea what that was about, but it did lead to my looking up "suffice" at m-w.com...
But it has reminded me of another issue I had with language recently...
For some reason, the kids asked me the difference between two words. If I could remember the words, I could remember the reason. At any rate, I e-mailed our C.A. teacher to ask her the difference between "past of..." and "past participle of...", and she was going to send me a link that would fix me up, but her life was busy. Apparently she teaches during the day or something.
Anyway, anybody want to fix me up with an answer, I'd appreciate it! Now I just wish I could remember what the two words were... one was the "past of..." and the other was the "past participle of..."
And I just remembered: swam (past of swim) and swum (past participle of swim). The word "swum" appeared in a word problem, and someone raised his or her hand to say, "I thought 'swum' wasn't a word."
Idiot that I am, I looked it up.
Now I'm going to go do some research on my own. I know I should know what "past participle" means, and it's making me crazy that I don't.
As I read over this, I realize the world was probably thankful that I missed a day...
Suffice it to say, I thought the night was going to end much earlier than it did. No, really, I demand that you suffice it. Suffice, already! SUFFIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICE!
I have no idea what that was about, but it did lead to my looking up "suffice" at m-w.com...
But it has reminded me of another issue I had with language recently...
For some reason, the kids asked me the difference between two words. If I could remember the words, I could remember the reason. At any rate, I e-mailed our C.A. teacher to ask her the difference between "past of..." and "past participle of...", and she was going to send me a link that would fix me up, but her life was busy. Apparently she teaches during the day or something.
Anyway, anybody want to fix me up with an answer, I'd appreciate it! Now I just wish I could remember what the two words were... one was the "past of..." and the other was the "past participle of..."
And I just remembered: swam (past of swim) and swum (past participle of swim). The word "swum" appeared in a word problem, and someone raised his or her hand to say, "I thought 'swum' wasn't a word."
Idiot that I am, I looked it up.
Now I'm going to go do some research on my own. I know I should know what "past participle" means, and it's making me crazy that I don't.
As I read over this, I realize the world was probably thankful that I missed a day...
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
May This Be The Last Snow Day Of The School Year...
Today was a snow day. It's been a long day for me, considering I didn't have to go in to work.
First, Bowman called at 5:22 to let me know school was closed. The problem is, I'm supposed to call Bowman. He was calling UP the tree instead of down it. Actually, it's not a problem, as I appreciate knowing as soon as possible--but the problem comes from the fact I have to either wait for the two other calls (the one from the person above me on the phone tree, and the one from the automated system the district uses) or be jolted awake by the phone.
I prefer to wait up, because I can say all kinds of crazy stuff to that automated voice, and she doesn't mind at all.
Anyway, I was waiting, and got wrapped up in Zuma's Revenge. Things were looking pretty bleak, with one life to spare at level 52, but somehow I made it past level 55...
Sorry, side note: It's 12:10 a.m., and I can hear someone whistling. If I don't show up at work tomorrow I've either gone ahead and had the rest of the stroke or brain freakout that has started with hearing this whistle, or I've been killed by The Whistling Killer.
Back to Zuma's Revenge: I made it past level 55, and that's exciting news (for me, anyway), because I'd been starting at level 51 for the past kerjillion times I played the game.
By the time the game was over, I felt it would be more responsible of me to start getting the grad school work wrapped up--as it was due at midnight.
So I started working on it. It's very frustrating, as anyone who sees my status updates on facebook or reads this blog must know. What I didn't already know, I don't have time to use in the classroom. However, I was being good and working hard, and I made the mistake of sitting in a reclining seat to read some of the textbook.
I feel asleep with this huge book on my face, my hand trapped between the book and my forehead, and my right arm being nearly punctured by some sharp corner on the chair.
And I slept for over and hour like that.
So my neck feels great.
I tried to get back on track when I woke up, and did a pretty good job, except I had to run to the bank, then the Evil Empire... and then another Evil Empire because the one closest to me is under construction and has absolutely nothing in stock. Upon returning home, I did some more grad school work, and then ordered a computer online.
Apparently Best Buy had it in stock, so I went to pick it up and run it to Ruth's place (where Dane will be living in just a few more days), so that Dane will have a more reliable computer.
Upon returning back home, I again worked on grad school stuff... pretty much until midnight, when I posted my final response to someone else's posting.
Now that I type it, it seems like I did nothing today.
Oh well. It was a snow day. I'm allowed.
First, Bowman called at 5:22 to let me know school was closed. The problem is, I'm supposed to call Bowman. He was calling UP the tree instead of down it. Actually, it's not a problem, as I appreciate knowing as soon as possible--but the problem comes from the fact I have to either wait for the two other calls (the one from the person above me on the phone tree, and the one from the automated system the district uses) or be jolted awake by the phone.
I prefer to wait up, because I can say all kinds of crazy stuff to that automated voice, and she doesn't mind at all.
Anyway, I was waiting, and got wrapped up in Zuma's Revenge. Things were looking pretty bleak, with one life to spare at level 52, but somehow I made it past level 55...
Sorry, side note: It's 12:10 a.m., and I can hear someone whistling. If I don't show up at work tomorrow I've either gone ahead and had the rest of the stroke or brain freakout that has started with hearing this whistle, or I've been killed by The Whistling Killer.
Back to Zuma's Revenge: I made it past level 55, and that's exciting news (for me, anyway), because I'd been starting at level 51 for the past kerjillion times I played the game.
By the time the game was over, I felt it would be more responsible of me to start getting the grad school work wrapped up--as it was due at midnight.
So I started working on it. It's very frustrating, as anyone who sees my status updates on facebook or reads this blog must know. What I didn't already know, I don't have time to use in the classroom. However, I was being good and working hard, and I made the mistake of sitting in a reclining seat to read some of the textbook.
I feel asleep with this huge book on my face, my hand trapped between the book and my forehead, and my right arm being nearly punctured by some sharp corner on the chair.
And I slept for over and hour like that.
So my neck feels great.
I tried to get back on track when I woke up, and did a pretty good job, except I had to run to the bank, then the Evil Empire... and then another Evil Empire because the one closest to me is under construction and has absolutely nothing in stock. Upon returning home, I did some more grad school work, and then ordered a computer online.
Apparently Best Buy had it in stock, so I went to pick it up and run it to Ruth's place (where Dane will be living in just a few more days), so that Dane will have a more reliable computer.
Upon returning back home, I again worked on grad school stuff... pretty much until midnight, when I posted my final response to someone else's posting.
Now that I type it, it seems like I did nothing today.
Oh well. It was a snow day. I'm allowed.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
How Much Do I Hate Being Cut?
A lot.
Being cut is one of my big fears... or crazy-making-things. The other is zombies.
Luckily, we live in a world where cuts are far more likely (I say "luckily", but really, using movies as my major source of information, I think even I could outrun most zombies... but there's that whole "never giving up" thing they do, and I know I'd need to rest).
So tonight I was cleaning up the kitchen because... well, it needed it, mostly. I was doing great. I was looking for that brown plastic square thing designed to clean the pizza stone. While I was blindly feeling around in the drawer where most items like that are kept, I failed to remember I bought a great bread knife a short while back.
Apparently, it also works well on fingertips.
So now my nice clean kitchen looks like a bloodbath.
Not really, but there was more blood than I care to deal with.
As I stood there, applying pressure and trying to work my way from the base of my brain to my frontal lobe, I realized there was almost no chance I had a Band-Aid in the house. Any Band-Aids I had prior to the move would have been in the bathroom, and there was nothing salvageable in that bathroom after the fire.
I did run the past ten months through my mind, in case I had forgotten buying Band-Aids, but my quick-replay just made me more sure I was a man without Band-Aids.
But I checked anyway.
Once I was sure there were no adhesive bandage strips to be found, I realized I would have to go to get some. By now the pressure I'd applied seemed to have stopped the bleeding, but I knew I'd be brushing this finger again an again as I reached in my pocket, put on my jacket, put on my shoes, etc., that I had to go.
And, because of all those things I just mentioned needing to avoid until I got a Band-Aid, this meant I went with no coat in my slippers, and I had to do a funny sort of dance-thing to get my keys out of my left pocket with my right hand.
On the up side, I am now stocked up on bandages. I didn't debate the issue long, as I now had recent experience with needing a Band-Aid and not having any. I got several varieties, and some Neosporin. I was looking for those little scissors you can use to cut off dead skin, because I think that's going to be an issue later, but decided it was something I didn't want to think about at that moment.
So, here I am, typing away with a finger-band-aid covering the slice in question.
At least it was just an innocent knife in a drawer (an innocent knife that has been cleaned and put in the drawer where I keep the other knives, by the way), and not a zombie wielding a knife.
Being cut is one of my big fears... or crazy-making-things. The other is zombies.
Luckily, we live in a world where cuts are far more likely (I say "luckily", but really, using movies as my major source of information, I think even I could outrun most zombies... but there's that whole "never giving up" thing they do, and I know I'd need to rest).
So tonight I was cleaning up the kitchen because... well, it needed it, mostly. I was doing great. I was looking for that brown plastic square thing designed to clean the pizza stone. While I was blindly feeling around in the drawer where most items like that are kept, I failed to remember I bought a great bread knife a short while back.
Apparently, it also works well on fingertips.
So now my nice clean kitchen looks like a bloodbath.
Not really, but there was more blood than I care to deal with.
As I stood there, applying pressure and trying to work my way from the base of my brain to my frontal lobe, I realized there was almost no chance I had a Band-Aid in the house. Any Band-Aids I had prior to the move would have been in the bathroom, and there was nothing salvageable in that bathroom after the fire.
I did run the past ten months through my mind, in case I had forgotten buying Band-Aids, but my quick-replay just made me more sure I was a man without Band-Aids.
But I checked anyway.
Once I was sure there were no adhesive bandage strips to be found, I realized I would have to go to get some. By now the pressure I'd applied seemed to have stopped the bleeding, but I knew I'd be brushing this finger again an again as I reached in my pocket, put on my jacket, put on my shoes, etc., that I had to go.
And, because of all those things I just mentioned needing to avoid until I got a Band-Aid, this meant I went with no coat in my slippers, and I had to do a funny sort of dance-thing to get my keys out of my left pocket with my right hand.
On the up side, I am now stocked up on bandages. I didn't debate the issue long, as I now had recent experience with needing a Band-Aid and not having any. I got several varieties, and some Neosporin. I was looking for those little scissors you can use to cut off dead skin, because I think that's going to be an issue later, but decided it was something I didn't want to think about at that moment.
So, here I am, typing away with a finger-band-aid covering the slice in question.
At least it was just an innocent knife in a drawer (an innocent knife that has been cleaned and put in the drawer where I keep the other knives, by the way), and not a zombie wielding a knife.
Grad School Avoidance
If I get through this current class, it will only be through some sort of miracle... like me hunkering down and just gettin' 'er done.
Words cannot describe how "well-duh"-ish this ed psych stuff is. I mean, yes, very important if I'm Joe Undergrad, or Joe Grad-But-Never-Set-Foot-In-A-Classroom, but really, I'm just learning the names for stuff I already know... and I'm not interested in knowing the names... this isn't some mystical/mythical land where knowing the name of something gives me actual power over it.
"Oh, so THAT'S why I'll never have kids who are prepared for what I am here to teach. I feel so much more powerful knowing there's a name for it."
Not.
And, as I've already mentioned, this cite, cite, cite, crap is killing me. Even if I try to write my responses and then go find citations to back it up, I spend the whole time making sure I don't say that much while seeming like I'm saying something, just because I don't have the whole day every day to go look up crap.
So I do what I can, then take breaks. It makes for long days and long nights of work/break/play/work/play/break/work/nap/play/work/play...
Because it really does wear my brain out.
The class on teaching integers? Loved it.
The class on teaching functions? Loved it.
The class on teaching rational numbers? Loved it.
And the common thread in those classes... okay, one of the two major common threads, with the first being those are specific to the content area I teach, is I am learning stuff I can actually use the very next day in class.
"Kids, I get why your social relations are much more important than what I have to tell you because of (Whoop D. Doodle, 1997), and that I need to make sure you get plenty of practice, because of (Blahdy Blah, 2005)..."
No, not working for me.
Anyway, feel free to post a "You can do it!" or "Hunker down, Mark!" or even an annoying "Get 'er done!"
This, too, shall pass.
The only way out is through.
You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille.
Words cannot describe how "well-duh"-ish this ed psych stuff is. I mean, yes, very important if I'm Joe Undergrad, or Joe Grad-But-Never-Set-Foot-In-A-Classroom, but really, I'm just learning the names for stuff I already know... and I'm not interested in knowing the names... this isn't some mystical/mythical land where knowing the name of something gives me actual power over it.
"Oh, so THAT'S why I'll never have kids who are prepared for what I am here to teach. I feel so much more powerful knowing there's a name for it."
Not.
And, as I've already mentioned, this cite, cite, cite, crap is killing me. Even if I try to write my responses and then go find citations to back it up, I spend the whole time making sure I don't say that much while seeming like I'm saying something, just because I don't have the whole day every day to go look up crap.
So I do what I can, then take breaks. It makes for long days and long nights of work/break/play/work/play/break/work/nap/play/work/play...
Because it really does wear my brain out.
The class on teaching integers? Loved it.
The class on teaching functions? Loved it.
The class on teaching rational numbers? Loved it.
And the common thread in those classes... okay, one of the two major common threads, with the first being those are specific to the content area I teach, is I am learning stuff I can actually use the very next day in class.
"Kids, I get why your social relations are much more important than what I have to tell you because of (Whoop D. Doodle, 1997), and that I need to make sure you get plenty of practice, because of (Blahdy Blah, 2005)..."
No, not working for me.
Anyway, feel free to post a "You can do it!" or "Hunker down, Mark!" or even an annoying "Get 'er done!"
This, too, shall pass.
The only way out is through.
You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille.
Friday, February 19, 2010
On A Wonderful Day Like Today
Yowza, was this day just a load of fun!
First, I was stupid and made plans. This is never a good plan. The best plan is to make no plan, which I suppose is some sort of paradox or at least a paranursepractitioners.
Anyway, my big plan was to run my car to get the wheel looked at (pothole-related issues) and the oil changed and whatever else needing changed changed during my plan time. The plan was to ask someone to follow me and give me a ride right back to school, then worry about picking it up later.
Smaller plans included having the kids take what I thought would be a 15-20 minutes pop quiz of sorts, then have them look over their most recent tests while I quickly graded the quizzes and talked to the kids who just weren't getting it.
Problem 1: Apparently 48 minutes was not enough time to finish the quiz question--a good sign that most of them aren't getting it, eh? There were about four kids who were able to turn in a finished project before class ended. The good news: at least I know we need to spend some more time making tables and graphs...
Problem 2: The grade book program decided to go crazy when I had one more student's test score to put in (about five kids were absent when we took the test yesterday, but they all showed up today, so I'd been entering their test scores and printing new progress reports as I went along. I'd told this young lady I'd have her progress report in homeroom at the end of the day. So I spent the first part of my plan time fighting the computer.
Whatever.
So the car didn't get taken in until after school, and the place is actually on my walk route, so it made no sense to hang out there for 90 minutes when I could walk home and hang out there. So check it out: extra walking!
Problem: very cold, and also wet and crazy.
Speaking of cold and wet and crazy: during fifth hour we had the craziest snow going on outside. The kids were working on the quiz, and I'd gone to my desk to do something, and found myself staring out the window and thinking of how peaceful it was to just watch snow falling. I know a lot of people around here are sick of winter, but I love a beautiful snowfall.
Anyway, apparently my staring out the window attracted the attention of some of the kids, and minutes passed without anyone getting much done. Figuring they were already distracted, I opened the window to get some pictures. I did this again when the snowflakes became these gigantic chicken-feather looking things...
Now it is officially the weekend. I have things to do, so I wanted to get this out before it go too late... as if 9:12 isn't late.
First, I was stupid and made plans. This is never a good plan. The best plan is to make no plan, which I suppose is some sort of paradox or at least a paranursepractitioners.
Anyway, my big plan was to run my car to get the wheel looked at (pothole-related issues) and the oil changed and whatever else needing changed changed during my plan time. The plan was to ask someone to follow me and give me a ride right back to school, then worry about picking it up later.
Smaller plans included having the kids take what I thought would be a 15-20 minutes pop quiz of sorts, then have them look over their most recent tests while I quickly graded the quizzes and talked to the kids who just weren't getting it.
Problem 1: Apparently 48 minutes was not enough time to finish the quiz question--a good sign that most of them aren't getting it, eh? There were about four kids who were able to turn in a finished project before class ended. The good news: at least I know we need to spend some more time making tables and graphs...
Problem 2: The grade book program decided to go crazy when I had one more student's test score to put in (about five kids were absent when we took the test yesterday, but they all showed up today, so I'd been entering their test scores and printing new progress reports as I went along. I'd told this young lady I'd have her progress report in homeroom at the end of the day. So I spent the first part of my plan time fighting the computer.
Whatever.
So the car didn't get taken in until after school, and the place is actually on my walk route, so it made no sense to hang out there for 90 minutes when I could walk home and hang out there. So check it out: extra walking!
Problem: very cold, and also wet and crazy.
Speaking of cold and wet and crazy: during fifth hour we had the craziest snow going on outside. The kids were working on the quiz, and I'd gone to my desk to do something, and found myself staring out the window and thinking of how peaceful it was to just watch snow falling. I know a lot of people around here are sick of winter, but I love a beautiful snowfall.
Anyway, apparently my staring out the window attracted the attention of some of the kids, and minutes passed without anyone getting much done. Figuring they were already distracted, I opened the window to get some pictures. I did this again when the snowflakes became these gigantic chicken-feather looking things...
Now it is officially the weekend. I have things to do, so I wanted to get this out before it go too late... as if 9:12 isn't late.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Insider Information
I'm gonna let you in on a little secret: From the insider perspective, the school year is almost over.
Oh, it seems like there's lots of time, I know, but the second semester--traditionally the longer of the two semesters in the district in which I work--is like that one thingy at the Winter Olympics where you ride in a sled real fast down what looks like a frozen water slide.
Oops, my lack of interest in the Olympics is showing...
But it is, no lie. About the time you get your classes back into the swing of things, it's time for the mid-quarter progress reports, which means Spring Break is just few weeks away, and after that it's a couple of weeks to MAP testing, and after that the days just roll by.
Now is about the time my inner panic starts to rear its ugly head. "Where did all the time go," I wonder. "How can I get these kids prepared for the MAP test, eighth grade, high school, and life? I only have so much time!"
No worries, however, my inner "shut up and sit down, panic" kicked in at least a couple of years back.
The up side is this year I feel less like I'm just running triage than any other year. That's a good thing. I feel like things have gotten to a good place where I can get some people caught up. I'm probably deluding myself, but it's a nice feeling, anyway.
So, yes, it's still Winter. Yes, the end of May is so far away.
But it's not.
Oh, it seems like there's lots of time, I know, but the second semester--traditionally the longer of the two semesters in the district in which I work--is like that one thingy at the Winter Olympics where you ride in a sled real fast down what looks like a frozen water slide.
Oops, my lack of interest in the Olympics is showing...
But it is, no lie. About the time you get your classes back into the swing of things, it's time for the mid-quarter progress reports, which means Spring Break is just few weeks away, and after that it's a couple of weeks to MAP testing, and after that the days just roll by.
Now is about the time my inner panic starts to rear its ugly head. "Where did all the time go," I wonder. "How can I get these kids prepared for the MAP test, eighth grade, high school, and life? I only have so much time!"
No worries, however, my inner "shut up and sit down, panic" kicked in at least a couple of years back.
The up side is this year I feel less like I'm just running triage than any other year. That's a good thing. I feel like things have gotten to a good place where I can get some people caught up. I'm probably deluding myself, but it's a nice feeling, anyway.
So, yes, it's still Winter. Yes, the end of May is so far away.
But it's not.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Scene From A Crazy School Day
Yesterday in my seminar class, I had a group of four or five students gathered around my desk while the twenty other students in the class were working at different "stations". The crowd around my desk were having their conference day with me.
The young man directly in front of my desk, whose code name shall be "Ronnie" needed to three-hole-punch something, and I thought he referred to my three-hole-punch as "Dorothy."
I was taken aback, as Mr. Malia called his three-hole-punch "Dorothy" back when I was in high school, and--even though for that very reason I had named my three-hole-punch the same thing--I didn't recall telling my students I'd given it that name, or at least not this year. So I turned back to "Ronnie" and said, "Did you just call my three-hole-punch 'Dorothy'?"
"Ronnie" looked at me as if I had gone insane (or more so), and told me he hadn't. I looked at the other students and asked if anyone else heard someone say "Dorothy". Another student, who we shall call "Jesse", said, "I thought I heard him say 'Dorothy,' too."
So I turned back and said, "Did you call it 'Dorothy?' Have I told you guys that's the name I gave it?"
At which point "Jesse" said, "Now's the point where the screen goes black and "LOST" appears on the screen..."
The young man directly in front of my desk, whose code name shall be "Ronnie" needed to three-hole-punch something, and I thought he referred to my three-hole-punch as "Dorothy."
I was taken aback, as Mr. Malia called his three-hole-punch "Dorothy" back when I was in high school, and--even though for that very reason I had named my three-hole-punch the same thing--I didn't recall telling my students I'd given it that name, or at least not this year. So I turned back to "Ronnie" and said, "Did you just call my three-hole-punch 'Dorothy'?"
"Ronnie" looked at me as if I had gone insane (or more so), and told me he hadn't. I looked at the other students and asked if anyone else heard someone say "Dorothy". Another student, who we shall call "Jesse", said, "I thought I heard him say 'Dorothy,' too."
So I turned back and said, "Did you call it 'Dorothy?' Have I told you guys that's the name I gave it?"
At which point "Jesse" said, "Now's the point where the screen goes black and "LOST" appears on the screen..."
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Twenty-Five Years Ago Today
Twenty-five years ago today, I worked a shift at McDonald's. I don't remember a lot of details about the shift, although I believe I got off early.
I remember that part, because I considered for a brief moment going to see Dad at the hospital. I can't emphasize enough how brief that moment was.
It seems to me someone from the family stopped by the store to let me know they were going to see him that day. It seems to me they were trying to give me a subtle hint to go see him.
But that may be the revisionist history part of my brain at work.
The last time I saw Dad alive was the day he went to the hospital. I won't bore you with the details (too late), and not just because many people had done the angry young man thing before me, and many have done it since, and most of them did it way better than me.
Short version: I honestly felt I felt nothing for the man.
I was driving down what I think is called Public Street in Center, but my mental name for it is "the-main-drag-that-isn't-Highway-19". I looked up and saw Wade flagging me down not far from the grocery store. I slowed down and rolled down the window. He walked up to my door and said, "Dad died."
I don't remember my response. I imagine it was a stupid question of the sort that always gets asked at these times. I just remember going home, not knowing what to do... not understanding why I felt anything. Mostly I was just being an 18-year-old going a little crazy, if you get what I'm saying.
After about five minutes (or maybe several hours) of trying to figure out what was wrong with me that I should have actual feelings for this man I'd resented for years for his terrible sin of being so much older than everyone else's father, I had to get out.
I headed to New London to my "other" parents (I've had so many sets of parents, and--not counting Say--I'd guess Les & Paulette were set number 4... Mom and Dad being 1, Mike & Judy Couch being 2, Tom & Toni Vanskike being 3...) and had a bit of a freak out, trying to figure out why I felt anything at all.
Yes, folks, loving me is the same as signing up for the occasional freakshow...
I remember eventually heading back home. Then all the stupid rituals were going full force: people bringing over food, seeing people I hadn't seen in years or even knew were still among the living (I didn't know my aunt Lois' first husband was still alive... nobody ever said anything about him), and figuring out that Glen was somehow a cousin on my father's side--which made why he was always at Auntie's house a little more clear, but was generally upsetting to realize I hadn't known he was a cousin for over 18 years.
Of course, the fun went on past the 16th, but I won't dwell on all those fun stories here. The important part is how I had the perfect chance to learn my lesson about being aware of how I feel while people are still alive, and failed miserably... and continue to do so to this day!
I remember that part, because I considered for a brief moment going to see Dad at the hospital. I can't emphasize enough how brief that moment was.
It seems to me someone from the family stopped by the store to let me know they were going to see him that day. It seems to me they were trying to give me a subtle hint to go see him.
But that may be the revisionist history part of my brain at work.
The last time I saw Dad alive was the day he went to the hospital. I won't bore you with the details (too late), and not just because many people had done the angry young man thing before me, and many have done it since, and most of them did it way better than me.
Short version: I honestly felt I felt nothing for the man.
I was driving down what I think is called Public Street in Center, but my mental name for it is "the-main-drag-that-isn't-Highway-19". I looked up and saw Wade flagging me down not far from the grocery store. I slowed down and rolled down the window. He walked up to my door and said, "Dad died."
I don't remember my response. I imagine it was a stupid question of the sort that always gets asked at these times. I just remember going home, not knowing what to do... not understanding why I felt anything. Mostly I was just being an 18-year-old going a little crazy, if you get what I'm saying.
After about five minutes (or maybe several hours) of trying to figure out what was wrong with me that I should have actual feelings for this man I'd resented for years for his terrible sin of being so much older than everyone else's father, I had to get out.
I headed to New London to my "other" parents (I've had so many sets of parents, and--not counting Say--I'd guess Les & Paulette were set number 4... Mom and Dad being 1, Mike & Judy Couch being 2, Tom & Toni Vanskike being 3...) and had a bit of a freak out, trying to figure out why I felt anything at all.
Yes, folks, loving me is the same as signing up for the occasional freakshow...
I remember eventually heading back home. Then all the stupid rituals were going full force: people bringing over food, seeing people I hadn't seen in years or even knew were still among the living (I didn't know my aunt Lois' first husband was still alive... nobody ever said anything about him), and figuring out that Glen was somehow a cousin on my father's side--which made why he was always at Auntie's house a little more clear, but was generally upsetting to realize I hadn't known he was a cousin for over 18 years.
Of course, the fun went on past the 16th, but I won't dwell on all those fun stories here. The important part is how I had the perfect chance to learn my lesson about being aware of how I feel while people are still alive, and failed miserably... and continue to do so to this day!
Monday, February 15, 2010
Best President's Day EVER
What a fine three-day weekend it has been. On the down side, I've missed a day of walking. On the up side... um...
Anyway, I hope everyone had a great Chinese New Year yesterday. I'm almost caught up on my grad school work, and plan to be totally caught up by Wednesday--actually, I'm caught up now, I hope not to fall behind on Wednesday when there's another deadline...
As I have mentioned elsewhere, tomorrow will be the 25th anniversary of Harland Gregory Riggs' passing. If I am up to it, I'll try to give a detailed account of the day--or as detailed as I deem appropriate. I'd make a poll about it, but I figure there's not enough time for word to spread across the internet that such an important poll is on my blog.
Right now I am basking in the world of the vertex, the focus, and the directrix. Ah, directrix, in raspberry red, lemon yellow, orange orange...
Since we're working with parabolas, I should parabobly be paying attention!
Oh, for fun.
By the way: there is so much MST3K stuff on youtube, and I was up so late the other night laughing my hind end off... that I could argue Heaven and our plane of existence are sometimes occupying the same space.
Anyway, I hope everyone had a great Chinese New Year yesterday. I'm almost caught up on my grad school work, and plan to be totally caught up by Wednesday--actually, I'm caught up now, I hope not to fall behind on Wednesday when there's another deadline...
As I have mentioned elsewhere, tomorrow will be the 25th anniversary of Harland Gregory Riggs' passing. If I am up to it, I'll try to give a detailed account of the day--or as detailed as I deem appropriate. I'd make a poll about it, but I figure there's not enough time for word to spread across the internet that such an important poll is on my blog.
Right now I am basking in the world of the vertex, the focus, and the directrix. Ah, directrix, in raspberry red, lemon yellow, orange orange...
Since we're working with parabolas, I should parabobly be paying attention!
Oh, for fun.
By the way: there is so much MST3K stuff on youtube, and I was up so late the other night laughing my hind end off... that I could argue Heaven and our plane of existence are sometimes occupying the same space.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Thinkin' About Thinkin'
I should just ask Brenda, as in my mind she is the one I hear singing that line (the one in the title of this post)... but my mind has often attributed cool-and-quirky things to Brenda just because she's one of my coolest-quirkiest friends, and not because she actually said them.
I am, however, pretty sure she is the person I suddenly and very non-sequiturously (it's a word, because I just made it up) turned to at Applebee's on night in the mid-to-late 80s and asked, "What's dot-dot-dash in Morse Code?" However, the quirky there was all mine.
Anyway, I am doing my Ed Psych homework (no, you're really not, Mark... you're typing on your blog which is so not your homework for Ed Psych) and one of the 8,000 topics I am to discuss this week is metacognition, which is thinking about how you think (and is also two words, according to the spell check on here, but is one word according to my text book... or textbook). Or, as the song goes: "Thinkin' about thinkin'!"
However, I don't know what the song is. Was it a Schoolhouse Rock thing? Was it something else? I really want to know. So if you know, let me know, and then I'll know. Know, know, Knanette.
Now I have to get back to work on my assignment, which means I'm going to go to bed.
I am, however, pretty sure she is the person I suddenly and very non-sequiturously (it's a word, because I just made it up) turned to at Applebee's on night in the mid-to-late 80s and asked, "What's dot-dot-dash in Morse Code?" However, the quirky there was all mine.
Anyway, I am doing my Ed Psych homework (no, you're really not, Mark... you're typing on your blog which is so not your homework for Ed Psych) and one of the 8,000 topics I am to discuss this week is metacognition, which is thinking about how you think (and is also two words, according to the spell check on here, but is one word according to my text book... or textbook). Or, as the song goes: "Thinkin' about thinkin'!"
However, I don't know what the song is. Was it a Schoolhouse Rock thing? Was it something else? I really want to know. So if you know, let me know, and then I'll know. Know, know, Knanette.
Now I have to get back to work on my assignment, which means I'm going to go to bed.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Walk Music Side Note
Somehow I have managed to put a song on my "Walk CD" that has a secret power over my legs.
Fortunately, it falls right about the time I'm ready to slow down to a near-crawl, so it helps me keep a decent pace... but still, it bothers me that I can't seem to resist the power of this song.
Brace yourself.
"Groove is in the Heart" by Deeee-Lite (and I don't know if I have the right number of "e"s in there or not).
This song comes on and my left foot insists on hitting the ground on the beat... and where the left foot goes, the right foot will follow.
I'm pretty sure this song wasn't on my "Walk Tape", but I think it needs to survive to the mp3 incarnation of the walk music...
A wiser person than me would probably do some research to find other songs I can't resist, although this power my be one that comes and goes, as "She Thinks She's Edith Head" by They Might Be Giants used to have a power like this over me, but no longer seems to do so. Also: TMBG's "Take Out the Trash" (which follows GIITH on the CD) also seems to have this power, which may one day kill me, because I'm walking uphill by the time this song ends.
In other "Walk CD"-related news: I seem to be walking more quickly. I'm getting home a full song earlier now. I wonder if that means I should add a half mile to my walk? I'll ask one of the P.E. folks at school for advice on that when I get back on Tuesday--if I remember.
Valentine's Day is tomorrow. Everybody be sure to do the very romantic thing and make sure your honey knows how much you love him or her on the day that every other couple around you is doing the same thing.
::sigh:: Ah, spontaneity...
Fortunately, it falls right about the time I'm ready to slow down to a near-crawl, so it helps me keep a decent pace... but still, it bothers me that I can't seem to resist the power of this song.
Brace yourself.
"Groove is in the Heart" by Deeee-Lite (and I don't know if I have the right number of "e"s in there or not).
This song comes on and my left foot insists on hitting the ground on the beat... and where the left foot goes, the right foot will follow.
I'm pretty sure this song wasn't on my "Walk Tape", but I think it needs to survive to the mp3 incarnation of the walk music...
A wiser person than me would probably do some research to find other songs I can't resist, although this power my be one that comes and goes, as "She Thinks She's Edith Head" by They Might Be Giants used to have a power like this over me, but no longer seems to do so. Also: TMBG's "Take Out the Trash" (which follows GIITH on the CD) also seems to have this power, which may one day kill me, because I'm walking uphill by the time this song ends.
In other "Walk CD"-related news: I seem to be walking more quickly. I'm getting home a full song earlier now. I wonder if that means I should add a half mile to my walk? I'll ask one of the P.E. folks at school for advice on that when I get back on Tuesday--if I remember.
Valentine's Day is tomorrow. Everybody be sure to do the very romantic thing and make sure your honey knows how much you love him or her on the day that every other couple around you is doing the same thing.
::sigh:: Ah, spontaneity...
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