I’m not who I am. I am empty.
I was once, but am no more. Something else has taken over, and I am a slave to it. Happiness retreats. Reality floods me. The levies hold then break, crumbling unexpectedly; without warning, I am left with bits and pieces of the sorrow and the loss and the humiliation I have not the courage to face.
I have failed, and refuse to face my mistakes.
I claim to have come to terms with them, but have moved past them so quickly they’re barely acknowledged, never resolved, broken shards in my bleeding side- reflecting what I’ve forgotten, what my laziness has begotten, who I’ve left in the dust of my blazing trail to hell.
My father’s urn, the art for which sit in a drawer nearly completed but untouched. My Air Force Career, which I blame only myself for ruining. I claim to have loyalty and honor, I claim to hold close and sacred the memories of those I’ve lost, and yet I am a fraud. Somehow it is never quite enough. Neglect. To clean my room, my car, my body. I am filthy. I want my outside to reflect my inside, and how my soul is being held hostage by this.
I am a failure in the biggest way.
I have ignored and run from potential for fear that it is too large for me. It will not fit, and will hang off of my insufficient frame like an oversized coat. People will see. Everyone will see.
And I am my own stereotype. Tears lead to shame, shame that I am not stronger. And I am not.
My own weakness induces self-hate, viewed as pity, feeding the cycle as I make my excuses and loathe myself for it. I am stepping outside myself, screaming- “You are pathetic. Hypocritical. You laugh at others who wallow, helpless in their woe. Yet you cradle your self-pity.
"Drown. Just drown so that I, the successful, real you, may live. Because you’ve suppressed and ignored me with such steel intent that I’ve hardly been here, yet I’ve been persevering all along. And I’ve seen the sun. When you surfed and taught, when you were honest with your friends and family, when you played rugby with integrity and honor. That is who I am. And it is my turn. So drown.”
Just die.
So that I may live.
04 October 2008
15 September 2008
Like It Never Happened.
I’m sitting here mere hours after my Uncle, who has lived in my home for the past four years, and more than that, been my Uncle for my entire life and my father’s best friend until his 47 years ran out, and I’m reading blogs and celebrity gossip on the internet with the TV going in the background, like it never happened.
As if I didn’t just lose someone close to me, someone I loved. Brooke, his daughter, the cousin I grew up with who has been the closest thing to a sister I’ve ever had, is upstairs lying in what was her Father’s bed (but ceases to have any ownership now that he’s gone- though I suppose by custom everything that once belonged to him is now hers by right-) probably sleeping the xanax-and-wine-induced sleep of a daughter in mourning who’s lost her father Way Too Soon and I only hope it lasts as long as mercifully possible because that first morning without your Dad is one of the worst of your life. I’ll join her there soon. But first I’m going through the numb motions I’ve almost become accustomed to when readjusting to life without someone who was Just There.
And the family has left, and the hospice nurse has left, and the funeral home people in their black formal attire and nice silk ties have left, taking Uncle Dan’s broken, worn-out, frail and dead body with them. And just like when my stepfather died when I was 18, and when my Father died when I was 19, and when my beautiful, loving, life-living, deserving friend Stephanie died less than 2 months ago at the young age of 23, I’m aching at the thought and the stark realization that the rest of the world is going on, and for them, nothing has changed at all. Only the aching becomes more and more dull each time, almost like I’m actually getting used to it- which is something I never want to do. Because if it weren’t for us, those left behind, with the grief and the memories and the stories and the tears, it would be like the dearly departed never even existed.
Well, good thing for them that we’re here. To make sure someone notices that they’ve gone. To ensure it matters. So here we are with the emptiness, the cursed knowledge that we’ll lever talk to them again in this life, feeling sad for them but possibly feeling even more depressed for ourselves, and we lag behind just a bit with life. Yeah, we’ll go back to our jobs and to our friends and to random people who will all offer the same general condolences with varying amounts of sincerity, emotion, pity or empathy- but for now we’ll stay back from the pack a bit. Because once we rejoin them, and commit to getting on with our lives, it’ll be- almost- like it never happened.
Maybe I’m skipping around in the grieving. So I think I’ll go watch some Gossip Girl.
But this house is empty.
As if I didn’t just lose someone close to me, someone I loved. Brooke, his daughter, the cousin I grew up with who has been the closest thing to a sister I’ve ever had, is upstairs lying in what was her Father’s bed (but ceases to have any ownership now that he’s gone- though I suppose by custom everything that once belonged to him is now hers by right-) probably sleeping the xanax-and-wine-induced sleep of a daughter in mourning who’s lost her father Way Too Soon and I only hope it lasts as long as mercifully possible because that first morning without your Dad is one of the worst of your life. I’ll join her there soon. But first I’m going through the numb motions I’ve almost become accustomed to when readjusting to life without someone who was Just There.
And the family has left, and the hospice nurse has left, and the funeral home people in their black formal attire and nice silk ties have left, taking Uncle Dan’s broken, worn-out, frail and dead body with them. And just like when my stepfather died when I was 18, and when my Father died when I was 19, and when my beautiful, loving, life-living, deserving friend Stephanie died less than 2 months ago at the young age of 23, I’m aching at the thought and the stark realization that the rest of the world is going on, and for them, nothing has changed at all. Only the aching becomes more and more dull each time, almost like I’m actually getting used to it- which is something I never want to do. Because if it weren’t for us, those left behind, with the grief and the memories and the stories and the tears, it would be like the dearly departed never even existed.
Well, good thing for them that we’re here. To make sure someone notices that they’ve gone. To ensure it matters. So here we are with the emptiness, the cursed knowledge that we’ll lever talk to them again in this life, feeling sad for them but possibly feeling even more depressed for ourselves, and we lag behind just a bit with life. Yeah, we’ll go back to our jobs and to our friends and to random people who will all offer the same general condolences with varying amounts of sincerity, emotion, pity or empathy- but for now we’ll stay back from the pack a bit. Because once we rejoin them, and commit to getting on with our lives, it’ll be- almost- like it never happened.
Maybe I’m skipping around in the grieving. So I think I’ll go watch some Gossip Girl.
But this house is empty.
07 September 2008
It's a lot about me?
So death has come to visit me again. Never quite grabbing hold, but brushing my life in ways that remind me he's there. Chillin'. Busy.
Taking care of my Uncle on hospice is certainly a different experience from when I did it for my stepdad- and please pre-emptive warning: this is not a 'pityme' blog entry. I just gotta get these thought and feelings down and out of me.
I feel angry about my Uncle lying on his death-bed and doing it before I could make enough money or time to take him up and visit his daugther (my cousin) at her new apartment.
I feel detached because I've done this before and I'm so afraid of falling apart or of other people falling apart around me and me being the only one left standing who can handle this.
I feel posessive because I've been taking care of him since he started his decline, and I was the one who said 'it's time to take him to the hospital' when we did that, and I was the one who said 'it's time to call hospice' when we did that, and I was the one who said 'Absolutely not, he is staying at home, no hospice facility, no nursing home' and yet everyone else (mostly Grandma, also Mom and some nurses) jumps in and answers the nurses questions and jumps up to get him food and pushes me aside and tells me I'm being 'bossy' when I tell them how to handle his drink or food or walking or bathing. I was the one who volunteered to care for him without gloved hands- so let me do it. And you're goddamn right I know more about it that you do. I worked in a nursing home. I've been caring for him longer than you have. Let me care for my dying Uncle while I can before classes and work tear me away.
But of course, I just deal with it like an immature child by throwing my hands up in the air and leaving for 2 days to visit his daughter in Orlando, so I can relax, and bitch, and let them take over as they so clearly want to.
I suppose I needed the break anyhow.
And I have some growing up to do. It's shocking the amount of change and growth you undergo while in college, and the massive, life-altering lessons you learn (or at least, I consider myself to have...whether or not they've been fully absorbed is yet to be seen.) But what's been even more of a jolt to me is the amount I'm changing and learning now that I'm out, and- for a while at least- free.
I am actually gaining friends. By gaining I mean both finding new ones and rekindling old friendships- most notably that of Stephanie Rosenblatt- one of the 'trio' of best friends I had in high-school. Much to my surprise, we've grown more alike than apart in the past 4 years, during which we hadn't really spoken at all. Which is awesome, because it's wonderful to find a kindred soul in another that's been waiting there along to help pull you out of your self-pitying, immature slump.
And so she seems to be. Instead of training on my own, which becomes more intermittent as I convince myself I have to be there every second for my Uncle, (you'd be surprised what a great workout excuse that is!) I'm now going to be partnering up with her, and we're planning on beginning training for the half-marathon level and moving up from there...
And about that, I'm excited. Which means something. And that emotion I can go on. :)
Yeah.
Taking care of my Uncle on hospice is certainly a different experience from when I did it for my stepdad- and please pre-emptive warning: this is not a 'pityme' blog entry. I just gotta get these thought and feelings down and out of me.
I feel angry about my Uncle lying on his death-bed and doing it before I could make enough money or time to take him up and visit his daugther (my cousin) at her new apartment.
I feel detached because I've done this before and I'm so afraid of falling apart or of other people falling apart around me and me being the only one left standing who can handle this.
I feel posessive because I've been taking care of him since he started his decline, and I was the one who said 'it's time to take him to the hospital' when we did that, and I was the one who said 'it's time to call hospice' when we did that, and I was the one who said 'Absolutely not, he is staying at home, no hospice facility, no nursing home' and yet everyone else (mostly Grandma, also Mom and some nurses) jumps in and answers the nurses questions and jumps up to get him food and pushes me aside and tells me I'm being 'bossy' when I tell them how to handle his drink or food or walking or bathing. I was the one who volunteered to care for him without gloved hands- so let me do it. And you're goddamn right I know more about it that you do. I worked in a nursing home. I've been caring for him longer than you have. Let me care for my dying Uncle while I can before classes and work tear me away.
But of course, I just deal with it like an immature child by throwing my hands up in the air and leaving for 2 days to visit his daughter in Orlando, so I can relax, and bitch, and let them take over as they so clearly want to.
I suppose I needed the break anyhow.
And I have some growing up to do. It's shocking the amount of change and growth you undergo while in college, and the massive, life-altering lessons you learn (or at least, I consider myself to have...whether or not they've been fully absorbed is yet to be seen.) But what's been even more of a jolt to me is the amount I'm changing and learning now that I'm out, and- for a while at least- free.
I am actually gaining friends. By gaining I mean both finding new ones and rekindling old friendships- most notably that of Stephanie Rosenblatt- one of the 'trio' of best friends I had in high-school. Much to my surprise, we've grown more alike than apart in the past 4 years, during which we hadn't really spoken at all. Which is awesome, because it's wonderful to find a kindred soul in another that's been waiting there along to help pull you out of your self-pitying, immature slump.
And so she seems to be. Instead of training on my own, which becomes more intermittent as I convince myself I have to be there every second for my Uncle, (you'd be surprised what a great workout excuse that is!) I'm now going to be partnering up with her, and we're planning on beginning training for the half-marathon level and moving up from there...
And about that, I'm excited. Which means something. And that emotion I can go on. :)
Yeah.
28 August 2008
When all that is left of me is love, give me away...
Well. Stephanie Hurley, my friend, my peer, my role-model, my captain, but most of all my Rugby Sister, is gone.
Another Rugby girl called me up. "Steph's dead."
...huh? What? My brain didn't take it all in. Couldn't.
Shock. That's all I felt. I distanced myself from it and felt ...shock.
And then a whirlwind of things- back to work and the everyday, schedule a ticket to attend the funeral, pack up, arrive, and stay at Cassie's house. Meet up with other Rugby Sisters and Norwich-ers one by one. We talked. We ate. We reminisced a bit.
I didn't cry, not once, I couldn't remember my Hurley yet. The Harley-Lee as she was to us, to each of us. I'd lose it. I blocked memories- memories of practice, of scrummaging with my head next to her ass, of hangin' in her room, of borrowing her microwave, of borrowing her perfume (I always do a lot of borrowing with friends...), of having talks with her about everything from the team to boys to my Dad to what was wrong with Norwich...that girl who I knew, who I looked up to, who I loved, could not be dead.
There was time aplenty for tears later. And they came. First at the wake, which was gorgeous, emotional, hilarious, and all the same upsetting and disturbing; I could never fathom the strength it took for Steph's family, especially her Mother and Father, to stand next to the open casket of their daughter for three hours and accept the condolences of so many people. It blows my mind. And seeing her there, like I saw my father 3 years ago... I had to remind myself we were paying tribute to her flesh, but that while the body in that casket housed her spirit for a short 23 years, that was no longer Stephanie.
Of course, all of us rugby girls got a real kick out of the Northeast Championship trophy among her personal NUWRFC (Norwich Univ Women's Rugby Football Club) collection-- because technically, she did kind of 'steal it' from the school, but hell! She was our captain who led us to that victory, she deserved it...oh, and we had all taken shots out of it, haha...
That was the first round of tears. We hit a bar, got a little boozy, and then rested up to prepare for the final goodbye, but I think (know damn well) none of us were ever ready for the funeral the next day.
There is a different kind of sorrow when someone so young and so beloved dies suddenly and seemingly without explanation. I would imagine that, had she died at a later age, her continuous accumulation of friends would have mandated a larger chapel, or perhaps an outdoor funeral.
As it was, we pulled up to a street lined with towering maple trees, grabbed our pocket packs, smoked our last smokes, and packed in to St. Mary's Church in Brookfield, Mass on the 8th of August, a Friday. It was sunny and mild, and the light in the church filtering through the stained glass windows was gorgeous. It was fitting. There was standing room only by the time they invited us to join them in the opening hymn, Amazing Grace. That was when the tears and emotions really started- you can't imagine. The few of those in attendance who were still managing a (remotely convincing) guise of composure attempted to squeeze out some steady strings of syllables to the acoustic accompaniment...
"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me..."
The procession entered. Sniffles all around. I'm in anguish. Did they really have to choose this song?
"I once was lost, but now I'm found..."
Stephanie's casket was cerimoniously carried in, all pallbearers in full dress uniform. Seeing the flag draped over her casket was... I don't know- honestly, the only word that comes to mind is 'numbing.'
"Was blind, but now I see..."
Her family entered just behind her. Seeing their faces broke my heart. People in attendance tried to hold in sniffles and sobs out of respect.
The speeches and readings were wonderful, even if I must admit to getting lost in my thoughts of Steph once or twice, and to regularly fishing for tissue, and even to looking around to make sure I wan't the only rugby girl absolutely losing her fucking mind over this.
A few standouts- I believe it was an Aunt of Steph's who read a few verses, the takeaway of which was: Once one of God's children on Earth has learned all of their lessons, has reached perfection, and has fulfilled their purpose, it is then that he takes them from us, to join him in everlasting peace.
If anyone I know was likely to have learnt and fulfilled thus, it was Steph. I only wished the reward were different.
Also, her sisters and brother went to the podium. Her sister Jennifer read this touching, heart-breaking poem about her sister... you could hear her struggling against tears to keep her voice strong, which of course was making everyone there cry even harder. I admire her bravery for making it a far as she did.
I'm unsure of whether or not she finished it, because at one point, she looked down at her sister's casket, and I could kind of see the realization hit her. She walked down the steps towards the casket and started to cry, really cry. Then she hit her knees and buried her face in the floor, and screamed. And I recognized it. I remembered that grief. I remembered being so torn apart that I was numb, then sad, but sometimes the whole reality of my loss would hit me all at once and I'd feel so absolutely swallowed by the terror of it that I thought the tragedy of it all would rip me apart, it felt so unimaginably painful that I thought it might literally kill me.
But that was my Father. This was her sister, and I imagine it was magnified.
We took Holy Communion, exited the Church after the Family and Stephanie, and gathered outside for the 21 gun-salute and Taps. If you've never been to a full Military Funeral, I'm not sure I can accurately describe this part. I'll try.
It is dead silent. You hear one faint voice, calling the commands: Detail, atten-hut... Ready. Metal snaps on metal as the weapons are cocked. Aim. The sharp rustle of a unified movement. Fire! And the shots go off. Twice more. Seven riflemen firing three vollies.
And then Taps.
Day is done,
Gone the sun,
From the hills,
From the lake,
From the skies.
All is well,
safely rest,
God is nigh.
Go to sleep,
Peaceful sleep.
May the soldier
or sailor, God keep.
On the land
or the deep,
Safe in sleep.
Love, good night,
Must thou go?
When the Day
and the Night
Need thee so?
All is well.
Speedeth all
To their rest...
Thanks and praise,
For our days,
'Neath the sun,
'Neath the stars,
'Neath the sky,
As we go,
This we know,
God is nigh.
And Stephanie is gone. So we all just cried.
And I know that no matter how horribly, heart-wrenchingly sad I was, or am, or will be, I'll never understand what Steph's family is battling everyday when they wake up. I don't dare imagine that how I feel even begins to approach what any member of her family is feeling...especially her sisters. And all I can do, all any of us can do- is try and be there for them.
And remember Stephanie.
I wrote this so I'll never forget those days, but I know I'll never forget her.
Who could?
Another Rugby girl called me up. "Steph's dead."
...huh? What? My brain didn't take it all in. Couldn't.
Shock. That's all I felt. I distanced myself from it and felt ...shock.
And then a whirlwind of things- back to work and the everyday, schedule a ticket to attend the funeral, pack up, arrive, and stay at Cassie's house. Meet up with other Rugby Sisters and Norwich-ers one by one. We talked. We ate. We reminisced a bit.
I didn't cry, not once, I couldn't remember my Hurley yet. The Harley-Lee as she was to us, to each of us. I'd lose it. I blocked memories- memories of practice, of scrummaging with my head next to her ass, of hangin' in her room, of borrowing her microwave, of borrowing her perfume (I always do a lot of borrowing with friends...), of having talks with her about everything from the team to boys to my Dad to what was wrong with Norwich...that girl who I knew, who I looked up to, who I loved, could not be dead.
There was time aplenty for tears later. And they came. First at the wake, which was gorgeous, emotional, hilarious, and all the same upsetting and disturbing; I could never fathom the strength it took for Steph's family, especially her Mother and Father, to stand next to the open casket of their daughter for three hours and accept the condolences of so many people. It blows my mind. And seeing her there, like I saw my father 3 years ago... I had to remind myself we were paying tribute to her flesh, but that while the body in that casket housed her spirit for a short 23 years, that was no longer Stephanie.
Of course, all of us rugby girls got a real kick out of the Northeast Championship trophy among her personal NUWRFC (Norwich Univ Women's Rugby Football Club) collection-- because technically, she did kind of 'steal it' from the school, but hell! She was our captain who led us to that victory, she deserved it...oh, and we had all taken shots out of it, haha...
That was the first round of tears. We hit a bar, got a little boozy, and then rested up to prepare for the final goodbye, but I think (know damn well) none of us were ever ready for the funeral the next day.
There is a different kind of sorrow when someone so young and so beloved dies suddenly and seemingly without explanation. I would imagine that, had she died at a later age, her continuous accumulation of friends would have mandated a larger chapel, or perhaps an outdoor funeral.
As it was, we pulled up to a street lined with towering maple trees, grabbed our pocket packs, smoked our last smokes, and packed in to St. Mary's Church in Brookfield, Mass on the 8th of August, a Friday. It was sunny and mild, and the light in the church filtering through the stained glass windows was gorgeous. It was fitting. There was standing room only by the time they invited us to join them in the opening hymn, Amazing Grace. That was when the tears and emotions really started- you can't imagine. The few of those in attendance who were still managing a (remotely convincing) guise of composure attempted to squeeze out some steady strings of syllables to the acoustic accompaniment...
"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me..."
The procession entered. Sniffles all around. I'm in anguish. Did they really have to choose this song?
"I once was lost, but now I'm found..."
Stephanie's casket was cerimoniously carried in, all pallbearers in full dress uniform. Seeing the flag draped over her casket was... I don't know- honestly, the only word that comes to mind is 'numbing.'
"Was blind, but now I see..."
Her family entered just behind her. Seeing their faces broke my heart. People in attendance tried to hold in sniffles and sobs out of respect.
The speeches and readings were wonderful, even if I must admit to getting lost in my thoughts of Steph once or twice, and to regularly fishing for tissue, and even to looking around to make sure I wan't the only rugby girl absolutely losing her fucking mind over this.
A few standouts- I believe it was an Aunt of Steph's who read a few verses, the takeaway of which was: Once one of God's children on Earth has learned all of their lessons, has reached perfection, and has fulfilled their purpose, it is then that he takes them from us, to join him in everlasting peace.
If anyone I know was likely to have learnt and fulfilled thus, it was Steph. I only wished the reward were different.
Also, her sisters and brother went to the podium. Her sister Jennifer read this touching, heart-breaking poem about her sister... you could hear her struggling against tears to keep her voice strong, which of course was making everyone there cry even harder. I admire her bravery for making it a far as she did.
I'm unsure of whether or not she finished it, because at one point, she looked down at her sister's casket, and I could kind of see the realization hit her. She walked down the steps towards the casket and started to cry, really cry. Then she hit her knees and buried her face in the floor, and screamed. And I recognized it. I remembered that grief. I remembered being so torn apart that I was numb, then sad, but sometimes the whole reality of my loss would hit me all at once and I'd feel so absolutely swallowed by the terror of it that I thought the tragedy of it all would rip me apart, it felt so unimaginably painful that I thought it might literally kill me.
But that was my Father. This was her sister, and I imagine it was magnified.
We took Holy Communion, exited the Church after the Family and Stephanie, and gathered outside for the 21 gun-salute and Taps. If you've never been to a full Military Funeral, I'm not sure I can accurately describe this part. I'll try.
It is dead silent. You hear one faint voice, calling the commands: Detail, atten-hut... Ready. Metal snaps on metal as the weapons are cocked. Aim. The sharp rustle of a unified movement. Fire! And the shots go off. Twice more. Seven riflemen firing three vollies.
And then Taps.
Day is done,
Gone the sun,
From the hills,
From the lake,
From the skies.
All is well,
safely rest,
God is nigh.
Go to sleep,
Peaceful sleep.
May the soldier
or sailor, God keep.
On the land
or the deep,
Safe in sleep.
Love, good night,
Must thou go?
When the Day
and the Night
Need thee so?
All is well.
Speedeth all
To their rest...
Thanks and praise,
For our days,
'Neath the sun,
'Neath the stars,
'Neath the sky,
As we go,
This we know,
God is nigh.
And Stephanie is gone. So we all just cried.
And I know that no matter how horribly, heart-wrenchingly sad I was, or am, or will be, I'll never understand what Steph's family is battling everyday when they wake up. I don't dare imagine that how I feel even begins to approach what any member of her family is feeling...especially her sisters. And all I can do, all any of us can do- is try and be there for them.
And remember Stephanie.
I wrote this so I'll never forget those days, but I know I'll never forget her.
Who could?
31 July 2008
Take it- to the limit- one more tiiiime...
Okay. So, admittedly, when things were really bad and my health was crap and I felt like everything was happening to me...I may have overreacted a bit. The MRSA issue is cleared up, and while my veins are still hardened and painful in my arms from 12 days of heavy-duty IV antibiotics, there are no lingering effects to be seen (that I know of YET) and I'm back on my feet.
And with that comes an astronomical amount of work-teaching, tutoring, prepping, and even learning physics again -not only so I can teach it, but for my own good because I'm re-taking my MCATs in January. And I have a score goal in mind. And it is quite high. And I will get there.
To say I'm working a lot might imply that I'm unhappy, but quite the opposite is true. I love my job, and I love thinking and solving problem and helping students- it just never gets old (or hasn't yet anyhow...). I'm quite happy. I'm using skills I'm proud of and have worked hard at, and I never stop striving to be better and better at it-- oddly enough, never being satisfied is what keeps me satisfied. :)
No time for a long entry now, I'm proctoring a PCAT test- but I'll update more later. I've been remarkably busy, so the updates have been and will be less frequent...but I'll do my best. There is certainly plenty more to write about...mostly good, but some decidedly not so.
Ciao.
And with that comes an astronomical amount of work-teaching, tutoring, prepping, and even learning physics again -not only so I can teach it, but for my own good because I'm re-taking my MCATs in January. And I have a score goal in mind. And it is quite high. And I will get there.
To say I'm working a lot might imply that I'm unhappy, but quite the opposite is true. I love my job, and I love thinking and solving problem and helping students- it just never gets old (or hasn't yet anyhow...). I'm quite happy. I'm using skills I'm proud of and have worked hard at, and I never stop striving to be better and better at it-- oddly enough, never being satisfied is what keeps me satisfied. :)
No time for a long entry now, I'm proctoring a PCAT test- but I'll update more later. I've been remarkably busy, so the updates have been and will be less frequent...but I'll do my best. There is certainly plenty more to write about...mostly good, but some decidedly not so.
Ciao.
03 July 2008
All I can say is that my life is pretty plain.
I must have done something truly horrible to deserve the past week or so of my life.
I have a nurse come to my house twice a day to give me the antibiotics..I think I mentioned that...and besides the fact that it stings like all hell, makes me itch unless I get an infusion of benadryl which literally feels like acid and has to be prefaced by an ice-pack sitting on my arm, there's also the added discomfort of the infection barely reacting to the heavy-duty antibiotics, and OH YEAH- the drug is fucking with everything from my digestive system to my sleeping habits to my thermoregulation- sweats, shivers, nightmares...
It's not even worth it. I'd almost rather die of MRSA.
Oh, did I mention that because I'm "only" getting the vancomycin for ten days, my doctor decided NOT to give me a pic line, but a peripheral line. This means the needle and catheter are in my arm, or my hand, or my wrist..well, all of the above because my veins are so intolerant that EVERY fucking line we start gives out on me in the matter of two or three days, so I currently have SEVEN, count 'em, 7 needle sticks in my arm.
Once the line gets clogged, it leaves a nasty bruise and triggers an inflammatory reaction so that the area becomes swollen and red and numb. I have dealt with this. Seven times over. There is only one remaining spot on my arm where it's not so swollen that we can start a new IV (which we'll have to today).
It's in my hand, which I'm dreading, because the last time we even attempted to start a hand line I was in tears because it hurt. So. Fucking. Bad. And then it moves and aches when I'm teaching or tutoring, which I've actually had to cancel twice because of my fever spiking more than once (which makes no sense...)and it's embarassing and I have to cover it up with this cotton fucking sleeve thingy in goddamn 90 plus degrees with humidity so bad I'm sweating even without the thing on.
And I haven't been able to run, swim, or rollerblade in over a week because if I sweat into it it can...get this...get infected.
Fucking A.
And I've been shut-off and out of the life of someone I care about. Which I keep trying to convince myself is minor, because I have my own life here, and my own friends, and my own future. But when I can't even turn on the FUCKING radio without some stupid song coming on that freakishly keeps following me (see title of entry), it reminds me that rejection on this scale smarts no matter how far away I run or how I swear to myself that it's "for the best."
But other than that. Enlistment's going well. I'm teaching and tutoring quite a bit, and slowly climbing out of debt, the weather is nice when it's not shitty, and I'm averaging 2 books per week. And I've been getting hit on a lot. So at least I know I don't look like complete shit, even if it's how I feel. Bleh. My arms are killing me and my fever's 101, so I think I'll go nap now.
I have a nurse come to my house twice a day to give me the antibiotics..I think I mentioned that...and besides the fact that it stings like all hell, makes me itch unless I get an infusion of benadryl which literally feels like acid and has to be prefaced by an ice-pack sitting on my arm, there's also the added discomfort of the infection barely reacting to the heavy-duty antibiotics, and OH YEAH- the drug is fucking with everything from my digestive system to my sleeping habits to my thermoregulation- sweats, shivers, nightmares...
It's not even worth it. I'd almost rather die of MRSA.
Oh, did I mention that because I'm "only" getting the vancomycin for ten days, my doctor decided NOT to give me a pic line, but a peripheral line. This means the needle and catheter are in my arm, or my hand, or my wrist..well, all of the above because my veins are so intolerant that EVERY fucking line we start gives out on me in the matter of two or three days, so I currently have SEVEN, count 'em, 7 needle sticks in my arm.
Once the line gets clogged, it leaves a nasty bruise and triggers an inflammatory reaction so that the area becomes swollen and red and numb. I have dealt with this. Seven times over. There is only one remaining spot on my arm where it's not so swollen that we can start a new IV (which we'll have to today).
It's in my hand, which I'm dreading, because the last time we even attempted to start a hand line I was in tears because it hurt. So. Fucking. Bad. And then it moves and aches when I'm teaching or tutoring, which I've actually had to cancel twice because of my fever spiking more than once (which makes no sense...)and it's embarassing and I have to cover it up with this cotton fucking sleeve thingy in goddamn 90 plus degrees with humidity so bad I'm sweating even without the thing on.
And I haven't been able to run, swim, or rollerblade in over a week because if I sweat into it it can...get this...get infected.
Fucking A.
And I've been shut-off and out of the life of someone I care about. Which I keep trying to convince myself is minor, because I have my own life here, and my own friends, and my own future. But when I can't even turn on the FUCKING radio without some stupid song coming on that freakishly keeps following me (see title of entry), it reminds me that rejection on this scale smarts no matter how far away I run or how I swear to myself that it's "for the best."
But other than that. Enlistment's going well. I'm teaching and tutoring quite a bit, and slowly climbing out of debt, the weather is nice when it's not shitty, and I'm averaging 2 books per week. And I've been getting hit on a lot. So at least I know I don't look like complete shit, even if it's how I feel. Bleh. My arms are killing me and my fever's 101, so I think I'll go nap now.
24 June 2008
IVs and Awkwardly Long Hugs
Wellll this has been interesting...
Some thoughts- the idea of a New Year, turning over a 'new leaf' and making resolutions, all of that tomfoolery I don't really buy into that occurs on Jan 1st every year-- it's kind of off schedule. I mean, unless you were brought into the world on Jan 1st, your new year isn't really then... of course chronologically speaking it's the day the new calendar begins, but in terms of each individual's life, the start of your New Year is your birthday.
I am now on my 22nd year, and so this is my New Year. And I'm really embracing it this time, because this one is mine alone (well... not totally alone, I know, but stay with me.) I've started Dance classes as my birthday gift to myself, it's cool 'cause they're close to my job and have a flexible schedule. I'm surprisingly coordinated and feel lighter on my feet already (mostly just in my head, but I like to think I look gracefull, lol) I'm having so much fun, and it breaks the monotony of my workout routines. Speaking of which, I have to stop swimming for 2 weeks because my "New Year" started off to a less-than-desirable start. :(
My fever spiked and I had to go to a specialist in infectious diseases (an "ID Doc" if you will, the specialty I'm interested in,) because the medications I've been on weren't fighting my infection well enough. They decided they needed to give me IV vancomyocin, which is the BIG GUN in the fight against MRSA (what I regrettably recently found out was the cause of this whole mess, it's a good thing I insisted on a culture!) So NOW I have an IV line in my right arm for the next 10 days and a Nurse has to come to my house twice a day to give me the medication.
And today, during the first infusion I was like "Oh, I'll be fine, I never get any side effects..." Sure enough, right as the infusion wrapped up, I got this horrible redness and flushing all the way from my abdomen up my neck and face! I felt like I was being attacked by tiny ants under my skin and I burned everywhere and turned bright red...so THEN they had to shoot me up with IV benadryl, and lemme tell ya, that shit packs a PUNCH. I was woozy and acting really high, apparently. But I had this awesome Nurse Kim, and she sat with me while we talked about how much we loved our Microbiology classes in college and also had an awesome conversation on the development of drug resistant bugs around the world. There was some malaria discussion in there as well, and the doctor (who gave me more than one awkwardly long hug, over by like 2 seconds- hence the title of this entry) joined in. So all in all it was pretty cool, and just reaffirmed my decision on Med School.
More on that later- but suffice to say that I'm on the right track, be it a roundabout one. It involves enlistment, but I'm really excited about it! I can only teach (and have this much time on my hands) for so long before I get antsy and, for fear of stagnation, get back on the course I'm passionate about. Can't wait for boot camp, to be perfectly honest.
Aaand most everything else is going smoothly. Making friends down here is easy, but I've stuck mostly to Catrina, Karla, Jesse and Brooke because they've been there through everything (and know how to have fun.) I suppose I am really enjoying being home and reading books and visiting my old haunts, mainly the Barnes and Noble across the street (where a manager I know gives me his employee discount on the books I buy-shweeet!), the movie theater, and some local sushi bars. Mmm. Sushi.
Until next time...read this book: Too Soon Old, Too Late Smart by Dr. Gordon Livingston. I finished it, it's awesome, and I'm now on My Sister's Keeper, which I heard was great.
And to those of you who e-mailed me, I really appreciate the encouragement. :P
Ciao Bella!
Some thoughts- the idea of a New Year, turning over a 'new leaf' and making resolutions, all of that tomfoolery I don't really buy into that occurs on Jan 1st every year-- it's kind of off schedule. I mean, unless you were brought into the world on Jan 1st, your new year isn't really then... of course chronologically speaking it's the day the new calendar begins, but in terms of each individual's life, the start of your New Year is your birthday.
I am now on my 22nd year, and so this is my New Year. And I'm really embracing it this time, because this one is mine alone (well... not totally alone, I know, but stay with me.) I've started Dance classes as my birthday gift to myself, it's cool 'cause they're close to my job and have a flexible schedule. I'm surprisingly coordinated and feel lighter on my feet already (mostly just in my head, but I like to think I look gracefull, lol) I'm having so much fun, and it breaks the monotony of my workout routines. Speaking of which, I have to stop swimming for 2 weeks because my "New Year" started off to a less-than-desirable start. :(
My fever spiked and I had to go to a specialist in infectious diseases (an "ID Doc" if you will, the specialty I'm interested in,) because the medications I've been on weren't fighting my infection well enough. They decided they needed to give me IV vancomyocin, which is the BIG GUN in the fight against MRSA (what I regrettably recently found out was the cause of this whole mess, it's a good thing I insisted on a culture!) So NOW I have an IV line in my right arm for the next 10 days and a Nurse has to come to my house twice a day to give me the medication.
And today, during the first infusion I was like "Oh, I'll be fine, I never get any side effects..." Sure enough, right as the infusion wrapped up, I got this horrible redness and flushing all the way from my abdomen up my neck and face! I felt like I was being attacked by tiny ants under my skin and I burned everywhere and turned bright red...so THEN they had to shoot me up with IV benadryl, and lemme tell ya, that shit packs a PUNCH. I was woozy and acting really high, apparently. But I had this awesome Nurse Kim, and she sat with me while we talked about how much we loved our Microbiology classes in college and also had an awesome conversation on the development of drug resistant bugs around the world. There was some malaria discussion in there as well, and the doctor (who gave me more than one awkwardly long hug, over by like 2 seconds- hence the title of this entry) joined in. So all in all it was pretty cool, and just reaffirmed my decision on Med School.
More on that later- but suffice to say that I'm on the right track, be it a roundabout one. It involves enlistment, but I'm really excited about it! I can only teach (and have this much time on my hands) for so long before I get antsy and, for fear of stagnation, get back on the course I'm passionate about. Can't wait for boot camp, to be perfectly honest.
Aaand most everything else is going smoothly. Making friends down here is easy, but I've stuck mostly to Catrina, Karla, Jesse and Brooke because they've been there through everything (and know how to have fun.) I suppose I am really enjoying being home and reading books and visiting my old haunts, mainly the Barnes and Noble across the street (where a manager I know gives me his employee discount on the books I buy-shweeet!), the movie theater, and some local sushi bars. Mmm. Sushi.
Until next time...read this book: Too Soon Old, Too Late Smart by Dr. Gordon Livingston. I finished it, it's awesome, and I'm now on My Sister's Keeper, which I heard was great.
And to those of you who e-mailed me, I really appreciate the encouragement. :P
Ciao Bella!
15 June 2008
Pshaw.
I am totally screwed up.
On another note, I hate songs that have sirens or police sounds in them because if they come on the radio whilst I'm driving, I get that rush of adrenaline and the sinking feeling that accompanies being pulled over and cited for speeding/ doing lines of coke off my dash board (which is REALLY difficult while multitasking with driving!) Upon realizing the frightening noises are coming from my stereo, I get angry at the song.
More later. :)
On another note, I hate songs that have sirens or police sounds in them because if they come on the radio whilst I'm driving, I get that rush of adrenaline and the sinking feeling that accompanies being pulled over and cited for speeding/ doing lines of coke off my dash board (which is REALLY difficult while multitasking with driving!) Upon realizing the frightening noises are coming from my stereo, I get angry at the song.
More later. :)
04 June 2008
No Mayo, Please
I was in Blockbuster today renting an action movie for my uncle to watch when I heard a movie clip with a young actress saying this line... "I hate being smart."
Well, I call bullshit on her character. Not her, as it was just a line she was reciting, but her character... yeah that's bullshit.
No one who is smart truly hates being smart. We love it. I mean, the occasional bitching about how other people are dumb, and how annoying it is, and how seeing and hearing and processing things from a smart point of view makes the future seem desolate when surrounded by so much idiocy- and even sometimes the angry claim that "ignorance is bliss" are to be expected. But that is simply out of sadness that you can't find a guy who knows how to pronounce "feta" cheese or the meaning of the word "existentialist" ...or from frustration that your sandwich was made incorrectly ("How hard is it to NOT include mayo? I specifically asked for no mayo. Twice.") It doesn't reflect how smart people truly feel about being smart.
It offers a wide range of perks. Feeling mean? Great. Be condescending to a person you just met at a bar who seems to think they know what they're taking about when it comes to gas prices- but have no idea what prospecting is or how it affects the price per barrel of oil. This little trick can be used in a wide array of situations and on a multitude of subjects- and you'll probably come out feeling much better about yourself after making somone else look/feel like a total ass. You can forget your own problems for a while. :)
Get into a tiff or argument with some asshole? This could be after a minor traffic accident, at a strip club, or- again, in a social situation where there's a disagreement and you are clearly right- just start using the best selection from your vocabulary (in the correct context, now, there may be other smarties near by! You know we love to eavesdrop)- and make sure the words are polysyllabic and obscure!- and you can smart your way right to the high-road of glory by confusing your opponent.
Oh, and just so you know, the truth is you probably asked for no mayo in a rather impolite way because you're sooo smart (and thus better than everybody, right?) and so you came off as a condenscending asshole to the poor sanwich girl behind the counter (use the condescention only when it's absolutely needed!)- who just so happens to also be smart (and is paying her way through Dartmouth College with that job, damnit!) and so she wanted to teach you a subtle lesson involving an extra 200 mayo calories.
Just sayin'.
But I like mayo. :)
OH! And I have an awesome male mockingbird out front of my house and his territory is in the nearest tree-- I get to hear his melodic and varied song everytime I go outside...it's like being Snow White!
Only no Evil Queen. (Unless you include the mean gay guy who lives down the street.)
Well, I call bullshit on her character. Not her, as it was just a line she was reciting, but her character... yeah that's bullshit.
No one who is smart truly hates being smart. We love it. I mean, the occasional bitching about how other people are dumb, and how annoying it is, and how seeing and hearing and processing things from a smart point of view makes the future seem desolate when surrounded by so much idiocy- and even sometimes the angry claim that "ignorance is bliss" are to be expected. But that is simply out of sadness that you can't find a guy who knows how to pronounce "feta" cheese or the meaning of the word "existentialist" ...or from frustration that your sandwich was made incorrectly ("How hard is it to NOT include mayo? I specifically asked for no mayo. Twice.") It doesn't reflect how smart people truly feel about being smart.
It offers a wide range of perks. Feeling mean? Great. Be condescending to a person you just met at a bar who seems to think they know what they're taking about when it comes to gas prices- but have no idea what prospecting is or how it affects the price per barrel of oil. This little trick can be used in a wide array of situations and on a multitude of subjects- and you'll probably come out feeling much better about yourself after making somone else look/feel like a total ass. You can forget your own problems for a while. :)
Get into a tiff or argument with some asshole? This could be after a minor traffic accident, at a strip club, or- again, in a social situation where there's a disagreement and you are clearly right- just start using the best selection from your vocabulary (in the correct context, now, there may be other smarties near by! You know we love to eavesdrop)- and make sure the words are polysyllabic and obscure!- and you can smart your way right to the high-road of glory by confusing your opponent.
Oh, and just so you know, the truth is you probably asked for no mayo in a rather impolite way because you're sooo smart (and thus better than everybody, right?) and so you came off as a condenscending asshole to the poor sanwich girl behind the counter (use the condescention only when it's absolutely needed!)- who just so happens to also be smart (and is paying her way through Dartmouth College with that job, damnit!) and so she wanted to teach you a subtle lesson involving an extra 200 mayo calories.
Just sayin'.
But I like mayo. :)
OH! And I have an awesome male mockingbird out front of my house and his territory is in the nearest tree-- I get to hear his melodic and varied song everytime I go outside...it's like being Snow White!
Only no Evil Queen. (Unless you include the mean gay guy who lives down the street.)
01 June 2008
Yay!
So. Getting back into shape.
Harder than I expected. And I don't mean the running so much as I thought I would... I mean everything else. Yeah my legs aren't nearly as solid and toned as they were when I played Rugby- but that is on it's way. I combine running and calisthenics with some physical therapy exercises to rehab my left knee (which is apparently still an ongoing thing!), but when it comes to doing pushups like I used to-- WOW.
Man that shit goes fast. And it's hard to regain!
Looks like wile I have the free time I'm gonna have to turn it up and actually add in weight lifting again. Only this time I'm attempting to avoid bulk- so that means less weight, more repetitions and a LOT more cardio work. Getting a membership at the Aquatic center helped- I can use their gym AND start swimming as much as I used to. I'm also considering a membership at the indoor rock climbing gym- but I won't commit to that until I'm sure I'll go often.
One thing is for sure- I reallly missed this. :)
Pics updated!
Harder than I expected. And I don't mean the running so much as I thought I would... I mean everything else. Yeah my legs aren't nearly as solid and toned as they were when I played Rugby- but that is on it's way. I combine running and calisthenics with some physical therapy exercises to rehab my left knee (which is apparently still an ongoing thing!), but when it comes to doing pushups like I used to-- WOW.
Man that shit goes fast. And it's hard to regain!
Looks like wile I have the free time I'm gonna have to turn it up and actually add in weight lifting again. Only this time I'm attempting to avoid bulk- so that means less weight, more repetitions and a LOT more cardio work. Getting a membership at the Aquatic center helped- I can use their gym AND start swimming as much as I used to. I'm also considering a membership at the indoor rock climbing gym- but I won't commit to that until I'm sure I'll go often.
One thing is for sure- I reallly missed this. :)
Pics updated!
29 May 2008
Keep rollin'
My purse eats things.
I've realized it's much easier to downsize purses when going out. Because if I don't...mine will inevitably eat things, and then I can't find my cell phone/grocery list/earring/pen when I need it most. Ah, well.
I'm having fun! I'm being productive again. I'm learning the intracacies of my Blackberry. And... I'm going out. Yes, the traditional recluse is going out regularly. Seeing Karla and Brooke in Orlando, but also coming home and going out with Catrina and my cousing Jesse (whom I LOVE). And I'm really enjoying it...which is totally odd for me.
So we went to Round Up, (which is a sweet bar by the way, freakin' AWESOME) where I started out just scoping the place out and making fun of blatant douchebags/bad dancers/odd people... but ended up meeting a really cool guy, and arranging to learn line dancing on Sunday so I can actually do the dances when I go to Round Up in the future...
Sweet!! I'm so excited! Line dancing and dating again! I have a date. Tomorrow. And I'm excited. And I'm going back to work. And I'm running again. And I'm tan. And I'm branching out my wine expreiences. Haha...
And woo. :P
Check out my pics, each pic on the side links to one of my albums... I'll update them as often as I deem necessary. Ciao Bella!
I've realized it's much easier to downsize purses when going out. Because if I don't...mine will inevitably eat things, and then I can't find my cell phone/grocery list/earring/pen when I need it most. Ah, well.
I'm having fun! I'm being productive again. I'm learning the intracacies of my Blackberry. And... I'm going out. Yes, the traditional recluse is going out regularly. Seeing Karla and Brooke in Orlando, but also coming home and going out with Catrina and my cousing Jesse (whom I LOVE). And I'm really enjoying it...which is totally odd for me.
So we went to Round Up, (which is a sweet bar by the way, freakin' AWESOME) where I started out just scoping the place out and making fun of blatant douchebags/bad dancers/odd people... but ended up meeting a really cool guy, and arranging to learn line dancing on Sunday so I can actually do the dances when I go to Round Up in the future...
Sweet!! I'm so excited! Line dancing and dating again! I have a date. Tomorrow. And I'm excited. And I'm going back to work. And I'm running again. And I'm tan. And I'm branching out my wine expreiences. Haha...
And woo. :P
Check out my pics, each pic on the side links to one of my albums... I'll update them as often as I deem necessary. Ciao Bella!
19 May 2008
Where Doubt and Fear Are Not
Well tis time to begin updating regularly, I think. Graduated college. Finally. On my own now, for a while at least, and trying to figure out if I'll be enlisting in the Air Force here shortly or going for a Naval Officer slot...
Suffice to say that in regards to my Air Force commission, I made some very bad decisions, either in action or in my confession of the action... and that "disenrolled" is a nice way of saying "kicked out." And yet the few months of freedom which lie ahead of me are welcome, despite the two-sides-of-the-coin feeling I'm getting from it.
Funny how I spent most of my Norwich years sabotaging myself, pushing the Air Force Detachment to their limit, and severely underachieving as a cadet... and now here I stand, a civilian (what my actions would say I subconsciously supposedly wanted)- and all I'm trying to do is get back in. The military lifestyle is all I've really wanted since I was 14, and all I've known for at least the past 4 years-
Haha! And now I can't handle the lack of structure out here. It frightens me, that I might become a waste of space, living off of my mother's hospitality...leaving dishes behind like I did in high school.
Ecccchhhh. The horror.
So. Workout routines. I can do those. Beach trips, surfing again. I can do that (good for you AND fun!) Working for Kaplan. Also fun for me, especially now that I'm in sunny weather! I'm trying to enjoy some time off, while keeping in mind that too much time off would be detrimental.
Just enough, and then back to it. I can't hold still.
And finally, I'm beginning to understand what people mean about being indoctrinated into "real life" after the protective blankets of college are turned down. My blankets, for the record, were not down. They were wool. Itchy, woven-steel-like wool, the kind that neither warm you immediately nor breathe sufficiently, so you're always stuck in one extreme of sweating your ass off or freeing-- but enough on Norwich. It's over.
I'm moving on. :)
Keep one, still, secret spot
Where dreams may go,
And sheltered so
May thrive and grow-
Where doubt and fear are not.
Suffice to say that in regards to my Air Force commission, I made some very bad decisions, either in action or in my confession of the action... and that "disenrolled" is a nice way of saying "kicked out." And yet the few months of freedom which lie ahead of me are welcome, despite the two-sides-of-the-coin feeling I'm getting from it.
Funny how I spent most of my Norwich years sabotaging myself, pushing the Air Force Detachment to their limit, and severely underachieving as a cadet... and now here I stand, a civilian (what my actions would say I subconsciously supposedly wanted)- and all I'm trying to do is get back in. The military lifestyle is all I've really wanted since I was 14, and all I've known for at least the past 4 years-
Haha! And now I can't handle the lack of structure out here. It frightens me, that I might become a waste of space, living off of my mother's hospitality...leaving dishes behind like I did in high school.
Ecccchhhh. The horror.
So. Workout routines. I can do those. Beach trips, surfing again. I can do that (good for you AND fun!) Working for Kaplan. Also fun for me, especially now that I'm in sunny weather! I'm trying to enjoy some time off, while keeping in mind that too much time off would be detrimental.
Just enough, and then back to it. I can't hold still.
And finally, I'm beginning to understand what people mean about being indoctrinated into "real life" after the protective blankets of college are turned down. My blankets, for the record, were not down. They were wool. Itchy, woven-steel-like wool, the kind that neither warm you immediately nor breathe sufficiently, so you're always stuck in one extreme of sweating your ass off or freeing-- but enough on Norwich. It's over.
I'm moving on. :)
Keep one, still, secret spot
Where dreams may go,
And sheltered so
May thrive and grow-
Where doubt and fear are not.
23 March 2008
Stabbed in the front is more like it.
So spending the weekend with Mom is a good time. It certainly kept me from doing anything stupid. But it also brought up a bunch of issues I have been silently considering. When I graduate (if I can bring up my grades in time in order to do so...) I will possibly have to pay back...a lot of money. I'm looking at an obscene amount of thousands and thousands of dollars of debt because the rug has been pulled out from under me. In addition to my loans and car payment. And work...what will I do? I have ideas. We are discussing them.
There is still this pervasive feeling in my gut though, even with the ups and downs I am having and facing the new reality of my recently flipped-upside-down world...a sadness. Because no matter how hard I try to, I don't understand how someone who claims to care about a person and yet adds to that person's pain can simply not care enough to check in. To ask how that person is. Because if they cared, they would, right? And I don't get how you can one day be a constant presence, a fixture in someone's life, and the next...you're not even a consideration. A passing thought.
And I suppose I don't understand why I'm always the person who's forgotten.
I keep telling myself I will get through this, I will make it. There is so much working against me. And I have little fight left in me, I think. But I'm trying. I'm doing my best. And even though I will be again soon, right now...I am not alone.
But I am in so many ways.
I feel it in my gut.
There is still this pervasive feeling in my gut though, even with the ups and downs I am having and facing the new reality of my recently flipped-upside-down world...a sadness. Because no matter how hard I try to, I don't understand how someone who claims to care about a person and yet adds to that person's pain can simply not care enough to check in. To ask how that person is. Because if they cared, they would, right? And I don't get how you can one day be a constant presence, a fixture in someone's life, and the next...you're not even a consideration. A passing thought.
And I suppose I don't understand why I'm always the person who's forgotten.
I keep telling myself I will get through this, I will make it. There is so much working against me. And I have little fight left in me, I think. But I'm trying. I'm doing my best. And even though I will be again soon, right now...I am not alone.
But I am in so many ways.
I feel it in my gut.
21 March 2008
Wellllll
It's amazing. At the bottom of everything, after losing my ability to play rugby, my academic superiority, having my love thrown out and my trust betrayed, after losing my future in the Air Force, and having my hopes of financial security slashed...
I thought I had no one at all, and that the person I had depended on abandoned me. He did. But I have found friends and people coming out of the woodwork who have been there all along. It was up to me to reach out. Rook buddies, co-workers, family members, old friends, religous figures, and most of all, my mother.
She bought a $430 plane ticket to get here tomorrow to stay with me over the weekend and into Monday to support me, give me company, and keep me from doing anything stupid (or anything emotionally destructive). So. I will survive. Because that's what I do. Right, Dad? :)
Long road. I'll get there.
I thought I had no one at all, and that the person I had depended on abandoned me. He did. But I have found friends and people coming out of the woodwork who have been there all along. It was up to me to reach out. Rook buddies, co-workers, family members, old friends, religous figures, and most of all, my mother.
She bought a $430 plane ticket to get here tomorrow to stay with me over the weekend and into Monday to support me, give me company, and keep me from doing anything stupid (or anything emotionally destructive). So. I will survive. Because that's what I do. Right, Dad? :)
Long road. I'll get there.
18 March 2008
well fuck it, i was right wasn't i.
Shitty flight. Cell phone lost/stolen/whatever. Car towed, for which I paid $260. And when I get back, I am so pissed off and exhausted and depressed that I just pass out. The one person I would have really liked to talk to was nowhere to be found and didn't find it important enough to talk to me even after 2 days of no communication. So I slept. Because I hate this miserable place. And I hate my empty room. And I hate it all even more when it's juxtaposed to how wonderful Florida was.
I can't wait to graduate but I can barely bring myself to do the requisite work to get there. I woke up today and got some work done, and went to lay down for a quick bit and instead ended up sleeping through everything. Clearly, my mind was saying something. I would rather lie in bed than face my miserable existence here. And I have no one. For once, I feel as though I am completely alone up here. I had my mom and Jeff and Kim and my friends... and now, I have no rookbuddies in the same building, and my rugby friends don't really talk to me anymore...I've distanced myself from my network of support and for completely fucked up reasons, and now my reasons are gone and I am alone. Completely alone.
Wow. The tables have really turned. So I'm getting work done. And I'm trying to make strong resolutions because if I let this pervasive misery swallow me, I'll never get out of this place alive, let alone with a degree. I'm making someone wake me up for formation so I can't sleep through my life. And after I wake up for that, I'm either sitting at my desk to work or I'm PTing. And it's a good thing because starting next week I go back to Air Force PT, because my knee will be "better."
And as far as class goes, I don't know what else to do. I've made up all of my work. Now I suppose it's all studying. That's what my life feels like here. I wake up, go to class (or not go to class and catch up on work), I answer e-mails, prep teaching materials for hours, do O Chem for hours, and then when I'm done... there's nothing to do. I'm never really done though, even in my free time this oppressive weight sits on my shoulders and taunts me. And I burn out, and the depression takes over, and I have to face where my life is and how it got there, and then I sleep. Because I can't handle it. Because I fucked it all up by allowing myself to indulge and get emotionally attached, because I have no will power, and because I can't listen to my instincts when they are telling me that something is wrong.
Listening to Sara Bareilles. Good song, #7: Between the Lines. A few favorite lines:
Time to tell me the truth
To burden your mouth for what you say
No pieces of paper in the way...
The opposite sides on which we fall
The loving you laters if at all
No right minds could wrong be
this many times...
Queen of attention to details
Defending intentions if he fails...
You and me
Always between the lines
Between the lines...
I thought was ready to bleed
That we'd move from the shadows on the wall
And stand in the center of it all...
I tell myself all the words he surely meant to say
I'll talk until the conversation doesn't stay on
"Wait for me, I'm almost ready"
When he meant let go.
I can't wait to graduate but I can barely bring myself to do the requisite work to get there. I woke up today and got some work done, and went to lay down for a quick bit and instead ended up sleeping through everything. Clearly, my mind was saying something. I would rather lie in bed than face my miserable existence here. And I have no one. For once, I feel as though I am completely alone up here. I had my mom and Jeff and Kim and my friends... and now, I have no rookbuddies in the same building, and my rugby friends don't really talk to me anymore...I've distanced myself from my network of support and for completely fucked up reasons, and now my reasons are gone and I am alone. Completely alone.
Wow. The tables have really turned. So I'm getting work done. And I'm trying to make strong resolutions because if I let this pervasive misery swallow me, I'll never get out of this place alive, let alone with a degree. I'm making someone wake me up for formation so I can't sleep through my life. And after I wake up for that, I'm either sitting at my desk to work or I'm PTing. And it's a good thing because starting next week I go back to Air Force PT, because my knee will be "better."
And as far as class goes, I don't know what else to do. I've made up all of my work. Now I suppose it's all studying. That's what my life feels like here. I wake up, go to class (or not go to class and catch up on work), I answer e-mails, prep teaching materials for hours, do O Chem for hours, and then when I'm done... there's nothing to do. I'm never really done though, even in my free time this oppressive weight sits on my shoulders and taunts me. And I burn out, and the depression takes over, and I have to face where my life is and how it got there, and then I sleep. Because I can't handle it. Because I fucked it all up by allowing myself to indulge and get emotionally attached, because I have no will power, and because I can't listen to my instincts when they are telling me that something is wrong.
Listening to Sara Bareilles. Good song, #7: Between the Lines. A few favorite lines:
Time to tell me the truth
To burden your mouth for what you say
No pieces of paper in the way...
The opposite sides on which we fall
The loving you laters if at all
No right minds could wrong be
this many times...
Queen of attention to details
Defending intentions if he fails...
You and me
Always between the lines
Between the lines...
I thought was ready to bleed
That we'd move from the shadows on the wall
And stand in the center of it all...
I tell myself all the words he surely meant to say
I'll talk until the conversation doesn't stay on
"Wait for me, I'm almost ready"
When he meant let go.
17 March 2008
So. I've come to the conclusion that Saturday Night Live is about as funny as cancer. Really, I mean, the acting is horrible, and the whole show is basically commercials with four skits and two (often shitty) musical breaks in between. And then, during the commercials, they make little cut-backs to what's going on 'behind the scenes,' which tricks you into thinking the show is coming back on- and when you realize it's not, you're almost a little let down. And then you remember: the show is crap, so why would I care? I'd rather watch the same seven commercials over and over again than see one more horrible costume change or overacting 'comedian.' Who writes this shit? Do they sit in a little board room with a special humor-proof door all week and pat each-other on the backs over their crappy skits, which they clearly must read over and over again until the shit sounds funny.
I'm just saying. It's not.
OH! And while I'm on the topic of how much TV lets me down (no wonder I hardly watch it), I was really looking forward to seeing the Discovery Channel's new series on The Human Body: Pushing the Limits. It looked good. Nice previews. Unfortunately, they dumb down the intracacies of the physiology so much it's just barely enjoyable for me. They keep using words like "special chemicals" (when referring to sodium, calcium and potassium among other things) and ambiguous, almost incorrect terms like "a layer of fat" (when speaking about myelin on nerves with saltatory conduction). Certainly they don't need to get into crazy details like actin and myosin, but would it kill you to call the "strands" of muscle-fibers "myofibrils"? Say "sarcomere," call the "glands" which release ADRENALine "ADRENAL glands!" Christ! Teach the 'uneducated' masses new words, that's what you're here for! It's the freaking Discovery Channel, not the Discover a Little but Only As Much as We Think You Freak Idiots Can Handle Channel.
I'm just saying.
Anyway, I get on a plane in 6 hours to head back to Boston and then drive 3 hours back to school. And fuck me sideways, I forgot I had a brief and a midterm counseling to do tomorrow so I had to reschedule them (though I completed the powerpoint, I won't be back in time.) Going back, with everything I have to do, is not going to be a cake-walk. I certainly have my work cut out for me. But I'm ready for it- I'm rejuvenated. I think...
AND I finished all of my assignments which are due when I get back, which means I'm caught up in Organic Chemistry. The Next Challenge is keeping up.
Well. On that note. Sleep.
I'm just saying. It's not.
OH! And while I'm on the topic of how much TV lets me down (no wonder I hardly watch it), I was really looking forward to seeing the Discovery Channel's new series on The Human Body: Pushing the Limits. It looked good. Nice previews. Unfortunately, they dumb down the intracacies of the physiology so much it's just barely enjoyable for me. They keep using words like "special chemicals" (when referring to sodium, calcium and potassium among other things) and ambiguous, almost incorrect terms like "a layer of fat" (when speaking about myelin on nerves with saltatory conduction). Certainly they don't need to get into crazy details like actin and myosin, but would it kill you to call the "strands" of muscle-fibers "myofibrils"? Say "sarcomere," call the "glands" which release ADRENALine "ADRENAL glands!" Christ! Teach the 'uneducated' masses new words, that's what you're here for! It's the freaking Discovery Channel, not the Discover a Little but Only As Much as We Think You Freak Idiots Can Handle Channel.
I'm just saying.
Anyway, I get on a plane in 6 hours to head back to Boston and then drive 3 hours back to school. And fuck me sideways, I forgot I had a brief and a midterm counseling to do tomorrow so I had to reschedule them (though I completed the powerpoint, I won't be back in time.) Going back, with everything I have to do, is not going to be a cake-walk. I certainly have my work cut out for me. But I'm ready for it- I'm rejuvenated. I think...
AND I finished all of my assignments which are due when I get back, which means I'm caught up in Organic Chemistry. The Next Challenge is keeping up.
Well. On that note. Sleep.
14 March 2008
No freakin' way
So, Spring Break.
For most college kids my age, Spring Break- especially the last one before graduation- is a time to let loose and party. Get drunk. See young girls flash body parts in exotic locations like Cancun, SouthBeach, or on expensive cruises. A time to reconnect with other college buddies for one last hurrah before we buckle down to get those elusive degrees.
Well, good for those college kids, but I am not one of them. No, I'm much more boring.
Why drink so much that your break passes you by in a mix of drunken stupors and blackouts, or imbibe so much that your body hates you and you gain ten pounds?
Here's my Spring Break. I've gotten up no earlier than 10:00AM every day. I've gone to the beach, like, once. I've laid out at my local pool a few times and I have a nice tan. I'm re-teaching myself how to eat because I've taken up vegitarianism (www.GoVeg.com great site!). I've lost about 8 lbs. I go running or walking pretty much every day. I open the doors in the house and let the pristine breeze and perfect weather in. I go to Barnes and Noble and read. I read!! I haven't had time to read in forever!
I've gotten a pedicure, and my mom touched up my hair color and cut (it has a little accidental red in it now, though I hear that will fade...don't worry, my Mom IS a professional.) I'm spending time with old friends, my cousin, and best of all- my mother and brother and sister. I'm reconnecting with my family. I'm getting overdue work done and getting ahead on my lesson prepping for my job with Kaplan so I can further reduce my stress when I get back. I'm relaxing. I'm having, quite possibly, the best time I've had in a long time.
This is SO NICE! I feel completely de-stressed and I can tell everywhere and in everything I do. I'm in a better mood, I'm happier, I have more energy, I don't have food cravings or eat crap, I feel stronger, my complexion has improved, my hair and skin feel better, I'm more patient, more pleasant in general, and I don't even dread going back up to school. Man, was this ever the break I needed. I feel so rejuvenated-nothing can take this away.
Tonight I go to the Improv downtown with my brother and my sister-in-law. Yay! I'm so excited! And I'll get to wear one of my new outfits...oh, yeah I forgot to mention I went shopping. At the Boca Mall. I hit up 4 stores- Express, J. Crew, The Gap, and Victoria's Secret. I spent, well, let's just say I have some new credit card bills... but I got AWESOME new work clothes, and even some clothes for fun. Some favorites are my new bikini, my flowy white skirt and navy blue bermuda shorts from J. Crew, and this little black dress and high-waisted business skirt from Express. Yes, that's right, my hips are finally slim enough and my stomach flat enough that I can wear high-waisted skirts and look GOOD in them. FINALLY! So long coming. Whew.
Well I'm sure I've sickened the reader enough with my unwavering happiness. Don't worry, I'm sure my next entry will be due to a reality check of some sort. Ah... such is life.
Check this link about a 17-month old who started reading at 13 months: (My kids will read sooner. Just saying.)
http://video.msn.com/video.aspx?mkt=en-US&brand=&vid=c044d322-a4f6-4a38-925a-12d01ef81fb8
For most college kids my age, Spring Break- especially the last one before graduation- is a time to let loose and party. Get drunk. See young girls flash body parts in exotic locations like Cancun, SouthBeach, or on expensive cruises. A time to reconnect with other college buddies for one last hurrah before we buckle down to get those elusive degrees.
Well, good for those college kids, but I am not one of them. No, I'm much more boring.
Why drink so much that your break passes you by in a mix of drunken stupors and blackouts, or imbibe so much that your body hates you and you gain ten pounds?
Here's my Spring Break. I've gotten up no earlier than 10:00AM every day. I've gone to the beach, like, once. I've laid out at my local pool a few times and I have a nice tan. I'm re-teaching myself how to eat because I've taken up vegitarianism (www.GoVeg.com great site!). I've lost about 8 lbs. I go running or walking pretty much every day. I open the doors in the house and let the pristine breeze and perfect weather in. I go to Barnes and Noble and read. I read!! I haven't had time to read in forever!
I've gotten a pedicure, and my mom touched up my hair color and cut (it has a little accidental red in it now, though I hear that will fade...don't worry, my Mom IS a professional.) I'm spending time with old friends, my cousin, and best of all- my mother and brother and sister. I'm reconnecting with my family. I'm getting overdue work done and getting ahead on my lesson prepping for my job with Kaplan so I can further reduce my stress when I get back. I'm relaxing. I'm having, quite possibly, the best time I've had in a long time.
This is SO NICE! I feel completely de-stressed and I can tell everywhere and in everything I do. I'm in a better mood, I'm happier, I have more energy, I don't have food cravings or eat crap, I feel stronger, my complexion has improved, my hair and skin feel better, I'm more patient, more pleasant in general, and I don't even dread going back up to school. Man, was this ever the break I needed. I feel so rejuvenated-nothing can take this away.
Tonight I go to the Improv downtown with my brother and my sister-in-law. Yay! I'm so excited! And I'll get to wear one of my new outfits...oh, yeah I forgot to mention I went shopping. At the Boca Mall. I hit up 4 stores- Express, J. Crew, The Gap, and Victoria's Secret. I spent, well, let's just say I have some new credit card bills... but I got AWESOME new work clothes, and even some clothes for fun. Some favorites are my new bikini, my flowy white skirt and navy blue bermuda shorts from J. Crew, and this little black dress and high-waisted business skirt from Express. Yes, that's right, my hips are finally slim enough and my stomach flat enough that I can wear high-waisted skirts and look GOOD in them. FINALLY! So long coming. Whew.
Well I'm sure I've sickened the reader enough with my unwavering happiness. Don't worry, I'm sure my next entry will be due to a reality check of some sort. Ah... such is life.
Check this link about a 17-month old who started reading at 13 months: (My kids will read sooner. Just saying.)
http://video.msn.com/video.aspx?mkt=en-US&brand=&vid=c044d322-a4f6-4a38-925a-12d01ef81fb8
03 March 2008
Hey hey look what I did
Fun facts of the day:
If you go to a logging site, there will not be signs bearing warnings about unsafe areas. You are on your own to figure that shit out.
If you get the sap of a balsam fir on your ass/person/clothes/BDUs, it will not come off in the wash cycle, or the dryer, or from direct scrubbing.
I know this because upon sitting on a recently harvested stand of firs, the resin blisters exploded on the seat of my pants. Which sounds, incidentally, much more disgusting than it actually is.
The outcome... is simply that my ass smelled like Christmas Trees all day.
So now, after a good wash, the seat of my uniform pants... still smells like Christmas Trees. Thus the scent, quite literally, follows me around all day. Pleasant but occasionally disconcerting.
Also...isn't it interesting the way we personify our electronics? They've become such a part of our daily lives that a phrase like "My computer died" is met with condolences. However, for some reason the phrase "My (insert malfunctioning electronic here) took a shit on me," which has become a commonly used staple in my vernacular, is still met with sideways looks and sarcastic remarks on the literal interpretation of the phrase. To which I respond, come on guys, too easy. Really. Put in some effort.
I made some worthwhile poetry this evening. It would figure on my creative streak that I have HOURS of legit work ahead of me. Physiology is so goddamn interesting it makes me literally giddy with glee. In class if the Prof, who is (on a sidenote) an incredibly intelligent, interesting, remarkably demanding and DETAIL-ORIENTED woman, starts to cover something I have a resovoir of knowledge about (which is reasonably often) I can barely stay in my seat. I practically have to physically restrain myself from jumping up and screaming something like "YEAH! And the botulinum toxin type A is what they use in cosmetic botox but it's a particular isoform because the toxin is the most toxic protein that exists!!! Freakin' SWEET!"
Cause uh, generally that kind of enthusiasm is frowned upon. For some reason. Donno. Whatever.
If you go to a logging site, there will not be signs bearing warnings about unsafe areas. You are on your own to figure that shit out.
If you get the sap of a balsam fir on your ass/person/clothes/BDUs, it will not come off in the wash cycle, or the dryer, or from direct scrubbing.
I know this because upon sitting on a recently harvested stand of firs, the resin blisters exploded on the seat of my pants. Which sounds, incidentally, much more disgusting than it actually is.
The outcome... is simply that my ass smelled like Christmas Trees all day.
So now, after a good wash, the seat of my uniform pants... still smells like Christmas Trees. Thus the scent, quite literally, follows me around all day. Pleasant but occasionally disconcerting.
Also...isn't it interesting the way we personify our electronics? They've become such a part of our daily lives that a phrase like "My computer died" is met with condolences. However, for some reason the phrase "My (insert malfunctioning electronic here) took a shit on me," which has become a commonly used staple in my vernacular, is still met with sideways looks and sarcastic remarks on the literal interpretation of the phrase. To which I respond, come on guys, too easy. Really. Put in some effort.
I made some worthwhile poetry this evening. It would figure on my creative streak that I have HOURS of legit work ahead of me. Physiology is so goddamn interesting it makes me literally giddy with glee. In class if the Prof, who is (on a sidenote) an incredibly intelligent, interesting, remarkably demanding and DETAIL-ORIENTED woman, starts to cover something I have a resovoir of knowledge about (which is reasonably often) I can barely stay in my seat. I practically have to physically restrain myself from jumping up and screaming something like "YEAH! And the botulinum toxin type A is what they use in cosmetic botox but it's a particular isoform because the toxin is the most toxic protein that exists!!! Freakin' SWEET!"
Cause uh, generally that kind of enthusiasm is frowned upon. For some reason. Donno. Whatever.
08 February 2008
i hope not
It's almost humorous, to look at my last post and think I was under the impression things could go well for a while with nothing going wrong. Well, so much for that.
I'm listening to Joshua Radin, and I remember how much I used to love his stuff, back in high school...I'm so glad I got his album. Good stuff. And other than that I've been busy. Working, school, thinking, starting to work out and run again...etc. etc.
Not so much running, more like lightly jogging. My knee still briskly objects to running.
I'm not even going to pretend to small talk to my blog. Fuck it right. I hate this place. I used to love Norwich. I can no longer find enough redeeming traits here to keep me even remotely interested in the soul-sucking landscape. And trust me, I'm trying.
And also. I've discovered a few things about myself. Some which are slightly unnerving. I'm a sucker for pain. I mean really. It's like if things are going well for too long, I have to look for issues...and more often than not, they will crop up on their own. It's almost half voluntary and half involuntary, but the whole perception of the events precipitating could not be complete without both elements. And it is effective.
I am also not interesting anymore. I haven't read anything new. Or drawn. Or written. There is not anything special about me currently, I'm just another person in a grey uniform wandering around, trying to make it to graduation without completely falling apart.
I will attach myself to someone and run myself into the ground trying to make things work. Trying to explain myself. Trying to look around issues. But they always, like I said, crop up. But I will cling, hoping that I am enough, that I can fix things, that I can make it better. I couldn't the first time, or the second time, or the third time, and certainly, I am not enough now. Maybe I cannot clearly explain what's going on. Maybe I have unrealistic expectations of what it is to be loved. Either way I'm not sure if I am cut out for it. Certainly when I was 13 and sure I was going to be so into my career at 21 that I would not need a man or want children... I had something there. I only wish I still felt that way. That way the obvious absence and lack of ability to obtain these things wouldn't sting so much. But I am speaking from a certain emotional place, one that is a bit darker than normal, and quite pessimistic, and decidedly unsunny in comparison to my last post.
Every time you close a door and nothing opens in it's place, you've wasted.
My family is way ahead of me. Wow, hey, look at Tamara, first one to graduate college, first one to get a degree, she's smart, she can write so well...
kay. right. let me tell you how it feels to be me. it. feels. stagnating.
So. I will always wish that I can hold a man's attention. And I will always wish that I am lovable. And I will always wish I could call my father and hear him say, just one more time, how proud he is of me. Because for some reason once you pass the age of 18 people no longer think it's important to remind you. I will always want to be more productive, and less scattered, and more focused or physically fit. And come of these things are within my control, and some of them are not. But it's the knowledge that I find these things impossible to hang on to for longer than a few months that tortures me. Because I know that every time I feel happiness, and achievement, and that high that comes from being out of the tunnel and into the light, there will be another longer and darker tunnel ahead of me. Maybe not always. I hope not, anyway.
Maybe 21 years isn't enough to determine a pattern. But when your family members live to their 40s or 60s...you start to wonder.
Is this it?
I'm listening to Joshua Radin, and I remember how much I used to love his stuff, back in high school...I'm so glad I got his album. Good stuff. And other than that I've been busy. Working, school, thinking, starting to work out and run again...etc. etc.
Not so much running, more like lightly jogging. My knee still briskly objects to running.
I'm not even going to pretend to small talk to my blog. Fuck it right. I hate this place. I used to love Norwich. I can no longer find enough redeeming traits here to keep me even remotely interested in the soul-sucking landscape. And trust me, I'm trying.
And also. I've discovered a few things about myself. Some which are slightly unnerving. I'm a sucker for pain. I mean really. It's like if things are going well for too long, I have to look for issues...and more often than not, they will crop up on their own. It's almost half voluntary and half involuntary, but the whole perception of the events precipitating could not be complete without both elements. And it is effective.
I am also not interesting anymore. I haven't read anything new. Or drawn. Or written. There is not anything special about me currently, I'm just another person in a grey uniform wandering around, trying to make it to graduation without completely falling apart.
I will attach myself to someone and run myself into the ground trying to make things work. Trying to explain myself. Trying to look around issues. But they always, like I said, crop up. But I will cling, hoping that I am enough, that I can fix things, that I can make it better. I couldn't the first time, or the second time, or the third time, and certainly, I am not enough now. Maybe I cannot clearly explain what's going on. Maybe I have unrealistic expectations of what it is to be loved. Either way I'm not sure if I am cut out for it. Certainly when I was 13 and sure I was going to be so into my career at 21 that I would not need a man or want children... I had something there. I only wish I still felt that way. That way the obvious absence and lack of ability to obtain these things wouldn't sting so much. But I am speaking from a certain emotional place, one that is a bit darker than normal, and quite pessimistic, and decidedly unsunny in comparison to my last post.
Every time you close a door and nothing opens in it's place, you've wasted.
My family is way ahead of me. Wow, hey, look at Tamara, first one to graduate college, first one to get a degree, she's smart, she can write so well...
kay. right. let me tell you how it feels to be me. it. feels. stagnating.
So. I will always wish that I can hold a man's attention. And I will always wish that I am lovable. And I will always wish I could call my father and hear him say, just one more time, how proud he is of me. Because for some reason once you pass the age of 18 people no longer think it's important to remind you. I will always want to be more productive, and less scattered, and more focused or physically fit. And come of these things are within my control, and some of them are not. But it's the knowledge that I find these things impossible to hang on to for longer than a few months that tortures me. Because I know that every time I feel happiness, and achievement, and that high that comes from being out of the tunnel and into the light, there will be another longer and darker tunnel ahead of me. Maybe not always. I hope not, anyway.
Maybe 21 years isn't enough to determine a pattern. But when your family members live to their 40s or 60s...you start to wonder.
Is this it?
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