Hiatus

Taking a short break from THE ALMIGHTY INTERNET. Going on vacation, soaking up some sun, getting my swim on, and getting some good reading done. See you, dear internet, in 10 days!

And Now For Something Completely Different:

I realized today that hey, maybe I should do an actual post about nursing. Like, my job. Because I am the Punk Rock Nurse. However, the mere thought of tirelessly writing about nursing sounds about as appealing to me as getting punched in the kidney by a hobo (which has happened at work...and no, it's not fun. But I can laugh about it now...heh.)

Now, the real issue with writing about nursing everyday is that often times the stories don't have happy endings. The anecdotes are boring and cliche. People die. People are sick. People try to hurt me, and often they are able to succeed. I hurt people, even by accident, and its a terrible feeling. I don't want to rehash all that on a daily basis. I don't want to think about breaking people's ribs during compressions. I don't want to re-see a lot of things I see.

That being said, there is a lot of The Hilarious to cherish at this job. I've cried, sure, but I have laughed harder than ever. I can't make this shit up...the material is too good. On these occassions, I would be itching to write down exactly what happened. And so I shall. But let's not be coy, nursing is disgusting. This job is sick. So, I'll have to leave out the gross parts, but I'm sure you can use your imagination...to an extent. Some things are, really, just unimaginable (seriously).

Stay tuned, my fine feathered friends. Just sit right back and you'll hear the tale, the tale of a fateful trip....that started from this tropic port aboard....wait. Ok, time for a cup of coffee. I am smart.

You Know You Work Nights When...

First and foremost, you know you work nights when...

-You NEED to go by military time, or else you will not know if it is 3am or pm when you read a digital clock (this briefly just happened to me)

-You are so tired you momentarily wonder if "Vajazzling" would be worth it just for a laugh

-You realize that the only person who would be laughing is you, which makes you laugh

-You've slept only in nap-increments for about four days

-You find yourself singing Bon Jovi's "Living on a Prayer" a little
too loudly at 4am while your neighbor bangs on the wall

(Before Bon Jovi, I just happened to be singing "Somebody to Love" by Queen, which apparently the neighbors didn't mind because of it's sheer AWESOMENESS...or maybe I just drowned out the banging)

I'm going to go get some sleep before its back to the grind tonight.








And since I have become SO IMPORTANT(heh.) come check out my post over at Mushroom Printing, where I'm talking about the worst thing that could possibly happen to a delicious burrito.

Fin.

If you ask me (which, again, nobody ever does), the movie Fight Club has arguably the best ending any movie could ever have. If you haven't seen the movie, go out and get it right away. If you haven't read the book, go out and read it right away. Chuck Palahniuk (the book's author) and I have always had kind of a love/hate relationship. I love his writing, and I hate the way it makes me feel, which I love.

Now, back to Fight Club. It's really difficult, in my opinion, to get any movie to even resemble the scenes in your head that you get from reading words. And, often times, it really wouldnt work anyway. With Fight Club, the end is wonderful because while its obviously not exactly what you take away from the book, I think that the mood it sets does the book a great honor. And there's always the splicing-in of the penis that really just ties the whole thing together (you're going to have to watch).

Not to mention the song. The song! Could they have picked a more perfect song?! When the drum beat starts up and the buildings come down, it's so fucking beautiful. I could watch that scene for hours. The feeling during that scene is something that any of us would be lucky to feel even one time in our short lives. The feeling of really being alive. Of letting go. Of submitting to the reality and being OK with losing control. The sexual energy of total anarchy. The unknown.

Sometimes all you can do is stand there with your one person, and watch as everything comes crashing down around you. And knowing that it's all going to be ok.

Sometimes all you can do it watch. You might as well enjoy it.

Vacation

I am officially leaving for vacation in one week, and I cannot wait. It's not a glamorous vacation to, say, the Cayman Islands, but I'm excited nonetheless. Every year, since as long as I can remember (and even before that), my family has rented a cabin in a little place called Strawberry, California. And by little I mean population, like, 150. My mom's family has been going to Strawberry since she was little. In fact, my parents took their pregnancy test right there in the cabin that produced yours truly.

So, in Strawberry, it's my extended family taking up about 2 cabins, and some close family friends (all three generations each) taking up 2 more cabins, and then another family that we met at Strawberry many years ago in 1 cabin. We pretty much take over. There is a river, horseshoes, campfire area, and trails, and a pool that I love to hang out at and read/swim laps. Then, about a mile down the mountain is Pinecrest Lake, where we go almost everyday for hiking, kayaking, and swimming.

The smell of the pine trees is already luring me in. I went to the library today and picked up my giant nerd-sized pile of books to read by the pool/ on the porch as I laze about and soak up some rays....ohhh yeahhh.

So now the only thing is that I need to do like a million things before I leave so that when I come back, I won't be as overwhelmed (haha yeah right). I do always like to come home to a clean apartment though, and I got lots of errands to do/buisiness to take care of for school.

Not on vacation yet! I gotta get back to work...

Killing Me Softly

It's never a good thing when you actually start to understand where your psych patients are "coming from". I feel pretty good about anticipating their next move, preparing myself for outbursts/physical violence etc., but seriously. When I start to actually "get it", things get a little weird.

Which is why I am going to treat myself to a Martini this evening. When I wake up. Because I haven't gone to sleep yet...

I am no stranger to the crazy ramblings of anyone, really, let alone patients. I'm sure that I, myself, have even been viewed as a total raging lunatic from time to time. Like the ol' Mr. Roboto night at karaoke where I not only drank my weight in vodka cranberries, but then proceeded to dance the robot onstage, while singing, only to fall over on the stage, while singing, and proceed to do what I like to call "the floor robot" for a good three minutes or so (it didn't seem that long at the time). Styx would have been proud, I like to think.

I'm no Jim Morrison.

I do enjoy a good karaoke party though. Which is why I will be returning to that fateful place on Saturday to reclaim what is mine (my dignity). This time, like other times before, I will not succumb to the power of The Drink (well maybe a little, but nothing like Styx night). I will sing a catchy tune, a great karaoke song. Something that a normal person might sing. I will not embarrass myself by screaming "MY BLOOD IS BOILING-MY BRAIN IBM!!!" into the microphone while doing the "floor robot". My date will not peer at me anxiously while simultaneously checking his watch because I will be classy as fuck. I mean, as hell. fuck.

Get it? Bottom line: I have been awake for almost 24 hours, and am becomming delusional, having flashbacks to other times of great delusion. And by great delusion, I mean sexy, sexy robotic dance moves.

Job Titles Are Mostly Relative

While most people would call what I do "nursing" I really don't think that fully em compasses the ridiculous bullshit that I "do" on a day to day basis at the hospital. For example, tonight I would be "Bodily Fluid Dodger", or perhaps "Good Nurse" (of course pertaining to the ol' Good Nurse/Bad Nurse game). I prefer "Bad Nurse" sometimes because it gets out more aggression, but people always want me to be the sweet charming little "good nurse".

So, I guess along the same lines of thinking, tonight I could also be known as "Seizure-Stopper", "Floor Disinfecter", "Hand-Holder", and "Punching Bag". Fun. I wish, I really do, that there was a 1 unit course in nursing school about all of these other titles that we are expected to be, or that we unfortunately fall into. I really think nursing is one of those careers that you can only prepare so much for...and then the patients and the rest of the staff take it from there. You will see shit that you wish you had never seen.

There are many times Ive seen things that I wish I could unsee. But sometimes, there are those rare moments when I see things that I wish I could see a hundred more times that I may never see again.

When Keeping it Real Goes Wrong

I have a sensitivity to red wine. I think it's the tannins. I didn't have this problem until about three years ago, and I have no idea why it started. I wouldn't call it an allergy, but if I have as little as one glass of red wine, I become overheated, slightly congested, and, above all, totally loopy. Drunk even.

When you belong to an Italian family, red wine is unavoidable. When I am out to dinner with normal people, I don't have a problem. However, when my family is around, I must prepare to have red wine poured down my gullet faster than I can protest. They know how it affects me, but it happens nonetheless.

For example, last night at dinner, I agreed to "just a little" and had to literally put my hand over my wine glass to stop the pouring (it didn't work-I got wine poured on my hand). No amount of begging or pleading, or "Basta!" will get you "just a little" red wine. Apparently, "just a little" means an entire goblet full. And then it keeps getting refilled when you aren't looking.

So, yeah. Suffice it to say, I was a little ...blasted. We were looking at slides from my parent's recent trip to Italy, and there was a point in time where I accidentally tried to eat my napkin. I don't think anyone noticed my because they were preoccupied with the slides, but my inappropriate laughter may have given me away. Using a piece of penne as a vuvuzela probably didn't do me any favors either.

It's really more of a hallucinogenic fever of sorts than drunkenness, I think, because I really only had the equivalent of two glasses. It leaves a pretty wicked headache about 3 hours later though. And it makes me worry that my brother's pet chinchilla, Giuseppe, is plotting to blackmail me. He has shifty eyes.

From the Archives

An old post (5 or so years ago?) But one I'd like to keep around

"Rock N' Roll, Come and Save Me"

One thing that has stayed constant in my life is my love, nay, obsession for music. Music has driven my dreams, my emotions, everything for as long as I can remember. I had cassette tapes and records when I was little. I had the Coasters and the Drifters, the Cars, the Beatles. Growing up, I had one of the largest CD collections I know of for a 12 year old girl. I could sit in my room for four hours and listen to an album over and over and over and over and over again. And you know what? it would never get boring. I never "finished" with my music. I still have all my CDs, or most of them, and now I have an Ipod with thousands of songs on it.

If you know me really well, you've might have heard me singing along to almost any song that comes on the radio. I've been asked how many songs I know the lyrics to, and the answer is thousands. I know the lyrics to thousands of songs.

It's not all about the lyrics to me. I remember every drum beat, every rhythm, every timing, every note, every bass line that makes me close my eyes and clench my fists for a minute. I remember ever concert, every facial expression on the faces of the musician, every solo. I see the sweat pour down the drummer's face and I see the callused fingers on the frets of the guitars. And sometimes, when things fall apart all around me, I still have the music. If nothing else, i will always have the music.

Through music we can live forever. Music has made me laugh, it's made me cry, it's made me scream, it's made me throw bottles against a wall in a true state of rage. It give me a feeling that can only be described by the music itself. There are no words to explain it, except the combination of notes lyrics.

Music brings up so many memories of people, places, smells, sounds, feelings... If someone asked me what reminded me of someone in my life I could give them a list of 50 songs that make me remember something about them or that bring up a memory. My memory is splayed out on staves. If I never have anything else, I will always have the music, and I will always be listening.









"Rock and roll is so great, people should start dying for it. You don't understand. The music gave you back your beat so you could dream. A whole generation running with a Fender bass...

The people just have to die for the music. People are dying for everything else, so why not the music? Die for it. Isn't it pretty? Wouldn't you die for something pretty?

Perhaps I should die. After all, all the great Blues singers did die. But life is getting better now.

I dont want to die. Do I?"

-Lou Reed

Thanks A Lot, Kid

While babysitting I had a great conversations with a friend's 4 year old niece that went a little something like this...



Alyssa: You should come get ice cream with me soon!

Me: That sounds like a lot of fun! We should do that soon if I'm not working too much

Alyssa: You work??!!!

Me: Yup

Alyssa: What do you do?

Me: I'm a nurse, I take care of sick people in the hospital

Alyssa: How can you be a nurse if you are still a kid?

Me: I'm not a kid anymore, I'm a grownup like your mommy and daddy and uncle Brian

Alyssa: And uncle Patrick?

Me: Yeah, well actually uncle Patrick is a few years younger than me

Alyssa: No he I'snt! If you are a grown up why aren't you married?

Me: (shit.) Well, I just haven't gotten married yet. I had to focus on graduating high school and college and nursing school, which is very important to do before you get married.

Alyssa: Has anyone asked you?

Me: er...no. But I'm sure someday somebody will ask me!

Alyssa: Is something wrong with you? Why doesn't anyone want to marry you?

Me: (fuck.) I just haven't gotten married yet. Uncle Brian is a grown up and he isn't married yet.

Alyssa: But uncle Brian is a boy so it's ok.

Me: I see...

Alyssa: That's ok! you can come to my wedding when I get married and I'll let you wear a really pretty dress so you don't feel sad.

Me: *sigh* Thanks, Alyssa, that's really sweet of you.


At least she didn't ask me about sex.

Oh Happy Day!

You can only imagine my excitement when my favorite blogger, Aunt Becky of Mommy Wants Vodka, became a follower of MY BLOG! So, as of now, it's just you and me Becky. And, let's not be coy here, I have never been one of the cool kids so this just makes my day. (Nerd alert). So here's to my new Internet friend; Becky-may you marry Doctor House and Dexter in a three-way wedding extravaganza chock full of The Awesome, while on the family reunion cruise with vodka flowing from the rafters and may I be there to video tape the whole thing.

****

So, today on my way to work I decided to run by Whole Foods to pick up a salad because...well, I totally pigged out this morning after work. To write and publish exactly what I consumed (aka crammed into my already-stuffed-full-of-food mouth) would be quite an embarrassment and I would probably get an anonymous email about the dangers of binge-eating and how, as a nurse, I should know better (yeah right).

Also, let's get one things straight right off the bat; I am a nervous eater. When I am stressed out, I find comfort in food. Probably not healthy, but hey. When things are very bad, I lose all appetite, but when I'm moderately stressed out, I go straight for the good stuff. Thank the lord that I have a somewhat capable metabolism, or I would be a giant heifer by now, waddling the streets looking for my next victim (probably a delicious burrito who would be comically cowering in the corner of a deserted alley). But, I digress.

So, rewind back to Whole Foods. I pick out my salad, get some other healthy stuff to eat at work, and make my way to the bakery section (of course). See, I have an excuse because it is my coworkers birthday in a few days and, hello, I have to get him something. I spotted some delicious looking petit fours and waited for the guy behind the counter to come over and help me. Bakery guy comes over and I ask him to for a couple petit fours (which, P.S., if you have never tried petit fours, get off your ass and go find some, they are like a foodgasm in the mouth).

The guy kinda stares and me and then starts packing them up. While he's doing this, I finally get a good look at him; it's my ex-boyfriend. My high school sweetheart, my puppy-loving, virginity-losing, good-memories-and-tears-all-dumped-into-one guy. "Oh my god, it's you!" I said to him. Smooth, I know.

Then came the awkward "How've you been, what's up, how's your family" small talk. The obligatory "we should hang out sometime" was thrown into the mix. I feel like I should add that I haven't seen this dude in years and he inexplicably stopped talking to me altogether a few years ago, after we had been friends for awhile and on good terms...so yeah, a little extra awkward.

The small talk ended, and I turned to leave. I imagined him watching me as I walked away, so I had to be cool about it. Even though I wasn't wearing any makeup, I had my hair in a ponytail, and I was in OR scrubs, I thought I looked sufficient enough. Kind of. I put my sunglasses on and walked straight out the door without looking back. When I was a few steps out of the door, I realized that I took my entire basket of groceries with me, and the petit fours, without paying for any of it. I whirled around and ran back in to pay, but I'm pretty sure he saw me because the bakery counter is right next to the exit.

Ex-boyfriend: 1
Me: 0

Getting Out of My Own Head...

Ok, new project. I need to stop thinking so much. Project "Getting Out of My Own Head" has officially begun. How am I going to execute this? I have no clue.

Ok, you must know some things about me before I begin:

A) I am a worrier. I am convinced that this is genetic (Thanks a lot Kathy Beebe). I worry about anything and everything. Things that aren't a big deal will metastisze out of control in my mind. I've gotten better, trust me, but it's still somewhat of an issue.

B) I carry around too much guilt. I blame my Catholic upbringing. I'm sure that this stems from that combined with point A.

C) I am a bad liar. I am not a fan of lying, by any means. However, I feel like desperate times call for desperate measures, and sometimes lying is better than telling the truth (DISCLAIMER: it's rare, and I dont condone lying...I am a BIG fan of honest and open communication. There are just certain circumstances where it may be better to not give as many details or tell the entire truth).

D) I spend too much time alone. Dont get me wrong, I have many friends, and am out with them having fun quite often (well, not lately, but usually). I just seem to have too much time where I am thinking about things. Just thinking, thinking, thinking. Take, for example, right now. It't almost two in the morning. I am at work and I have one patient who has been asleep all night. The other nurse I work with likes to go sleep in the break room...I am alone with my thoughts. Not to mention the fact that I live alone.



Ok, so, knowing what I know about myself, it is clear that I need a distraction from my own thoughs. I need to stop myself when my worrying begins to spiral out of control, which has been happening somewhat frequently. My main worries as of late are the following:

1) School/work
2) Finances
3) What people think of me (stupid, I know. Its not everyone, just important people)
4) My To-Do list (it is completely out of control)

So it starts with A), the worrying, then comes B), where I feel guilty when I don't accomplish these things, or when I start to worry that maybe someone doesnt like me...someone that I like very much, or someone that was just in a bad mood on that particular day and snapped at me or something. I feel guilty because, often times, I have no real basis for these thoughs...just too much time to think. Then C) often times leads to B), and D) leads to both A) and B).

(Can you tell yet that I need to get out of my head?)

So now the real work begins. I want to face life without constantly worrying about the unknown, because thats really what the problem is. Fear of the unknown. I will do my best to distract myself, talk myself out if irrational thoughts, and attempt to be more optimistic. Things arent always black or white, and its time to stop thinking that way.

(I am taking a deep breath as we speak)

Now I am going to stop this and move on to reading my book, which I highly reccomend (The Book Theif).

Why I Will Never Become a Cat Lady

Cats have recently begun fucking with me in my dreams. I wish I wasn't seriously having nightmares about cats, but apparently that is where my life has gone. So in my most recent feline nightmare, a pack of orange house cats were roaming the alleys that I was running through (cliche, I know) hissing and yowling. When they finally caught me (lead feet/cornered in the alley, of course) they proceeded to literally rip my skin off. So, yeah, something is wrong with me here.

Now, I don't dislike cats. I feel like I need to add this little disclaimer every time I talk about cats. Its THEM that dislike ME. I swear. I think that they can smell my unease the moment I walk in the room. I have had cats just run up to me and bite me for no good reason. "They are just playing!" the owners will say casually, with a big dumb grin on their face. But I know the truth...I see that look in those crazy yellow eyes.

Cats make me totally paranoid. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that they catch me totally off guard. Like the time I spent the night at Maggie's parent's house in Los Osos. Her cat literally jumped on my face at 5am and started "playing" with Eric the poodle, who was sleeping soundly next to me. Or another time I was at a friends house when her cat inexplicably ran up to me and leaped onto my shoulder, ripping my tee shirt and clawing its way up to my ear, which it then proceeded to bite and draw blood. I dont even do anything to deserve these attacks! Half of the time, I dont even realize that they have a cat until something like this happens. I need to be a lot more vigilant.

Are you starting to get it now? It's not me, it's them.
I could go on for hours; these aren't the only cat stories I have...but they all seem to end the same way.

I think this all comes from one particularly traumatic cat experience I had when I was about eight. My neighbors were on vacation and elected me to feed their cat daily while they were away. This was a HUGE deal for my little eight year old self, who wanted so desperately to be about fifteen. It meant that I got to walk to my neighbors house, go into their house by myself using the key, and feed their cat, Benny. I was in charge of another life...what responsibility! And I got paid!

So, I didnt even have to interact with the cat, but he always seemed to show up when I was putting the food in his bowl (go figure) and I liked him. I had been warned that he became "feisty" from time to time, but I had no idea what that meant so I didnt think much of it. Big mistake. So, one day when I was feeding him, I put the food down in front of him, and made the grave mistake of patting him on the head like I would a dog. I guess I just lost myself in the happy moment, but he immediately looked up and shot daggers at me. It was terrifying, like his eyes had changed colors to an angrier shade of orange.

I began to back away, with him still looking up at me from his food, and he began to follow. At that point, it was obvious that he was preparing to attack, or at least bite me, so I turned and ran. The fucker chased me. He chased me down. I ran as fast as I could and jumped onto the old swing set that the neighbors had in their backyard, scrambling up to the top of the monkey bars where I sat scared but satisfied that Benny couldnt get me.

Obviously I underestimated his strength and determination to remind me that I was on his turf and I had greatly offended him by petting his head the wrong way. He flew through the air with some sort of crazy battlecry and landed on my outstreched leg, immediately digging his claws into my calf and sinking his teeth into my knee. Thankfully, this was enough of a "warning" for him, so he jumped down gingerly from the monkey bars (which I fell off of, further scraping my knees) and proceeded to eat his food that was still waiting for him on the porch.

I ran home crying (forgetting anything about being a big girl or having responsibility) and told my mom that Benny bit me...which is all I could get out between sobs. I dont think she knew the full story, and If she did, she probably wouldnt believe me. It does sound pretty ridiculous, but that cat was crazy. He and I were on different terms after that. I would see him around the neighborhood, but I wouldnt pet him. He always gave me a warning stare. My mom had to go feed him for the remainder of the vacation days, and I didnt care. She did me a huge favor.

Cats still mess with me all the time, sneaking up on me, biting me, and scratching me. Nothing has ever compared to Benny though. That guy was nuts. He belongs in a cat asylum. Or a horror movie. Or a nightmare...

Rock n' Roll Walk of Shame

Sometimes I consider the possibility that my life is the stuff of Hollywood dramadies, but then I realize that I am, in fact, mostly delusional. I keep waiting for these unfortunate and somewhat ridiculous situations to turn into a real-life romantic comedy, but recently I have come to find that not only am I single, broke, stressed out, overworked, and confused about everything going on, but also I seem to just not understand the men in my life. Any of them really.

I mean, I get it, you have a penis. Big deal. (The clitoris has three times the amount of nerve endings than the entire penis has all together so put in your blunt and smoke it). I understand that guys have this sexual urge that needs to be fulfilled, but so do women! Sure, physiologically the estrogen/testosterone ratios are different in men and women causing some different desires/reactions than the opposite sex. However, it seems to me that it is mostly the societal roles that men feel that they have to uphold that are really the root of the problem here.

This isn't really where I meant for this post to go, so let me just sum this up right now while its on my mind: It is not fair that men are "allowed" or even expected and praised for being sexual, and women are deemed sluts or "loose". The fact that society portrays men as terrified of marriage, or any romantic commitment while women are shown as desperate for marriage and babies by the dozen is grossly unfair to both parties.

OK that rant is over...I'm not trying to get all "I am woman hear me roar!", trust me. I'm just saddened by the fact that if I were to want a relationship or children I would be viewed as the desperate woman trying to catch a man. The old ball and chain. Whatever happened to partnerships? Do those exist anymore? Just a real man and a real women, with sexual desires, with romance, with common goals and dreams? Who knows...

******

So I found myself driving my Honda Accord through the streets of San Francisco this morning just before dawn and I realized what a beautiful time of day that is, and how beautiful the city was. I love that time of day when nobody is awake and it is so quiet. It's not cold, because the fog is insulating, but the air is wet and gray. It smells like rain but it isn't raining. You can see everything, but it isn't quite light out; the sun hasn't risen. I think that this must be my favorite time of day. This time, right before the breaking of dawn. I also love dusk, right as the sun dips down past the mountains and there is an hour or so before darkness, but something about the time right before dawn is really magical.

Despite everything that I have been dealing with, at this time, I felt truly calm. The seagulls flying by the bay in lazy circles were the perfect accompaniment to the perfect song that had come on my car radio at the perfect time. I sung along with the Pixies... "Where is my mind?"

Darkness

The thing about working nights is that you are either always tired or never tired. Lately, it's been both. A sick little combination of being exhausted and having insomnia. If you've been there, you know what I'm talking about.

There's been a lot going on. Starting grad school full time in the fall is going to be difficult, I know, but it will also be a nice experience again to be expected to learn, rather than be expected to have all the answers all the time (and I wish that I did, but I never do).

The class I took this summer couldn't have started at a worse time, only weeks after the demise of a relationship that I thought would result in a marriage. It sounds even stupider when I write it out like this, even more naive, but that's where I thought it was going...that's where I was told it was going. I guess I was blinded by our beautiful apartment (the one that was never really ours anyway), the good times, and the promises that I always believed. I don't talk about it much anymore because there is just nothing more to say, but I finally feel like I can write something about it. We were both to blame, in different ways, and I should have seen it coming. I lost myself somewhere along the way...and now I'm just starting to come back. It kind of brings me back to a post that I wrote a few months ago about whether or not two people could really be together forever, if they could really love each other for the rest of their lives. Really be there. In the post I was undecided, and I guess that is still where I stand.

So, when it came time to do this class, I was at the point where I could hardly even motivate myself to get out of the house. But being here was torture. I forced myself to go. I threw on my old jeans and a tank top and showed up looking entirely unprofessional. But I went. I went to work, too. I felt like my world was ending, but I forced myself to focus. I ignored everything else, and immersed myself in my studies and my patients. I felt so weak. I felt so alone. When I started feeling really terrible again, I would leave with my text books and just read them at Starbucks for hours. Memorizing the most minuscule of details, I was not only able to distract myself from the pain, but I also aced my class. I found out today that I'm starting my program in the fall with an A in my prerequisite class. A class that some students even ended up failing.

Today I no longer feel weak, I feel strong. Ive been strong the entire time, I just couldn't see it. I felt like i lost myself, but Ive actually been gaining more than i ever knew. Ive had fun lately. Ive actually enjoyed myself. Ive realized that the relationship that I thought was perfect, wasn't so perfect after all. Not for a long time. Its a long story, but I feel like in the past few months I have grown exponentially. Today, I feel like I can do things that I never thought I could do six months ago.

As for my ability to love; its not gone. It never will be. I cant help it, and that's probably a good thing in the long run. For now, I plan to not plan. I will get through this program, I will do things that I want to do. There will be sacrifices, sure. Like possibly (probably) moving back in with my parents temporarily while I'm in school (that will be the beginning of some VERY interesting posts, I'm sure). Its better than working full time nights and trying to go to school. That's just not doable for me. With clinicals and lectures, I would be busy 7 days a week...not to mention studying. And forget about a social life...and sleep....I cant afford my beautiful apartment, but I know that if I work hard enough that someday I will have a beautiful place again...and maybe I'll even own it instead of renting!

So, maybe I'm not exactly where I thought I would be at this point in my life, and I'm taking a couple of hard hits this year, but I'm feeling better about it than I was. I am not as alone as i thought. its difficult to not have someone to sleep next to every night, and its hard to know that there isn't that connection that there used to be. I look at my married friends, and I still feel envious of that bond...its so strong. But, at the same time, I am beginning to feel empowered as a single woman, and I know that if I ever do get married, that is how I should feel; empowered and part of a partnership. An equal. I haven't felt this way in a long time.

Things are going to be different...

Apnea All Around

So, apparently my blog has been hacked and deleted. Thanks a lot. That's ok, this seems like a good day for new beginnings. I don't know if there is something in the air, or if it is just a bad luck year, but I have experienced and heard about so many deaths this year. It's like 2008 all over again...
Some are tragic deaths too, not only old age. Of my family, friends, and friends of friends, There have been 6 old age/chronic illness deaths, 2 tragic overdoses, and 1 accidental drowning. People are dying too young, and leaving us here heartbroken and left to pick up the pieces. I am no stranger to death, but this is one of those years that makes me realize just how mortal we all are. We are so fragile, and sometimes there is nothing that one can do, not any number of compressions, or begging or bargining, that will change the outcome of the situation. We are left with our memories and our guilt. Guilt that we didnt try just a little bit harder, that we didnt call that day, that we havent talked in years, that we couldnt revive a corpse. Its not rightful guilt, but guilt is guilt.
Death often times forces us out of our comfort zone. It forces us to move on and to pick up and keep moving the best we can. Some days, maybe, it will be hard to get out of bed. Some days it will be hard to do anything. But, like any big chance, death can also be a new beginning. It can push us into the difficult and often overlooked task of taking life one day at a time. Figuring out what we really want. It puts things into perspective, and changes the rest of our lives. We are shaped by the deaths of our loved ones. Although they are gone, they are never really gone. The memories that we keep shape that person into a new part of our lives. Nobody is really dead until they are forgotten, and nobody is forgotten as long as we hold them in our hearts.

I wish things weren't so difficult sometimes.

Rest in Peace.