As I noted in my post a few days ago, I had a birthday the other day. It was uneventful, as has been my entire week. Yet, despite all this nothing doing, I'm still missing out on sleep and relaxation time. I'd really love to be able to say that it's super easy for me to drift off in this twin XL bed, but it's actually really terrible.
Here's the thing about college: I love the freedom and the independence. There was definitely something there that I needed. The downside is that it all comes at the price of having anything familiar. In essence, it's like being instantly single. There's no one to look after you or to take care of you. You don't get the luxury of cuddling up to someone in the night. There are hook-ups all around you, but you're not having them yourself. Though the independence is cathartic, everything else is sort of cold and lonely.
Don't get me wrong here, this doesn't stem from some teenage yearning to be liked or desired. I'm actually very well-liked here. In fact, this is the first time in my life that either people aren't talking about me or, for a record-breaking first time, I really, truly just don't give a shit. I just can't seem to enjoy it. If I'm not feeling the pressure of existence or freaking out about some stupid deadline, I'm not really feeling much of anything. Yet, somehow, I'm more or less comfortable here. Odd, no?
In other news, AW--the ever-famous Canadian--is coming to visit me on Monday. He'll be staying for a week. I have no idea what will happen or if we'll even enjoy each other's company. I have a feeling that I'm much more of an acquired taste than the lovely ladies that share my time lately have assumed. The closer that we get to this arrival, the less I think of this dynamic. Rather, I'm certain that things may go south in one way or another. In some ways, that makes it a good thing that I live in the dorms. I mean, sharing a building with a bunch of people who know and love me can't be all bad, especially if things are sinking faster. We shall see.
In the mean time, I'm going to attempt to shake off the bondage of insomnia and sleep for a while. You may have noticed that I am up very late, despite a need to awaken early. Why is this? I can't seem to get comfortable enough to rest. Every time I start to settle enough to sleep, the phone rings or I get a text message. It was hard enough to settle in the first time, harder still to manage it thrice. Needless to say, the fourth time wasn't working for me all that well, which is what spurred my update. Oh, Brain, when will you decide you're tortured me enough?
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Busy Doing Very Little
Lately, I seem to be really busy. The funny thing about that is that I find myself doing very little most of the time. I have a feeling that I'm getting a much more authentic college experience than I bargained for initially. I think every high school kid sort of has this idea that college is going to be full of awesome parties, hanging out, and living like you're an adult or something. Being an adult and living in the dorms, I can say that it's really easy to adapt to that sort of do-nothing lifestyle. I'm busy all the time, but I'm busy doing nothing. It's kind of lame of me, really.
But then again, how much would you pay to be able to do very little? It might just be worth the tuition money.
Moving on, this week was my birthday. I turned 25 yesterday, in fact. Being 25 isn't really any kind of milestone. You've survived two and half decades. You're five years from being thirty. Mostly, that seems ridiculously depressing. Don't get me wrong, I like the idea of growing old because age is accompanied by an increased comfort level with the world and one's self. It's just that I've run out of birthdays that one looks forward to. From now on, it's just keeping a count of the years until I croak, which will not be any time soon.
Of course, I'm coming across as much more morose than I really am. I had a very nice, low-key birthday, actually. I got a good drunk on with my girls and we laughed and played a game. Nick took me out to dinner, and my father made me a chocolate cheesecake. For the most part, I stayed in and played it cool. Someone at the dorms decorated our door with streamers and signs. It's been nice.
Hopefully, my boring theme keeps up and I can stay low-key.
But then again, how much would you pay to be able to do very little? It might just be worth the tuition money.
Moving on, this week was my birthday. I turned 25 yesterday, in fact. Being 25 isn't really any kind of milestone. You've survived two and half decades. You're five years from being thirty. Mostly, that seems ridiculously depressing. Don't get me wrong, I like the idea of growing old because age is accompanied by an increased comfort level with the world and one's self. It's just that I've run out of birthdays that one looks forward to. From now on, it's just keeping a count of the years until I croak, which will not be any time soon.
Of course, I'm coming across as much more morose than I really am. I had a very nice, low-key birthday, actually. I got a good drunk on with my girls and we laughed and played a game. Nick took me out to dinner, and my father made me a chocolate cheesecake. For the most part, I stayed in and played it cool. Someone at the dorms decorated our door with streamers and signs. It's been nice.
Hopefully, my boring theme keeps up and I can stay low-key.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Morning? I Haven't Seen You in Ages!
This morning, I awoke at 8 AM, a time that I haven't seen in at least two weeks. I was pretty surprised to be awake, actually. In fact, I'm pretty surprised that I'm still awake. However, I couldn't return to sleep, so I decided to just hedge my bets and get up. I made coffee and toast. I watched Paper Moon for the first time. Since I was at a loss for what else to do that didn't involve showering or making my bed--because, let's face it, I'll probably return to it for a nap later--I opted to update my blog.
Allow me to update you, readers--few of you that there are--about the status of my rooming situation. Initially, I was assigned to room 301 in Justinian Hall here at Lourdes Commons. I liked my apartment because we had a wonderful view, new cabinets, and I had the bigger room of the two. I was supposed to have a roommate, but she never showed up, so I had the room to myself--and, consequently, the bigger closet to myself. The carpets were a little bit gross, but the rest was pretty bearable, actually.
My roommate, Melissa, seemed like she would be okay at first. She kept mostly to herself, but she and chatted at first. She occupied the single room, so we didn't have to share a bedroom space. Then, things got weirder. She said some very strange things to us and made some pretty strange scenes, which left us wondering what to do with her. I had some trouble distinguishing whether she was really as disturbed as she played at being or if it was an attention-getting act.
Lately, though, her behavior had taken a little bit of a troubling turn, especially considering that she's diagnosed bipolar. She started to withdraw. She stopped coming out of her room unless she thought I wasn't going to be around--like she would only go to the kitchen when I was in the shower or she'd only come out to shower once I left for a meeting or class. Pettily, she unfriended me on Facebook (trust me, I'm crying on the inside about that little move) only to write a childish status message which addressed her annoyance with me--annoyance which, I'd like to point out, she never actually spoke to me about. Tell all of Facebook, but not the person you're irritated with. Counter-intuitive, no? All of this comes after the meeting that we had with our R.A.s, who told her that she needed to communicate with me when she was upset. Clearly, she took that to heart.
Finally, it got to be a little too much for me. I spoke to the housing director and the resident life assistant director. I told them about some of the strange behaviors, that I was worried that she was deteriorating rather than getting better, that I didn't want to be the one to come home and be the one to find her if something should happen. I told them that I wasn't comfortable living with her anymore. I was surprised at how quickly things were set in motion after that. I had that meeting with them on Monday afternoon. By Monday night, I was in another apartment. I have discovered that you can move out of a place in less than an hour! I have also been told that mastering a midnight move-out is a life skill that one ought never take for granted.
Now, I'm sharing an apartment with Kaitlin, who I've mentioned before. I'm already more comfortable here than I was in my other apartment. I'm on the second floor now in room 204, but I'm still in the same building. The carpet is much nicer here, but the cabinets are old and the linoleum has cigarette burns in it. The company is much better, though, which makes some of the other compromises much more worth it. The only thing that I'm still trying to get used to is the noise of having an apartment above me at night. On the third floor, we didn't have those noises. I just need a week or so to get used to it enough to tune it out.
Last night, we had a very low-key night. We sat at the table and did some homework. We listened to some music, chatted about random things. I managed to be in bed before 3 AM--which, these days, is an accomplishment of epic proportions. I actually finished almost all of my homework. I have just a little bit more to do, but the worksheets that I have to complete should be fairly simple. We're discussing the carbohydrate metabolism, which means we're talking about glycolysis, the Krebs cycle, and the production of ATP in the mitochondrial cristae. It's like an A&P review for me, since we discussed these things in A&P 1 at Owens. The point is that it was nice to be able to sit and relax, not have to worry about what the other person is doing in their room.
Cat and I had a moment of utter astonishment at our own relief the other day. Kaitlin walked out of the apartment because her phone rang and she wanted to have a cigarette. Absentmindedly, I asked, "Where's she going?" Cat shrugged, and something occurred to me: it's incredibly nice to not have to worry when someone leaves if they're leaving because you've pissed them off or not. Melissa never said a word when she left, so there was always the question of whether we had offended her or not which hung like thick, black smoke over us when she was gone. I don't have to worry about that with Kaitlin.
Also, Kaitlin cleans up after herself. I watched her pull out glass cleaner and wipe of the stove and counter tops last night, and she noticed that I was watching. She commented that she was just cleaning up, and I had to realize that I had been staring. I told her it'd be a week or so that I'd probably keep doing that because my old roommate didn't do things like clean the kitchen. I did that. She rarely even sat in the same room with me, let alone lifted a finger to clean anything. I'm still pleasantly surprised when Kaitlin and I agree on things or even discuss them. We moved furniture on the first night and got our living room set up. We discussed and hung a mirror. We rearranged the shelves in the bathroom to accommodate each other. It's interesting how you take those little things for granted when you don't have them with other people. I'm a little surprised at how much I appreciate them.
Of course, all of this surprise makes me realize how awkward and uncomfortable I was becoming in the other apartment. I'm glad that I was moved. I feel a little cheated that I had to move, though, when I truly went out of my way to be respectful and make it work with Melissa. I do understand that moving her might stress her out more. I also understand that there are no open singles right now, so moving her would just put her problem in someone else's room, which is not what I want either. It's bad enough that I had to go through it. It's really not fair to force someone else to do the same. At least I can say that I did all the right things in this situation. I can look back at the way that I handled it and be pleased with the results. I can say that I tried.
The interesting part is that I never would have tried this hard a few years ago. I'd have said fuck it and fuck her and done everything that I could do to mess up her life. This can only mean one of two things: I am losing my fiery rage as I grow older or I am maturing and have discovered how to pick and choose my battles. I suppose I'll let others be the judge.
Allow me to update you, readers--few of you that there are--about the status of my rooming situation. Initially, I was assigned to room 301 in Justinian Hall here at Lourdes Commons. I liked my apartment because we had a wonderful view, new cabinets, and I had the bigger room of the two. I was supposed to have a roommate, but she never showed up, so I had the room to myself--and, consequently, the bigger closet to myself. The carpets were a little bit gross, but the rest was pretty bearable, actually.
My roommate, Melissa, seemed like she would be okay at first. She kept mostly to herself, but she and chatted at first. She occupied the single room, so we didn't have to share a bedroom space. Then, things got weirder. She said some very strange things to us and made some pretty strange scenes, which left us wondering what to do with her. I had some trouble distinguishing whether she was really as disturbed as she played at being or if it was an attention-getting act.
Lately, though, her behavior had taken a little bit of a troubling turn, especially considering that she's diagnosed bipolar. She started to withdraw. She stopped coming out of her room unless she thought I wasn't going to be around--like she would only go to the kitchen when I was in the shower or she'd only come out to shower once I left for a meeting or class. Pettily, she unfriended me on Facebook (trust me, I'm crying on the inside about that little move) only to write a childish status message which addressed her annoyance with me--annoyance which, I'd like to point out, she never actually spoke to me about. Tell all of Facebook, but not the person you're irritated with. Counter-intuitive, no? All of this comes after the meeting that we had with our R.A.s, who told her that she needed to communicate with me when she was upset. Clearly, she took that to heart.
Finally, it got to be a little too much for me. I spoke to the housing director and the resident life assistant director. I told them about some of the strange behaviors, that I was worried that she was deteriorating rather than getting better, that I didn't want to be the one to come home and be the one to find her if something should happen. I told them that I wasn't comfortable living with her anymore. I was surprised at how quickly things were set in motion after that. I had that meeting with them on Monday afternoon. By Monday night, I was in another apartment. I have discovered that you can move out of a place in less than an hour! I have also been told that mastering a midnight move-out is a life skill that one ought never take for granted.
Now, I'm sharing an apartment with Kaitlin, who I've mentioned before. I'm already more comfortable here than I was in my other apartment. I'm on the second floor now in room 204, but I'm still in the same building. The carpet is much nicer here, but the cabinets are old and the linoleum has cigarette burns in it. The company is much better, though, which makes some of the other compromises much more worth it. The only thing that I'm still trying to get used to is the noise of having an apartment above me at night. On the third floor, we didn't have those noises. I just need a week or so to get used to it enough to tune it out.
Last night, we had a very low-key night. We sat at the table and did some homework. We listened to some music, chatted about random things. I managed to be in bed before 3 AM--which, these days, is an accomplishment of epic proportions. I actually finished almost all of my homework. I have just a little bit more to do, but the worksheets that I have to complete should be fairly simple. We're discussing the carbohydrate metabolism, which means we're talking about glycolysis, the Krebs cycle, and the production of ATP in the mitochondrial cristae. It's like an A&P review for me, since we discussed these things in A&P 1 at Owens. The point is that it was nice to be able to sit and relax, not have to worry about what the other person is doing in their room.
Cat and I had a moment of utter astonishment at our own relief the other day. Kaitlin walked out of the apartment because her phone rang and she wanted to have a cigarette. Absentmindedly, I asked, "Where's she going?" Cat shrugged, and something occurred to me: it's incredibly nice to not have to worry when someone leaves if they're leaving because you've pissed them off or not. Melissa never said a word when she left, so there was always the question of whether we had offended her or not which hung like thick, black smoke over us when she was gone. I don't have to worry about that with Kaitlin.
Also, Kaitlin cleans up after herself. I watched her pull out glass cleaner and wipe of the stove and counter tops last night, and she noticed that I was watching. She commented that she was just cleaning up, and I had to realize that I had been staring. I told her it'd be a week or so that I'd probably keep doing that because my old roommate didn't do things like clean the kitchen. I did that. She rarely even sat in the same room with me, let alone lifted a finger to clean anything. I'm still pleasantly surprised when Kaitlin and I agree on things or even discuss them. We moved furniture on the first night and got our living room set up. We discussed and hung a mirror. We rearranged the shelves in the bathroom to accommodate each other. It's interesting how you take those little things for granted when you don't have them with other people. I'm a little surprised at how much I appreciate them.
Of course, all of this surprise makes me realize how awkward and uncomfortable I was becoming in the other apartment. I'm glad that I was moved. I feel a little cheated that I had to move, though, when I truly went out of my way to be respectful and make it work with Melissa. I do understand that moving her might stress her out more. I also understand that there are no open singles right now, so moving her would just put her problem in someone else's room, which is not what I want either. It's bad enough that I had to go through it. It's really not fair to force someone else to do the same. At least I can say that I did all the right things in this situation. I can look back at the way that I handled it and be pleased with the results. I can say that I tried.
The interesting part is that I never would have tried this hard a few years ago. I'd have said fuck it and fuck her and done everything that I could do to mess up her life. This can only mean one of two things: I am losing my fiery rage as I grow older or I am maturing and have discovered how to pick and choose my battles. I suppose I'll let others be the judge.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Reflections and Milanos
Tonight, I had my biochemistry midterm. I feel somewhat cheated by it, actually. The study guide had so many concepts on it! I studied so hard, but then I came face to face with only a fraction of the concepts on the exam. I feel like we learned things that we'll never be tested upon. I memorized the structures and names of 20 amino acids because our instructor told us that we had to memorize them. Then, during the exam, she wrote them on the board for us. WHAT!?! This is inconsistency at it's worst.
I've been grappling with the quitting smoking lately. More than anything else, I miss the familiar burn of smoke in my lungs, the feeling of nicotine coursing through my body. There are so many things that would be appropriately followed by a cigarette. A surprising number of my social exchanges happened because of my tendency to sneak outside for a cigarette. None of the girls here smoke with the exception of Kaitlin, so we became partners in crime. Now, I'm abandoning her for the pursuit of a smoke-free lifestyle which, to be quite frank, I don't really want. None of the other girls smoke, and M Jay and Cat have been particularly ruthless about smacking down any of my whining complaints that I want a cigarette. It's nice to know that I have loyal friends who care about my health. It would be nicer still if they would tell me about their care while lighting me a Marlboro.
I feel the need to write lately, but I'm stagnant and stale. I started some short fiction, which somehow became long fiction. The more I think about it, the more trite and absurd the concept seems to me. The girls like it because it's pulpy and sexual, but I just don't really see where I'm going with it. It already seems lame and endless to me. I'm already bored with it. It seems that the further I develop the characters, the less I happen to like them. The woman is becoming a tearful bitch, while the man is a gutless codependent. I'd like to write something with purpose, something deep, but I have no idea how to even begin to broach that kind of subject. I am not a particularly deep individual. My shortcomings on that front would become shockingly apparent if I tried to bring them up in writing.
I need to find some kind of complementary outlet. I clearly cannot seem to make writing work for me. I need to find some way to express myself. I'm certainly not an artist. I like singing, but I fail miserably at it--just ask my family. I sort of wish that we could have candles here in the dorms. This is an instance in which I would light some candles, sit in the dark, and listen to music. I would contemplate things while watching life pass by my windows. I miss being able to do that like I used to as a teenager. My room was much more fluid, much more a reflection of my childish dreams, my need to acquire, own, and achieve. My room now is much more an image of changes, adult responsibility, simplicity, and a desire for the more feminine and childish (read: there's a lot of pink). It's an emblem of where I stand right now. Possessions all in their places, pretty maids all in a row.
One thing that this college life is teaching me, however, is to live my life with less. I have much less in the way of belongings here. I'm discovering how little of it I would actually miss, how easy it is to start all over when you have to, when you need to. Simple things, little things will teach you how to get through the hard times, will lift your spirits when you need them to. For me, it's Milano cookies and a glass of cold milk. Friends will be there for you if you let them. It's funny to me that most of my college lessons have had very little to do with college or classes. (There's a New York Times bestseller in there somewhere. "Things College Taught Me How To Teach Myself" or something similar...)
For now, I believe that I will retreat to my half-full package of Milano cookies and plastic cup of 1/2% milk. I was trying to save the Milanos for another hard day or two, but why wait? Better to enjoy things while you have them than to wait so long that you can't enjoy them or even have them anymore. At any rate, they will be savored.
I've been grappling with the quitting smoking lately. More than anything else, I miss the familiar burn of smoke in my lungs, the feeling of nicotine coursing through my body. There are so many things that would be appropriately followed by a cigarette. A surprising number of my social exchanges happened because of my tendency to sneak outside for a cigarette. None of the girls here smoke with the exception of Kaitlin, so we became partners in crime. Now, I'm abandoning her for the pursuit of a smoke-free lifestyle which, to be quite frank, I don't really want. None of the other girls smoke, and M Jay and Cat have been particularly ruthless about smacking down any of my whining complaints that I want a cigarette. It's nice to know that I have loyal friends who care about my health. It would be nicer still if they would tell me about their care while lighting me a Marlboro.
I feel the need to write lately, but I'm stagnant and stale. I started some short fiction, which somehow became long fiction. The more I think about it, the more trite and absurd the concept seems to me. The girls like it because it's pulpy and sexual, but I just don't really see where I'm going with it. It already seems lame and endless to me. I'm already bored with it. It seems that the further I develop the characters, the less I happen to like them. The woman is becoming a tearful bitch, while the man is a gutless codependent. I'd like to write something with purpose, something deep, but I have no idea how to even begin to broach that kind of subject. I am not a particularly deep individual. My shortcomings on that front would become shockingly apparent if I tried to bring them up in writing.
I need to find some kind of complementary outlet. I clearly cannot seem to make writing work for me. I need to find some way to express myself. I'm certainly not an artist. I like singing, but I fail miserably at it--just ask my family. I sort of wish that we could have candles here in the dorms. This is an instance in which I would light some candles, sit in the dark, and listen to music. I would contemplate things while watching life pass by my windows. I miss being able to do that like I used to as a teenager. My room was much more fluid, much more a reflection of my childish dreams, my need to acquire, own, and achieve. My room now is much more an image of changes, adult responsibility, simplicity, and a desire for the more feminine and childish (read: there's a lot of pink). It's an emblem of where I stand right now. Possessions all in their places, pretty maids all in a row.
One thing that this college life is teaching me, however, is to live my life with less. I have much less in the way of belongings here. I'm discovering how little of it I would actually miss, how easy it is to start all over when you have to, when you need to. Simple things, little things will teach you how to get through the hard times, will lift your spirits when you need them to. For me, it's Milano cookies and a glass of cold milk. Friends will be there for you if you let them. It's funny to me that most of my college lessons have had very little to do with college or classes. (There's a New York Times bestseller in there somewhere. "Things College Taught Me How To Teach Myself" or something similar...)
For now, I believe that I will retreat to my half-full package of Milano cookies and plastic cup of 1/2% milk. I was trying to save the Milanos for another hard day or two, but why wait? Better to enjoy things while you have them than to wait so long that you can't enjoy them or even have them anymore. At any rate, they will be savored.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Vignette of a Marriage
I thought I might post this because I thought it was an amusing exchange. Here's the back-story so that you can make sense of it: our apartment building which houses the dorms has been a work in progress. Fire alarms go off because of shower steam, light fixtures are broken, and the roof is a mess. The last two weeks, we've had people working on our roof. They begin at 6 or 7 A.M (or, as I like to lovingly refer to it, balls A.M.) and they work until 3 P.M.
Now, in light of the fact that we're college students, you'd think they'd try to be quieter or at least begin later, but no. In fact, one morning I woke up to three men in my living room singing loudly and blathering about HGTV commercials. They have been an irritating presence, to say the very least.
So, one morning over Skype, JJ and I had this exchange:
JJ: I'm watching Bram Stoker's Dracula.
Now, in light of the fact that we're college students, you'd think they'd try to be quieter or at least begin later, but no. In fact, one morning I woke up to three men in my living room singing loudly and blathering about HGTV commercials. They have been an irritating presence, to say the very least.
So, one morning over Skype, JJ and I had this exchange:
JJ: I'm watching Bram Stoker's Dracula.
Jessica: I'm going to BECOME Dracula if those motherfuckers don't shut it!
JJ: What, you going to suck their blood?
Jessica: And then brood about Mina. Yes.
JJ: He broods for his wife, Elizabeth, not Mina. Mina just looks like her. Read the book, come on!
Jessica: Blah, blah, blah.
JJ: Someone got up on the wrong side of the coffin.
Jessica: Yes. I told you that. It's not that I got out. I was FORCED out!!
JJ: Jeez! If they knew you'd be this bad, they'd have staked you.
What an interesting marriage we have, no? You're jealous.
And Hope To Die
Alright, so I need to blog more frequently. I even received a Facebook comment about my lack of blog--which was surprising and flattering! In my defense, however, most of the blogs that I follow seem to be lacking as of late too, so I'm not inclined to feel quite so bad about it. To be realistic, though, I probably wouldn't have felt all that bad about it anyways.
Things have been more or less uneventful for me lately. I dropped my nursing courses, which was quick and mostly painless. Part of me still feels a bit like a quitter, but I know that I'm doing the right thing for myself. I don't think that nursing would have made me all that happy in the long run. The most unfortunate part of the whole endeavor is that I now have a ton of science credits, which will probably do very little for me when I switch to an English major. Needless to say, this sets back any potential graduation date as well.
The dorms are interesting, and there's always something to do here. My issues with my roommate were resolved after an R.A. meeting. She's still Crazy McCrazyton, but at least she's resolved to doing some things like putting her stuff away and cleaning the bathroom on a rotating schedule. (If calling her crazy seems unfair, consider the fact that I politely asked her to put her cereal away and replace the toilet paper roll when empty and she didn't speak to me for two days.) She did tell our R.A.'s that I make her feel awkward, which I took a little bit personally. She also said that I got an attitude with her, which I had been really careful not to do in light of her personality. I know how bipolar people operate. You don't rattle the cages. So to tell me that I got an attitude with you when I was attempting to do my best to be nice sort of irks me.
I guess it makes me wonder how exactly it is that I'm required to approach her. I mean, if the usual adult methods don't work, what in the hell am I supposed to do? Is there a formula for this sort of interaction? Is there a manual available somewhere? I'm having extreme difficulty not losing my patience with her.
Not much else is really going on around me. Last night, the girls and I watched Steel Magnolias. We felt there was a need for a chick flick movie night. Three out of five of us are menstruating on the same cycle, so God help anyone else in the building. It's going to be Apocalypse Now when the other two sync up. Even worse will be if my roommate ever syncs up with us and gets extra dramatic--I will probably lose my shit on her.
I was at home this weekend. I'm sure that the universe had a grand laugh at my expense because, no sooner than I got home, I started my period. That, of course, was an adventure since all of my tampons were back at the dorms. Fantastic! Thrillingly, I had to go purchase some. Of course, my mother--helpful as she is--reminded me in her nastiest tone that my period was not anyone else's fault. What a coincidence, since I never blamed anyone else! My mother has an uncanny knack for saying the things that truly irritate me. She continues to remind me of this each weekend that I go home.
Yet, despite that unpleasantness, it was nice to be able to sleep in my own bed and spend some time with my family. Though they do occasionally get on my nerves, I do like being around them for the most part. My grandfather came in for lunch on Sunday afternoon, which was also very nice. He seems to like me much better than he used to, and it makes me grateful. My grandfather has a wealth of interesting stories. I enjoy talking to him, especially when he starts to talk about how things were during the war. It always interests me to hear about how things were in the 30s and 40s.
My plans for the week are vague at best. I have to find some sources for a pathophysiology paper. I also have to study for my biochemistry midterm this week. Gotta love having an eight week course! It's over before you know it! It would be nice if all of my classes were like that. I really do need to buckle down, though. I feel like, as the semester wears on, it's getting harder and harder for me to actually focus, to study. All of this is very complicated, though, because I'm good at studying. I just need to actually get around to doing it.
I feel like an addict, restless and discontent, disconnected. It's too easy to slip back into this apathy, too easy to embrace that high school laziness, high school attitude. The worst part about all of that is how much more prone I am to making terrible choices. I get to a point where I don't really care who I hurt--even if that means hurting myself--or what I'm doing. I fear that I don't really care about myself at all, that my selfishness and egotism is all a grand illusion. Perhaps this is true. Perhaps it's a great facade. Perhaps all my most honest truths are really lies. Wouldn't that just shatter my tiny little world?
Things have been more or less uneventful for me lately. I dropped my nursing courses, which was quick and mostly painless. Part of me still feels a bit like a quitter, but I know that I'm doing the right thing for myself. I don't think that nursing would have made me all that happy in the long run. The most unfortunate part of the whole endeavor is that I now have a ton of science credits, which will probably do very little for me when I switch to an English major. Needless to say, this sets back any potential graduation date as well.
The dorms are interesting, and there's always something to do here. My issues with my roommate were resolved after an R.A. meeting. She's still Crazy McCrazyton, but at least she's resolved to doing some things like putting her stuff away and cleaning the bathroom on a rotating schedule. (If calling her crazy seems unfair, consider the fact that I politely asked her to put her cereal away and replace the toilet paper roll when empty and she didn't speak to me for two days.) She did tell our R.A.'s that I make her feel awkward, which I took a little bit personally. She also said that I got an attitude with her, which I had been really careful not to do in light of her personality. I know how bipolar people operate. You don't rattle the cages. So to tell me that I got an attitude with you when I was attempting to do my best to be nice sort of irks me.
I guess it makes me wonder how exactly it is that I'm required to approach her. I mean, if the usual adult methods don't work, what in the hell am I supposed to do? Is there a formula for this sort of interaction? Is there a manual available somewhere? I'm having extreme difficulty not losing my patience with her.
Not much else is really going on around me. Last night, the girls and I watched Steel Magnolias. We felt there was a need for a chick flick movie night. Three out of five of us are menstruating on the same cycle, so God help anyone else in the building. It's going to be Apocalypse Now when the other two sync up. Even worse will be if my roommate ever syncs up with us and gets extra dramatic--I will probably lose my shit on her.
I was at home this weekend. I'm sure that the universe had a grand laugh at my expense because, no sooner than I got home, I started my period. That, of course, was an adventure since all of my tampons were back at the dorms. Fantastic! Thrillingly, I had to go purchase some. Of course, my mother--helpful as she is--reminded me in her nastiest tone that my period was not anyone else's fault. What a coincidence, since I never blamed anyone else! My mother has an uncanny knack for saying the things that truly irritate me. She continues to remind me of this each weekend that I go home.
Yet, despite that unpleasantness, it was nice to be able to sleep in my own bed and spend some time with my family. Though they do occasionally get on my nerves, I do like being around them for the most part. My grandfather came in for lunch on Sunday afternoon, which was also very nice. He seems to like me much better than he used to, and it makes me grateful. My grandfather has a wealth of interesting stories. I enjoy talking to him, especially when he starts to talk about how things were during the war. It always interests me to hear about how things were in the 30s and 40s.
My plans for the week are vague at best. I have to find some sources for a pathophysiology paper. I also have to study for my biochemistry midterm this week. Gotta love having an eight week course! It's over before you know it! It would be nice if all of my classes were like that. I really do need to buckle down, though. I feel like, as the semester wears on, it's getting harder and harder for me to actually focus, to study. All of this is very complicated, though, because I'm good at studying. I just need to actually get around to doing it.
I feel like an addict, restless and discontent, disconnected. It's too easy to slip back into this apathy, too easy to embrace that high school laziness, high school attitude. The worst part about all of that is how much more prone I am to making terrible choices. I get to a point where I don't really care who I hurt--even if that means hurting myself--or what I'm doing. I fear that I don't really care about myself at all, that my selfishness and egotism is all a grand illusion. Perhaps this is true. Perhaps it's a great facade. Perhaps all my most honest truths are really lies. Wouldn't that just shatter my tiny little world?
Monday, September 13, 2010
Decisions and Dramatics
This last week has been full of critical decisions for me. I thought long and very hard about what I'm going to do with myself as far as school is concerned. My nursing classes were rendering me physically ill. I was nauseous, I had some (to put it as politely as possible) intestinal issues, and I would break into a sweat whenever I walked into a nursing class. Along with my recent apprehension, this was telling me pretty clearly that nursing isn't for me any more.
The hardest part of this whole process has been making the decision to drop my nursing classes this semester. I've worked for the past two and a half years at having a career in nursing, only to discover that I don't like it at all. I really hate it. It makes me ill. This is not a good thing. The thing that I have always known, though, is that I wanted to teach. My initial goal was to get a master's degree in nursing and teach nursing courses. I know that I want to teach. I think I'd be much better suited to teaching English, though.
I've always loved words. They have a cathartic effect for me. I've always been passionate about writing, but I never thought that I was very good at it. From the time that I was little, I wanted to be a writer. Those who cannot do, teach. I think I have a temperament suited quiet well to teaching, and it's something that I'd love to do. Supplemental instruction at Owens definitely showed me how rewarding teaching is, as well as how much I love it.
With all of this in mind, I'll be going this week to drop my NUR 210, NUR 211, and NUR 212 courses and find a new advisor. I'm keeping my pathophysiology, biochemistry, and nutritional chemistry courses, though. I need to do what's right for me, and this is it. The hardest part was making the choice. Once I decided, my emotional levels have calmed back down to normal. I'm not as manic or freaked out. I'm much better, actually. Things are much more normal.
That is, with regard to everything except my roommate. Last night, after politely requesting several things of her, she stormed off and hasn't spoken to me since then. I had to get the residential advisors involved, which irks me because I did everything right in this situation. I was polite and cordial; I never yelled or accused. I simply asked her to modify two small behaviors, and it became the crisis of the century for her.
The whole situation strikes me as much too dramatic for such a small request. I'm inclined to accuse her of making it bigger than it has to be for the attention. I have to say that in light of some of the events of the past, I'm not entirely comfortable with her. Her moods and behaviors are erratic, her social skills are lacking to put it mildly, and her hygiene habits leave much to be desired. She seems mostly nice enough, but her blow up yesterday makes me question that initial assessment. To be frank, I came here to avoid the erratic behaviors of my family. It doesn't please me to find myself faced with them again in her. I'm not entirely sure what to do with her because my first inclination--violence--is utterly unacceptable. I definitely seek advice. Help me out here, internet!
The hardest part of this whole process has been making the decision to drop my nursing classes this semester. I've worked for the past two and a half years at having a career in nursing, only to discover that I don't like it at all. I really hate it. It makes me ill. This is not a good thing. The thing that I have always known, though, is that I wanted to teach. My initial goal was to get a master's degree in nursing and teach nursing courses. I know that I want to teach. I think I'd be much better suited to teaching English, though.
I've always loved words. They have a cathartic effect for me. I've always been passionate about writing, but I never thought that I was very good at it. From the time that I was little, I wanted to be a writer. Those who cannot do, teach. I think I have a temperament suited quiet well to teaching, and it's something that I'd love to do. Supplemental instruction at Owens definitely showed me how rewarding teaching is, as well as how much I love it.
With all of this in mind, I'll be going this week to drop my NUR 210, NUR 211, and NUR 212 courses and find a new advisor. I'm keeping my pathophysiology, biochemistry, and nutritional chemistry courses, though. I need to do what's right for me, and this is it. The hardest part was making the choice. Once I decided, my emotional levels have calmed back down to normal. I'm not as manic or freaked out. I'm much better, actually. Things are much more normal.
That is, with regard to everything except my roommate. Last night, after politely requesting several things of her, she stormed off and hasn't spoken to me since then. I had to get the residential advisors involved, which irks me because I did everything right in this situation. I was polite and cordial; I never yelled or accused. I simply asked her to modify two small behaviors, and it became the crisis of the century for her.
The whole situation strikes me as much too dramatic for such a small request. I'm inclined to accuse her of making it bigger than it has to be for the attention. I have to say that in light of some of the events of the past, I'm not entirely comfortable with her. Her moods and behaviors are erratic, her social skills are lacking to put it mildly, and her hygiene habits leave much to be desired. She seems mostly nice enough, but her blow up yesterday makes me question that initial assessment. To be frank, I came here to avoid the erratic behaviors of my family. It doesn't please me to find myself faced with them again in her. I'm not entirely sure what to do with her because my first inclination--violence--is utterly unacceptable. I definitely seek advice. Help me out here, internet!
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Feeling That Familiar Burn
I'm not sure if it's being in this house again, but I'm feeling that familiar manic burn again. It's that pressing need, the need to do something, to get up and get gone, change my entire life into something else. It's the presence in my stomach that screams that I need to do something--anything--to make it shut up. It's the compulsion to destroy something to make sure that I'm alone again because that just makes things easier.
I guess I fooled myself into thinking that this feeling would change once I started school. I thought perhaps I'd get busy, and my life would just fall into place. That burning feeling prompting me to get off my ass and do something would be shut up by the fact that I was off my ass and doing something. It turns out that I may have been wrong. Of course, this means that my inner panic level is rising rapidly, like the water when the tide is high.
I'm trying to be more and more honest with myself. I've been working pretty hard at trying to give myself time to be truthful with myself, time to look in the mirror and decide what my opinion is of what I see. Yet, it feels like even my harshest truths--about myself, about others, about what I want or need or what I'll do--are lies. My best faces are exercises in fabulous manipulation. More and more, I just seem to feel like a huge screw-up. This is not the woman that I hoped to be. This is not what I wanted for myself. All my attempts to cure it, all my attempted triage to fix the problem doesn't seem to be helping at all.
I'm a little bit afraid. What if this feeling never goes away? What if I always feel like there's something else that I'm supposed to be doing? What if I always have that burning? What if I have to be on meds again? What if the panic attacks come back?
If I'm being truly honest with myself, I probably should be on meds again--nothing too serious, just a mood stabilizer, something to take the edge off the panic. At the very least, it might help to assuage some of the general freaking out I'm doing. I always hated being on medication, though. It makes me feel like I'm depending on everything else to fix me. But then, am I not the girl that keeps saying that I just want someone to hand me the answers, to give me a life solution? Maybe I do depend on everything else to fix me.
The one constant in my life is that I'm really amazing at messing things up. I'm also really good at allowing people to think that I've got it all together, that I'm really fine. Faking it is a specialty of mine. Will I ever be real? Will I ever be really, truly honest? Am I even capable of that? How do I find my place in the world? How do I stop breaking everything?
I used to have this same feeling in high school. It was always the most terrible thing, keeping me awake at night, keeping me full of fear. What an interesting irony when juxtaposed against my fearless, ballsy image! In high school, I just had to wait it out. I had to let it pass, find myself. The older I get, the further from my self I seem to be and the harder it gets for me to get back there. I've been down in here before. I need to fight my way out again. I need alone time. I need to start at square one. I need to keep a journal, to push myself a little further than before. I need to get it right this time.
I just need to breathe. Step one is just learning how to breathe again.
I guess I fooled myself into thinking that this feeling would change once I started school. I thought perhaps I'd get busy, and my life would just fall into place. That burning feeling prompting me to get off my ass and do something would be shut up by the fact that I was off my ass and doing something. It turns out that I may have been wrong. Of course, this means that my inner panic level is rising rapidly, like the water when the tide is high.
I'm trying to be more and more honest with myself. I've been working pretty hard at trying to give myself time to be truthful with myself, time to look in the mirror and decide what my opinion is of what I see. Yet, it feels like even my harshest truths--about myself, about others, about what I want or need or what I'll do--are lies. My best faces are exercises in fabulous manipulation. More and more, I just seem to feel like a huge screw-up. This is not the woman that I hoped to be. This is not what I wanted for myself. All my attempts to cure it, all my attempted triage to fix the problem doesn't seem to be helping at all.
I'm a little bit afraid. What if this feeling never goes away? What if I always feel like there's something else that I'm supposed to be doing? What if I always have that burning? What if I have to be on meds again? What if the panic attacks come back?
If I'm being truly honest with myself, I probably should be on meds again--nothing too serious, just a mood stabilizer, something to take the edge off the panic. At the very least, it might help to assuage some of the general freaking out I'm doing. I always hated being on medication, though. It makes me feel like I'm depending on everything else to fix me. But then, am I not the girl that keeps saying that I just want someone to hand me the answers, to give me a life solution? Maybe I do depend on everything else to fix me.
The one constant in my life is that I'm really amazing at messing things up. I'm also really good at allowing people to think that I've got it all together, that I'm really fine. Faking it is a specialty of mine. Will I ever be real? Will I ever be really, truly honest? Am I even capable of that? How do I find my place in the world? How do I stop breaking everything?
I used to have this same feeling in high school. It was always the most terrible thing, keeping me awake at night, keeping me full of fear. What an interesting irony when juxtaposed against my fearless, ballsy image! In high school, I just had to wait it out. I had to let it pass, find myself. The older I get, the further from my self I seem to be and the harder it gets for me to get back there. I've been down in here before. I need to fight my way out again. I need alone time. I need to start at square one. I need to keep a journal, to push myself a little further than before. I need to get it right this time.
I just need to breathe. Step one is just learning how to breathe again.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Vacation, All I Ever Wanted
This weekend, in an effort to get some peace of mind, I have come home to my parents' house. It's a mini-vacation of sorts, though I do miss my girls. I had a terrible week, and it was filled with terrible experiences which I did not enjoy at all. In light of that, I needed to get away. Funnily enough, though, is that five minutes into being here, my mother was already saying nasty things to me. Amazing! I thought she might've missed me, but, alas, no. Even that, though, is better than the experiment in terror that was my entire week.
For example, my meeting with my advisor. I don't want to rehash the whole thing, but the long-story-short version of it is that they wanted to switch me to an American Sign Language class rather than my nutritional chemistry class because I had already taken nutrition at Owens. The problem is that the ASL class is only one credit hour--which just barely keeps me a full time student--and it's already two weeks in. I always promised myself I'd never take ASL or Spanish. Well, what started as a meeting to discuss switching classes--which I did not do--ended up an hour and a half session with me in tears talking about why I'm afraid that I hate nursing already when it's only been two weeks.
My advisor is a lovely woman. She means well, she really does. If I were relying solely on her faith in me to get through the program, I'd surely believe that I would be awesome for this career. Unfortunately, there's much more to it than that. I'm quite convinced, based on my personal feelings as well as some of the things that I was told in that meeting by another member of the Lourdes staff (and by that, I mean someone else who was not my amazing advisor), I'm not cut out for nursing anymore. A part of me is grieving about that because it's what I've worked so hard for these last two years. Another part of me is relieved. Based on my feelings, I'm making the decision to finish this semester and change majors. To what, I'm not entirely sure yet.
One thing I do know is that I love teaching. Supplemental instruction at Owens definitely showed me that teaching was something that I enjoyed, which I had suspected all along. I could see myself teaching English at either a high school or college level--or, hell, both! I could also see myself going into something like social work. I'd want to work with teenagers in some way. I don't really think teenagers are appreciated enough. I could see myself teaching high school English while I work on getting a master's or Ph. D. to teach college-level English classes.
Additionally, English has been something I've always enjoyed. No matter what was going on in my life or in the rest of my school career--if you can call my lacking commitment to anything in high school "scholarly" or "career"--I always loved and excelled in English. It's always been a forte of mine. I always enjoyed the reading and the interpretation. The last English class that I took, the instructor asked for a copy of my paper to share with her future classes as an example of how to write the assignment correctly. I really feel like maybe this is supposed to happen. Maybe this is where I'm supposed to be. Maybe English or social work or whatever else are the real reason that I'm not enjoying nursing.
I have all semester to start thinking about what I'll do with next semester, in the midst of trying not to sink into nursing hell. I just think it's pretty vital for me to admit, at this point, that this field isn't for me anymore, despite the fact that I want for it to be. And that's okay too.
For example, my meeting with my advisor. I don't want to rehash the whole thing, but the long-story-short version of it is that they wanted to switch me to an American Sign Language class rather than my nutritional chemistry class because I had already taken nutrition at Owens. The problem is that the ASL class is only one credit hour--which just barely keeps me a full time student--and it's already two weeks in. I always promised myself I'd never take ASL or Spanish. Well, what started as a meeting to discuss switching classes--which I did not do--ended up an hour and a half session with me in tears talking about why I'm afraid that I hate nursing already when it's only been two weeks.
My advisor is a lovely woman. She means well, she really does. If I were relying solely on her faith in me to get through the program, I'd surely believe that I would be awesome for this career. Unfortunately, there's much more to it than that. I'm quite convinced, based on my personal feelings as well as some of the things that I was told in that meeting by another member of the Lourdes staff (and by that, I mean someone else who was not my amazing advisor), I'm not cut out for nursing anymore. A part of me is grieving about that because it's what I've worked so hard for these last two years. Another part of me is relieved. Based on my feelings, I'm making the decision to finish this semester and change majors. To what, I'm not entirely sure yet.
One thing I do know is that I love teaching. Supplemental instruction at Owens definitely showed me that teaching was something that I enjoyed, which I had suspected all along. I could see myself teaching English at either a high school or college level--or, hell, both! I could also see myself going into something like social work. I'd want to work with teenagers in some way. I don't really think teenagers are appreciated enough. I could see myself teaching high school English while I work on getting a master's or Ph. D. to teach college-level English classes.
Additionally, English has been something I've always enjoyed. No matter what was going on in my life or in the rest of my school career--if you can call my lacking commitment to anything in high school "scholarly" or "career"--I always loved and excelled in English. It's always been a forte of mine. I always enjoyed the reading and the interpretation. The last English class that I took, the instructor asked for a copy of my paper to share with her future classes as an example of how to write the assignment correctly. I really feel like maybe this is supposed to happen. Maybe this is where I'm supposed to be. Maybe English or social work or whatever else are the real reason that I'm not enjoying nursing.
I have all semester to start thinking about what I'll do with next semester, in the midst of trying not to sink into nursing hell. I just think it's pretty vital for me to admit, at this point, that this field isn't for me anymore, despite the fact that I want for it to be. And that's okay too.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Unpreparedness and the Terrors of Skills Lab
This week has been quite trying for me. I'm in the throes of an inner crisis revolving around me trying to find my appropriate place in life. I mean, don't get me wrong, nursing is a noble field, but the classes that I'm in right now are making me question my place in the field of nursing. Let me explain why.
First, my Nursing Concepts class is run by a drill instructor of a woman. Each class, she tells us something more terrifying about what we'll have to do when we reach clinicals or finally get into the field. That or she tells us something that makes her seem completely insensitive. The first day of class, she told us not to ever bother coming in if we're sick. Then she told us not to get sick more than twice. Well, which is it you stupid old bitch?! Do you want us to come in and be in your class or do you want us to stay away?!
My Basic Skills class is equally obnoxious, but for a different reason. My instructor is super nice, but she's a little under-prepared. For example, last class we had to make a video to simulate and assessment and then we had to make recording to simulate what it's like to have to call around the hospital for results or other things. We had bare descriptions as scenarios, but no specifics. You have to call about your patient. Unfortunately, you don't know what's wrong with your patient, what the patient's name is, what floor you're on, the patient's room, etc, etc. I'm sorry, but don't you think you might've prepared something like that for us? I mean, these are things that we'll actually know when we get to clinicals or the field. Just sayin'!
It doesn't really help either that last lab I was under-prepared. In my defense, though, we were supposed to watch videos on a website that I couldn't get to work. When I e-mailed the instructor about it, I was passed off to another instructor, and neither of them really ended up answering my question or even attempting to really help me at all.
I never thought I'd say this, but I really miss Owens. At least at Owens I knew people, and I knew where my resources were. Lourdes pretends to care about you, but then doesn't actually care about you. At least Owens was open with their sink-or-swim attitude.
I don't know. I find myself getting incredibly discouraged. I just don't feel like this is for me any more. All of this would be so much easier if I just knew what I wanted out of life. Unfortunately, I don't any more. And that really isn't making things any better. I just want to quit everything and find my place on some hippie commune as the guru figure that people turn to for advice. I don't want any actual responsibility though, so I'll have to master the art of B.S.ing my way into answers or passing off failures. "Oh, my advice didn't work for you? Well, maybe it's because you didn't want it badly enough. First, you must find inner peace. THEN you focus on getting what you want. Did you have inner peace first? No? Well, there you go then."
That could work for me, right?
First, my Nursing Concepts class is run by a drill instructor of a woman. Each class, she tells us something more terrifying about what we'll have to do when we reach clinicals or finally get into the field. That or she tells us something that makes her seem completely insensitive. The first day of class, she told us not to ever bother coming in if we're sick. Then she told us not to get sick more than twice. Well, which is it you stupid old bitch?! Do you want us to come in and be in your class or do you want us to stay away?!
My Basic Skills class is equally obnoxious, but for a different reason. My instructor is super nice, but she's a little under-prepared. For example, last class we had to make a video to simulate and assessment and then we had to make recording to simulate what it's like to have to call around the hospital for results or other things. We had bare descriptions as scenarios, but no specifics. You have to call about your patient. Unfortunately, you don't know what's wrong with your patient, what the patient's name is, what floor you're on, the patient's room, etc, etc. I'm sorry, but don't you think you might've prepared something like that for us? I mean, these are things that we'll actually know when we get to clinicals or the field. Just sayin'!
It doesn't really help either that last lab I was under-prepared. In my defense, though, we were supposed to watch videos on a website that I couldn't get to work. When I e-mailed the instructor about it, I was passed off to another instructor, and neither of them really ended up answering my question or even attempting to really help me at all.
I never thought I'd say this, but I really miss Owens. At least at Owens I knew people, and I knew where my resources were. Lourdes pretends to care about you, but then doesn't actually care about you. At least Owens was open with their sink-or-swim attitude.
I don't know. I find myself getting incredibly discouraged. I just don't feel like this is for me any more. All of this would be so much easier if I just knew what I wanted out of life. Unfortunately, I don't any more. And that really isn't making things any better. I just want to quit everything and find my place on some hippie commune as the guru figure that people turn to for advice. I don't want any actual responsibility though, so I'll have to master the art of B.S.ing my way into answers or passing off failures. "Oh, my advice didn't work for you? Well, maybe it's because you didn't want it badly enough. First, you must find inner peace. THEN you focus on getting what you want. Did you have inner peace first? No? Well, there you go then."
That could work for me, right?
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