Spring has sprung.

Reading. I enjoy it. I use my spare time to read (which is any time after work that I’m not sleeping). No obligations other than an agreement I made with my body to start to take care of it, so two or so days a week we go to the gym for a couple of hours where I cuss while I sweat out all of the salty ramen I’d just eaten.
Solitude. I enjoy it. A lot of people consider wanting time alone as a social faux-pas. You’re supposed to want to be around people. I revel in any opportunity to be alone and to do as I want. Solitude is hard to come by because by definition it’s accompanied with a sense of enjoyment. You have to ENJOY being alone, and every moment isn’t always easy to enjoy. So you take it as it comes. Nobody has the liberty of deciding when and where they’ll enjoy things. Sometimes I enjoy being in a room full of people talking. Other times it makes my eyes twitch and my bones jump and my fists clench to the point of slight tremors. I like to be able to spend time with my thoughts. It can be dangerous, though. I feel like Senor Bonaparte when people interrupt my thoughts. I want to pull out my sword and demand silence and howl how DARE they interrupt my train of thought.
Sometimes I feel like there is a time and a place for everything. Hypocrisy is impossible to avoid. It can’t be done. I love talking to people and helping them solve their problems. I enjoy seeing happiness in others as a result of some small piece of advice I tried to give, or as a result of lending my bleeding ears for their voices to fill.
The only thing I have to answer to is myself. And God of course but that goes without saying.
So sick of people hating other people for stupid reasons. For saying that somebody is ugly and they can’t even help it. I’m guilty of it. But one thing I’m not guilty of is holding back on pointing out an ugly kid. How different is it, pointing out that a little kid doesn’t have much going, when we do it without reservation toward an adult who is in the same boat? They’re no different. An ugly kid has just as much control over how ugly they are as an ugly adult has. None. I’m not even sure if this is making any sense. I hold back writing anything down for months because as soon as I start any form of entry or putting thoughts from air on to paper it makes me emotional. Reading Ray Bradbury makes me extremely emotional. Especially his essays. My dad gave me one of his books and my eyes welled up.
I don’t write anymore because it makes me sad. Because all I have to say are sad things. I don’t even like telling stories to my family anymore because I always take toooo long. And it’s not like they’re ever ones I’ve made up. It’s always stuff I’ve seen or that has happened to me. What the hell point is there in telling a story if you can’t picture it? If you can’t feel it for yourself? If I want you to hear a shit clipped story I’ll point you in the direction of some awful magazine that only touches the surface of stories that are so disgustingly fake that they give you momentary satisfaction like stupid cake bites. So you eat 10 of them and then feel like shit after. You know why? Because you can’t feel how good they are from the first one you eat. We’re always moving too fast. Nobody slows down to realize how good things are when they happen. Nobody wants extra details because why? You need to get back to your TV show? Or your game that when it’s over will leave you bereft and an hour-short of something else you could’ve been doing? You need to hear more about gossip that nobody cares about and it’s not even your business? There’s nothing I hate more than someone who purposefully victimizes themselves, and that’s not what I’m trying to do. It’s been happening to me since grade school. And I’m aware that I’m very guilty of telling “long” stories, or taking too long to make sure I include certain tidbits and random facts that SEEM like they bring nothing to the story, but when I’m done, that fat kid that I mentioned staring at me wide-eyed actually DOES factor in to the story because his being there made it that much worse, or that much more hilarious.
I have this cycle. I vent, and then I justify. Vent. Explain. Bitch. Justify. And I point it out every time because I don’t want people thinking I have this false sense of entitlement. I don’t. I realize the nonsense that comes out, and make sure to back it up by sharing with you (again, with the facts) WHAT happened that made me feel THIS way that caused THAT reaction which lead to THIS vent-fest. More like puke fest. Word vomit.
And so much has gone on that I feel like I need to short-hand everything that’s happened recently to bring me to where I am. Mom’s sick. Still. Deteriorating. Same as before but worse. Wears diapers. Forgets who we are. Remembers. Thinks she’s on the Titanic that’s on the TV. Tries to get off the train on TV and falls out of bed. Remembers how we still live in Norway, only we don’t. On. And ON. And on. And the ever stoic Dad’s legs are trembling under the pressure of being a full time caregiver. It’s so easy to say “I never thought life would be this way” but seriously, I never thought life would be this way. EH.Ver. Because up until this point, it hasn’t been. But then ReNon was diagnosed with a brain tumor- the bottle of wine that christened the Titanic. And Mom was diagnosed with heart failure. And then Aunt Betty died. Then Mom had surgery and didn’t wake up for a week. But to be honest, I didn’t expect the surgery to go as well as it did, so optimism has the upper hand on that one. She’s been sick for 10+ years. It started before I was in highschool. Before I started Prozac 10 years ago.
But it’s all coming to a head, and we’re about to move. Talk about freaky right? I know I say I’ll post more later, but I won’t promise when that will be.
Love always,
Syd.

Indeed I do not.

Okay seriously that's the last one.
I need to be asleep but I took a nap earlier. But in all honesty I could've gone to bed at like 10 and been completely fine and able. Whatever. You can lay on your back when you're dead right? Or something cliche?
Mum's doing better. In rehab, daaaaaaaaaaaay by day man. Slow glimpses of improvement are what we hold on to and they manifest daily. They think she had a stroke either during or after surgery (they can't tell for sure because they can't do an MRI or her pacer would come shooting out of her chest and rip out everything in the process). So coupled with the seizures due to NECESSARY medication withdrawal is a setback that nobody was expecting.
And it's exhausting.
But she knew that today was Saturday, and ate some of my strawberries and a little bit of chocolate cake.
Day by day.

It's amazing how destructive your mind can be. Your state of being. Every thought that filters through your head has a direct impact on your emotions and actions whether you realize it or not. And like most machines, filters need to be cleaned out or replaced every now and then for optimal performance. And I don't think mind has ever been changed. Or even possible.
I get so up and down,
positive and negative
happy and rock bottom
carefree and oppressed.
It's to the point now where I'd rather be able to sleep for a few years while it all passes.
Just because I have an appreciation for life and all that I have, doesn't mean that it's easy for me.
For anyone.

Eeyore's drive me insane. The ones whose sorrow leaks out of them like black rancid fumes from a forgotten closet, inevitably filling your nostrils and pores and clothes to the point where you can't separate their sorrow from your own.
So I try to be positive, and look on the "bright side of things".
But it's so damn hard.
SO. Effing. HARD.
It's so easy to get down when you can hear yourself all day. The thoughts that repeat themselves, the mentality that hasn't changed for 25 years. I've cried more this year than I have probably since high school. My nose is constantly raw. And my head always aches. And my sinuses burn like I've gotten chlorinated water up there. And my appetite is ridiculous. So I need to go back to the gym. But only if it isn't hot outside.

I don't know what the change needs to be. I sometimes wish I could go back to how things were when I was a kid. Young, uninformed, simple. But then I wouldn't have what I have today.
I wouldn't be me because I wouldn't have Scott. He was able to coax out the free and voracious side of me that never dared to come out. High school was like suffocating for me.

Ugh. Anyway, I'm going to bed now. I'm sure I'll think of something enlightening tomorrow and share it.
For now, enjoy the cartoons. Because they bring back how slow and wonderful things used to be.
But at least I have now.
And Scott.
And family.

Loves,
syd.

Last one.

No.stal.gia.

Bahaha.

^_^

Just a sample.




Cous cous and dirigibles,

Syd.

Anywhere but back.

Well, I said in my last post that I wanted some kind of life-altering change to happen, and that anything would be acceptable or something dramatic and bitchy about how nothing had been going on.

So far, The Fates have gifted me with the following changes:

1: Mum's approaching day 3 of her ICU stay. I stated my case of wanting change in February. March she happened upon pneumonia, following a lovely April diagnosis of not-so-mild congestive heart failure and (probably 4 or 5+ years in the making). A rough estimate of about 10-15 days inpatient status on CVTU at McKay due to various procedures thru May and June. Early August birthed an attempt at a new pacemaker/new control method, which failed, because her heart is her personalities twin and does whatever the hell it damn well pleases. Which brings us to Now, the time and place for open heart surgery consisting of a valve repair, a valve replacement, new pacer, and finishing a BOTCHED procedure that a Greek demon didn't have the stamina to finish.
Thankfully, thruout the process, she's been given access to 4 new doctors. 2 cardiologists (one for EP, one for CHF) one pulmonoligist that specializes in sleep disorders for her OSA which is finally being treated, and now a cardiothoracic surgeon who has literally floated down from heaven and taken the place as the top tier of her multi-layer life cake. Friday, he pried open the white bony fingers that encircle her rebellious angsty teenage heart and gave it one of those "I'm doing this because I love you" firm talking to's and put it in it's place where it should have been all along.
Having said that, she is healing, her heart is obeying, but some residual neurological set backs from her stroke are pulling a thick veil over her face and I've not yet been able to figure out how to understand WHY that happened. It's driving me insane. Yeah, it's only been 60 some odd hours after serious trauma to her body, and a few hospital friendlies have so lovingly told me that "the healing process is rediculous" and "you're in for a long road" and "she's going to look awful" etc. etc. Pretty much Eeyore and Debbie Downer had some sex and their love child posessed these informants and left them with zero room for encouragement.
I get that it's a tough surgery.
I get that it's life threatening.
I GET that she'll look like a dirigible when she's laying in bed with 20 IV pumps and their tentacle-like feelers creeping into her veins.
Maybe just work on your delivery, how bout? Maybe not everything needs to be said?
I'm all for being prepared. I expect the worst out of every situation. EVERY.
Except this one. Literally the ONLY procedure she's had done (in the almost 25 years I've been able to get that awful constant writhing pain in the bottom of my gut) that I've felt completely at peace with.
I probably shouldn't be writing this right now because I'm tired, and like my tamagotchi, if I don't get enough sleep, I get sick in the head and a skull and crossbone occupies my pupils until I'm rested enough.

So on to change number
2: Scott told me he didn't want to go to church any more. And meant it.

I'm the type of person, that if I outwardly represent or advertise something (like my wonderful collection of Hello Kitty or Harry Potter apparel) I know what it's about. And I'm an advocate for it. And I live it. And love it. If I wear a shirt with a quote on it, I know who said it, why they said it, and what they meant.

It was a slap in the face to realize that though I say I'm Mormon, and try to live like a Mormon, I literally know pretty much nothing about it.

Sure I know about Joseph Smith, and random Bible and Book of Mormon stories here and there, and the general mission and purpose of The Church, but I've never immersed myself in it the way I did when I discovered David Bowie. Or when I discovered that Hello Kitty was being sold for 1/4 of the price that it was at 10 years ago. Or when JK Rowling gave 7 gifts to the world that I've read each more than three times.

The way I felt when I realized that I'd been using The Church in my life and trying to force it on those around me, was the way Joanna reacted when my mum would lock eyes with her and say
"SHAME"
(after Joanna had littered the bathroom floor with the contents of the waste basket)
in the most sincere and disappointed voice she could muster.
That poor dog would cower, and lower her head, and slink away to her pillow where she would lay and look back at my mum every so often until she either forgave her or forgot about it.
I've been such a coward with employing and literally living with the Church in my life. Politics is the only thing that I'm O.K. with picking and chosing different sides on different aspects. I've been vegetarian for about 6 or 7 years, and done more research on it and everything about it than I ever have about the Church. It's insanely easy to take advantage of something that you don't remember being introduced to. Something that you've always "known".

There are things here and there that I choose to obsess over, because uniqueness and undiscovered territory and the opportunity to Google something is a huge braingasm for me, and the more I can learn about random things, the more I can add to my collection that makes me ME.
Needless to say, I've been making a snail paced approach at reintroducing this into my life and daily mindset. I don't have to explain myself, I do it enough in my head.

On to my lucky number,
3: Scott took the MCAT, got a score that was above the national average last year, applied to 20 schools, got 16 or so responses requesting an additional application, and TWO NIGHTS AGO got a response back from the first one saying they want him to come interview.

The thought of living somewhere else a year from now totally excites and completely freaks me out. Ecstatic because a life where Scott and I just have each other to solely rely on would be so scary but so enticing. Horrified because the thought of not being able to walk 30 feet or drive 30 minutes to my parents house is paralyzing to the point of nausea.
BUT.I keep telling myself that our relationship is in it's infancy. My parents lived in North Carolina and Germany as newly-weds. Plus I don't like being comfortable enough to the point of being afraid of change, and that comfort has hardened around me and convinced me that things are good where they are.
So needless to say, I've looked up and researched each school's surrounding Universities that have a good english program for me to get in to, and what each city is like, etc. etc. You can't plan for something like that without having SOME kind of idea what to expect, right?

Alright well this is rediculously long, and I think I've proven my point that you shouldn't ask for something until you're ready for it.
Because it'll happen whether you're ready for it or not.
This is where Yoda would say make choices you must, or freaking Dora would sing her stupid song about knowing that we can do it, or that totally unrealistic kids book about the little engine that could pops in to your mind as you make your decision on whether or not to remain dormant, or keep pushing forward like everyone and everything else does.
Because really, you don't have any other choice.
Today is over.
Tomorrow is gone.
All I have is now.



Loves,
Syds.

1. I smell like sulfur. Medically.
2. I forgot how to cry.
3. I need a change. Drastic would be permitted.

01-11-11

Woaoooohhhh 1-11-11! People act like it's so exciting, and it is! Just like 10-10-10! And 9-9-09! Just IMAGINE 11-11-11!!!! Incredible right?
I have like 11 (haaa, punny)minutes until the tofurkey is done so that means I have like 6 minutes to write this because I'm going to make some deliciously boxed mashed potatoes and laboriously rip the lid off of a can of beans, dump them in a bowl, and shove them in the microwave. So. much. work.
I slept in today. Slept in like I woke up at 7:56 and I have to be to work at 8. The surge of adrenaline that hit my body was way too painful and I'd rather not experience it again. Plus it threw the WHOLE day off. It was just weird. That and there were loud piano players all day. I'll take a picture tomorrow so you can get a feel for the setting, because it's something that I'm sure I'll frequently bitch about, because I frequently EXCESSIVELY bitch about it at work.
I'm going to sign up for a gym tonight (second step to becoming an adult: buy a gym membership at the beginning of the year [first step: order a box of personalized checks].) and I'm not quite sure how I feel about it. I hate exercising. But I hate being winded after walking up 3 flights of stairs so I should probably shut up. I'm signing up with my sisters Nancy and Julie and I can totally picture us all using ellipticals side by side and looking either completely awesome or completely hilarious. But whatever. I might look funny doing that, but you probably look funny sitting there reading this.
Watch, I'll probably eat way too much tofurkey and mashed potatoes and ralph all over the machines. I'd totally keep going though.
Okay. I have like 2 minutes. I ordered new debit and credit cards today and I personalized them so hopefully they'll accept the pictures, because they're both from the internet (and both EPIC as hell) and therefore not of my own making. But whatever. I can't make epic unicorn pictures and I'm not about to go out into wild Yellowstone and photodocument a bunch of wolves. That's insane.
Pleeeease bless they'll accept them.
Okay crap the timer just went off.

Hugs and loves and cherub nubs.













Syd.

I don't feel any different.

So 2011, huh. Nuts. It feels like a ton of stuff happened last year, aaaand I guess some stuff did happen? We cut our umbilical cords and live in an apartment (disregard the fact that it's next door to my parents), Scott applied for graduation *!!!!!!!*, I got a new job....ummm. I'm sure there is plenty of other stuff that happened, but right now I'm mostly just wanting to throw two bits out there before I go to bed (and normally I'd say "to get up and do what I'll do every single day of the year for the rest of my life" but it's the "new year" and we're supposed to be positive) so I can get up and ROCK my job and not be mean when I hang up the phone having just spoken to a loud breather aaaand yeah. Okay I gotta go. Eyes are blurring. Stomach hurting. Head nodding.
Good night,
and welcome to the rest of your life.

Love,
Syds.

And what the hell happened to summer?

So pretty much it's been two months-ish since my last post and pretty much nothing huge has happened. I got a job in July upstairs in the Sleep Lab and totally love it. I miss everybody I worked with in the ER but as far as my overall well being is doing it's marginally better. I'm still adjusting to the hours (8 to 4:30) and when you don't have kids waking up in the morning isn't the easiest thing to do when you've been used to going to bed at 12 and later for the past 3 or so years. So I'm pretty tired most of the time and that usually plays in to my mood. I'm great throughout the day but when I get home it's like I walk in to this sort of haze and wait until I can go to sleep to do the same thing the next day. I just feel like I've been in this sort of holding pattern for a while, and don't get me wrong, I love getting comfortable and absolutely detest change but I don't really feel like I've made any personal progression for at least a year or so. This is such a weird age for me and I don't really know how to take things anymore. I just turned 24 on August 29th and have been pretty numb to everything. I'm sure that it's just a temporary phase but apathy can only last so long before it starts to eat away your heart and soul. I've been pretty angry lately too and have caught myself multiple times shaming myself for things that I think about people when in reality, EVERYBODY deserves the benefit of the doubt. It's so natural to judge off of first impression but I think that the more advanced society gets the easier it is to take things one step further in our heads and immediately label people based off of what we see and assume. Communication is so much faster now and easier than ever. Face to face conversation still occurs but with texting and emails and crap like this it makes it that much easier to withdraw and rely on our own impressions for judgement and further assumptions. I have absolutely no idea where this is going.
So other than getting a new job, and feeling pretty lost in the scheme of things, my heart is still beating, my mind is still whirring, and my body keeps marching (not necessarily forward), and for now that will have to do.
Until later.

Love
syd.

What the hell happened to spring?

So there's no real excuse as to why I haven't been posting. At all. I'd say "lately" but I haven't posted for a couple months. And it's mostly because I don't want to emotionally invest the time. It's way selfish but my justification is that I have to live THROUGH the moment and pass it on, so why RELIVE it and gut it open anew and do a little play by play? And it's not like I have to post the really emotional stuff, I could just prattle on about how today at work a mama duck almost lost one of her babies. But I really like to reflect at the end of the day, and I rarely say how I REALLY really feel to most people, and it's a mental chore for me to explain things to people or give a play by play to someone who wasn't there. I don't even know if this is making sense, and it probably sounds totally ridiculous but there it is. I don't even write in a journal anymore. I've become so impatient and such a product of my surroundings that I get shoveled in to the stream of things and never leave time for myself. Time for myself doesn't include vegging out after work and reading or playing Harry Potter Lego (which I've already beaten). I think we owe it to ourselves to devote a small or doable amount of time geared towards US as an individual. I think blogging or journaling can be really therapeutic and can help point out the other side of the story if you were hell bent on the destruction of one person and didn't give a wink of thought to how the other side might be seeing things.
I always worry a lot about how people will perceive me. Part of me wants to not even give a shit but the other part is on constant paranoia stand-by. You know how there are people that you're around a lot (say a coworker),and they come walking over and you internalize the groan that is ripping at your throat while you think "UGH. I can't STAND her". So then paranoid me things -okay, what if when my peppy face shows up, and someone does a mental cringe, or it puts a little dent in their already okay day? I'm all for individuality and uniqueness but at the same time respecting others for THEIR perception of individuality (like the lady that was frothing at the mouth while on the phone with some other frothy lady, talking about these $1,500 purses that she HAD to buy [while I thought holy shit lady get a hobby]) is needed and I don't do it often enough. So basically don't judge people is what I'm getting at. IDK.

I started a new job this Monday and I absolutely LURVE it. I truly miss everybody I worked with but the Sleep Lab is such a smaller scale and sooo much healthier both physically and mentally (I work 8am to 430 rather than noon to midnight). Yeah I won't be able to go to school, but Scott's only got 2 semesters left and I might not get half tuition since my dad retired (waaaaaaa)sooo yehls. I'll pop out a night class just for my GPA's sake. RIP.

ANYWAY. I feel like whenever I get on here I just totally whine. But I guess I feel like I can just throw it out into the wondrous web of online data banks and let it sift through the 0's and the 1's and settle. Just to get it off my chest. My mental chest. I just pictured my brain with boobs.
Okay I gotta go to bed. I've been up since 6:30 (which is NUTS for me because I didn't usually surface before 1030 (or 12 or later on my days off). Now I know why my parents were always resting their eyes. Teehee.

Love,
Unconditionally,

syd.
scorchito.

Hmph.

Not wanting to say much but I'll say some anyway. I had a dream this morning that I was late for a final and couldn't get work off in time to be able to take it. I woke up shaking. How horrible is school? It OWNS you. It BECOMES you. It eats you alive and has it's metal tentacles gripping your brains 24/7 365.
I'm so tired I don't even know what I'm saying.
I had a drunk guy call in tonight who talked to me for 29 minutes and was calling me Syd by the end of the conversation. You could tell that he hadn't talked to someone for a while.
Okay seriously. Time for bed. I think the guy downstairs is awake and that isn't good for anybody.

Loves.
Syd.

Oscillating.

So scary to think of how things could be. Wave after wave of nausea sets in when I think of the endless possibilities of how things could have been. I count my blessings every day and thank God for everything I've been given. I've always been lucky, nothing over the top, but not skimming the bottom. Just lucky. Blessed. Oppression helps build us up to become who we were meant to be all along. Stepping stones. Small in the giant picture. It takes multiple pieces to tell a great story.
I can't believe November is already over. It's so scary how fast time goes by. Kids have an unfair advantage. Yeah, ignorance is bliss, but shit man, life was so good when I was a kid. I had the perfect childhood. No worries, nothing to fear, wonderful parents, an array of siblings, great friends. No stress, just play, home made bread, tomato soup and grilled cheese when we'd come inside from the freezing cold. Plowed over by my mum when we played spill the beans one winter. Fall after fall on the gravel at Polk. Sticky with sweat from just being outside.
It's insane how things can change. Reminiscing is almost painful. But then I think about how things are right now and I wouldn't have life any other way. I'd rather have raw emotions and truth right up front than being kept in the dark and hidden from how things really are. Sometimes I wish I had enough love for everybody who thinks they aren't loved. Sometimes I feel like I have enough love for every kid in the world. Sometimes I can barely love myself. But I always have an immense supply of love for Scott. A giant grain silo filled to the top with ridiculous sappy romantic childish innocent real honest love for Scott. So when these emotions build up like crazy, I just pull out some more silos and fill them and store those for a later, more appropriate time. Because we all know how good it feels to throw up a string of expletives and tap in to those stored emotions of full on anger and just empty it out in one blow. Sure it might be a little messy after, but it just ends up blowing away with time anyway. Everything gets blown away in time, so say what you mean, do it now. If you don't, your silos will rot with old emotions and feelings and there will be no room for the new ones. You have to experience the bad to appreciate the wonderful. Raw. Don't hide yourself, it'll just hurt more when you have to face the real thing.
One more week and I never have to attend another physics class for the rest of eternity. Yeeeeeeeee!!!!!

Love always,

El Scorcho.

Mullllllllllll it over

(inhale)
There are so many things in life that I don't understand. So many things that need to be said. So many feelings that are felt but rarely expressed. So much confusion for such a short period of time (in the grand scheme of things). SO MUCH that I want to express but am too selfish to take the time (TIME, of all things) to throw it all out like some kind of sheep or goat, randomly bleating their sorrows or amusement in time with their hearts, constantly one-upping each other. Like the last clapper. Every audience has one. Somebody who wants to prove something. Somebody who wants to let EVERYONE there know, "HEY. I am determined as HELL to be the last clapper. So let the dwindling begin."

So I just went and washed my face and lost all train of thought, even though while I was washing I was spouting out sentences in my head of stuff that I want to put down, but oh well. It'll keep circulating and come back out to the surface in a few months.

I haven't WRITTEN DOWN my thoughts for a while. I don't know if it's because reflecting makes me depressed? Or leaves me with a sense of emptiness? Or sometimes maybe I'm just too embarrassed to put down everything that's floating around in my head. Which is a LOT of stuff.
I was thinking earlier how shitty it is that we have to kind of censor ourselves. And I'm not saying we should all be insanely profane and sound like we have pig shit running out of our mouths but I've come to the realization that no matter WHAT you say, ANYTHING you have to say, you'll offend SOMEONE. Regardless of what you say, I could say that I hate marigolds and I think they should be exterminated and never grown again and some lady over in Iran might make her living off of selling marigold wreaths (heaven forbid), and be WAY upset with that. I'm not saying that we should have a direct microphone hooked up to our thoughts but shit man, it's in our head, and we think it and if we think it more than once and dwell on it then we usually MEAN it, so why not say it?
AGAIN. I'm not saying you need to full out say every single nasty awful horrible degrading ignorant racist judgmental thought that you have. I just think that it's unfortunate that I can't publicly say how much I hate my job without having to look over my shoulder and make sure that certain people don't see it. BUT IT'S TRUE. My job is like wind-surfing over a black hole, or like laying on your stomach with your blood rushing thru your ears right at the threshold of hell. I feel completely useless sometimes, and unappreciated. I know, I know, you're probably barking out that every job has it's ups and downs, but for right now, I'D like to vent things that have been festering and molding around my heart for the last two years. It's a total double edged sword. I absolutely love the people I work with (again, like most jobs. I know this) but I don't know if it's just the environment or the people taking advantage of the health care system (our customers) or just the fact that it's an ER. And I'm sure if some people read this they'd say "Well just deal with it because that's how ER's are all over the country", I'd say "Please shut the hell up", because I don't have these thoughts and these feelings to be told that I'm just like everyone else. I don't cry my eyes out while I'm driving home to be told that everybody else goes through it like I do. EVERYBODY experiences Life on an INDIVIDUAL level. Sure we're all going through it, but we have absolutely NO IDEA what on earth is going thru each individual's convoluted thoughts at any given time. We'll never know, because it's physically impossible to write down every single thought you have (which is like 10 thoughts per 1/10th of a second or some ridiculous statistic that I would love to know how they figured out). And this isn't all just about my job. It's about EVERYTHING. I KNOW everybody experiences life. I know everybody goes through shit. We mostly voice our problems because we want consolation, and have this internal need to be reassured that it's O.K., and that they know what we're talking about. Some people deal with more shit than others, and voice their problems more than others, and then we immediately label that person as a complainer, or a whiner. Problems are much easier to voice than just regular old thoughts. We go to therapy to be reassured and get an outside opinion and an outside hand to help us back up and square our shoulders for us so we can face life. There are some things that you can't just tell people to deal with. You can't just roll your eyes at someone when they say "Oh we just got like 5 different medical bills in the mail and my car broke down and my kid just dropped out of school" because you have NO IDEA what they are going through, because again, we're experiencing it at an individual level. We'll never know what other people's lives are like, because we're too busy living ours. And I'm not saying we need to just throw down our shields and rush out to help people, because we'll be plowed over in the process. I'm not even sure what the hell I'm trying to say, or if I'm trying to prove some sort of point. I just think that we need to constantly remind ourselves that everybody is different. Everybody has their own past. Everybody lived yesterday just like you did, only maybe their dog died (RIP Norm), or maybe their aunt just had a double mastectomy, or maybe their best friend is going through a divorce and just lost their house. Hopefully not everything happens to ONE person all at once (although it seems like that happens more often than not).

I just want to give everybody a chance to have a voice. THEIR voice. I don't know if I'm crying because I believe in it so much or if I'm just tired as hell and have to get up in 5 hours. Maybe it's the caffeine. IDK. I guess I just want everyone I come in contact with to not hold back or not say something in fear of me rolling my eyes or just rushing them on their way. You never know what someone's breaking point could be. They might need to just get one thing off their chest, or have one completely, ABSOLUTELY pointless conversation to make their life a little better (like the kids behind me in physics today talking about who the hell knows what and making me so angry that my fists were clenched because I couldn't hear the teacher [my fault for sitting near the back I guess]).
A lot of this has to do with Time too. I don't know WHAT the deal is, but I swear it conspires against us. It knows when we're having a good time, and slips by illegally and is jealous because it can't have a good time (ha, pun), and then when we're studying every day like a good student 3 hours turns in to 8, or a 12 hour shift turns in to 17. And then when I sit down to read, or write, it's all the sudden 135 in the morning and daylight has never come quicker.

Okay well this is extremely long winded and I'm sorry if anybody disagrees with this. But please, seriously, don't judge, and give people time to show themselves, and build relationships (however pointless they may be), because to that ONE person, you could be the reason they enjoy their job, or that one thing that you say that you've been itching to but it isn't really appropriate might offend 5 people, but could make 1 persons day. Those 5 people will get over it. Time does a good job at making us forget why we were mad, or what someone said to offend us.

Now just get over yourself and tell everyone else to shut the hell up and say whatever the shit you want to say.

Love,

(exhale)
El Scorcho.

Snow sucks.

I seriously hate waking up to frosted roads. I don't think there's anything quite as terrifying as driving in snow. Not only do I suck at it, but it's like the car KNOWS, and it takes advantage of it's ability to mess around and slide into curbs and stuff. So now I'll be super paranoid all day at work and then I'll be driving home going 40 on I-15 and hit a patch of ice and my car will go flying off the road.
Scott has had this obsession lately with doing anything and everything in his power to prove me wrong. For example, I typed this:

5 out of every 10 computers in the WSU computer lab has facebook up.

And his reply was to pop his freaking head up like a prairie dog and START COUNTING THE DAMN COMPUTERS. And earlier, (on facebook, hahaha) I typed that I wanted to obliterate all the clouds with a giant space heater and he said:

"That would only make more clouds."


GAAAAHHH!!!!

Once again, I must say that I absolutely detest typing ANYTHING while here in the computer lab with the Mac screen that's as wide as my arm is long. It's like everybody behind me can see what I'm typing, even though I'm in the back row. And I totally want to talk about how the girl next to me is coughing like crazy all over the keyboard and it's grossing me the freak out. I keep sliding over next to Scott. So now I'm typing with the page half concealed so she can't see.
Okay, time to go do crap for physics. Which is the worst class, IN THE WORLD. And I think that's one thing that Scott will actually agree with me on. Probably not though, he'd be like:

"No, I really enjoyed conceptual physics."

And then I'd be like:



Loves,
El Scorcho.

Don't sleep on your left side.

Okay guys so I'm sorry it's been a rediculously long time since I've posted. Like two months ago. It sucks how fast time goes when there are things you WANT and NEED to do and then when you're sitting at work wishing it would be over, time couldn't possibly go slower. Guhhhhhhhhh.
So a few days ago I started taking these "supplement" like things (vitamins and what not) that said it creates more collagen to stimulate hair growth (which I am DESPERATE for). So I was all excited and started taking two a day on monday, and the next morning my heart was having PVC's (extra beats) every so often, like one every 10 minutes or so. PVC's are normal, and I usually get them like once or twice every couple weeks but that morning I had like 8 just while I was laying in bed. And if you've ever had them they're uncomfortable as hell and it feels like a rabid bird is trying to get out of your chest, and it's wings are beating the crap out of your heart. Or better yet, it's like your HEART has wings and is trying to launch out of your chest. But it only does one feeble flap of the wings. If it did multiple for like 30 minutes then that's another story.
So yeah ANYWAY, I go to work that day and sho nuff, they keep happening. Super uncomfortable and starting to freak me out a bit. Thankfully I already had an appointment scheduled for Thursday (yesterday) with my doctor to follow up on how wonderful my welbutrin is, so I thought okay I'll just tell him what's been going on. So wednesday night comes along (I had only taken two pills on monday, and two on tuesday when the wackness started) and my heart was doing it more and more often. To the point that I got up and walked around just to distract myself from the raptor trying to fly and claw it's way out of my chest. On my drive home that night I was trying to think back to when it started....and what the hell could possibly be going on. Thankfully I have some memory retention and thought a-HA! I started taking those stupid supplements on MONDAY, and the summersaulting heart tricks started happening TUESDAY! So then I started wondering if there was any magnesium in the pills, because the week before I was talking to a nurse about this way sick alcoholic lady whose heart was on the fritz and she said that her heart was unable to deal with the ammounts of MAGNESIUM and potassium from the alcohol so it causes a weird rhythm (totally random that she'd mention that but I ask questions and this one time it came in use). SO. I present said question to Bryan (my doc) and he said "Oh yeah, too much or too little magnesium can push the heart either way." DING DING DING. So they did an EKG and put little stickers with magnetic or whatever leads all over my body and it showed that my heart likes to lay on her left side and is turned more to the left than normal (Thanks a lot Mom!), explaining why it feels like my heart is dangling freely in my chest when I lay on my left side. But he said it was normal, so whatevs. Stupid hearts.
So he said I could lay off the pills for a week, and then start them up again next week to see if they're the cause of the pvc's and I was like uh, NO THANKS, I'll just let my hair grow normally. Freakin hell. So I'm just going to stick with my original assumption that it was the supplement's fault cause I ain't had not a one today. Wooooo! So when you see all of those green bottles with yellow labels that make you think "man I'll be super healthy if I take some of that stuff", STAY AWAY FROM HAIR, SKIN, AND NAILS. Cause it'll make you feel like you have a midget punching it's way thru your chest.
And I just read thru this and I apologize if it makes absolutely no sense because I just type the sentence that's in my head, and we all know how I looooooove long sentences, but so did Faulkner. So back off.

Loves,
with my west-facing heart,
El Scorcho.

Totally inappropriate but I don't even care.

I don't even know how to start this. It's one of my BIGGEST pet peeves and it seriously grosses me the hell out. So if you're totally reserved and think that literal bathroom talk is completely uncalled for then I'm sorry but you'll have to stop reading.

Answer me this.

Question::[scenario]
HOW, does one go to the bathroom (sitting makes more sense but I suppose it could happen standing up), finish their business, wipe the appropriate area, stand up, flush, and LEAVE the bathroom WITH ONE OF THEIR PUBES ON THE TOILET SEAT?
Seriously!?!!?! What the shit! What on this freakin earth makes YOU (you sick Pube Deserter/Shedder/Bandit) think that I want to go to the bathroom and sit on one of YOUR pubes!?!!
I mean come on. I've let this go on more than one occasion, more than I'd like to count. Leaving the toilet seat up, fine. Whatever. Be a dolt, or a guy, whichever you'd like to categorize yourself with (hand in hand?) and show us how macho and care-free you are and leave that seat up. Fine.
BUT. PLEASE.
For the LOVE.
I'm not being sexist and saying that 80% of the time it's a guys fault (which it usually, PROBABLY is a guy). There was one occasion where a particular person opposite of a male spent a little too much time in a tanning bed, and had a full body 3rd degree burn. Being burnt in places that don't usually get burnt= peeling.
Fine. You shed that leprous skin and give some air to those brand new baby skin cells!
BUT WIPE OFF THE DAMN SEAT.
Now am I totally way off in being freaking disgusted to the maxxxxx? We're talking serious gag-reactions. I honestly can't figure it out. It's like some crazy phenomenon that is sweeping (ha) toilet seats nation-wide into the shadows. Who the hell doesn't check out the toilet after you go? I'm trying and doing a very good job at keeping this excrement free so spare the 1750's gasps of disgust and shame. You seriously can't tell me that you don't give the toilet seat a once-over before flushing, washing your hands, and exiting (along with a quick but thorough examination of your face w/special attention to your pores/oil production).

The ONLY way I will grant you clemency is if you are:
A.-blind
B.-so insanely tall that you can't see the toilet seat during your once-over, or
C.-pubeless.

So next time you lose one of your leetl frens....
Give us a courtesy puff, or grab one more square of that wonderful toilet paper.

And
wipe.
it.
off.

Now on a lighter but similar and much more enjoyable note,
enjoy this:
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/23595533/

And think of me during your once-over.

Loves,
with firm but unyielding love (gag, right?)

El Scorcho.

Revved up like a douche.

I was driving home tonight with The Count when "Blinded by the light" came on the radio, recognizable right from the start with the horrible arrangement of cheesy synthetic organ chords when the line "revved up like a deuce" was delivered with my jaw simultaneously dropping.
me-"Did it just say douche? Revved up like a douche?!"
scottie-"Yeah, I've always thought that's what it said."
And it kept repeating itself OVER and OVER again, resulting with me turning it up LOUDER and LOUDER each time to make sure that it was seriously saying revved up like a douche.
So pretending like I was a member of the Look It Up Club I searched for the lyrics on my phone, only to be disappointed when I read the correct lyrics.
But still. Seriously? Revved up like a deuce? I'm sure it fit just PERFECTLY when the song was written but it seriously just sounds like he's singing about being so totally psyched that he's as ready as a douche that's about to embark on some secret mission.
Scott and Norm are distracting me. Scott's talking about how horrible Africa is and little kids with guns and Norm is doing who knows what to the couch and I'm trying to contribute to the conversation but the only things I'm saying are "yeah" and "hmmm".
I've since moved on from eating a pound of strawberries as often as possible to dried mangoes. AND nectarines. But the nectarines have to be like biting in to a damn cement filled coconut. None of this soft, mushy shit. That's for peaches. So the mangoes are treating me oh so nicely so I'm not going to complain. There's so much I could complain about but then I'd just be like every other self-victimizing person who has all kinds of crap (and some have legit crap) and lets the world know about it. I have more important things to deal with. Like Scott interrupting whatever flow is going thru my brain to present the question "What if humans were covered in hair?......what would GIRLS do?". So now I'm picturing these sasquatch-like girls with short gross blonde dog hair all over their bodies and it's weirding me out. Mostly because I'm picturing them like one of the characters in Yo Gabba Gabba. The werid green and blue guy...but blonde and with a pink bow....and as a girl.

Yikes.
Time for bed.
Don't want to keep Gaston waiting :)

Lurves,
mucho gusto,
El Scorcho.

(I online-translationed mucho gusto and it means "a lot of taste" on one search engine, and on another "much pleasure". So we'll pretend it means "with a lot of pleasure". Or how about "a shit load". Yeah. A shit load.)

Hupdate.

Hi guyth. It's been an insanely long time since I've updated and I'm actually ashamed that I haven't done more. I get into these modes where I'll be like "oh my gosh I need to write that down" or "oh my gosh I have got to blog this", and then I get home and it's almost like I shy away from everything. Because writing everything down makes it so FINAL, in a way. And by writing it down you acknowledge that you're either currently or have had those thoughts and that they're circulating that wonderful brain of yours and are trying to get out thru your ears and nostrils and tear ducts (except I don't cry thru my ears and nose).
ANYWAY.
I was looking thru my other blog
(http://blogs.myspace.com/kitschneymarie)
[if it doesn't work it's myspace.com/kitschneymarie, and on the right under Nosferatu are my entries, and you can click on "View all blog entries"]
and realized that I wrote a butt load, but then also realized that I was extremely depressed and only wrote Debbie Downer stuff. So there's my warning if you go read those. There's a lot of them. Aaand some of them are "explecit" so be warned Mum. I've tidied up my mind-mouth a little bit but not to the point of choking it and cutting off what I really think. So I've "matured" a bit, or whatever the hell you wanna call it.
POINT BEING- Some of them say the eff word (among other things), and I would go back and change them, but then it would change what I was trying to say, and quite frankly, at the time, I didn't give a damn who read it or how it was interpreted, because I didn't even care about myself enough to care about anyone else.
Yoish.
Moving on.
So it's like the middle of July and it's been WONDERFUL as far as the weather is concerned. The sun must've had some kind of set back like a month long appointment with his doctor or something and forgot to fry us all with his unforgiving rays.
I'm still trying to recover from the conference I had with my english teacher I had last semester, who referred me to the Hacker book to look up...(and of course now I don't remember the exact phrase for it) but it pretty much tells you how to shorten your sentences. Aaaaand if you look at my last sentence, you'll see why she referred me to said chapter.
Whatever. I love long sentences. So mleh.
Okay time to go bask in the sun and read The Secret.
I can't believe I just admitted to that.

Loves,

Most ardently (I just finished Pride and Prejudice),

El Scorcho.