Monday, 28 November 2011

  • Out of Retirement

    Today I got a message from an old Xanga friend about how I should blog again, and then, at work, a patient of mine randomly started up a conversation about blogging with the doc and me.  So I'm taking that as a sign that I should "come out of retirement" and blog a bit today.

    As for updates: my fish Meriadoc Brandybuck died (either of shock from the ammonia poisoning or cancer, not sure, very sad, and I regret not posting and giving him a proper sendoff in cyberspace [though he had a very proper and special burial next to my brother's lizard by the raspberry bush on the side of the house]), my job improved tremendously, and I'm still not moved out of my parents house, but I will be VERY soon (at least I'd better be in there soon, because I've been remodeling the new place since AUGUST).

    As for Meriadoc, I'd rather not go into detail, because it was particularly sad, as I had had him for five years, and I actually had to put him down with clove oil (the most humane way for fish), because he was suffering so much.  My dad offered to just do it for me, but I insisted I be an adult and do it with him.  I still cried a lot, and because we use oil of cloves at work, I'm constantly reminded of that trauma.  God forbid my dogs die anytime soon.

    Speaking of work, it's going great.  I ended up making the switch from a traveling assistant to a chairside assistant -- in other words, I now work full time with only one doctor.  At first, I resisted, because I didn't want to seem...dependable...since I was still holding out for something better or another try for grad school.  However, it ended up being a great move, I got a raise (and it sounds like I'm getting another), and I really enjoy working with this particular doctor.

    I'm going to need another raise though, because they decided to raise the tolls on the expressways near me, JUST in time for me to move out to a far away suburb.  My mileage for work will increase significantly (which hurts the environmentalist in me a tad), but gas money is nothing, because I'm not even really paying rent for this deal...I'm living in a house with several other friends, and we're only paying insurance and taxes on it, plus utilities.  It's a STEAL, and it was an opportunity that fell into my lap exactly when I needed it.  Plus, my new roommates are pretty awesome.  I seriously think that I am blessed with the best friends in the world. :)

    So that's that for updates.  Maybe I'll post a little bit about remodeling too.

Sunday, 06 March 2011

  • I'm tired of people treating "writing" non-fiction like it's some exclusive, hipster club.  People keep saying you can only be a writer if you've really "lived."  I believe this--in the literal sense, in that if you can breathe and hold a pen, you can write.  As far as needing to experience radical lifestyles, poverty, or traveling...it helps, because you get a more objective, balanced view, but it is not necessary.  I'm not saying all writing is great, and I'm not saying that all writers are equal in talent.  But the point of writing is communicating a story.  The human story.  And if you're human, any story you write can be related to by someone, somewhere, at some point in time.  We all have unique thoughts, and some are more profound or universal than others, but we all feel pain and joy and struggle and consequences and regret and wonder.  We interpret these things differently, but not SO differently.  And if you feel that you have something to tell, then you should feel the right to tell it.

    And who defines what "living" really is?  I haven't lived in cardboard box.  I haven't taken drugs.  I haven't traveled to a remote village in Africa.  I haven't grown up feeling persecuted for my sexual orientation.  But I have good friends who have .  And I've suffered through my own problems too, equally difficult, though perhaps not as glamorous.

    And I have experienced great joys, and I've been on the inside as well as the outside.  I've hung with the nerds and conversed with the beautiful people.  I've had my name both announced and forgotten.  I've seen some friends grow up and have families of their own, and some have died too young.  I may not have many regrets, but it doesn't mean I haven't ever dwelled on the possibilities.

    I have travelled, I have loved, I have lost, I have seen the darkest parts of the human mind and heart in my own self, and I've seen God work here on earth and through people.

    And more importantly, I'm not done yet.  I still have more to live, possibly radically, possibly not.  What if I achieve fame later in life?  Won't all these seemingly mundane bits of my life seem so suddenly fascinating, for the simple fact that normal people will be able to relate to them?  We watch these background stories of celebrities and see a bit of ourselves in them, giving us hope that our everyday routines are justified as the stepping stones to our true calling in life, whatever that may be.

    We never stop growing, so why wait to write?  Just write, and then, when you've lived some more, write again.  And then, when you've outlived all the idiots who died with piles of regrets and unfinished manuscripts, write about that amazing time you lived to prove the world wrong.

Monday, 17 January 2011

  • A Really, Really, Really, REAL Post?

    The title is a nod to a line in an Ernest movie...in other words, I expect none of you to get that.

    That is, if there are ANY of you.  I've been gone too long, I fear.

    I haven't blogged in ages, because, well, there's just been so much drama at my new job.  Not fun drama either, like my last job, what with the sexual harrassment and "sabatoge" and all, sadly no.  More like the boring drama I tried to leave behind but landed right back in (like daytime television on every channel when you're home sick without basic cable [assuming there's anyone left in this country without basic cable...]).  The drama that just makes you crabby and slowly bitter, rather than instantly fired up with righteous anger at horrible injustices.

    For a while I thought the drama was going to be more interesting.  I thought I'd be training a hot 19-year-old guy at work, but now I'm not.  And I met a really hot doctor today, but then I saw his really big wedding ring.  *sigh*  So bored.

    Anyway, I don't really want to talk about it.  Unfortunately, that's been taking up so much of my time, I barely have anything left to talk about.  Things are going pretty well I guess: I'm slowly paying off my credit card debt and looking to move out by the summer.  I'll be in another wedding in July (my seventh...I think).  My fish survived ammonia poisoning over the holidays, but he is doing fine now.  Going to a Linkin Park concert next week, and going to Florida for New Year's next year.  Finished rereading Call of the Wild and starting White Fang.  Still learning Braille.  Yup.  That's about it.

    So basically, my life is so highly organized at the moment, it's probably about to snap like a guitar string and cut me in the eye any day now.

Wednesday, 15 December 2010

  • Sort of famoush

    So...if you don't know who Rhett and Link are, watch this commercial:

    Now replay and pause it at 0:14.  See the yellow shirt on the right that Link is wearing?

    I now have that shirt, signed, in my possession, to be framed, as a gift for helping them out with a youtube contest they hosted.   I'm not sure if I'm more excited that the guys signed it or the simple fact that I own a prop from a McDonald's commercial.  I'm the kind of person who will watch a commercial and actually think, "Who are those people?  Did they get paid to advertise this stuff?  Is that their actual house?  If not, what happens to that lamp?  Is that the same lamp from that sitcom I was just watching?"

    And this is for my friend.  She knows who she is.

  • Haiku Updates on my Life

    College was great fun.
    Now I am single and broke.
    Oops. Guess there's grad school.

    Obsession with Braille
    Led to new volunteer work.
    Now reading menus.

    I so hate my job,
    Feeling my brain atrophy.
    Blood, spit everwhere.

    Holiday magic,
    Warm syrup on my cold brain.
    That or it's caffeine...