Monday, October 31, 2011

Jam-Covered Toast

I let my high-pitched alarm scream for a good 4 or 5 minutes this morning before cursing under my breath and defeatedly unplugging it rather than just turning it off.

It was a difficult morning - much worse than most - with memories of witnessed murders, failed relationships, self-loathing, and ghosts.  Of all the sleep-preventing thoughts blazing through my bemused mind, the thought that motivated me most to get up and live life was the thought of delicious, scrumptious, warm jam-covered toast.

Voices of strangers outside my bedroom door made me hesitate a little before venturing forth in nothing but Chacos and a tightly-wrapped towel.  The ultimate goal of my potentially embarrassing excursion laid just beyond the white bathroom door - at most, four or five short steps away from my own.  One of the girls (who is over quite often) stops and stares for a brief moment (and it's kind of awkward).  This kind of incident has happened many times before; and I'm quite certain she's seen me half-naked more than fully dressed to the point where half-naked (for her, at least) is my new norm.

The bathroom was frigid and a little bit misty from a previous roommate's recent morning ritual.  Wiping the mirror with my hand like a squeegee, I inspected myself - starting with my face - and was strangely impressed with how wretched I looked; the bags under my eyes had at least doubled in size from the last time I stood in that very spot.  For most people, that would have been 3 days ago; but to me it felt like 70 hours ago (or nearly three full rotations of the sun) - a depressing distinction that really only matters when the last three days all feel like one.

While in the shower, I just stand there and think (about nothing in particular) with my emotions on the brink of a catastrophic meltdown of inexplicable force; lack of sleep fueling the imminent rampant chaos.  It's like a general lack of everything - of conscience or remorse - of self control or pity; it's frustrating, unadulterated apathy without a cognizant source.

"Eyes on the prize, chief - the reward is so close - delicious, scrumptious, warm jam-covered toast."


"What to wear today?" with a feigned form of pep.  It's never really a decision - I pretty much always dress like I (ironically) just woke up; I don't even own a comb (because I don't particularly care), I either wear slippers or Chucks, my jeans, maybe a hoodie, with at least one sock neglectfully turned inside-out.

My emotional instability finally gets a hold on me; like binding chains being tightened I collapse to the ground - onto the camel-brown carpet with an alarming thud sound.  I ball up on my left side and weep with my head in my hands and pray desperately that there will come a day when I won't ever have to pray for something as basic and simple as sleep.  But yet there I lay, writhing and wallowing in emotional pain - tears falling from my face like unrelenting rain.

"Get up and live - you have no choice.  This merry-go-round doesn't stop no matter how badly you want to get off."


Then I think of my delicious, scrumptious, warm jam-covered toast.


With a strange combination of determination and anger, I pull myself together and struggle my way off the ground like a newborn colt.  With as much grace as I can muster, I don my blue pants, my black hoodie, my inside-out white socks, and my red Chucks.  I throw my burgundy book bag over my left shoulder and tuck my phone into my right-front pocket, double check for my wallet (by patting my butt), and miraculously remember to plug my alarm clock back into the light socket.

Before finally exiting my room, I pause and glare back at my double-sized bed with a disturbing mixture of disgust and desire.  I lightly shut the door behind me with a click  (to keep the warm air in), stand just beyond the threshold, close my eyes, inhale deeply through my nose and let it out through my mouth, and make a mental checklist of all the physical things currently wrong with me:

My coordination is off (which makes me stumble a lot) and I feel sick to my stomach.  My body is painfully tense, my eyes ache, and my head feels like my brain has swollen proportionately to the number of days that I've been awake.  I'm freezing cold despite being dressed warmly.  Everything is out of focus and I am unable to think in complete tho


My emotions are all over the place:

"Just go back" - they nag - "Everyone will understand.  No one will ever judge you for not sleeping."

"It's not a matter of being judged" - I insist - "it's a matter of future.  Whatever I don't do now, I'll have to do later.  I'm not going to watch as my life passes by - now get out of my way, emotions; because if you win, I'll emotionally die."

Too late to eat; I'm too late for class.  My embarrassing emotional breakdown has robbed me of the one thing that I looked forward to most: delicious, scrumptious, warm jam-covered toast.

Exiting the house, I consider cowering back - a kind of pre-pain prevention - an emotional intervention; knowing full-well that at the end of my hellish hike up the horrible hill only bad things await; things that, to a normal person, seem trite and mundane (like tying a shoe or saying hi to a friend); but being awake for 3 days straight means that I've crossed the fine line between fine and insane; basic interaction with people is a lot to take in when you were just curled up in a ball in your room - an emotional wreck - for no specific reason.

So on that crisp, wind-chilled fall morning, I long-marched my way upward - taking notice of how the wind felt like it was blowing from all directions and trying to smother me in its spiraling, swirling prison.  I stopped briefly to crush a red, dried leaf under my red Chuck Taylor shoe.  The satisfying crackle was met with a giggle and a grin; and my unbearable hike suddenly felt more like an ascension.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

My Hospital Visit

Just two months ago, I had probably the most hectic and panic-inducing incident that I've ever had in my entire life. I almost died and had to go to the hospital.

About a month before going back to Virginia, I ran out of sleep medicine (something which, for an insomniac with the power to stay awake for 4 days if untreated, is extremely dangerous).  It took me about two weeks to get a hold of my doctor and get him to refill my prescription.  So now this story starts two weeks before going back to Virginia:


I had picked up my sleep medication after about two weeks of not having any (getting my doctor on the phone was next to impossible.  no wait... it WAS impossible).  So I got home and very excitedly maxed out on the medicine and skipped to bed like a small child waiting for Christmas.  When a person goes more than a week without more than 3 hours of sleep a night, it starts to have weird effects.  For example - thinking you're in love with an old friend only to realize days later that that's silly (even though that was a good massage).  So I took my medicine and went to bed extra early because I had to work the next day.

I woke up the next day and just laid in my bed for a while thinking to myself, "Wow, this is comfortable.  I never want to get up from this spot."

Be careful what you wish for.

I got a text message.  I ignored it.  I got a phone call.  I ignored it.  

I was super groggy, but I don't think I've ever felt more relaxed in my entire life.  I slowly rolled (quickly flopped) to the other side of the bed (I keep my phone on the other side of a queen size mattress.  sometimes I get lonely.  don't judge) and tilted my phone a little to see what it said.

Text from Boss at 10:09am:  "You're late"

Call from Boss at 11:02am.  Voicemail.

Deciding that I should listen to the message and then call him afterwards and explain what happened (sleep drugs ate me alive), I picked up my phone and held it in front of me, noticing that I really had to focus my vision to see it.  Attributing it to a combination of 'no sleep drugs for a long time' and then 'lots of sleep drugs in a short time', I pushed the "listen to the voice mail" button.

This is the good part:

"Please enter your password."

Ummm...

Well...

Hmm.

Herp derp...

I couldn't for the life of me remember the password to my voicemail.  I'd never had this problem before.  I tried all kinds of combinations that seemed logical at the time.  Apparently nothing is logical when you're almost dying but you don't know it yet.

1234?  no.  4321?  no.  6041?  no.  6969?  no.

This is when I began to realize that there might be something wrong with me - after finally guessing my password after a dozen or so failed attempts.  My password is:

2... 2... 2... 2.

Yeah.  The same number four times in a row.  An easy number to remember, by the way.  It wasn't 8888 or some obscure number like that.  It was four 2s in a row and I couldn't remember it - I had to guess!

Listening to my message - my boss was worried about why I wasn't in work and said that he really needed me to come in.

I called my boss.  I said I wasn't feeling well and that I wouldn't be able to come in.  He understood.

Ok.  Time to get out of bed.

Then my body was like, "Haha, tricked you.  You are incapable of basic functions"  and I went all spaghetti-noodley and fell to the ground.

"Hmm, I guess this is what happens after not taking the medicine for week."

Then I realize something - I can't see.  I mean... I could see... but I couldn't see.  Things were completely blurry and I was unable to see shapes or anything like that.  Basically, I could detect light and that was about it.  That's when I realized that there was something seriously wrong with me.  I couldn't walk and I couldn't see.

Thoughts of me being paralyzed or having MS or having a brain tumor rattled through my mind.  I figured I was still capable of thinking (if we ignore the lack of thinking from earlier); I just couldn't move correctly (plus I had somehow tricked myself into thinking that I was still capable of thinking).  After much struggling and embarrassing grunting, I managed to soldier my way back into my bed where I stayed for most of the day.  I had no way of telling anyone that something was wrong because I couldn't remember how to work a damn phone - an invention that, at its core, really hasn't changed much since 1876.

And so I laid in my bed, perfectly still - staring off into the blurry nothingness, weeping like a small child and remembering all the good times I had in my life one last time before passing away.

[Pause]

Many years ago, I panicked because I had sudden loss of hearing.  Since I was unable to hear anything while using a phone, I just dialed my sister's number and then shouted "HELP" repeatedly into it and figured that my sister would either pick up and hear my cries for help, or the voicemail would eventually kick in and it would record my desperate pleas.

I don't remember if she answered or got the message, but she showed up at my place to take care of me.

My sister took me to the urgent care clinic.  We were all worried that I had a brain tumor or something.  The diagnosis?

Too much earwax.  Not kidding.  I still get made fun of to this day even though it was like 8 years ago.  Relentlessly.

[Unpause]

I don't remember how I managed it, but in my blind, crippled, weeping state, (and perhaps completely by accident) I called my sister.

The message I left for my sister was complete, unadulterated panic in its purest form.  In tears, I explained my unfortunate predicament to her voicemail, praying that she would get it in time and come to my rescue before I forgot how to breathe or beat my heart or something like that.  In my disoriented and panicked state, after listing off all my symptoms, I'm proud to say that I still had the presence of mind to make a joke.  "I can pretty much guarantee that it's not because I have too much earwax."  Oh, Brandon, you dear, sweet boy.  When will you ever learn?

She finally did get the voicemail and she came to the rescue.  I was relieved that I was finally going to go get some help.  "Let's go!  No time to lose!"

"Let me feed my kids first."

-_-

Ok.  I can understand that a mom has to take care of her children - I get that - and I might be a little selfish in thinking that my needs (in that particular instance) were greater than theirs; my nieces are cute and little, but, at least in my mind, me dying takes precedence.  Maybe that's just me; I dunno.  However, not being able to see or walk doesn't lend itself well to throwing an adult-sized tantrum.  So, when offered delicious macaroni and cheese, I accepted (and had seconds).


We arrived at the urgent care clinic (cheaper and quicker than the emergency room) and there was no time to waste.  My sister wheeled me in like a mother pushing a stroller, I described my symptoms to the receptionist, and was met with a long, uncomfortable silence.  I asked my sister what was going on.  "She looks worried" and that was it.  Never a good sign.

"Let me go back and ask a doctor something real quick."  So she left and my sister and I waited about as patiently as you can when you're convinced that you're dying.  Then the receptionist came back and, in a comparatively shaky and urgent voice, mandated that I go to the emergency room immediately (located across the street) and that they'll be expecting me.

Now, emergency rooms are not on a first-come first-served basis like McDonald's or something like that.  They're based on triage - serving the people who need it most first.  A person can spend all day in the emergency room with a minor cold because it's just not that big of a deal.  People that are missing limbs or have gunshot wounds usually get bumped up to the front of the line and are wheeled back immediately for tests and treatment (although I imagine it's pretty easy to diagnose "lack of legs").  So now imagine my fear when, after reassuring myself repeatedly that things hadn't gotten any worse and that maybe I was improving and that I would live to see the sunshine again someday, they immediately checked me in and wheeled me back into a room for tests and treatment.  I had been treated as if I didn't have any legs.  I couldn't see them, but I was about 95% certain that they were there.

Let me remind you that my vision was blurred almost to the point of blindness.  I could kind-of see things when they were right in front of me, but aside from that, everything looked like one of my childhood water color paintings.  So when the purple-scrubs-wearing nurse checking my blood pressure got close enough for me to see, my blood pressure, when combined with adrenaline from my panicked state and seeing a hot nurse, shot up through the roof (190 - not exaggerating).  I've never been one for the whole "hot nurse fetish" (I've always found it to be a little strange) but it was like "can't see... can't see... OMFGPONY HOLY HELL SHE'S HOT!!"  After she left, my (married-to-a-man) sister (who is training to be a physical therapist) said "Wow, she's hot.  Also, your blood pressure is high enough to rupture your heart."

Oh goody.

Then I sat and I waited.  My sister left - something about taking care of kids.  It was just me - alone in a scary hospital - not being able to see who was checking my monitor; not able to walk to the bathroom or get a drink of water.  It felt like I was in a cave.  I asked to use the bathroom.  Hot Nurse said she'd bring in a bedpan for me (right! as if I can pee with a hot nurse standing right there!).  I asked for a drink of water, but she said no; they didn't want to mess up any potential tests that they were going to run on me.

Unable to walk, unable to see, unable to drink, unable to pee...

Panicked, parched, and practically peeing in my PJ's, it probably wasn't prudent of me to impatiently protrude with the... poetry and then... possum... with... the... p-word... I don't know.  This sentence didn't end up working out for me.  Screw you, alliteration!

I sat and I waited in my cold, dark hospital room.  I imagined Doctor House and his team working on a particularly difficult case and hoped that maybe something like that was happening with me.  Realistically, my file probably just sat on a counter until the nurse reminded the doctor to take a look at it.

They stole some of my blood and then wheeled me back for a CT scan.  They did that awesome thing when they count and then move the patient from the bed to the scanner-bed-thingy (only I got to be the patient!!).  Highlight of my day right there.

The two minutes that I was inside that machine were probably the most relaxing two minutes of the entire day.  Nothing I could do would speed up what they were doing or shorten the time it would take for them to find out what was wrong with me.  I laid there with my eyes closed.  It felt like I was being gently rocked back and forth.  When I told Hot Nurse that it felt like I was being rocked back and forth, she wrote that down.  It turns out that that little bit of information is what led to my diagnosis.

Then they had me do an eye test.  They propped me up and had me look down a hall at (what I assume was) a chart with big letters at the top and smaller letters as you go down the chart.  They asked me to read the letters on the chart.  "Not a chance."

As punishment for my failure to jump through their chart-seeing hoop, they placed me back in my cave and made me wait longer.  My other sister and her husband came to visit me.  It was sweet and it made me feel good that they were there, but I really just wanted to be alone.  I love them and all, but when you're not sure if your future is going to be without sight and walking, or if that future is going to end in a week or two, you kind of just want to be alone and think for a bit.  It's a very derealizing sensation - being unsure about your immediate mortal future.  But yet they remained, irritating me with nothing but the best of intentions.  So now not only was I dying, but I also had to entertain company.

I think it was like 4 hours until the doctor finally came into my room.  "No brain tumor!" she gleefully greeted me while gracefully gliding into my grotto (nailed it).  She looked in my eyes; she wrote something down; she made me watch a pen move back and forth, but didn't write something down.  Then she checked my ears.

"There's the problem!"  She exclaimed - Holmes-style.  No, it wasn't that I had too much earwax like how I led you to believe earlier (sorry about that).  I guess she was able to see that something was wrong with my inner-ear (my eardrums were indented or something like that).  The inner ear not only is responsible for converting sound into brain waves, but it also plays a big role in balance.  That's why I wasn't able to stand and that's why I felt like I was being rocked back and forth in the CT scan.  I had Vertigo (like the movie... but not like the movie).  In rare cases, vertigo can mess up your vision.  She said that some Sudafed combined with a super-powerful antihistamine would clear up the problem.

I later found out that "antihistamine" is code for "you will never pee ever again."  But that's a story best unshared.

Hot Nurse came back into the cave a few minutes later with a little paper cup of pills and went to check my wristband to make sure she was giving the medicine to the right person.  I thought she was going to shake my hand.  I don't know why - it was completely stupid.  Her being so attractive skewed my judgment.  Why would a nurse that I've been interacting with all day want to shake my hand now?  But yet, I reached up and I shook her hand (like a boss).  And then I regretted it.  She looked at me all weird and I was all "oh, we're not shaking hands?" and she was all "we can if you want, but I really just want to check your wristband" and I was all "oh" and she was all "you can let go of my hand now."  My sister and brother-in-law watched.  It was awkward.  The kind of awkward where everyone in the room goes quiet just as you realize that you've done something wrong, and they all stare in silence.

In embarrassed silence, I took my pills.

Within a half hour, my symptoms had drastically improved.  The very first thing I saw when my sight returned enough to see beyond my nose was down Hot Nurse's shirt (HAAAAALELUUJAHH).  After 40 minutes, I could walk again (stumbly, but walky).  She told me that all the nurses had placed bets on what was wrong with me.  She had guessed vertigo because of when I told her about my experience in the CT scan.

Hot Nurse, I'm sorry for awkwardly shaking your hand; but you're welcome for whatever money you earned off of my medical mystery.

I was promptly discharged, and I went home.

Now I owe the hospital $4200 - a small price to pay for both balance and vision.

Friday, October 21, 2011

The good stuff

A slightly-more-than-an-acquaintance-but-not-quite-full-blown-friend/whatever-yet of mine just informed me that she had found and read my entire blog (a feat that I imagine is somewhat grueling at times).  Some people get weirded out by that kind of thing (read: being stalked); I'm more flattered - it's hard to weird me out.  PLUS someone was interested enough to read everything I have written AND had the guts to admit it without any prompting whatsoever.  I like people with guts (both literally and figuratively).

She commented on how she admired how I'm able to just say whatever I want about people and let that be that.  It was a sincere compliment and it made me feel good.

Then it made me all paranoid and now I keep thinking to myself, "Do I only write negative things??  I'm not totally a negative person!  Am I?"

She also asked if Sara 2.1 has found this blog yet.  She has.


So this positive post is dedicated to friends that have helped me through the last few (terrible-but-definitely-improved-in-the-last-few-months) years.  These are people that currently stand out in my mind.  If you don't make the list, don't worry - there's room.

This is basically a list of friends that I would want to live near once I'm all grown up with a real job and family and stuff.  All of our kids could form an awesome-brigade.  I've never been part of a brigade, so I'd have to live through my kids on that one.


Mike Lewis -
  We've been friends since my freshman year of college.  I was dating a friend of his, and then he and I managed to become friends somehow (I'm still not totally sure how).  He's a simple guy and is now married to someone who I think is just about perfect for him.  He enjoys watching TV shows and sleeping.  He's my eternal bowling buddy (we average about the same score, but he's far more consistent.  I bowl 263 one game and 96 the next while he pretty much always hits 180 but never tops 200).

We decided to be roommates after I went back to BYU (that wretched, wretched school).  He's also an amazing friend that I never really got a chance to thank (but to my credit, I did buy him a wristband that said "I <3 Boobies" that one time).  He's extremely patient with me and never once (ok, maybe just once) got mad at me for anything I did or failed to do.  He never said anything when I never did the dishes or cleaned or be useful in any way.  He took care of me.  He even found me a girlfriend (even though things didn't work out, it's the thought that counts, yeah?).


Matt Taylor -
  My best friend.  We didn't know each other long before I considered him my best friend.  Every conversation we have is stimulating, hilarious, and laced with some of the most complex and insightful social commentary I've ever been a part of.  Plus we make fun of Harry a lot (I'll probably dedicate an entire post to that sometime soon).  I was the best man at his wedding (even though I didn't really have to do anything - just showed up, put on a tux, posed for some pictures, and that was pretty much it).  He just finished law school.  I haven't talked to him in over a year.  I should give him a call...


Jordan Sorensen -
  A great friend in the same way Mike is (minus the bowling and finding me a woman).  He's short and always smiling, hard-working, and always acts like the entire world is watching him (a quality that I like).  He's been extremely patient with me over the last few years and is always willing to give a second chance.  He notices when things aren't quite right and lets me know that he's aware without triggering any of my defense mechanisms (which is worthy of some kind of medal).  He's what you would call a genuinely good guy - something that is rare.  Lots of people are good people, but wish bad things upon people that wrong them or annoy them.  Jordan is the kind of guy that breaks up with a girl and then genuinely hopes that she's happy and wishes her the best (but he's married now, so that quality doesn't count anymore).  Even though people say that, they never actually mean it.  Jordan would.  He's a man of character.

He's also quite the character.


Caitlin Robison -
  Most people don't even know we're friends.  And those who know we're friends severely underestimate how good of friends we are.  She's short, blonde, and sassy.  Caitlin and I basically behave and think the exact same way in social situations and it's always funny to look across a room and see her with the same expression on her face as me (I've always considered myself to be unique in my thoughts).  I really like that she asks for advice and values my opinion on things.  She's hilarious.  We didn't like each other very much at first (I'd go so far as to say that we disliked each other), but once we realized that we're two peas in a very small, specialized pod, it's been great being her friend.


Sara Schafer -
  She probably doesn't even realize it, but I'm always happy to see her and I admire her a lot.  For some reason, I always feel like she understands (in general... it's hard to explain).  Her desires for nothing but the good things in life inspire me to be better and her fearlessness in stating her opinion in any situation both entertains and provokes thought (in a good way).  For someone who's had such a rough life, she's done very well for herself.  She's found herself an amazing husband and has one of the cutest kids I've seen in recent history.  Her and I started out as just online acquaintances.  We were both scheduled to come to SVU and we somehow found each other online and started chatting.  When we finally did arrive at school, I still had my teenage mentality that I was too cool for most people (which, in all fairness, was kind of true).  I severely regret that.  But Sara doesn't seem to mind that I was kind of an ass.  That's why I like her so much.


Mariel Porter-Kunz
  I didn't really interact with her much before my mission.  I remember her name, her face, and that's about it.  But after I got back to SVU, it's been nothing but love and hugs from both her and her super-tall, super-awesome husband.  Mariel is one of those people that I'm always happy to see or hear from no matter what.  She makes me feel important.  I like that.

Plus she's an amazing photographer and did a photoshoot with me so that I can send the pictures to the girl I love in an attempt to convince her to have my babies.


Eric Griffin -
  He's my pocket encyclopedia.  Anything I need to know, I turn to him and ask.  He's the man with all the correct answers.  Plus he looks and acts a lot like Jack Black.  I've always tried to be a good friend to him because I could tell he needed it after a close encounter with a complete bitch, and now he's returning the favor tenfold.  Plus it's fun to watch him play Fallout on my computer.  You know I like you when I'm willing to sit and watch you play videogames instead of me doing it myself.


Sandy Kolle -
  A friend that I haven't seen in like 6 years.  She's short, blonde, and sassy (a trend in my life, I've found).  We met at SVU when I sat next to her at a fireside and she, without saying anything or introducing herself at all, leaned over and immediately started trying to braid my arm hair.  We were bestest buddies from then on.  She's married now, so I won't go too much into detail on how our relationship worked, but it was a lot of fun (but not that kind of fun). I miss her more than a fat kid misses his legs after a landmine incident.


Brianne Shiraki (Christiansen...?)  I can't remember what her married last name is. -
  Just 'cause I know she'll read this.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Reasons it's awesome being a single college guy:

My college years are slowly coming to an end.  After December, I'll be just another person with a college degree.  It's about time; I'm almost 26 years old (I spent some time abroad and insane - don't worry about it).  I'm going to miss my college years dearly, but it's also time to move on.  So here are some of the greatest things about being a single college-attending male.


1)  "What time is it?  &*$# it, I don't even care."

I can lose track of time and it's not a big deal.  Aside from (maybe) classes (maaayyyyybe), I don't really have anywhere important I need to be.  Sometimes I have a meeting for X activity or I want to make it a point to run into Y girl, or I have to meet with Joe Bouchelle because I said Z ridiculous thing in class, but those are relatively rare (with the exception of situation Z, which is biweekly at least).  I'm a pretty self-sufficient student, so I rarely have study groups or tutoring or anything like that.  I can lose track of time and not even care.  That's something real (effective) adults can't do.

I'm an ineffective adult.  Whatever that means.


2)  "Who are you and why are you sleeping in my bed?"

I live in as close to a party house as you can get around here.  We have beds everywhere because, well, when you have an itch, you need to scratch it (and most of the time you want help).  Weekends are especially fun; I wake up and go out of my room and there literally are just a bunch of bodies everywhere that I have to step over to get my morning drink of water.  It's not rare for me to come out of my room and just find people that I've never seen before in some random corner of the house just hanging out.  I've stopped bothering myself to ask them who they are.  I never understand the answer anyway.  For some reason, that's fun for me.  It'll be something I miss once this whole college thing comes to an end.

Plus it's always a nice surprise when she's hot.


3)  "You're eating THAT for dinner?  Dude, I want some."

I can eat whatever I want - when I want.  Ice cream for breakfast?  I have no reason NOT to!  Corn dogs for dessert?  Normal people have corn bread - it's not too far off.  Double Stuff Oreos for brunch?  Guess brunch isn't for the feminines anymore.  I'm honestly surprised that I haven't managed to give myself scurvy in my time as a college student.  It's nearly depressing when I think to myself "I can't remember the last time I ate a vegetable or a fruit..."  But then I remember I have cookies and cream in the freezer and the depression disappears.  Sometimes I'm too lazy to get up and go to the kitchen to get something to eat, so I just eat whatever Halloween candy I have next to my bed and call it a meal.

"Lethargy" is one of the early symptoms of scurvy...


4)  "Who was that girl you were with last night?  No, the blonde, not the brunette."

I'm not one for the one-night stand (anymore).  But it is nice knowing that I can go out with a different girl every night if I want.  Girls don't have that luxury as much - their role in the dating world is to just sit and wait for someone to ask them out.  Sure, they have moves they can do to speed up the process, but in the end, it's usually the man's job to... well... be a man (and you know what that means).  Not having that control would drive me crazy because when I get a good date idea, I go on a date.  As long as the girl's schedule isn't already full, it's usually a pretty easy deal, too.  I just have to digest the butterflies in my stomach and call her (texting to ask someone out still seems lame in my book).

Boom.  Date acquired.


5)  Ear plugs + sleep mask = goodbye world

If I feel like just being alone for a while, I have the highest decibel earplugs money can buy and a memory foam sleep mask.  It's as close to sensory deprivation as a person can get without a medically-dedicated chamber (like in Daredevil - a claustrophobe's nightmare come true).  Normal adults can't do that - they have kids or a spouse that want their attention.  Having an entire afternoon dedicated to disappearing isn't ok for them, but it is for me.  And I don't even have to plan it - it just happens!

*looks online for sensory deprivation chamber*


6)  "I'll be right over.  I just need to find my pants."

I don't like pants.  That's no secret to anyone (and if it was, it no longer is because I'm publishing this on the internet).  When I'm in my room, about 85% of the time, I don't have pants on.  I just don't understand why we chose denim as our go-to fabric for pants.  Why not something stretchy?  Something that breathes a little better?  Something that isn't blue?  So I figure that in order to counteract all the time that I spend pants'd, I need to spend equal or more time unpants'd.  I'm in my room right now.  Can you guess the current status and location of my pants?

Text it to me, 'cause I honestly don't know.


7)  "You look like you just woke up."

I always look like I just woke up.  Sometimes it's because I just woke up (imagine that).  Sometimes it's because I'm still awake (far more likely).  Either way, I always smile a little when someone tells me that I look like I just woke up.  Not because they think I look like crap (that sucks).  But because I can look like I just woke up and it has no bearing on how my day goes (generally).  If I just look like I woke up while working some kind of job, my boss most likely isn't going to like that.  I don't really have a boss and professors aren't staring at me when they're grading my papers.  I can look like a slob and no one cares.

Extra bonus points:  I dress up and everyone notices.  Then I finish the day with a bunch of phone numbers that I don't plan on calling.  A lot of people can't say that.


8)  "You seem different lately."

This one is actually a little more serious.  I like that being single and in college means that I can change myself fairly quickly.  I'm talking about my personality.  Is there something I don't like about myself?  Boom.  Changed.  (Charlie Sheen'd)  Normal people have a tough time with that because their spouse or their boss expects them to be the way they normally are.  Changing bad habits is difficult to begin with - changing bad habits when everyone you know and care about expects you to keep those bad habits is exponentially more difficult.  It's often our preoccupations with how those we love perceive us that keep us from being better.

Be better.  I believe in you.


9)  Wall-E Bedsheets

I have Wall-E bedsheets.  I'm almost 26 years old.  I love Wall-E.  I also have a little doll that a friend gave me a few years ago of Wall-E.  Normal adults can't have bedsheets of cartoon characters.  They have to impress their wife or something like that.  I can decorate however I want and it's just the way I like it always.  I think it's sad when parents tuck their kids in at night and are jealous of their child's Spider-Man sheets.  That's not ok.  Everyone is entitled to their Spider-Man sheets (or sheets of their choosing).



Normally lists stop at a nice bow-on-the-top number (such as, for example, ten).  But I want to go do something else but I don't want to leave this post for something for me to do another day.  If there is anything great about the stage of life that you're in, feel free to comment it.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Conversations with real people in the library

I just saw a TV show where a girl was blogging and I was like "Hmm, yes.  That sounds nice."  Then she got beat by her husband.

The semester is well underway and my 6 credits are doing fine.  It's surprising how taking fewer classes actually makes it easier for me to fall behind (laziness gets kicked into hyperdrive).  But all I need to do to catch up is spend a day in the library.  I used to budget 3 days a week in the library until at least 6 o'clock.  Now it only takes me like 45 minutes to do everything I need to do.  What do I do with my extra free time?

Watch people.

And play video games.  But watching people is mostly what this blog post is about.

I tried getting a job (and by 'tried', i mean that i got a job, but then quit because i decided that pounding nails through the more sensitive parts of my body was better... not that i do that.  it's just a hypothetical to emphasize how much i hated the job).  So I quit my job right after training (i got to sit around and do nothing for like a week and get paid for it.  yes please!)

So I spend lots of time people-watching.

The SVU library is unique from any other library that I've been to.  In other libraries, you speak quietly and you leave people alone when they're trying to get work done.  If you're talking too loudly, you get shushed.  When you're looking for a book, a friendly (and often sexy) librarian checks with you and asks if you're finding everything alright (like they do in a grocery store - it always makes me feel uncomfortable).  In normal libraries, they have lines of tables where you can comfortably fit 4 people (who leave each other alone while studying).  In other libraries, they have entire sections devoted to things like Asian Studies and other useless (but strangely interesting) subjects.

Not the SVU library, no.  Here, we speak in full volume.  Librarians stay behind their desks and get annoyed if you ask for help.  If you're looking to meet new people, you come here.  Loud conversation is the norm and those that shush get shushed (madness!!).  On top of that, instead of rows of tables, we have couches everywhere.  Not joking.  Couches EVERYWHERE.  It reminds me of the beds in my house (we have beds everywhere - you know... just in case).  It isn't uncommon to see couples who are... um... 'occupying' the couches (and involved in a rigorous game of tonsil hockey).  And I'm not talking about teenage couples who are all high on uncontrollable hormones or anything like that.  I'm talking about married couples in their mid 20's going at it - oblivious and thinking they're invisible like an ostrich with its head in the sand (but the ostrich is making out with something... or something like that.  i'm sorry, i really need to work on my similes).  It's like other people don't exist.  And if they do, "why on earth are they watching us make out?  Creepers be creeping when we're sitting on the most accessible couch in a public library mimicking a mamma bird feeding its young (nailed it)."

But those entertaining things aren't the highlight of my weekly (and brief) visit to the library.  It's the conversations that really amuse me.  And with rare exception (me), these aren't conversations with imaginary people.  These are full-blown and often extremely serious, life-altering, potentially embarrassing conversations about any topic you can fathom - ranging from talks about personal hygiene to couples having DTRs at full volume (Define the Relationship, in case you didn't catch that.  abbreviations are cool).

I'm not joking when I say that I watched a couple get engaged in the library once.  I'm also not joking when I say that I saw them break up two weeks later in the library.  Now the girl is married to another guy, and they're always going at it like baboons in front of school children at the zoo.

THAT'S NOT OK!!!

The last time I was in the library, I decided that instead of doing (wretched) statistics homework, I'd sit in the acoustic sweet-spot (where you can hear everything) and write down every odd comment or conversation that I heard.  Here are some precious and choice entries from this last week (and my parenthesis commentary, as usual):


"He's like a brother to me.  A brother that I sometimes like to cuddle with and make out with sometimes because I'm emotional and on my period."  (firstly - redundant 'sometimes' is redundant.  secondly - ew)

"When guys go bald, does that mean they lose hair in other places too?"  (severe misunderstanding of male anatomy)

"Today I totally had a ninja moment!  I dropped my keys and I caught them before they hit the ground!  Everyone around me was like 'whoa'!"  (you're so special!)

"There's that guy who sniffs random strangers!" (most likely referring to me.  long story)

"The black one downstairs?  That one's nice and easily accessible, but I think the one in main hall by the back entrance is bigger and more pressurized." (drinking fountains, maybe?)

(on the phone) "Mom, I'm really really sorry!  Please don't be mad!  I had fast food last night!  I'm sooooooo sorry!"

"He said he won't date me anymore because I'm crazy and I remind him of his sister.  I think he only likes pretty girls."  (nooooo.  if i were to venture a guess, i'd say that he just doesn't like crazy girls who remind him of his sister... but i'm reading between the lines on that one)

"Now if you divide by Y, you get... eff."  (get it?  x/y = F?  get it?  Get It?  shut up, it's funny)

"I've done these physics problems like a dozen times and looked up the answers, but I still can't get the answers!!"  (have you tried looking up the answers?)

"I want to be pregnant, but I don't want to have a baby.  Is that weird?"  (yes)

"Have you ever smelled your tampon after using it?  It smells surprisingly good!"  (*hurl*)

"What happens when Pinocchio says 'my nose will now grow'"?  (you idiot!  it's obvious that it would... well... um... actually, that's a good question)

"Do you pee in the shower?"  (well yeah.  it's hard not to when you're taking a shit)