tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74023540636865282682024-02-06T22:09:20.410-06:00"A" for Effort ("B" for Blog)Diary of an anxiety-ridden, moody, control freak, perfectionist, career-changing, thirty something, over achiever, social work student.
I look forward to having you join me as I embark on my journey to save the world!Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.comBlogger102125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-61392922146562572832012-07-27T08:00:00.000-05:002012-07-27T09:05:23.411-05:00O for OptionsI got some exciting news yesterday. My field coordinator sent me an email with my options for senior field placement! As I briefly mentioned in my last post, my junior field placement is going to be hard to beat, because it was so incredibly awesome (more on that later, I promise). However, I have to admit that at least two of my options are quite intriguing.<br />
<br />
My first option, Agency A, works with current and ex-offenders from the correctional system to secure employment and other resources. I would also be given the opportunity to do some group work with adolescent girls on probation. My field coordinator wrote: “The challenge for you in this placement maybe (sic) working with a significant African American male offender population given the events having transpired in your family with the loss of your sister.” Apparently my field coordinator took my junior placement supervisor very seriously when she said he’d better find me an appropriately challenging senior field placement or she’d snatch me back up, because it “would be a crime to ruin a fantastic social worker with such incredible innate abilities by sending her somewhere boring.”<br />
<br />
After expressing his concern over the challenges this opportunity could offer, my field instructor wrote, “I want to find an internship that would challenge you as you are among my exceptional students and I do not want you to be bored.” Good. Very good. I don’t want to be bored. I don’t do well with bored. *PUTTING BRAGGART HAT ON* I always suspected I was an exceptional student, but I don’t know that I’d ever grow tired of actually hearing it! ;-) *TAKING BRAGGART HAT OFF*<br />
<br />
I have some reservations, the least of which is working with “a significant African American male offender population.” Granted, that is a valid concern given that I did have some post-traumatic stress type reactions to African American males in the 16-25 age range within the year or so after my sister’s death. However, I believe I’ve worked past that. During my junior internship, I did a lot of home visits, some of which involved spending time in the homes of some men meeting this description. Though I was there primarily to focus on their children, I had no issues with being in the homes of these men or near them. I take that as a good sign.<br />
<br />
My reservations are with the fact that this is a new agency that my field instructor just recently recruited, meaning he truly has no idea what a social work intern will do there beyond what he’s been told by the staff. I interviewed at an agency for junior field placement where what they’d told the instructor I would do was very far away from what they told me I would do, and what they told me I would do was very very far away from what actual interns placed there did. NO students EVER should’ve been placed there given what I reported back to my supervisor regarding my interview, but he didn’t believe me or didn’t want to listen. Thus, they ended up with three students very bitter that they didn’t get to do any social work at all in their junior social work internships. Needless to say, that left me with a lack of confidence in my field instructor.<br />
<br />
That said, I will schedule the interview and will follow my gut. I’m excited to learn more about this opportunity. <br />
<br />
The second agency, Agency B, I haven’t been able to find out much about. They’re a community mental health organization that offers recovery-oriented services to help individuals with serious mental illness live successfully in their communities. I am eager to go to this interview to get more details about the position and the agency. Mental health is the alley I want to go down, which is why I want to complete my master’s degree, so this could be a great opportunity.<br />
<br />
The third agency, Agency C, conducts forensic interviews of children who have reported sexual abuse, witnessed violent crime, or who may have otherwise been victimized. My role as an intern would be providing crisis intervention, support, and other direct services to clients and their families. This opportunity sounds intense, but “crisis intervention” sets off red flags as that’s what I did in my previous internship. My goals for field placement are to be challenged and to learn something new, and crisis intervention isn’t new or challenging at this point. I won’t rule it out yet. I look forward to getting all the details at the interview and using that information to help with my final decision.<br />
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Of course, I don’t get to make the final decision. My field instructor does. He’ll listen to what I have to say when I give my thoughts on each interview, and he’ll use that to guide his decision, but he has the ultimate say. This is a very exciting and nerve wracking time! Internships need to be finalized and in place by the end of August so we can start the first week of September. I’ll fill you in on interviews and the decision making process as I go, lovely reader! <br />
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-54328672838065547262012-07-25T16:32:00.002-05:002012-07-25T16:38:18.203-05:00H for Here I AmHave you ever been so incredibly stressed and exhausted that you can’t even stand being around yourself? Yeah…that’s me right now. I know that must make it seem all the more odd than I’m suddenly resurrecting this blog that died a slow death towards the beginning of the year. <br />
<br />
I’m back because I think this can be a good self-care outlet for me. It definitely has been before. And, since I’ll have to do a lot of journaling in the near future as part of my senior social work field placement, I should have a regular source of material soon. Actually, I have <strike>billions</strike> <strike>millions</strike> lots of ideas now for things I can write about that have already happened. In short, I have no shortage of material. What I do have is a shortage of time, but that’s nothing new. <br />
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I really wanted this blog to serve as a record of my time in social work school, and I ruined that by giving up so soon and putting it on the back burner. I have literally been in a sort of survival mode for at least the past six months though. Meaning every little thing in my life was prioritized and scheduled, and some things just didn’t make the cut. That's just how it had to be in order for me to survive social work school and life in general.<br />
<br />
Going forward, I’m going to try to schedule at least weekly posts to summarize what has happened and what is yet to happen (as it happens). If I find myself with an abundance of rare free time, I’ll write a post or two and schedule them for the future. For now, a list of highlights and lowlights that have occurred over the past six months…some of which may or may not be expanded on in the future.<br />
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<div>
</div>
<strong>Highlights</strong><br />
<ul>
<li><strong>I ran a 10k (6.2 miles…<em>AND </em>I didn’t die)!!!</strong> I said back in March that I wanted to complete a 10k by the end of the year, and I ended up feeling ready (at least as ready as I could be) three days before my birthday in May. I wanted to finish in under an hour and a half, and I did (though just slightly). Of course, I didn’t run for almost two whole months after that due to time and other factors, but I recently found my way back to running and hope to maintain a running once a week schedule.</li>
<li><strong>I’ve maintained my 4.0 GPA.</strong> With less than 5 months* left of social work school, I have managed to maintain my 4.0 GPA. (*Technically…at least at the bachelor’s level. I will be extending my senior field placement into February in order to earn more credits that I need to make graduation numbers and to take less time off of work per week. I also <strike>am a masochist</strike> have fallen in love with clinical social work, which requires an MSW, so I’m thinking about <strike>torturing myself</strike> retaining student status for at least another year to complete my masters degree. IF I can find the time to do the entrance essays!)</li>
<li><strong>I not only survived, but also thrived in, my first social work field placement (internship).</strong> I will definitely talk more about this one in the future. I completed my last week working with emotionally and behaviorally disturbed children experiencing mental health crisis at the beginning of this month, and I’m still incredibly sad that it’s over. I did not for a million years think I’d enjoy working with children, especially this particular population. I walked away from the experience a new person. I absolutely fell in love with the clientele, crisis work, and have affirmed that social work is, indeed, the right line of work for me. I’m nervous and excited for senior field placement to begin in September.</li>
<li><strong>I removed my </strong><a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2012/03/m-for-mother.html"><strong>toxic mother</strong></a><strong> from my life.</strong> My mother has been toxic and emotionally abusive my whole life, and I finally got the strength and courage (and got sick enough of her crap) to remove her from my life. No longer do I have to put up with her incessant, unrealistic demands, accusations, and whining.</li>
</ul>
<strong>Lowlights</strong><br />
<ul>
<li><strong>I’ve maintained my 4.0 GPA.</strong> Wait? <em>WHAT?!</em> Yeah…it’s definitely a highlight and an accomplishment, but it’s left me completely exhausted and super burnt out. Every semester, I’ve said I won’t work myself so hard and that I’ll adopt the “sometimes done is better than perfect” motto, and every semester I work my butt off and stress myself out to get As. I rationalize that this is necessary, because getting into grad school is competitive, so I need as high a GPA as possible. I could definitely afford to let up on myself a bit though. I’m trying. I really am. It’s a process.</li>
<li><strong>I removed my toxic mother from my life.</strong> Don’t get me wrong, I don’t miss the drama. However, there isn’t a complete lack of drama. Every once in a while, my mom rears her ugly head in attempt to bring me back into her life or to vent her anger at me, and this particular drama is far worse than any ever was before. She’s awful, vindictive, and spews some of the nastiest venom. I don’t have the energy or inclination to deal with it at this point, so sometimes it makes me completely lose my s---- and just breakdown, which isn’t cool. Also, I haven’t seen my nephew in months and my sister barely speaks to me anymore (she needs to keep things good with mom, who serves as her daycare, etc.). I’ve made my peace with all of that, but that’s not to say it doesn’t get difficult at times.</li>
<li><strong>My sister is pregnant.</strong> With her abuser’s baby. (For backstory, you can search around the blog and find more info on my sister and her abuser.) Yeah…that’s pretty much ‘nough said, huh? They’re not back together. <em>Yet</em>. This will be their third child together, and they really can’t handle (mentally, emotionally, or financially) the two they already have. It was a “stupid moment of weakness” type thing. My sister isn’t proud of it. My mind is boggled as to why she chose to keep it, but that is her decision and hers alone.</li>
</ul>
<br />
So, that’s that, lovely reader. (If there are any left.) Though I haven’t been commenting, I’ve been reading the blogs of those I used to read and comment on regularly. With school winding down and me only having to take a couple classes a week instead of 4-6, I'm hoping to be around a whole lot more.<br />
<br />
<div>
</div>
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-13192974926692840202012-03-05T19:55:00.000-06:002012-03-05T19:55:20.506-06:00M for "Mother"<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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There’s no way of sugarcoating this, so I’ll just say it…my
own mom unfriended me on Facebook this past weekend. That’s right, folks! If
you live and die by Facebook, you now know that I am such an all out awful
person that my own mother cannot be friends with me. Thankfully, I am not
such a person, so my self esteem isn’t even close to shattered. It’s more
likely you’re extremely jealous of me. LOL!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish I could share my secrets for how you too can have
your mom unfriend you on Facebook, but you have to start out with a batshit crazy mom, so
many of you are likely out of luck.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I am more than happy to no longer have my mom on my
Facebook friends list, this whole thing has repercussions off of Facebook as
well and I’m left feeling pretty angry and sad about the whole thing. I absolutely
cannot believe the lengths my own mother will go to, in her pervasive and
almost sick need for drama, to get attention.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It all started with a tattletale…</div>
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My mom has posted two pictures of my six year old nephew in
his underwear over the past week. This didn’t sit well with me, as I think six
is too old for those kinds of pictures to be taken and placed on a social
networking site; especially on the profile of an <s>attention whore </s><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>individual who is “friends” with half
the world and doesn’t really utilize privacy settings. (Because how then would
she maximize the amount of attention she receives?) I am, however, not a
parent, so I thought I could just be being too sensitive based on the fact that
we have recently been discussing over sexualized and sexually abused children
in social work school. I decided to put it to a vote. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Were the majority of people to confirm my suspicions that
those types of photos are inappropriate for social media or the internet, I was
going to bite the bullet and talk to my mom about my thoughts. Even though
telling her you disagree with something she’s doing never works out well,
because she is childish, and anytime I’ve brought up concerns with her in the
past she’s either ignored them or pretended to appreciate what I say only to
turn around and backstab me to someone else. (Yeah…she’s really a gem of a
mother.)</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I utilized Facebook’s group and privacy settings to put up a
status that my mother, and people I thought would tattle to my mother, could
not see. I asked what people thought the cutoff age for such pictures should be
or what they thought of nude/half nude pictures of children in general. After a
couple people weighed in basically agreeing with me, I went into more detail
and asked specifically what people thought of pictures of six year olds in
underwear and explaining why I was asking (i.e. mom posted two underwear pics
of nephew in a week and it doesn’t sit well with me). Well, apparently I didn’t
do a good enough job determining <s>just how far up my mom’s ass some people
are</s> who might be a tattletale, because someone tattled to my mommy.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m out <s>stuffing my face with amazing pizza</s> having a
lovely dinner with my husband Saturday night and get this dramatic text:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">“I have nothing to say to your ears. When u can TALK to me
and my heart I WILL listen.”*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">*Everything in colored text and quotes from this point forward is exactly as it was written, which means as much as it pains me, I haven't corrected spelling mistakes or grammar.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Nice, huh? She’s a poet, isn’t she? Also, remember this text
because it will come into play later.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought I knew what this pertained to, but I wasn’t going
to play games with her. I texted back: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">“What?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because I'm simple like that. It took about fifteen minutes for her to reply, because she
was very busy unfriending me and my husband—who she insisted just last week
<i>needed</i> to be her Facebook friend—and posting a dramatic status on Facebook.
This was her reply:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">“FACE BOOK. I am so sad YOU became so non verbal and
distant.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love how she uses big concept like nonverbal (not
correctly, of course, because it is only one word) as though she is some sort
of educated, highly evolved, and caring mother. And distant? Wow…way to finally catch on. I’ve
been distant for <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">years</i></b> now. Partially because school has kept me beyond busy the
past few years, partially because I’m sick of watching her try to profit from
my sister’s death, and mostly because she’s been a shit mom my whole life and
as an adult <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I</i></b> finally get to decide how my relationships will play out.
Also, I can’t stand watching her screw up my nephew’s life. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I replied with this: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">“Sorry you’re sad…I’m also sorry that
tattletales start drama and you play into it. I WAS going to discuss my
concerns with you, but was trying to figure out if I was off base first. I’m
only as distant as you allow me to be and am plenty verbal, thanks. Gets really
old talking and not being listened to or having what I say not matter though,
so…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have brought up <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">numerous
</i>concerns regarding my nephew and other issues over the past few years. Because
she said after my sister’s death that my nephew would be raised by a village
now, I foolishly assumed I was part of that village and figured my words would matter.
They didn’t. Not once has anything I said mattered. As I said above, she does
one of a few things when I bring up concerns regarding my nephew: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(1) Pretends to give a shit about what I say and then just
flat out ignore it.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(2) Feels threatened by the fact that I'm smarter than her, decides I'm only saying what I am to be "better" than her, and tells me that I don’t understand or am confused and
refuses to explain it so I will understand. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(3) Lies and tells me that an “expert” like a counselor or
someone told her ABC advice, which is clearly different from and better than
mine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(4) Backstabs me and drags me through the mud to other people
or on Facebook (before this it was usually in ambiguous status messages that only I
understood were about me).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(5) Gets better about hiding the things I’m concerned about
so that she can continue to do what she wants and not have to worry about me
chiming in. (i.e. She told me my nephew would no longer see/talk to the
murderer’s family, because I was right that really no good could come of it and
they might have underlying motives. Of course, she didn’t come to this conclusion due to anything I said. She
figured this out after a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">radio psychic</i>
told her my sister’s spirit is still around to protect my nephew, because she
doesn’t like that my mother is allowing the relatives of my nephew’s
father—also known as my sister’s murderer—around my nephew. Yes. You read that
right. She trusts radio psychics before her own daughter. All was good for a
while, but she eventually refriended them on Facebook and even invited them to
the memorial bonfire for my sister this year.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She did not reply to my last text. Apparently, not only did
she not have anything to say to my ears, but she also no longer had anything to
say to my eyes either. She sure did have a mouthful to say on Facebook though!
Are you surprised? You shouldn’t be. My mother is clearly a thirteen year old
girl. I have been the adult, and she the child, since I was around ten years
old. I am 33 now, so you can imagine what a long couple of decades it’s been.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ever the victim, this is the dramatic status she posted
right after she unfriended me on Facebook:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">“JUST unfriended someone. FB I’m outta Here. Just in it for
the games now. I wont be offending anymore people with my pictures.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She got 18 comments and one like from friends who buy her
bullshit lies and play into her drama. In the ultimate show of solidarity (and
to illustrate just how infantile they can be) my mom’s
husband also changed his profile picture to the infamous George Costanza
picture (shown below) but with his head Photo Shopped onto the body. (He is a Photo Shop wizard, ya'll!)</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://cache.jezebel.com/assets/images/39/2010/03/george_costanza.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="http://cache.jezebel.com/assets/images/39/2010/03/george_costanza.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mom commented on this photo: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">“Oh no! Is that you in ur
undies? ;-)” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hilarious, right?! Yeah….they’re the grownups, folks. In
addition to my previous concerns about underwear pics of my nephew, I’m now
concerned that he’s being raised by people whose cognitive capacity, executive
functioning, maturity, and intelligence he now far surpasses at the ripe old
age of six.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the 18 comments she received on her dramatic status
was from my aunt, we’ll just call her Trashy McTrasherson, who told her:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">“tell them to KISS YOUR @#$%^&. kepp doing what your
doing.If you dont want to deal with person SEND THEM MY WAY”</span> Because it’s super
easy to be tough on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Facebook </i>when you
live hundreds of miles away and are complete trash.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mom responded to said aunt with:<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">“it’s FAMILY and we both
know I cant turn my back on FAMILY…My oldest.”</span> Then followed that comment up
with this gem: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">“Just want to make her list of APPROVAL and get a bit more
physical support instead of excuses and back biting.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because my mother is a martyr and loves to lie. My mom
excels at lying. If she could find a job doing it, she might just be able to
hold down a job. She turned her back on me quite awhile ago, depending on from
whose vantage point you’re looking and what counts as turning one’s back. If
you count the first time she ever called me derogatory names or sad horrible
things no parent should ever say to a child, she turned her back on me when I
was about 10. If you count going on a “family trip” that you mention to your
daughter only a few days before without having invited her, then she only just
turned her back on me last summer and again a couple months ago for good
measure. She treats just about everyone in her life better than she’s
ever treated me, including her weirdo stalker (her words, not mine) “best friend” who moved in with
them months ago and might be just as mentally unstable, if not more so, than I
believe my mother to be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She wants to make <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my </i>list
of approval? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">REALLY?!! </i>Wow…that’s
news to me. And to think I’ve spent most of my life trying to get her approval,
or at the very least, just to get her to say something somewhat positive or
nice about me to my face and mean it. She’s notorious for talking about what a
smart, wonderful daughter I am in front of other people, because then she gets
the credit for being my mother and making me that way. In private, however,
it’s a different story and she deserves absolutely no credit at all for any of
my positive attributes (of which I’m told by independent, verifiable sources
there are many). The credit for those goes to my resilience, intelligence,
drive, and other mysterious factors that thankfully prevented me from turning out anything at all
like her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From about the age of nine or ten on, in addition to
basically raising her kids for her, I was emotionally and psychologically
abused on a regular basis. Her favorite thing to do was to belittle any of my
happy moments or successes by telling me I was a “Prima Donna Bitch who thinks
you’re better than everyone else.” The real kicker? In her public praise, she’d
call me her Prima Ballerina. Sick, huh? Words <i>do </i>hurt people, and they do leave scars. Good old mom! I have honestly lost
count of how many times she’s called me a bitch alone, never apologized for the caustic words she's spewed, and went on
to pretended nothing happened.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet she was surprised when I started saving up and buying
household supplies at fifteen in preparation for moving out on my own. I’m not
joking! By the time I finally moved out of her house at twenty, I had
everything I needed to setup a house, except furniture. Every penny I made was used to put gas in my car, so that I could continue to get to work and school, and all of the rest went towards buying dishes,
towels, small kitchen appliances, and whatever else I thought I might need for
life on my own. I wanted out, and not just because she wanted me out. I was
burnt out and tired, sick of being the only adult in the house, and sick of
being abused for no good reason.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As far as the physical support she seeks, I believe that
refers to her wanting me to take my nephew off her hands more often to give her
a break. As much as I love to see him, it breaks my heart that I have neither
the time nor the energy to keep a six year old for a whole weekend. I have told
her repeatedly we’d be glad to have him overnight here or there and that all
she needs to do is let me know about a week in advance so that I can prepare by
getting homework and housework done early. Apparently that’s not good enough. When
we do have him stay, I just get sad. The more time I spend with him, the more I
realize that he is becoming more like them and less like his awesome mother
every single day. That just hurts deep down to my very core. Not to mention that she made it very clear to me last time I brought up a concern with her that I was no longer part of the village that raised him. She posted on Facebook about how her family (meaning those living in her house) and those who matter know and understand what's going on with him and all that she's doing to give him a better life. It was very apparent I was not one of those who mattered since I was not aware of all that she was doing, which was evidenced by the expression of my concerns.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As far as “back biting” is concerned, that wasn’t what I was
doing with my original Facebook post. But, she’ll never know that, because she
chooses to believe what a stranger with no life (i.e. Facebook Tattletale) told
her over her own daughter. Also, despite having had the opportunity to learn
from the back biting grand champion, I have never really picked up this “talent.”
And what the fuck is it called when you drag your daughter through the mud all
over Facebook? Is that something different than back biting?! It must be,
because someone as evolved and adult as my mother surely wouldn’t engage in such
behavior.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For excuses, I think she’s referring to the fact that I
missed the memorial bonfire for my sister this year (first time in the four
years she’s been gone) because I had a migraine. She’s a bitch for calling my
medical issues an excuse, but then again she’s never understood my medical
issues and likely never will. She’s entirely too selfish to truly care how much
suffering migraines cause for me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, that dramatic victim status she posted was only
for attention. She wasn’t truly “outta Here” and proceeded to post yet another status
on Facebook yesterday. (Yes, I have my tattletales too. No, seriously…she was
just too stupid or too hysterical to unfriend my dog, so I peeked on her page
before having my dog unfriended her. In the Facebook hierarchy, I still think I
win the title of most awesomest unfriending of all time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unless, of course, getting unfriended
by a dog is worse than being unfriended by your mom, in which case she is the
ultimate grand champion of being unfriended.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">“Am very teary eyed that I had soooo much unresolved drama
with my oldest yesterday. She still hasn’t a clue on how the phone works for
more than texting.”</span> (Sadly, only six likes and three comments of support on this
one.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Someone posted a picture an ubber encouraging picture of the
Cat In The Hat with the Dr. Seuss quote: “Be who you are and say what you feel,
because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.” (<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Clearly</i></b>
missing the point that what started all of this in the first place was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me </i>saying what I felt.) My mom then
commented under that <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">“Sad thing is the person I deleted is my oldest child.I
thought I raised my kids with the comfort that they could TALK to me when
things bothered them :(”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And, once again, who’s the backbiter now? Seriously?! You’re
sad over unresolved drama YOU CREATED?!?! Are you fucking serious?! It’s
laughable that she says <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I </b>don’t know
how to use the phone for more than texting when <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she’s</i> always the one who texts <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me</i>.
That is pretty much the only way she ever communicates with me. All holiday and
birthday invites from her are texts, she randomly texts me shit my nephew
wants, and she texts me all the time saying she'd like to come meet me for lunch and then never actually follows through. Since that’s the way she chooses to communicate, I simply respond to her
texts. In fact, if you scroll back up, you’ll see that it was a text from her
that started all of this! Was I supposed to call her after she said she had
nothing to say to my ears?! So I’m supposed to just call and start <s>groveling</s>
<s>pleading for forgiveness</s> talking (about how wrong I was, because clearly it is I who was wrong and started this drama)? How was I
supposed to know her heart was ready to listen so soon?!?!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She thought wrong about how she raised her kids too,
apparently. First of all, she would’ve actually had to raise her own goddamn
kids. As far as I’m concerned, I and my maternal grandparents did that. Also,
see above. Anytime I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>have </i>tried to <i>TALK</i> to her when
anything’s bothered me, be it about my nephew or anything else, she’s responded
in one of the five ways above. You know what <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that’s </i>taught me? You can’t talk to her. It is not worth my extremely precious time to try to talk to her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It slays me that so many people commented on and liked all
this drama on her page. I am seriously afraid for society that there are so
many people who are that blatantly stupid walking this planet. At the very
least, they can’t seem to realize that this crazy psycho who is dragging her
own daughter through the mud all over Facebook just might not be mother of the
year. With one quarter of her children dead, <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/09/t-for-trials-and-tribulations.html">thanks in part to her</a>, and half of
her children (both my brother and I) barely talking to her (or at this point
not talking to her at all, which in my brother’s case has been going on for a
few months now), these people can’t see that she just might play a role in
that?! Seriously? I’m at a complete loss then. I really am. People like that
are just too stupid to live.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though I’m angry and sad, I am also very relieved. My mother
is finally out of my life. Hopefully for good. It's been a longtime coming. I can tell you that this will
not be repaired for a good long time, if ever. She has a lot of apologizing to
do before I’ll even consider speaking with her. In the meantime, I won’t miss the drama. I won’t
miss what a fucking hypocrite she is. (The best example of this being her
bragging all over Facebook and everywhere else about what a domestic violence
advocate she is as a result of my youngest sister’s death. Yet she encourages,
to the point of almost forcing, my whole family to accept my middle sister’s ex’s
presence at family evens because he is still part of the family despite the
fact that he tried to <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2011/05/h-for-helpless-for-angry.html">strangle my sister to death</a> this past summer. He is,
after all, the father of my sister’s children, and that totally takes precedence
over attempted murder.) I will not miss <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">HER.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am finally free. I am at peace. I have plenty of love and
support and people who know and appreciate just how amazing I am. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
**********************************</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You're awesome if you made it through all that, lovely reader! What say you? Was I off base? Is six too old to be posting half naked pictures online? Why do you think so many people blindly and unquestioningly follow an obviously mentally unbalanced attention whore like my mom? Have you had Facebook drama lately that you would like to share?</div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-80757948884746875542012-01-27T21:15:00.002-06:002012-01-27T21:16:50.264-06:00N for Nothing To See Here<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since it’s been so long since I posted, I thought I’d just
give some quick updates on what’s been going on in my life since my last post.
I am not even going to try to explain my long absence. I hate making excuses,
and everything I have to say will likely just sound “excusey.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have officially survived my first semester of social work
school and am now just under a year away from graduation!!! The second term (or
last half of the semester as semesters are broken out into two 8 week terms)
was absolutely brutal. Mega huge and time consuming writing assignments and
group presentations were the order of the term, which culminated in a lot of
work and one exhausted Elle. I somehow managed to earn A’s in all of my
classes, and I feel pretty damn good about that. I am proud to say that I also
landed myself on the Dean’s List! Gotta love it when hard work pays off.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Know what else I feel pretty good about? The major changes
I’ve made over the past year. I’ve been kinda down on myself due to gaining a
few pounds over the holidays. But when I really consider all that I’ve
accomplished this year, I’m pretty amazed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve lost over 46 pounds and will hopefully reach 50 by my one
year anniversary on Weight Watchers. That means I’ve been planning and packing
2-3 meals a day to take to work with me for almost a whole year now (breakfast
and lunch most days, and dinner on school days). WOW! Though I seem to have hit
a plateau in actual weight loss, I can see and feel the difference in my body,
which helps to keep me motivated.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
New Year’s Day marked one year of not smoking, and I’ve started
running. In fact, MusicMan and I started 2012 off right by running a 5k (that’s
3.1 miles) on New Year’s Day. We might not have celebrated New Year’s Eve in
grand style, in fact we didn’t even get to watch the ball drop because we had
to be up early to get to the run, but we really felt as though we kicked the
New Year off right. The aptly named Polar Dash was the third 5k I’ve run so far.
Thanks to the cold and the hilly course, it was also the most difficult run
I’ve completed to date. I made it through (just barely), finishing in 42
minutes and 53 seconds, and was so freakin’ proud of myself for persevering! I
definitely earned the finisher’s medal I got at the end.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I cannot believe I’ve become a runner, but I have!! I
looooooove the beginning and ends of races and runs—it’s true what they say
about a runner’s high. However, I sometimes really hate the middle part. LOL.
Running is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hard</i>! I find that
sometimes I really have to push myself, and my asthma makes it even more
difficult, but running intervals really helps. I currently do a ratio of
running 30 seconds (which doesn’t seem like a lot until you’re doing it) and
walking 60 seconds. My nifty Gymboss helps me time my intervals. I’m going to
move to 30 second running and 45 second walking next week to see how it goes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have a goal to complete a 10k (6.2 miles) by the end of
the year. Musicman and I are running a race sponsored by my company this
Saturday (5k for me and 10k for him), are signed up to do a Valentine’s 5k in
February, and will be signing up for a Lucky 7k (4.3 miles) in March. I find
that, if I sign up for a race a month, it gives me a goal to work towards and
keeps me running. I’m a proud slow runner. I’m not trying to be the fastest or
to win any races. I run to improve my health and fitness. I run to run.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am super excited for the year ahead. I’ll start my first
internship in March. I’m pretty happy with the results of my application.
There’s one really awesome domestic violence opportunity and a couple
opportunities to work with homeless youth. You’re supposed to go out of your comfort
zone for the first internship, because it gives you the opportunity to stretch
both personally and professionally, so I was thinking of accepting anything but
the domestic violence position. Then I realized that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anything </i>at this point is out of my comfort zone as I have
virtually no experience working with clients in a helping capacity. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now I really am leaning towards the domestic violence
option, because I think it will be a good opportunity for me to find out if I
truly do want to head down that path and am cut out to work with domestic
violence victims, or if I’m just pursuing it because it seems like where I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">should </i>go given my personal experiences.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will also have the opportunity to reflect on why I want to
work with domestic violence victims. Am I doing it just to save women like my
sister, because I couldn’t save my sister? If so, I could be setting myself up
for serious disappointment, frustration, and sadness. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
OR </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Am I doing it because I genuinely believe my personal
experiences with domestic violence give me the unique ability to really relate
with victims, which will allow me to potentially help changes the lives of many
women?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It will also be a good opportunity to see if working with
victims is traumatic for me in any way and, if so, to do the work to deal with
that trauma or to find another population to serve. (I’m also interested in
hospital/crisis social work and child protection at this point.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s all for now. It looks like this semester is much more
reading intensive, and almost all my classes have a journaling requirement that
will perhaps fit very nicely with blogging, so I hope to be around more
regularly.</div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-49349083271010178102011-11-13T17:53:00.001-06:002011-11-13T18:01:41.391-06:00S for Self-Care<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once again it would seem I’ve neglected the blog. Poor, poor
blog. Good thing we have the relationship we do, you and I. You <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">get </i>me. You understand that, even when
I’m busy, I don’t forget about you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In order to ease gently into posting after such a long
absence, I’m just going to give a quick recap of my first term (8 weeks) of
social work school.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We learned about self-care. It was one of the most important things we learned. It’s absolutely essential in a
profession like social work, which tends to involve work that is often
thankless, frustrating, emotionally exhausting, and a myriad of other not
exactly pleasant adjectives. It’s hard to believe I can’t wait to join the
profession, isn’t it! ;-) I’ve worked on exercising good self-care by returning
to knitting, which I absolutely love. I’ve probably over exercised self-care in
that I’ve sometimes placed priority on knitting over homework. <i>OOPS</i>!!!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve dabbled in running again. Musicman and I are signed up
to do the Turkey Day 5k in Minneapolis on Thanksgiving morning. It remains to
be seen whether I’ll walk or run it. I will likely do a combination of the two
with more of the former and less of the latter. I just might not be cut out to
be a runner in any way, shape, or form, but I’m not quite ready to give up
completely. I've moved to interval training, which seems to be working pretty well. I'm currently doing 30 second runs with one minute walks. My goal is to increase the running and decrease the walking, but with my asthma, I just might need to remain at these intervals for a while and that's ok.<br />
<br />
I need to keep doing whatever it is I’ve done this first 8 weeks, because I did
veeeeeery well. My streak of A’s continues. 4.0 GPA, baby! I doubt this will
last, but I’m going to enjoy it while I can.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve developed some great friendships with members of my
cohort and truly see some of these people turning into lifelong friends. Half
the class went out for drinks on our last Thursday of the first 8 week term, and
though I regretted the next day how late I’d stayed out, I was too ecstatic
over having bonded with some of my classmates to care about how tired I was.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every one of my four instructors has given high compliments
on my writing, which just means the world to me. I’ve done a very good job of
working on being concise, but I still have a ways to go. Of course, just when I
got used to writing short papers, we’re assigned longer ones. I think I have
three or four 10-15 page papers due by the end of this term. Fun stuff!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do not like the advisor of the social work program, who
also happens to be the instructor of the general practice class I’m currently
taking. She sucks at communication. She provides no guidance and is often
unclear in her expectations. (I know, I know…welcome to social work!) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Class time with her is all about what a
great social worker she was (is?), and none of us feel as though we’ve really
learned all that much. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also, she’s supposed to be working out some credit transfer
issues for me, which she assured me would be done by the end of the fall
semester, but we’re now halfway through and there’s been no progress. Needless
to say, I’ve lost trust in her and I don’t have much respect for her at this
point. If the credit issue doesn’t get figured out soon, my ability to pay for
the rest of the program (i.e. financial aid) could be in jeopardy. I am not
pleased.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had a really uncomfortable and difficult conversation with
my boss about eventually moving to part-time at work. I explained that field
practice starts in March and that I can’t do 25 hours a week in internship and
40 hours a week at work. The reality that I will be leaving here someday hit
him hard. That reality also hit me a lot harder than I thought it would.
I just celebrated 14 years with the company...I’ve basically grown up there;
it’s really all I know. It’s hard to believe that I will be leaving within the
next couple years.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m hoping BossMan decides he wants to work with me on this,
and thus will keep me around on a part-time basis. I made it clear that, if
this wasn’t possible, the only alternative was for me to leave. Now I wait…not
only to find out what his decision will be but also to find out where I’ll go
for my first field placement and all that’s involved with that. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m scared. I have had a job and my own source of income
since I was 13, so the prospect of being jobless and having no income makes me
almost physically ill. However, I have to do what’s best for me. I am fortunate
to have the love and support of my amazing husband and am trying not to worry too much.
Things will work out. It might not all go exactly as I’ve planned, but I’ll
find a way to make it all work. There’s an exciting journey ahead; that’s for
sure!</div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-41064136275369061822011-09-21T19:46:00.002-05:002011-09-21T19:47:16.733-05:00C for CohortHello, lovely reader! I’ve written before about the <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2009/11/importance-of-support-system.html">importance of a support system</a> for adult students (and, really, any student for that matter). Much of what I wrote there still stands. In fact, the further I’ve gotten along in school, the more I realize just how necessary a good support system truly is. Sadly, I seem to have lost quite a bit of that support along the way as friends and family members seemingly all decided I’m entirely too busy to <i>be</i> bothered with (which is what they tell themselves, I’m sure, to feel better), but more accurately <i>to</i> bother with.<br />
<br />
It seems everyone just thinks, “Elle’s too busy with school” without actually asking me if that’s the case. It’s frustrating. And while, yes, there have been quite a few times that I’ve said no to invitations, I don’t think it justifies writing me off forever. It’s frustrating, and frankly, hurts a little bit; especially when I consider how much support I’ve provided to individuals I suddenly find have abandoned me. I mean, really, how hard is it to send the occasional “How are you?” email or text?!<br />
<br />
On the other hand, I truly don’t have a lot of free time. And while I feel badly about that, I also feel as though I’ve tried to prepare people’s expectations, and I’d hope that <i>truly supportive</i> friends and family members would understand that I’m never too busy for a quick chat here or there or a few emails or texts back and forth. I’m thankful for the few who do understand that.<br />
<br />
I guess, despite my best attempts at explanations, a lot of people don’t understand just how much work it is to be an adult student who works full time and has a family of her own. I never thought it would be such a lonely and isolating experience. I am, fortunately, now involved with a group of people who <i>do</i> understand and <i>can</i> relate: My cohort—errrrm—<b>learning community</b>.<br />
<br />
I don’t think I’ve mentioned it before, but the social work program I’m in is setup as a cohort model, which means we progress through the program together as a group. Unlike community college, where I had a new set of classmates for each class, I’ll be with the same group the whole way through social work school. I’ve only been in a school for a few weeks now, but I can already tell that the learning community concept can be both good and bad. I think it will be mostly good though.<br />
<br />
I can definitely see the potential for lifelong friendships to form based on the fact that we’re all in the trenches together. Who better to provide support and lend an ear than those who are actually in the same position as you are? And, of course, it’s advantageous for a social worker to remain connected to other social workers for educational and networking purposes, and we all have that network built for us already. It’s just up to us to maintain it beyond school.<br />
<br />
We’ve really lucked out, because there are three men in our learning community, which means both the female and male perspectives are represented. This is unusual, since it seems men don’t often choose social work as a profession. Our program coordinator told us it’s been a while since they’ve had a cohort, or learning community, that has included even one man. So, it’s pretty great that we get that male perspective. I, for one, am grateful for it.<br />
<br />
So far I find my learning community, which is comprised of about sixteen students, to be a fascinating mix of individuals. Introductions have been interesting, and I’ve already learned a lot from, and shared a lot with, my classmates. We bring varied life experiences, ideals, and goals to the table, which provides for lively and interesting conversation and is a great opportunity to hear thoughts and perspectives different from my own. I already feel a sense of camaraderie with the group—there’s a good vibe—and I only hope that continues to grow.<br />
<br />
Of course, the learning community model is not without its problems. You know how we all have those types we just don’t mesh with? (Be honest, lovely reader…if there’s anything I’ve learned from blogging and life in general it’s that none of us exists in a vacuum. Meaning, even when I think no one gets it or I’m the only one who feels something, I’m usually not.) Well, there’s a classmate or two I don’t see myself ever really meshing well with. That doesn’t mean there’s anything particularly wrong with these individuals, of course. It just means that, for one reason or another, they rub me the wrong way.<br />
<br />
Now, combine the minor annoyance caused by those individuals you don’t really see eye to eye with, the fact that you’ve had a looooooooooong (and maybe wee bit stressful) day at work and want nothing more than to go home and curl up on the couch with a fun book or mindless movie, and you’re tired but facing four hours of class, and you’ve kinda got a recipe for disaster. Well, maybe not <i>disaster</i> per se. That might be a little dramatic. But, definitely, a bit of unpleasantness. But this is life. You take the bad with the good.<br />
<br />
Right now, I’m choosing to see this one downfall as an opportunity to learn how to work with those people who just aren’t on the same page, or even in the same book, as me. I have to deal with it a little bit already in the working world, so it's really no different I suppose. Yay for <strike>learning</strike> character building opportunities!<br />
<br />
***************************<br />
Give me your thoughts, lovely reader. How do you deal with those you don't exactly see eye to eye with or whose personalities perhaps just rub you the wrong way?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-11787100030810596052011-09-16T10:57:00.000-05:002011-09-16T20:40:44.711-05:00V for Verbose (B for Bad)If you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time, you already know that I tend to err on the side of being verbose. I like words. <em>A lot!</em> And, I like using words to paint very detailed, very vivid pictures. I try to be concise and to contain my thoughts. But once I start writing, my mind speeds off into a thousand directions, and my fingers fly along the keyboard as I try to keep up with my thoughts. It has become apparent that this is a quality that will not exactly benefit me in social work school. <br />
<br />
Of the two papers I’ve received back so far, the only “negative” feedback I’ve gotten is basically that my papers need to be shorter. The assignments have been to write three page papers (typed, double spaced, which really isn’t that much when you think about it), and the papers I’ve submitted have been 4-6 pages in length. I’ve officially been confronted with my first real challenge so far in social work school, and it is not at all what I expected it would be!<br />
<br />
You see, when I wrote papers in community college, the instructors usually set the page limits as a minimum. It was implied that one should feel more than welcome to go beyond that, if need be, and I almost always did. Heck! For the sociology assignment I did this past summer, I was to write 10 two page papers, and even though I didn't want to write those papers, each of those turned out to be in the 3-6 page range. Clearly, I don’t have a problem expressing myself. However I apparently <em>do</em> have a problem doing it in a succinct manner. This is obviously something I’ll need to work on.<br />
<br />
If I’m being honest, it hurts my soul just a little bit. I feel stifled and constricted, as though wrapped in a turtleneck three sizes too small but with an extra long neck that goes up over my head. I honestly nearly cried last night when I read the instructor’s note on the last page of my paper: “The only feedback I really have is pay attention to page length.” That paper was only four pages. I only went over by one, and really it wasn't even a whole page (more like a paragraph, really)!<br />
<br />
I just can’t get this to make sense, especially considering that these papers are to be reflective in nature. Last week, I had to read three chapters for this particular class and then write a reflective paper on what I learned. So, what you’re telling me is, out of over 100 pages of reading, I’m supposed to grab on to just one idea (maybe two ideas) and write a very quick, only surface level reflection? Well, what’s the point of <strong><em>that</em></strong>?! If I’m reflecting, I’m baring my entire soul. I have nothing to hide. Also, some of the stuff we're reading is so interesting and inspiring that it's hard <em>not </em>to find half a dozen to a dozen passages that really resonate with you.<br />
<br />
I guess I’ll have to learn to rein it in a bit and to reflect a little less. This week’s Learning Moment paper assignment clearly states at the top: “This should not be more than 2 pages long.” But…(lip quivering)…but…(small tear)…<em>BUT</em> there are <strong>three</strong> questions to answer! Annnnnnd the first one has three parts to it. I die!!<br />
<br />
I suppose this isn’t all bad. (That’s called reframing.) My soul won’t be completely asphyxiated. I still have this blog, and I still have you, lovely reader. It has now become more a priority for me than ever to blog on a regular basis. I need this outlet. In fact, I already have two or three post ideas I've jotted down in the past week alone. I look forward to interacting with you more as I share with you on a more regular basis.<br />
<br />
*********************************<br />
What say you, lovely reader? Do you have any advice on how I can be more concise? <br />
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-24234767412674494142011-09-11T13:44:00.004-05:002011-09-11T13:52:09.026-05:00S for School Daze<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, lovely reader, social work school has started. The
program coordinator and other school staff weren’t kidding when they said this
was an accelerated program. I went to orientation a couple weeks before classes
even started and came home with assignments that were due the first day of
class! I had four chapters to read and two papers (thankfully smaller ones at
three pages each) to write as well as a worksheet to complete.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is a snapshot of my homework assignments that are due
next week: (Thanks, google calendar, for the awesome ability to make many different color-coded calendars and to view them in an agenda view!)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRQJe68k8jenM-gb8A2r1D8weHdh9TexyOaOithCZmxMclS581mJLJ7bh7r9EqaKDRcSU6pTgNjJcGth-u3NROQcgmzSR3g6LrWGQadOm7nlBXjrpkMLNmibGc0_EWBbDFU8buGCw_apc/s1600/Calendar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="377" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRQJe68k8jenM-gb8A2r1D8weHdh9TexyOaOithCZmxMclS581mJLJ7bh7r9EqaKDRcSU6pTgNjJcGth-u3NROQcgmzSR3g6LrWGQadOm7nlBXjrpkMLNmibGc0_EWBbDFU8buGCw_apc/s400/Calendar.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll translate it for you. That’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nine</i> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">(<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">9!</b>)</span> chapters of
reading. Two papers—Learning Moment #2 and Reflection Paper 1—that are to be a
minimum of three pages each (typed in 12 pt. font, double-spaced, with one inch
margins) with two cited sources in APA format and an APA formatted reference
page. And, finally, two smaller writing assignments: Policy Article involves
searching for an article on social policy and writing up a paragraph that
includes a summary of the article and my opinion on it, and TD 1 is a response
to a discussion board question that needs to be a paragraph to a page in length. (The latter is practice for future weekly discussion board threads in which we’ll be
expected to post a paragraph to a page of writing in response to a discussion question
posted by the instructor as well as writing a few responses to classmate’s
posts.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have to do the reading assignments for each class in order
to be able to write the necessary papers, because the papers need to include
material from the recent assigned readings and my reactions to it or my
reflections on particular topics in the texts. I’ll need to complete readings
related to TD (threaded discussions) within a day or two before class in order
to have time to engage in the discussions, which are to be completed by 11 PM
the evening of class.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I work 8-5 Monday through Friday and attend classes from
5:30-9:30 on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. This leaves lunch hours
Monday-Friday, Monday and Wednesday evenings, and weekends for homework. I am
fortunate to have the ability to read pretty quickly, but I’m still incredibly
overwhelmed at the moment. My schedule for the upcoming weeks looks similar,
and in some cases worse, because there are also larger projects due in each of
the four classes sometime within the semester. Project work will have to be
worked into the “regular” schedule somehow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m trying to wrap my head around how I’m going to space out
all of this work each week. I’m sure I’ll figure something out soon. <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">* PITY
PARTY STARTING NOW * </span></b>But right now, I’m imaging my weekends being majorly
sucky as I work to complete most, if not all, of my homework each weekend while
Musicman and the dogs do fun things like go on walks outside and enjoy the
beautiful autumn weather that is on its way to Minnesota. Though I will be home
with Musicman and the dogs on Monday and Wednesday evenings and on the
weekends, I don’t anticipate spending much quality time together. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">* <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">END PITY PARTY</b> *</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Depending on whether or not I can find a way to juggle this
workload*, I might just end up having to cut my hours at work down to part-time
(if they’ll let me). I was just starting to get used to the idea that I’d have
to do this in a couple semesters in order to accommodate my first field
placement (internship), so I’m not quite ready to give up half of my paycheck
(and paid time off) just yet. I’m hoping that I’ll still be able to work part
time through my second field placement, but due to the amount of hours
required, it looks doubtful. I’m not ready to quit my job. The prospect of not
earning any income at all scares the crap out of me. I’ve worked since I was 16
years old. I’m also very independent and stubborn, which translates to: I like
to be able to take care of myself financially. I am having reeeeeeeallly big
issues with having to go part-time and/or quit my job.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Such is life, I guess. This is what I signed up for. And, I
have to keep reminding myself that it’s all going to be worth it in the end. I’m
also so incredibly fortunate to have such an amazingly supportive husband.
Musciman assures me that we will be fine. He has no trouble covering a larger
portion of the household expenses, and he reminds me that this is only a
temporary situation because I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">will </i>find
a job once school is over.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m trying not to worry, because I have enough on my mind
and my plate as it is. I need to learn to take things as they come and roll
with the punches. I’ve never been good at facing the unknown, so this is way
out of my comfort zone, but that’s a good thing. I need to learn how to adapt
to the world that resides on the other sides of the borders to my comfort. I’m
going to try to be more even keeled and trusting of what the universe has in
store for me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have to admit, despite the workload, I am so freakin’
excited to be embarking on my journey to becoming a social worker. I will post
as I can in the days, weeks, and months ahead, lovely reader. I’m really going
to try to take a little time to catch up with you at least weekly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
* It reeeeeeeeeally doesn't help that I've recently discovered the amazing time suck that is Pinterest! LOVING IT! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
************************************************</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the time of posting this (it was written a few days ago, but was waiting to be edited and posted), I have finished 2/3 of the reading. I plan to start the Learning Moment paper this afternoon and to finish up the three chapters of reading I have left. That will give me Monday through Thursday to complete the smaller writing assignments and the Reflection paper. I'm feeling really good about my progress!<br />
<br /></div>
************************************************<br />
<br />
P.S. I know that no body likes a braggart, but I feel the need to tell you that, despite all the stress, I've remained smoke free. I haven't had a cigarette--not even a puff--for a little over 8 months!!! I've also stayed committed to Weight Watchers Points Plus Plan, and my work is paying off. I've lost over 30 pounds!!! Now, if only I could find some time to work some activity--even just walking--into my day, I'd be all set.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-69519417576655379212011-08-26T14:36:00.000-05:002011-08-26T14:36:10.313-05:00P for Pug LifeOur Pug, Dexter, has had a rough couple of weeks.This really sucks, because the poor little guy has had a hard enough life. We adopted Dexter two years ago from the Minnesota Pug Rescue. They couldn’t tell us how old he was, because he was a former puppy mill dog, but best estimates put him at about a year and a half. Puppy mills are <em>not </em>nice places (this is a <em><strong><strike>HUGE</strike></strong></em> <strong><em>GIGANTIC </em></strong>understatement), so the first year or so of Dexter’s life were filled with abuse and neglect, culminating in him and his sister being left in a large garbage can outside of a humane society. They were thankfully found and eventually ended up being placed with Minnesota Pug Rescue.<br />
<br />
Dexter’s former life had obvious effects on his personality and demeanor. When we first met him, he wouldn’t let us near him because he didn’t trust strangers. Of course, given his past, this was totally understandable. He was skittish, flinched at the slightest movement, and spent his first week at our house curled up in the corner of our sectional couch where he could watch everything around him and no one could sneak up from behind. We’d have to be really careful trying to pet him, because if you approached from anywhere near his head, he flinched and dove to the ground in a seemingly uncontrollable reflex response. In addition to trying to gain his trust, we also had to try to potty train him. This was no easy task.<br />
<br />
He has changed by leaps and bounds since joining our family. He’s a much more confident, happy, and all around good dog. Words cannot express how much love we have for this silly little dog. The tough road we’ve all traveled since taking him in has bonded us as a family. That’s why the past couple weeks have been so devastating…<br />
<br />
It started with his feet. He would NOT stop licking his feet. We thought that his paws might just be dried out as a result of the soap daycare used for his bath perhaps not being fully rinsed away. When a good cleaning and rinsing of his feet and the application of puppy moisturizer didn’t help, and he escalated to chewing his paws, we knew it was time to go to the vet. Musicman made the appointment, and since he gets off of work earlier than I do, he brought him in.<br />
<br />
The night before the appointment, I reminded Musicman to have the vet look at the bump on Dexter’s neck. For about a month now, he’d had a bump that started out looking like an ingrown hair but had grown to the size of a large wart or cyst. We’d decided that, since it didn’t seem to cause pain or problem, we’d have it looked at the next time Dexter needed a vet visit. That time had come.<br />
<br />
I beat Musicman and Dexter home the day of the appointment, so Lucy and I sat and waited for them to return. When I’d gotten home, Lucy’s mad and persistent barking let me know that she was not at all thrilled that daddy had brought brother somewhere and left her home alone. I had just gotten her calmed down when we heard the car pull into the garage. I was shocked when Dexter came running into the house with a giant plastic cone around his head and neck!<br />
<br />
Musicman informed me that Dexter’s paws were infected. As a result, he would be on antibiotics for 10 days, the cone would need to stay on for the duration to prevent further licking, and we’d have to soak his paws in a Betadine solution for five minutes every night. Poor pug! (We went out a few days later and got him an inflatable collar in lieu of the cone. He now looked as though he were prepared for a shipwreck.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheWLV8DAF5eFQWO4yeIym0zy3FhZ9cSp63q9WVrgAoKZk-204dbknOgL9GJNztn084qCIRew7ko8p1G_W3Mke1ns1h_8I4S_Orm_6jLeb0n4fJntfDO_1gZ-SRjs8J3heUlaFdm16u3cQ/s1600/ShipwreckPug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheWLV8DAF5eFQWO4yeIym0zy3FhZ9cSp63q9WVrgAoKZk-204dbknOgL9GJNztn084qCIRew7ko8p1G_W3Mke1ns1h_8I4S_Orm_6jLeb0n4fJntfDO_1gZ-SRjs8J3heUlaFdm16u3cQ/s320/ShipwreckPug.jpg" width="239px" /></a></div><br />
Then, Musicman broke the really bad news to me....<br />
<br />
The doctor was pretty sure the lump on Dexter’s neck was a tumor. The needle aspiration they’d done at the office during the appointment caused her to think it should be removed as soon as possible. After removal, they would send it out for a pathology report to determine whether or not it was cancerous. If it was, we’d have to discuss treatment options. The vet said radiation wasn’t a good idea for dogs of Dexter’s size, because little dogs don’t seem to handle it well at all. However, she seemed quite positive that, even if the tumor was cancerous, the surgery would take care of the problem.<br />
<br />
We were devastated. How could our poor little dog have cancer? He’d had a hard enough life! This was the last thing he deserved! After getting over the shock and crying for our poor little Pug, we agreed that we’d spend the $400 for surgery. Of course that meant we wouldn’t be going camping, or going to the Minnesota State Fair, or doing a few of the other fun things we’d hoped to do with the few weeks I had off this summer, but that $400 was a small price to pay to possibly prolong our little boy’s life.<br />
<br />
We scheduled the appointment for last Friday. We both took last Friday off of work in order to drop Dexter off for his surgery; we both knew we’d be too worried to be able to focus on anything at work. I cried as we got ready to leave the house. Dexter seemed to know something was up as he was extra cuddly. By the time we got to the vet’s office, I was a complete mess.<br />
<br />
I felt like a horrible puppy mom and awful wife as I told Musicman I’d wait in the car with Lucy while he brought Dexter into the clinic. I knew I just couldn’t handle leaving my little guy there. Our family short one member, we dropped Lucy off at daycare so that she could run out her energy for the day. A tired dog is a happy dog, and the exhaustion she experiences after a day at daycare would prevent her from bothering Dexter that evening as he tried to recover.<br />
<br />
Musicman and I went to breakfast and then spent the day at the Minnesota Zoo, reliving our second date, as we tried to keep our minds from wandering into negative “what ifs.” We did end up having a really fantastic day. We were relieved when we finally got the call from the vet that the surgery had gone well. She warned Musicman that they’d removed a wide margin around the tumor, so we should be prepared that Dexter’s neck might look worse than we’d imagined when we picked him up later in the evening.<br />
<br />
She wasn’t kidding! When we were finally able to pick up our little buddy, we were stunned by what we saw. This is how he looked the next day:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2z_awETiZCCRkbKs8-59bV-fuFC11ygVp-q_WA6l0BDsX5CyggIEQ9QPAhj6quBsYIAkvk9nE2-Co3PkfPP_0M3h6VbtG9bAYEONiZuECBV1GxgiokAPavcg17GYDQUnelg6FepXx84c/s1600/PugOwie3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2z_awETiZCCRkbKs8-59bV-fuFC11ygVp-q_WA6l0BDsX5CyggIEQ9QPAhj6quBsYIAkvk9nE2-Co3PkfPP_0M3h6VbtG9bAYEONiZuECBV1GxgiokAPavcg17GYDQUnelg6FepXx84c/s320/PugOwie3.JPG" width="239px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They shave almost his whole neck!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The vet gave us pain pills for the next few days, told us she’d call us when she had the pathology results, and had us setup an appointment two weeks out to have Dexter’s stitches removed. As we drove home, all Dexter did was cry. It was so pitiful and so sad, because we didn’t know exactly why he was crying. Was he starving after having not eaten for almost 24 hours? Was he in pain? Was he just out of it? We assumed it was a combination of all three. Thankfully, once we got home and gave him a couple treats and some water, he calmed down and cuddled up for a nap:</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSgIn8YRMVCogves2KkgWGf_0hb9NGEowdIpOf9ZXaXH25J8n-evyP7JabtIVZk0p2oS-OWq6wfnem2nGiPv-OgSSybYk-SlCzVKnIrlbPO0aF_n6_qEZNC05RxXAHcuyH_8DS3bdvZ4/s1600/RestingPug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSgIn8YRMVCogves2KkgWGf_0hb9NGEowdIpOf9ZXaXH25J8n-evyP7JabtIVZk0p2oS-OWq6wfnem2nGiPv-OgSSybYk-SlCzVKnIrlbPO0aF_n6_qEZNC05RxXAHcuyH_8DS3bdvZ4/s320/RestingPug.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
Musicman got the call on Tuesday, our third wedding anniversary, that the pathology results were back. I was at orientation for St. Scholastica (happy anniversary to us!), so unfortunately Musicman had to hold on to the news until I got home at 9:30 that evening. The report indicated that the mast cell tumor was cancerous. However, we had fortunately caught it early; it was Stage 1 cancer. The news wasn’t all bad. The doctor had taken a really wide margin and the marginal tissues showed no cancer cells, meaning it hadn’t spread. This means they got it all with the surgery!!!<br />
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Though we still have a week to go before his stitches are removed, Dexter seems as though he’s back to normal. He’s gonna have one heckuva badass scar! We joke that this will make him look way tougher. Next time he goes to daycare, he can tell the other dogs that he was shot or stabbed in a knife fight, because that’s PUG LIFE. (Get it? It’s a play on thug life. Yep….we’re totally those crazy dog people.)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhmOuQbr2i9L4_gfE_6h4LfErpy9FpStF9hJ4SFOazo3n7eWy9g3TyhZHS2XiIEUQxDufCflXzEMhHTWO4Q13KLWp0o415IjXhSZC6tTZv_cqBRqggovNpCvzXEeeGtGTe1o-D7Gf2xAQ/s1600/PugOwie2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhmOuQbr2i9L4_gfE_6h4LfErpy9FpStF9hJ4SFOazo3n7eWy9g3TyhZHS2XiIEUQxDufCflXzEMhHTWO4Q13KLWp0o415IjXhSZC6tTZv_cqBRqggovNpCvzXEeeGtGTe1o-D7Gf2xAQ/s320/PugOwie2.JPG" width="239px" /></a></div><br />
The vet warned us that there is a chance that Dexter could get another tumor sometime in the future, so we should keep a close eye on him. However, for now at least, our little Pug is cancer free and we are incredibly thankful and happy! We’re going to continue on as though we have a perfectly health dog, because we do now. And, of course, we’re going to continue to spoil the heck out of both of our dogs and enjoy every single moment we are fortunate enough to have with them.<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-42873650320412012122011-08-24T09:56:00.000-05:002011-08-24T09:56:13.873-05:00B for Back in the SaddleHello, lovely reader!! Once again, it’s been a while. I’m hoping this fall, once my school schedule is more stable and predictable, that I’ll be able to have a more stable and predictable blogging schedule as well. And maybe—just maybe—I’ll actually get some readers back and/or will attract more readers.<br />
<br />
As you can already tell based on the fact that I have written this post that you are now reading, I survived summer semester. Just barely. It was the most difficult semester I think I’ve ever had, which is saying a lot. I was cursing myself for saving two Prior Learning Assessments (PLAs) until last. What on Earth was I thinking attempting to do two PLAs in one semester?!?! Obviously, I wasn’t. Thinking, that is. Had I actually been thinking I’d have realized how emotionally draining the Death and Dying papers would be and I’d have given myself plenty of time to work on them while allowing for breaks.<br />
<br />
I didn’t anticipate just how much I’d drag my feet on these assignments either. I’m usually pretty good about getting myself out of my procrastination mode with a little positive self-talk, but it just wasn’t working this time around. Nope. I dug my heels in. <em><strong>Hard.</strong></em> I did not want to analyze or rethink my personal experiences with death. Especially the “significant” experiences the instructor requested we write about. I wanted my <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/p/day-life-changed-forever.html">most significant experience</a> to stay right where it was; locked up safely in my head. I waited so long to get started that it became clear that there was a distinct possibility that I wouldn’t finish on time.<br />
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Before I’d even started, I’d given up. Instead of working hard to complete the papers I needed to write, I started thinking about what my advisor at St. Scholastica would say to my request to delay starting their program until next fall. Was that even a possibility? I had already been accepted, so surely I could delay my start date without having to reapply. I rationalized that I could spend the fall doing Death and Dying, spring semester doing that ten paper Family and Society PLA (which I hadn’t started at this point either), and summer semester doing the fine arts class I’d still need because I had dropped my music class this summer (there was no chance I’d be able to keep up when I was now panicking because I hadn’t started either of the two PLAs). I had a plan. It wasn’t a good one, but it was a plan.<br />
<br />
I battled with myself. I screamed at myself (in my head only, of course) that I at least needed to <em>try</em> to finish the PLAs on time. What if I <em>could</em> do it? There was still time. The final papers I turned in wouldn’t be my best work, of course, but I could at least turn something in. It wasn’t worth setting me back a whole year. Besides, when I’d taken that very first course that explained the process of PLAs, they’d said you basically had to work hard to fail them. In other words, it’s almost impossible to fail them if you hand something in on time.<br />
<br />
Words cannot express how physically and emotionally exhausting it was to complete the assignments. I ended up using up vacation days at work in order to stay home to write in the hopes that I’d finish the papers on time. <strong><em>THAT’S</em></strong> how long I procrastinated, lovely reader. I’m not proud of it. I hope I learned from it and that such a thing will never happen again. It's just that I was in such a funk that I literally ceased all forward motion. I just could <em>not</em> get started.<br />
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I somehow managed to get the Death and Dying project done with hours to spare. And then? I found out they moved the meeting time out a day, which meant I actually got it done with hours and a day to spare. It was not my best work; nowhere near it, in fact. But, it was done.<br />
<br />
Though the Family and Society assignment seemed even more daunting, what with ten papers to write, I expected the papers to be easy. I’d done four or five of the same style of papers for this same instructor in the sociology class I took last summer, so I was familiar with the format she expected. Also, each paper only had to be two to four pages. I could do this. Except…<br />
<br />
I didn’t anticipate how draining these papers would be either. I had to think a lot about my past. I had to deal with a lot of <strong><em>stuff </em></strong>that came up. I had to write about my dysfunctional childhood, which led to me being a dysfunctional teenager/young adult, which led to entering into bad relationships in which I was abused. It was not fun stuff to think about or relive. I don’t like drudging up the past. I’d moved on with my life and was done with the past. I am a totally different person now. A survivor in a lot of ways. I didn’t want to think critically to apply sociological theories to my life. Panic mode set in again. And, once again, I ended up having to use up a vacation day at work in order to stay home and finish up the assignment.<br />
<br />
I did end up passing both PLAs. I am now done with Community College. (Kinda. I’m two courses short, but I’m taking them as part of my bachelor’s program and transferring credits back to Community College in order to get credit for completing my associate’s degree.) I’m ready to move on to the College of St. Scholastica (CSS) and the pursuit of my bachelor’s degree. Kinda.<br />
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I have come to the conclusion that I’m burnt out on school, lovely reader. I’m just ready to be done. It’s been a really long two years, and I almost can’t bear to think about the fact that I have sixteen months to a year and a half left until my bachelor’s is complete. Then, a year left to get my master’s degree, should I choose to do that. Right now, that’s looking quite unlikely. Perhaps I’ll get some work experience and take a little break from school before pursuing my master’s degree.<br />
<br />
The only things propelling me forward at this point is (1) I already have so much money invested in school that it would be absolutely stupid to give up now, (2) the bachelor’s program will provide a much-needed change of scenery, and (3) I will finally be immersed in studying social work, which is what I have been working so hard to do.<br />
<br />
I attended my advisement session a couple weeks ago at CSS and was disappointed to find out that, though I had completed the steps advisors at both schools told me I needed to, I’m over 20 credits short to transfer. It’s fuzzy to me how it all works, and I don’t want to get into a long-winded explanation, but it was to do with the fact that Community College accepted 16 transfer credits from the technical college I attended right out of high school. While I was under the understanding that those 16 would transfer as is to St. Scholastica, based on what the previous advisor had told me, that’s proven not to be the case. I cannot tell you how frustrated and angry I was to find this out!<br />
<br />
I had to do a bit of footwork to try to get syllabi from old courses I took back in 1997 in order to see if St. Scholastica will accept them. The social work program coordinator is pushing hard for this to happen, but we won’t know the results for sure until towards the end of fall semester. If the school decides to accept them, great! If not, I guess I’ll have to take 20 extra credits on top of my bachelor’s degree classes. I am not pleased. At all. If they do take them, I’m wondering if I’ll have to deal with the same issue if/when I decide to complete a master’s degree. I’m certain I will. Whatever school I decide to transfer to probably won’t accept the technical college credits either, because the problem is that the technical college isn’t accredited in accordance with new standards that were implemented across the state well after I graduated from there. It’s a sucktastic nightmare. When all is said and done, I’ll likely have completed two whole associate’s degrees (including the technical college associate in applied science), which is pretty ridiculous and unnecessary.<br />
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Let this be a lesson for those of you with children. If you want to send your kids to a community or technical college, make sure that any work they do there will be transferrable to other colleges/towards a higher degree should there even be a slight possibility that your child would want to pursue a higher degree. Otherwise, you’ll have wasted a whole lot of time and money on that technical school degree if your child does decide to pursue a bachelor’s.<br />
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I hope all is well in your world, lovely reader. I look forward to sharing my journey towards a social work degree and license with you and I look forwad to interacting with you more as I setup a more regular blogging routine.<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-68637822564514018242011-06-07T19:19:00.000-05:002011-06-07T19:19:18.091-05:00S for Summer Break (Already Over?!)<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Two weeks wasn’t a long enough summer break. Of course, I knew it wouldn’t be. Still, I am shocked and sad and downright grumpy over just how quickly it managed to fly by. I cannot really tell you what exactly I did, because I didn’t really do anything incredibly noteworthy. The best I can recall is that I was pretty much lazy, which hindsight tells me is probably exactly what I needed. I enjoyed a few weekend naps here and there, which was lovely. Oh! I also got to read a few books for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pleasure</i> instead of learning. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">THAT</i> was incredibly awesome!! I still absolutely adore my Kindle and cannot wait to return to the days of reading for pleasure and fun.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Oh, and I did a 5K on May 22 (the day before my birthday). Musicman and I did it together, and we walked most of it (due to my breathing issues and having had to abandon C25K temporarily) with sprints here and there to get through the crowd. We finished in less than an hour and were super proud of ourselves for having completed our first 5K despite the fact that we were rained on for the whole first half. I tweeted a little bit about it and ended up winning a Sketchers prize pack from Weight Watchers, which I was pretty excited about. (I have yet to receive said prize pack, and am pondering whether I should contact someone about it or be patient and wait a little longer.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then, I got sick. I have been in a downward spiral health wise since around my birthday, which I attributed to allergy season. It’s just gotten worse and worse, and I’ve gotten more and more lethargic, culminating in my missing the last two days of the work week last week as I battled what I’m pretty sure was a nasty sinus infection. I slept pretty much all day both of those days and still felt as though I didn’t get enough sleep. I’m slowly getting my energy back, but Minnesota is currently having a really rough allergy season, so I don’t expect to be completely back to normal anytime soon.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And I hate that. I’m frustrated at the lack of energy especially; I don’t do well with feeling tired. It just serves to make me even more grumpy and less tolerant of pretty much everything. I actually broke down crying on Sunday because I was just so sick of feeling sick and I just feel so lazy and worthless. Musicman, of course, was super supportive. He reminded me that I might also be a little burnt out considering that I’m doing the work of 2-3 people at work, I just finished a really long and trying semester at school and am now facing yet another trying semester, and I’m still working hard to be a good wife and puppy mom (and sister, daughter, daughter-in-law, aunt, etc).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When put like that, it would seem my plate is quite full. It would also seem that Musicman is an awesome and super understanding husband, which of course he is. (A quick side note: Musicman graduated from C25K yesterday. I am so super duper proud of him for completing the program! He’s still going to work on increasing his speed and distance and is thinking about when he’s going to try running his first 5K. If I’m being honest, I’m a little jealous. I should’ve been finishing the program at around this time too, but my stupid body refused to cooperate. I’m hoping to pick it up again soon.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I should probably try to find the time to go see an allergist and maybe get on some new allergy meds, and I should get back to the doctor to talk about my asthma. But, I don’t have the time right now. I also really don’t have the patience, considering that my doctor kinda just glossed over my asthma concerns during my annual visit about a month ago. I’m especially frustrated that I made some major life changes—quitting smoking (it’s been 5 months!) and losing weight (down a little over 23 pounds!)—that should have improved my health by now, but so far, I haven’t reaped many of the benefits I was looking forward to. I’m specifically talking about the energy increase both were supposed to provide. So far, that has not happened for me, and I’m a little pissy about it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Summer semester is in full swing and I find myself really not giving a damn. It’s my last semester at Community College, and I want to give it my all in order to leave with a 4.0 GPA, but I find myself just completely apathetic about getting anything done. I think it’s a combination of the fact that it’s my last semester, thus I already have my sight set on bigger and better things as I finally embark on the social work curriculum, and I’m just burnt out on school (and in general).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have two competencies, Prior Learning Assessments (PLAs, which are self-directed projects), to get done and one online class that starts in the beginning of July. One PLA, the Psychology of Death and Dying, involves reading an entire textbook to familiarize myself with principles and concepts that I will use to write some papers and which will also be discussed at the meeting in the middle of July where we’re expected to hand in our work. There’s also a two part writing assignment. The first part is a “deathography” in which I must write about my significant experiences with death, applying at least 5 concepts from the textbook. The second part involves researching and responding to the ethical questions surrounding two death-related topics from a list that includes: physician-assisted suicide, capital punishment, withdrawal of life support, green funerals, stem-cell research, etc. I’m just not thrilled about this one. Death isn’t fun, and it’s certainly not entertaining. This one is just plain difficult to work on and complete.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </div><div class="MsoNormal">The other, Sociology of Family and Society, involves reading ten 2-6 page essays regarding various family matters from an assigned book and writing ten 2-5 page summary/reaction papers, incorporating various sociological principles and my personal life experience into these narratives. This one shouldn’t be too hard. I had this instructor last summer for my other sociology class, so I know exactly what she expects out of these papers. I did a fine job of bullshitting my way through the four papers we had to do in that class, so I should have no trouble doing the same for these ten. It’s simply a matter of buckling down and getting it done.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Basically, I need to do lots of reading, research, and writing. I seriously don’t know why I ever thought PLAs were a good idea for a procrastinator like me. I don’t do self-directed well. I don’t know what it is. I guess I’m just not disciplined enough, and I get too involved in the minute details, such as breaking larger projects into smaller pieces. I try to get everything done at once, end up getting overwhelmed, stop for a while, and then panic as the deadline approaches. I’d really rather just take the classes, but there’s no time for that now. I must finish these two projects and the upcoming music class in order to have all the credits I need to start at St. Scholastica in the fall. THAT’S the only thing keeping me going at this point; knowing that, if I screw this up, I screw up starting my bachelor’s degree.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So far, I’ve managed to read almost two (out of 15) chapters of the Psychology textbook. I’ve also spent a few hours making up a fancy calendar and schedule to plan out how I’ll complete these projects and to track my progress. I’m already off schedule. Shocking, I know. I blame getting sick last week; however, I have to admit that I haven’t exactly been chomping at the bit to get caught up. I still have plenty of time to get it all done, so I’m not too worried at this point. Unless, of course, I can’t get out of this funk; then I’ll be in trouble.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">What do you do, lovely reader, when you’re generally just overwhelmed with life and in a funk? How do you get yourself back on track?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment--> <br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-43049816199813559762011-05-27T15:31:00.004-05:002011-05-27T15:33:38.589-05:00H for Helpless (A for Angry)<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">A</span><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRAAAAAAAAAAAA</span><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">GGGGGGGGGGGGEEEEEEE</span><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">EEEEEEEEEEE!</span> (That’s a primal scream in bloggy speak.) I am so frustrated, lovely reader!!! It seems as soon as life starts to go well and I start to feel good and energized and just positive in general, something has to happen to damper that. And usually it's family drama. <br />
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Soooooooo, there’s no delicate way to say this, and I’m honestly not thinking incredibly coherently right now due to a weather system induced migraine (yay for crap weather moving in right before the long weekend), but I had to get it out. My middle sister was beaten by her “fiancé” last night. In front of her kids. (Yes; again.) But this time? It was worse.<br />
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This time, my 10 year old nephew tried to intervene to save his momma. He gave it his all—throwing some of his biggest and heaviest toys at his dad. (Thankfully dad was far too busy beating up mom to worry about striking back at his son.) And this time, her “fiancé” tried to strangle her. Thankfully the kids weren’t there for that last part, because my sister had screamed at my nephew to get his sister (my 5 year old niece) and go outside and call 911. What a lovely way to celebrate niece’s pre-school graduation day, huh?<br />
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Thankfully (also), my sister and her neighbors had their patio doors open to let in our lovely spring weather, which meant the neighbors heard everything, resulting in two neighbors calling the police. The bastard got away before the police got there, and my sister didn’t want to press charges lest he lose his job and get even more angry at her, so as usual there were virtually no consequences for him. Except, of course, that sister is done with him. He is not welcome back at their home. She is going to change the locks.<br />
<br />
I should be happy that my sister is finally done for good. But, I’m really not. It’s hard to be happy when all I want to do is scream and cry, and I’m so angry that I can barely contain it and feel as though my body could just burst into flames, creating a giant explosion of fury such as has never been seen. She’s been “done for good” too many times now for me to believe that this time it’s really true. I wish it was. I want so much for it to be true. But, I just can’t get my hopes up.<br />
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I am almost incomprehensibly angry at my sister. (I am, of course, angry with her abuser too, but he’s a lost cause and has been dead to me for a while now.) I’m ashamed to say it out loud, or type it rather, but I’m really angry at her. She’s always been selfish, but seriously how selfish can one person be and for how long? If she doesn’t want to save her life for <em>her</em>, then why not at least do it for her <em>kids</em>? How about thinking about <em>them</em> for a change? How about thinking about what you’re doing to the rest of the family? Haven’t we all been through enough? I know that last part makes <em>me </em>sound like the selfish one, and I'm okay with that.<br />
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It’s too bad my youngest sister, Kristine, was cremated, and thus doesn’t have a grave. She’d probably be rolling over in it. And, it would be easier to watch my middle sister go and desecrate Kristine’s grave than to desecrate the memory of her by refusing to learn from her circumstances. I wish I could drive middle sister to Kristine’s grave right now and say, “HERE! <em>DANCE</em> ON IT!! <strong><em>SPIT </em></strong>ON IT!!!! Do it <strong><em><u>NOW</u></em></strong>! Because you know what? That's <em>EXACTLY</em> what you’re doing by continuing to live this life!”<br />
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I am livid for my nephew and niece. They didn’t ask for this life. They should not have to live like this. Statistics show that, simply as a result of living in a home with domestic violence, my nephew is highly likely to become an abuser and my niece is more likely to become a victim of abuse. I know that people say statistics lie, but these ones don’t. I know that for a fact. Because my sisters and I all grew up to be victims as a result of watching my mother be both a victim and a perpetrator. So far, I’m the only one who’s managed to escape. (Not without a lot of work on my part.) And, thankfully, my brother doesn’t seem to be an abuser, but then again, he hasn’t been in a relationship for a long time. (Still, his overly laidback genes, which he got from my father, I think prevent him from being capable of being a batterer.)<br />
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If you’ve been reading my blog for any amount of time, you already know the <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/p/day-life-changed-forever.html">fate suffered by my youngest sister</a>. I don’t want to watch my middle sister suffer the same fate. I honestly don’t know if I can survive such an ordeal again. I know I probably sound selfish and terrible and awful. And I feel awful. But, I’m at my wits end. I don’t know what to do or say or think or feel anymore.<br />
<br />
I feel helpless. One of the main reasons I wanted to become a social worker, and work so hard towards that goal, is to help victims of domestic violence. But, I'm not in social work school yet, so I don't have the appropriate tools to help my sister. That doesn't prevent me from trying, of course. I have done so much research on domestic violence, and I understand why it’s hard for women to leave. I <em>don’t </em>understand why it’s so hard for my sister though. Especially given her past, her life experiences (our shared experiences), and the support her family has offered.<br />
<br />
Last time there was an “incident” between middle sister and her “fiancé,” MusicMan and I helped her search for apartments, offered to pay her security deposit, offered to give her one of our TV’s (we don’t need two after all) and buy her a laptop, help with finding furniture, help her move, etc. All because she was “done for good” and we wanted to show our love and support. She turned around and basically slapped us in the face by going back to him. That can’t happen again.<br />
<br />
I’m ready to issue an ultimatum to my sister. Either this is it and she's really done for good, or I’m done. Completely and for good. And unlike her, <em>I</em> mean it. I will full on admit that it’s more for self-preservation than anything, but she’s really left me with no other choice. Along with that, I will do everything in my power to see her kids removed from her home. My mother has threatened to take them away before. I will do everything in my power to help with that. If she wants to continue down this self-destructive path, she can, but she cannot drag her kids down with her. Not if I can help it anyway.<br />
<br />
I cannot—will not—stand by and watch her succumb to her awful decisions. I can’t. I just can’t.<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-51719348377470949112011-05-11T15:01:00.000-05:002011-05-13T15:24:48.786-05:00L for Lovin' It<div class="separator" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFWVYRhYbRDfkmQOWZ5ernpZ56Xrgmkeh2d5JjsTdXl_vJGqYHzDNoiw4k6IVSBIo7GkPjswlcqulxSW3wGDI2FtIQfJ96LfsR6og9fRP0xOcP9Sg-BT4Vjir9roNAacmUPqUeUklPDkk/s1600/procrastinate.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFWVYRhYbRDfkmQOWZ5ernpZ56Xrgmkeh2d5JjsTdXl_vJGqYHzDNoiw4k6IVSBIo7GkPjswlcqulxSW3wGDI2FtIQfJ96LfsR6og9fRP0xOcP9Sg-BT4Vjir9roNAacmUPqUeUklPDkk/s400/procrastinate.png" width="315px" /></a></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It’s finals week. I’ve been beyond stressed. If you follow me on Twitter, you already know it’s that kind of stress that completely paralyzes you, thus preventing you from actually completing the things you need to get done. It's totally my fault. I procrastinated and I am really too much of an overachiever at times. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">By writing this post, I am procrastinating even more (I don't learn lessons sometimes...or maybe some habits are just hard to break.) and further delaying the inevitable: my Philosophy of Religion final. It’s the only thing I have left to do to complete the semester. It’s the only thing standing between me and two whole weeks of vacation from school and homework. Unfortunately, it’s a 3 hour essay exam, and I’ve already checked out for the semester. I have until midnight tonight to take it, so it’s going down tonight after dinner, whether or not I feel ready.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">In the mean time, none of the things bouncing around in my head are themselves worthy of a full blog post, so I thought I’d give you a quick list of things I’m loving and things I’m <strike>hating</strike> loving not so much at the moment.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong><u><span style="color: magenta;">LOVING:</span></u></strong></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong>Dansko shoes</strong>. It took me a bit of work to figure out which European size I needed to accommodate my rather large, rather wide feet, but once I got it figured out, I fell in love. I am not the type of girl who falls in love with shoes. Seriously. Ask anyone who knows me. To me shoes serve an imporant function, but they are hardly worth loving. I most certainly am not accustomed to paying more than like $20 for a pair. However, in the past month, I’ve purchased three pairs of Danskos. My justifications for these purchases (not that I need to justify them) are as follows:</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">(1) I have a surplus of money now that I’m no longer wasting it on cigarettes, junk food, and fast food. I seriously just do not seem to spend money anymore. It’s mind boggling how much money I used to spend on cigarettes, lunch, and snacks every single day. Now, I allow myself to purchase lunch as a "treat" every week, but that's about all the money I spend.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">(2) The shoes are very well made and sturdy, which means they should last at least a few years, which is something my <strike>Payless</strike> cheap shoe buying self isn’t used to. The price of one pair divided by the number of years I’d expect them to last (3-5) makes the price of each pair much more reasonable.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibGdjxSKNO1DapUe7dNU-X0xPtO2WfgUCaPrBYNc0nRZyH8yPSmz4EtX6PIvUro89jdsChLlxxWe5c6LTw2UKN-s5gA6Zse_EVSI3cIfTbjFzJXKNC93AnnATgVQxK0xb7c1budf-18q4/s1600/shoe2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibGdjxSKNO1DapUe7dNU-X0xPtO2WfgUCaPrBYNc0nRZyH8yPSmz4EtX6PIvUro89jdsChLlxxWe5c6LTw2UKN-s5gA6Zse_EVSI3cIfTbjFzJXKNC93AnnATgVQxK0xb7c1budf-18q4/s200/shoe2.jpg" width="200px" /></a>(3) I purchased the first pair at a greatly reduced price—they are a season or two old (a detail that doesn’t matter to me) and I found a fantastic online sale. I thought they were too small, so with the intention of returning them, I went to an actual shoe store to get sizing advice before reordering from online. There, I fell in love with and purchased the second pair. (Because I'm a sucker for shoes that make my giant feet look cute and small.) Days later I realized the first pair was actually a size large than the second, and thus were not in fact too small but just needed to be broken in. I therefore decided to keep the first pair. You’ll <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP3RBZnCyRDrgScLnB_FFdMJVA1FqTmXG_x7ud5BuQQSZrRihtXB4uOKaAAKXG96FRpo6XK7OCDNvvUzik3cAaCh2MwEEzg-hU6TFaozmvPdRiPhoyDHWniK8oedJ4Ptig5ujs5lThV7Y/s1600/shoe1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP3RBZnCyRDrgScLnB_FFdMJVA1FqTmXG_x7ud5BuQQSZrRihtXB4uOKaAAKXG96FRpo6XK7OCDNvvUzik3cAaCh2MwEEzg-hU6TFaozmvPdRiPhoyDHWniK8oedJ4Ptig5ujs5lThV7Y/s200/shoe1.jpg" width="200px" /></a>note that the first two pairs are more dressy type shoes; they’re meant for work. Of course, I <em>needed</em> a casual pair too, and the embroidered clogs were just too cute to resist.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong>Adele’s 21 Album.</strong> It’s so full of awesome. The girl can sing! Love, love, love, love, love this album. So much. It’s on continuous play in my car.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl-TD4ZJIWmnAltpQ04W0jQ-wF9yD5d1_0GFZeIWkVubEtW-RO1mUFyxBLPoG_XEC9CGZGopcelhSFEKuNzkOzflUcM4SLpAKbTrF0KbRD8PFBTyMmOA9Gq2_9B0OG4eszctLWYhBqxkc/s1600/shoe3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl-TD4ZJIWmnAltpQ04W0jQ-wF9yD5d1_0GFZeIWkVubEtW-RO1mUFyxBLPoG_XEC9CGZGopcelhSFEKuNzkOzflUcM4SLpAKbTrF0KbRD8PFBTyMmOA9Gq2_9B0OG4eszctLWYhBqxkc/s200/shoe3.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong>Fage Greek Yogurt</strong>. This yogurt rocks my socks off! It’s so rich and creamy that it almost seems too good to be true. A decadent indulgence, it’s become a staple in my diet (and Musicman’s too). Costco sells large tubs of the plain for a very reasonable price, so we stock up each week. I love the versatility of the plain—I’ve found about a gazillion ways to flavor it. My favorite, by far, is mixing a tablespoon of lemon curd into a cup of yogurt and letting it sit overnight. So freakin’ delicious! I never used to be a breakfast person, and now I look forward to breakfast every day. Because it’s packed with protein, the yogurt combined with some fruit and/or a bit of cereal for crunch keeps me full until lunch time.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quinoa">Quinoa.</a> </strong>Not only is it fun to say, but it's delicious and fun to eat too. There is something about the texture that I just love. Combined with blackbeans, corn, onion, and various seasonings (specifically cumin and cayenne), it makes a super delicious southwest-style salad. Yummmmmmmmmm!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
<strong>Weight Watchers Points Plus Plan</strong>. I’m amazed at how well it’s working, and I truly don’t feel deprived at all. I still eat delicious pizza, cake, and cookies, but I’ve learned that moderation and planning are key. I’m finding that my tastes have changed too. For example, I now crave certain fruits and vegetables. I simply <em>must </em>get some fresh fruits and veggies in everyday or something feels off. (Though I do have to admit that tracking every single thing I eat gets tedious at times. The end result, however, is totally worth it.)</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong>This semester is almost over.</strong> My two week "summer" vacation starts tomorrow, and though I have no grand plans, I couldn't be more thrilled. I swear this semester has been longer than any other over the past two years.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong>My husband.</strong> (Duh, right?!) I saved the best for last. What can I say? Musicman is <em>amazing</em>. He’s my rock, my inspiration, my head cheerleader, and my all around most favorite person in the whole wide world. I feel so fortunate to have found and married someone who is such a perfect match for me. Our marriage is more than just a partnership; we truly are best friends. I love that we are very like-minded, but different enough that we complement each other so well. He truly brings out the best in me, and I’m just loving having him by my side through this amazing journey we call life. I truly don't know if I'd have made it this far with school without his encouragement and support.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong><u><span style="color: #38761d;">Loving NOT so much:</span></u></strong></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong>Asthma/Allergies</strong>. The ridiculous weather we’ve had in Minnesota (snowing and 40’s last week, 90 and humid yesterday) over the past month hasn’t helped, but I have been downright miserable more days than not over the past few weeks. I was forced to take a hiatus from running due to the fact that I just could not seem to breathe after a certain point. I’m sad. I miss C25K (kinda), and with how much time I’ve taken off, I feel like I’m going to have to start all over. If I ever manage to get the breathing thing under control, that is.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I had a physical last week and the doctor ran a bunch of tests, but I haven’t heard anything about results yet. She prescribed an inhaler that has yet to really make a difference, and she didn’t seem too concerned about the fact that I sometimes have trouble catching my breath after even the smallest amount of exertion—like carrying the laundry up the stairs. I’m frustrated and worried. What if it’s something serious like emphysema? I know I’m probably too young for that, but it wouldn’t entirely be surprising after all the years I smoked. I might need to seek a second opinion.Not being able to breathe is just not cool.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong>Work.</strong> More often than not, it is abundantly clear that this is just not the environment for me. How I’ve lasted at my company for 14 years, and in this job for about half of that time, is completely beyond me. Some days are so bad in terms of frustration and ridiculousness that I really question whether I can survive another few years here with my sanity intact.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;"><strong>Asshat Drivers.</strong> I think I may have mentioned before that I might possibly have a slight tinge of the road rage. It's one of the things Musicman loves about me. (No. Really. It is. He finds it Hilarious! Apparently I am a completely different person once I'm behind the wheel of a car.) Nothing gets my blood boiling faster than when Adele and I are belting out the performance of a lifetime in my car, and the beautiful moment is interrupted by my screams of “Way to go, douche!” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Learn to drive, twat waffle!” </span>and “Die, asshat!” I cannot control this automatic response to the jackassery of the moronic drivers around me; it's hardcoded. I don't think it helps that people seem to assume that since I drive the cute, apparently feminine, VW Beetle that I don't mind being pushed around on the road. Yes! Go ahead and cut me off, because that totally makes my day. Said people quickly learn that they were incredibly wrong in their assumptions as the Bug's horn isn't as whimpy as one would think, and I use it often.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOOPG_ffebPdw8k5OoTISMK-pSkSIdQtDuTVF_etsSYFhnc4IDuVcHy_JZy0c2amgX32SKRe9j1KbqjAiPvdateTY_CqMruSHW-RAjw_bLctd-Oa4glczCAH1SOialTUZ7TbFwk4rb_4M/s1600/RR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOOPG_ffebPdw8k5OoTISMK-pSkSIdQtDuTVF_etsSYFhnc4IDuVcHy_JZy0c2amgX32SKRe9j1KbqjAiPvdateTY_CqMruSHW-RAjw_bLctd-Oa4glczCAH1SOialTUZ7TbFwk4rb_4M/s320/RR.jpg" width="289px" /></a></div><a href="http://blogs.vw.com/beetle/picture-gallery/"><strong>The Redesigned VW Beetle</strong></a><strong>. </strong>I'm glad I got my Beetle when I did, because VW has totally ruined it! I read somewhere that one of their golas with the redesign was to make it more masculine. <em>WHY?!?</em> Why does everything in this world have to appeal to <em>men</em>? They've gone and completely ruined a classic because men needed a more manly car. Really?!? There weren't enough masculine options out there already? </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;"><strong>Weather.</strong> It’s been an absolute roller-coaster of ridiculousness weather-wise here in Minnesota. Given how long the cold weather stuck around, I feared we’d end up skipping spring (one of my favorite seasons) and heading straight into the dog days of summer. And, it looks like that’s exactly what’s going to happen. It was 90 degrees and stiflingly humid when I walked out of work yesterday. In other words, disgusting. With my birthday coming up in a couple weeks, all I’m wishing for is some lovely spring-like weather to offer an easy transition into the summer heat and humidity.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Also? Sandal season is coming. I want to order some Dansko sandals, because I’m betting they’ll be just as great as the shoes. However, I cannot justify spending a couple hundred more dollars on shoes. Sadly, the sandals I already have will have to get me through one more summer. (Or at least the next month or so. Maybe then I can justify buying at least one pair of Dansko sandals.)</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">What about you, lovely reader? What are you loving? What are you loving not so much? Any tips on how I can change my procrastinating ways?</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;"><a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-75806251217383497792011-04-25T21:13:00.001-05:002011-04-25T21:15:44.112-05:00S for Standing Up<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">“Be the change you want to see in the world.” ~ Mahatma Gandhi</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On Friday, April 22—Good Friday—I walked into a Planned Parenthood Clinic for the first time in my life. The experience was a bit jarring, but not for the reasons you might think upon reading those words…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I entered the clinic to use the restroom. After nearly an hour of marching outside in the chilly weather, I needed a bathroom break. The reason I was a bit taken aback upon entering the clinic was that it was not what I had expected. You see, when I visit my family clinic for an appointment with my doctor, I walk into a warm waiting area where I am greeted by a receptionist who checks me in. This wasn’t the case at the Planned Parenthood Clinic in St. Paul’s Highland Park neighborhood. Literally as soon as I walked in the door, I was face-to-face with security guards sitting behind a security desk. Don’t get me wrong, the guards and the Planned Parenthood Escorts who were there were very warm, welcoming, and kind, but I was struck by the fact that security guards even had to be there.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I knew why, of course…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">“I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">~ Mahatma Gandhi</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Protestors. Pro-lifers, specifically. They protest the clinic often (I’ve heard as much as daily), sometimes harassing its patients and staff, usually in the name of God. They seem to assume that every person who enters the clinic is there to take part in killing babies or to have her baby killed. Apparently pro-lifers don’t realize that abortions are but a small percentage of the vital services that Planned Parenthood provides. Today was different though. Today, the scope was much bigger…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Every year on Good Friday, hundreds of pro-lifers (also known as anti-choicers) show up at the St. Paul clinic to protest. I’m sure this probably happens at similar clinics around the country. They come to pray for an end to abortion and for clinics like Planned Parenthood to cease to exist.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In response, hundreds of pro-choicers gather to show their support for Planned Parenthood, a woman’s right to choose, and the vital services the clinic provides. I am proud to say that I was one of those supporters, which is why I had occasion to enter the clinic to use the restroom on Friday. This was my first time being involved in this, or any, rally and the experience was amazing. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I arrived at the clinic at around 1:30 p.m. I drove down Ford Parkway, passing in front of the clinic, in order to drive around the block to find parking; I will openly admit that I also wanted to see what I was getting myself into. I first drove past the anit-choicers. They were somberly walking in a circle in the temporarily fenced “pen,” formerly a traffic lane, which was designated as their protesting area. They looked like a walking funeral procession. A space as wide as the Planned Parenthood driveway separated them from the “other side.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I heard the cars in front of me honking just as I approached the Planned Parenthood supporters, also in their own “pen.” I was moved to tears as I laid on my horn and reveled in the hoots and hollers from the enormous group of supporters. The feeling and energy coming from the group was powerful—they were smiling, waving, and jumping up and down. I was excited to soon be joining their ranks. I found a parking spot a block away, right behind the clinic. I could hear the honking and hollers as I got out of my car, and the noise grew louder as I approached the clinic parking lot to check in. The feeling was electric!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I couldn’t wait for MusicMan who, unlike me, hadn’t been able to get the whole day off of work, to join me. I was a bit apprehensive about joining the fray alone, but soon found out there was no need to be. Everyone was so kind and welcoming! I signed in, dropped of my food shelf donation, grabbed a sign, waited for an opening in the crowd of supporters passing by me, and jumped right in. A woman in the crowd began talking to me almost instantly. The same thing—spontaneous conversations between strangers—happened all day. It was as though I was with an enormous group of friends.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For the most part, it was a peaceful event. I can't discount the presence of the St. Paul Police as having played a role, but thankfully their presence seemed to be enough and no intervention was needed. A few pro-lifers who walked and drove by our area scowled, gave the thumbs down, or held their fingers up in the sign of the cross. (So, we’re demons and/or vampires now? Cool.) One guy screamed at us from across the street, but the honks of support and cheers from the crowd were too loud for us to hear what he had to say. It seemed as though every time the anti-choicers had someone on their PA system leading a prayer or hymn, or spewing their rhetoric, a bunch of cars would drive by and start honking to show their support. And, in what became almost a Pavlovian response from the crowd, we would holler and cheer back. I cannot appropriately describe to you the energy and spirit from this amazing group of people I was now a part of. We were a force!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Though I’d given monetary donations to Planned Parenthood plenty of times in the past, donating on Friday was too fun to pass up. Planned Parenthood was offering its supporters the option to pledge a protestor. The idea was the more protestors who showed up against the clinic, the more money was made <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">for </i>the clinic. Genius, right?! I found it to be absolutely brilliant and was delighted that money was being made on the backs of those who try their hardest to stop the good work this clinic does. MusicMan and I pledged a few protestors, because we believe in Planned Parenthood.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It has been proven time and again that sex education and contraception, both services that Planned Parenthood provides far more often than abortions, are key to preventing unwanted pregnancies. Unwanted pregnancies lead to abortions. Thus, it goes without saying that these key services are vital to reducing the need for abortions. It’s too bad the anti-choicers can’t do a little research to figure that out. The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fact </i>is that Planned Parenthood probably does more in one day to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">prevent </i>abortions than pro-lifers do in a year. In addition to the invaluable services I’ve already mentioned, they also provide comprehensive medical exams, for women <i>and </i>men, including STD testing and life-saving cancer screenings.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you’ve been reading my blog for any amount of time, you know that I have some strong beliefs and that I have no problem stating them. Friday I got the opportunity to stand behind my words. I stood up for an amazing clinic and for women’s rights. Because I believe that <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">women</i></b>—not religious zealots or politicians—should have control of their bodies and reproduction. I appreciated the opportunity to take action in such a way. So much so that this will become an annual event for MusicMan and me, and instead of a two hour time slot, we will participate for as much of the day as we can.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My experience at Friday’s rally restored my faith in humanity a little bit. Seeing all of the support from people from a plethora of various ethnic groups, age ranges, and socio-economic backgrounds gave me hope that one day Planned Parenthood’s patients and staff won’t need to be greeted by security guards. Because maybe—just maybe—rational minds will prevail over irrational, intolerants ones and logic and reason will become the norm.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I leave you with some incredible photos MusicMan took to capture the day.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDtSk7FsNHDSAVjc9O69KfDA531YzDldb294Amzw5-C1TGdy7FxHTtf60cszwvVMT7iDRxKWdDlQJLFg2EsqQ_lYuu1KsdrMvBaDCDWe1Xy9OGZR0ma4RiYgaIKa0sEwUfAA2L8_P9VlU/s1600/PP3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDtSk7FsNHDSAVjc9O69KfDA531YzDldb294Amzw5-C1TGdy7FxHTtf60cszwvVMT7iDRxKWdDlQJLFg2EsqQ_lYuu1KsdrMvBaDCDWe1Xy9OGZR0ma4RiYgaIKa0sEwUfAA2L8_P9VlU/s320/PP3.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2bmOWTktBvE0nxd7jBwtiw3GkC77yH6yrXk7jzllWlOCI1rHdkOPqYHIyhbSaiQ3PSJ8sm1TX9xIsp0_e54wrJd_fATy-IBuOk9lHN2FCVAfXLSkTMG4OOMjjSTQmawX7qOdby8hViwg/s1600/PP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2bmOWTktBvE0nxd7jBwtiw3GkC77yH6yrXk7jzllWlOCI1rHdkOPqYHIyhbSaiQ3PSJ8sm1TX9xIsp0_e54wrJd_fATy-IBuOk9lHN2FCVAfXLSkTMG4OOMjjSTQmawX7qOdby8hViwg/s1600/PP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2bmOWTktBvE0nxd7jBwtiw3GkC77yH6yrXk7jzllWlOCI1rHdkOPqYHIyhbSaiQ3PSJ8sm1TX9xIsp0_e54wrJd_fATy-IBuOk9lHN2FCVAfXLSkTMG4OOMjjSTQmawX7qOdby8hViwg/s320/PP.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOBpJiMAFR6-4f6nOjaeWpOhCXIiKCPpO3qLAd0Lqe4AEj_g1OkW943UrXCUsO8Mv0ic7QFWX8RN-2BW1DBugBNTrmTRbtFR6ygZAH_a-xZC2JaTX78hKIDLjJmt0yn2h6JaZw7YzILE/s1600/PP5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOBpJiMAFR6-4f6nOjaeWpOhCXIiKCPpO3qLAd0Lqe4AEj_g1OkW943UrXCUsO8Mv0ic7QFWX8RN-2BW1DBugBNTrmTRbtFR6ygZAH_a-xZC2JaTX78hKIDLjJmt0yn2h6JaZw7YzILE/s400/PP5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg30QAOy2qKiou27-Qm-3kVlMwisdjjs3mGfS1S8upBwuEAEpZcQ6e59h1eUufhnHJ66M57RK2N9RPYMtw3U6dzG1TNYnmeAQr4PYQr69FYqTHmflLJ-0NYF1Tsx4bpq7pXAvi4g1UyvIk/s1600/PP2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg30QAOy2qKiou27-Qm-3kVlMwisdjjs3mGfS1S8upBwuEAEpZcQ6e59h1eUufhnHJ66M57RK2N9RPYMtw3U6dzG1TNYnmeAQr4PYQr69FYqTHmflLJ-0NYF1Tsx4bpq7pXAvi4g1UyvIk/s320/PP2.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Cheering for the cars showing their support.</span></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIOPrkcw0vxIbk-88_VNB55D5C4QDle-c6364NkPqwKVbxswUhb3CZAf5L9_VhQerMWb72QZci97FYsTt1x3qs4Ebd_RBaeEtSe19dWhd_31sfbUoekJDvGhfa6EI5t1j1VuqAbufhkcg/s1600/PP6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIOPrkcw0vxIbk-88_VNB55D5C4QDle-c6364NkPqwKVbxswUhb3CZAf5L9_VhQerMWb72QZci97FYsTt1x3qs4Ebd_RBaeEtSe19dWhd_31sfbUoekJDvGhfa6EI5t1j1VuqAbufhkcg/s400/PP6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Look at all that support for Planned Parenthood!</span></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZj2hS1WsIQpsIK5GVH0GV_5SzCn_wGoI8PdXo4abndGK6zqY5V7EYXHszMKgzC2q0_eY8WmmqORisFHHf5aUiAit23MvsS55PbeJSCmcbe7EDI3HtZicaqoomVRy9Ce2o0qBOa2iyMO4/s1600/PP7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZj2hS1WsIQpsIK5GVH0GV_5SzCn_wGoI8PdXo4abndGK6zqY5V7EYXHszMKgzC2q0_eY8WmmqORisFHHf5aUiAit23MvsS55PbeJSCmcbe7EDI3HtZicaqoomVRy9Ce2o0qBOa2iyMO4/s320/PP7.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgMKK1tHQgIG8l_jpDKhPdxeRQ8smDi9bvA6t011_bzgWJIbP5zq7unsEFKRiDoyLdOYOAyymgV0OydZTbmpktpzs4hl1Lq2KoytCyKCbwKRNp0vy9A1TqB6g8AURO2Bhlc5CK5ej7ZE/s1600/PP8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgMKK1tHQgIG8l_jpDKhPdxeRQ8smDi9bvA6t011_bzgWJIbP5zq7unsEFKRiDoyLdOYOAyymgV0OydZTbmpktpzs4hl1Lq2KoytCyKCbwKRNp0vy9A1TqB6g8AURO2Bhlc5CK5ej7ZE/s400/PP8.jpg" width="265" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">A little dramatic, no? Pro-lifers doing a good job of illustrating just how superhuman Jesus truly was. I mean, he </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d; font-size: x-small;"><i>did</i> carry his cross all on his own.</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS2ctsmuYaRWE5pCYX2PTplAsRDc7fIGtvEieunDtelvOdvLgG9bC6OqyD_mJKh4PUVFcs6Xj3s3KhPPFqPJcnQf6FARFEzsSCJxh7RMh1wVtLj8JsIeiTRKizR-hBs1qJE_ua6P7yOH0/s1600/PP9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS2ctsmuYaRWE5pCYX2PTplAsRDc7fIGtvEieunDtelvOdvLgG9bC6OqyD_mJKh4PUVFcs6Xj3s3KhPPFqPJcnQf6FARFEzsSCJxh7RMh1wVtLj8JsIeiTRKizR-hBs1qJE_ua6P7yOH0/s320/PP9.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Typical pro-life propaganda. As this guy walked by MusicMan, he mad sure to flash this ultrasound photo. Dude obviously doesn't realize there are term limits on abortions. A fetus as developed as the one on that ultrasound couldn't legally be aborted....not at Planned Parenthood or anywhere else. Way to educate yourself there, Mr. Anti-Choicer!</span></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCldBzt-L-2P-QsrzPEQFjaPKeVcgRVPlPE2T5sbNmTRHLyy4SS0ezcPnIygJI-r51c-fWqTsXPK0bIPWyigfZ-rFD_FGmAmpIjnofXfeIuD8k027ZlkKYmDUcK7yZS-e45i9mSfFsiyM/s1600/PP10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCldBzt-L-2P-QsrzPEQFjaPKeVcgRVPlPE2T5sbNmTRHLyy4SS0ezcPnIygJI-r51c-fWqTsXPK0bIPWyigfZ-rFD_FGmAmpIjnofXfeIuD8k027ZlkKYmDUcK7yZS-e45i9mSfFsiyM/s320/PP10.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1Q_hVaRKXAugdOGJzNh4KLnGUZIjlTamNE9xX8iXG6V9YQTb6MoS2usvre8GHG1PU8CjPc1GHF-LKnsX7ojwNsYBkJ9A6VJDO1sAFJxIowYJKmiHDNv3dI-2i4u-mQQ4tB3hV-c1jZI/s1600/PP14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1Q_hVaRKXAugdOGJzNh4KLnGUZIjlTamNE9xX8iXG6V9YQTb6MoS2usvre8GHG1PU8CjPc1GHF-LKnsX7ojwNsYBkJ9A6VJDO1sAFJxIowYJKmiHDNv3dI-2i4u-mQQ4tB3hV-c1jZI/s320/PP14.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDzPL4FAcDMyPPPlAODO8SAFt5POtwcAnk_RnTruY-qAoWgNp-J72lpkbgSu71ZHmVZtFXQCMcB0iYoThubZ2INh4BBhkX8O6uBKR0S9FWCT1kYoLA-02kyw8dAlklR2FJ5qtCYyp0-mg/s1600/PP15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDzPL4FAcDMyPPPlAODO8SAFt5POtwcAnk_RnTruY-qAoWgNp-J72lpkbgSu71ZHmVZtFXQCMcB0iYoThubZ2INh4BBhkX8O6uBKR0S9FWCT1kYoLA-02kyw8dAlklR2FJ5qtCYyp0-mg/s320/PP15.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">This photo really illustrates some of the energy in the crowd of supporters. Despite the <s>absence of any spring-like</s> downright dreary weather in Minnesota!</span></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBllqZjocn5mPBbIMRI1Mv4-YQlpBNr1RBDHyDT60wh02F8ftUSpMjJEoIzK5IPF0A2_i-C7m-Wtd8P9MovWRCjdZyMEjdToK-CbHsgJhkgsVuFtJA7vbNlOJl00K26qE_T_wlYFX0cM/s1600/PP16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBllqZjocn5mPBbIMRI1Mv4-YQlpBNr1RBDHyDT60wh02F8ftUSpMjJEoIzK5IPF0A2_i-C7m-Wtd8P9MovWRCjdZyMEjdToK-CbHsgJhkgsVuFtJA7vbNlOJl00K26qE_T_wlYFX0cM/s320/PP16.jpg" width="212" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I loved this woman's sign. It shows that one can be religious and have faith, but still be rational enough to realize that a woman's choice is her own.</span></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3P_cORPgbvD19DgYBkBU_Sn2VkXWumB-7l84-5ZIv8cf_HvVUyMjjBxQjoYUWOlzN_I29I9akIHuHH3ozPfOT7keH8GNp2-v9zM0zmAIK4h9ziRNrtrIPWo29L6DF_E5GFEfNV_vUzI0/s1600/PP18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3P_cORPgbvD19DgYBkBU_Sn2VkXWumB-7l84-5ZIv8cf_HvVUyMjjBxQjoYUWOlzN_I29I9akIHuHH3ozPfOT7keH8GNp2-v9zM0zmAIK4h9ziRNrtrIPWo29L6DF_E5GFEfNV_vUzI0/s400/PP18.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3P_cORPgbvD19DgYBkBU_Sn2VkXWumB-7l84-5ZIv8cf_HvVUyMjjBxQjoYUWOlzN_I29I9akIHuHH3ozPfOT7keH8GNp2-v9zM0zmAIK4h9ziRNrtrIPWo29L6DF_E5GFEfNV_vUzI0/s1600/PP18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieiBXRNP45NvVQyDPoVVP6R9O9WLjZKP1_D2-Z9Y2cYg7DD6HIgJLoFrj10vVJdrfPQoRBTDtQeH4o2tzjHBZyIpCJrqXcui68QIBy8oEkM0zPsnQaYEG3-LCWOY4NN6Gw4a0ipnImKM0/s1600/PP17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieiBXRNP45NvVQyDPoVVP6R9O9WLjZKP1_D2-Z9Y2cYg7DD6HIgJLoFrj10vVJdrfPQoRBTDtQeH4o2tzjHBZyIpCJrqXcui68QIBy8oEkM0zPsnQaYEG3-LCWOY4NN6Gw4a0ipnImKM0/s320/PP17.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_tBEoHCr3EGG2_IFO1MC3MTGFynyy_2ZTHk-wHOt4nb8sb3I1jw9q2__HndHtlbqrGTkNoiZE9fekNcLnbhdG7N9gCosOquMKJ9SXFpmIT3g9YfmOA6n2WSyPlDe5m4Kl8k8Tpnq7rw/s1600/PP19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_tBEoHCr3EGG2_IFO1MC3MTGFynyy_2ZTHk-wHOt4nb8sb3I1jw9q2__HndHtlbqrGTkNoiZE9fekNcLnbhdG7N9gCosOquMKJ9SXFpmIT3g9YfmOA6n2WSyPlDe5m4Kl8k8Tpnq7rw/s400/PP19.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-23401258224469783192011-04-18T11:31:00.000-05:002011-04-18T11:31:47.125-05:00C for Catching Up!Hello, lovely reader!! I didn’t set out to be away from the blog for so long--time really flies. I’ve missed it and I’ve missed you, but sometimes life just happens! I’m sure most of you (if there are any of you left) can relate, and if you can’t, I am extremely jealous. I’m going to try to update you on the past three months, and I’m going to try to keep it brief. I’m going to break it out into a few areas, including section headings so that you can skip past sections you might not be interested in. <br />
Okay, here we go!<br />
<br />
<strong><u><span style="color: magenta;">SCHOOL</span></u></strong><br />
Taking three full-semester courses, meaning they all run for 16 weeks straight in tandem, proved to be a lot more difficult than I thought it would be! That is the primary reason I’ve been M.I.A. I’ve had some big writing projects for Philosophy of Religion and lots of reading to do for the class. I’ve also had lots of reading to do for my Biology classes. I had a large research project to complete for Biology of Women, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I basically just phoned it in.<br />
<br />
Well, scratch that, I didn’t totally phone it in and I am a little bit ashamed. I did a lot of research and put together what I thought was a pretty good presentation; however, I blatantly ignored the part of the instructions that said, “You must interview a professional researcher/clinician on the subject.” I didn’t have time for that crap, nor did I need to learn how to interview anyone because I’ve done that before. I'd like to think that, more than anything, my purposefully ignoring part of the instructions speaks less about my character and more about just how burnt out I was feeling by this point in the semester. It has really been brutal!<br />
<br />
It remains to be seen my grade on the project will be affected by my willful ignorance. It would appear many of my classmates ignored the same part of the instructions (as well as ignoring all spelling and grammar rules of the English language, but that's a story for another day). Even though projects were due over two weeks ago, they haven’t yet been graded. Yeah…my instructor for this online course is a total slacker (I know, who am I to talk?!) and it just irks the hell outta me.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, I cannot wait for this semester to be over!<br />
<br />
Speaking of this semester ending, I cannot believe that next semester is my last semester at Community College!!! In some ways, it seems like it’s taken forever to get to this point, while in others it seems as though the time has just flown by. I will have officially completed my second associate’s degree by the end of this summer, which brings me to some reeeeeeeeeeallly exciting news I have to share…<br />
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The second thing that was taking up quite a bit of my time was completing my application packet for the College of St. Scholastica’s social work program. I had to write a five page essay, collect reference forms, and complete two applications (one for the school, wait for acceptance, then one for the program). All that hard work paid off, because <strong>I WAS ACCEPTED!!! </strong>(Twice! Once for the school and again for the program. It is the latter that I'm most excited about.) I am over the moon excited to officially be one of the College of St. Scholastica’s Fall 2011 Social Work Students!<br />
<br />
Though my friends and some of my family members had no doubts that I would be accepted, I had my reservations. The program is very competitive. Only about 25 students are accepted each fall, and only in the fall, and I am just beyond thrilled to be one of those students! I will officially start at St. Scholastica in September, and within 16 months, I should have my bachelor’s degree in social work! How exciting is that?!?! I like that the program is structured so that the schedule stays the same. For the whole 16 months, I’ll take classes Tuesday and Thursday evenings and one Saturday a month. Not only is it going to be nice to finally be immersing myself in social work curriculum, but it will be so nice to always have the same consistent schedule (rather than my schedule changing each semester depending on what and how many classes I take).<br />
<br />
My last semester at Community College—summer semester—could be incredibly easy or rather difficult. It all depends on me. I have two competencies to do and I have one class to take. The class should be an easy one, because it’s a fine arts requirement. Right now, I’m debating between beginning photography and a couple of different music classes. I’m not sure which one to choose yet, but either way, it shouldn’t be too tough. The competencies are going to be the tough part. Both are very large projects, requiring quite a bit of research and time, so I’ll have to be diligent about setting up a schedule and keeping myself on track. My innate ability to procrastinate will certainly be tested.<br />
<br />
<strong><u><span style="color: magenta;">JOB</span></u></strong><br />
As you may or may not know, I work for a broker/dealer in the investment research department. Recently, an employee of the broker/dealer’s trade desk moved to another position. Since she formerly served as a backup trader when phones got busy or one of the traders was off for the day, the trade desk needed a new backup trader. I have the appropriate licenses to execute mutual fund and stock trades, and my current job is under the same umbrella (leader) as the trade desk, so I apparently was the obvious choice.<br />
<br />
At first, it was an exciting new opportunity and I was pleased that I would <em>finally</em> be using some of the licensing I had been forced to get years ago yet never used; however, it’s getting to be overwhelming. In addition to serving as a backup trader, I also took over some of this former employee’s job duties. Someone seriously underestimated the amount of time it took her to complete the tasks I was given, as I find myself now buried in work. It doesn’t help that I’ve been called to backup on the trade desk for three hours every day this past week and at least two to three days a week in prior weeks. When the desk gets busy, it’s hard to multitask. One can’t exactly take explicit instructions to trade thousands of dollars of someone else’s money while simultaneously completing any other task. It just won’t work.<br />
<br />
So, work is suddenly incredibly busy and overwhelming. I went from having weeks at a time with practically nothing to do to not having enough hours in the day to get everything done. It’s a shocking change that comes with many frustrations. I somehow need to figure out how to balance it all and how to get everything done. I have become even more thankful that my time at this company, and in this line of work, is limited. There is at least an end in sight!<br />
<br />
<strong><u><span style="color: magenta;">HEALTH</span></u></strong><br />
I am still smoke-free!!! Over three months, in fact. Actually, over 100 days! 106 days, 13 hours, 23 seconds (as of this writing), to be exact. It’s mind boggling that I haven’t smoke 1,598 cigarettes! (GROOOOOOOOSSSSSS!) I’ve also saved 12 days and 4 hours of my life so far and $481.50. I’m still feeling really good about the decision to give up cigarettes and I grow stronger in my quit each day. It’s interesting, though, how one healthy lifestyle change can snowball into others…<br />
<br />
I joined Weight Watchers online towards the end of February. I decided it was high time I do something about my weight rather than just whining about it. I’ve never had what I would call a good or healthy relationship with food. Part of that stems from lack of knowledge and part from never really having had a good example set. My mother seemed to be in a constant battle with her weight as I grew up. That, combined with the fact that we lived just above the poverty line (and sometimes way below it), meant we didn’t really eat a lot of nutritious, balanced meals. (Anyone else remember how vile government cheese was?) I was also taught to stuff my emotions with food, rather than to express them. Yeah…not so good.<br />
<br />
I realized I didn’t want to end up like my mom—so desperate to lose weight that I put my life in more danger by undergoing surgery. My mother, while better and healthier than the last time I mentioned her in this blog, will likely battle various illnesses for the rest of her life as a result of her surgery and her inability, or resistance, to change her eating habits forever.<br />
<br />
So far, I really like the Weight Watchers program. It’s<em> not</em> a diet!!! It’s a lifestyle change, which is exactly what I needed. I’m learning to eat a healthier, more balanced diet and I’m learning portion control. I’m also eating a lot more real, whole foods. The program cautions against depriving yourself, and I don’t. I still have cake, and cookies, and whatever else I want. I just don’t have them every day, and I eat appropriate portions. I don’t do, or eat, or not eat anything I’m not willing to do, or eat, or not eat for the rest of my life, because I want to be able to maintain (indefinitely) exactly what I’ve done to lose this weight.<br />
<br />
I’ve learned to make smarter choices, and I am being rewarded for my efforts. I’ve lost 13.9 pounds so far, averaging over a pound and a half per week, which of course feels fantastic. But, my instant gratification personality struggles with this a bit. I would like to see the weight come off faster. However, just as I didn’t put it all on over one day or in the course of a week or so, it’s not going to come off that way either. I also know that losing weight slowly and steadily increases the likelihood that that weight will stay off, so while this make take longer than I'd like, it <em>will </em>be worth it. I’m certainly having to learn how to be patient and to revel in the little victories.<br />
<br />
That lifestyle change lead to one other. Weight Watchers encourages exercise, and one of the things that compelled me to quit smoking was that I wanted to regain some lung function in order to be able to at least walk for fitness. I started the <a href="http://www.c25k.com/">C25K</a> running program a couple of weeks ago. This interval training program is meant to gradually introduce one to running, with the eventual goal being to run a 5K (a little over 3 miles) or half an hour straight. I used to think runners were just complete masochists. Having just completed day 3 of week 2 over the weekend, I still think that. However, I’m also starting to think that I just might be able to <em>be</em> one of those masochists. I am embarrassed at just how out of shape I am. My body is not used to running for even a minute straight—how awful is <em>that</em>?! But, I’m getting stronger and better each day, and that’s what counts.<br />
That’s all I have for now, lovely reader!!! Tell me, what’s new in your world?<br />
<br />
I have been reading and keeping up with the blogs in my reader, but haven’t been doing a lot of commenting lately. I’m going to try to get better about that. <br />
<br />
Until next time,<br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>Elle</strong></span><br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-69977404261145515222011-01-19T13:47:00.000-06:002011-01-19T13:47:16.048-06:00E for Exciting News!Some cool numbers:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: magenta;">18</span></strong>: The number of days I haven’t had a cigarette—not even a puff. (As of 10 o’clock tonight.)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: magenta;">270</span></strong>: The number of cigarettes I haven’t smoked in those almost 18 days. (<em>GROSS</em>!)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: magenta;">81</span></strong>: Dollars I’ve saved by not purchasing cigarettes.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYllgfOCeFVmW6pObcIRUIcNvGJ1YXxDpreRpEHnWaOUAtksl695tY_koSK0kqRmIaV7R7YjWRgGv9dxnPYqkYGbH0raQBe5D-K6rhXSKPp42diCeoTf1Exi8Zz6cMVza4fY7Ei41Oa9M/s1600/exhausted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYllgfOCeFVmW6pObcIRUIcNvGJ1YXxDpreRpEHnWaOUAtksl695tY_koSK0kqRmIaV7R7YjWRgGv9dxnPYqkYGbH0raQBe5D-K6rhXSKPp42diCeoTf1Exi8Zz6cMVza4fY7Ei41Oa9M/s320/exhausted.jpg" width="320" /></a>I’d like to tell you that I feel super amazing and that quitting smoking has changed my life, lovely reader, but so far it really hasn’t. I’ve been incredibly, overwhelmingly, unbelievably exhausted. Like zero energy. Like I’m amazed I even make it to work and make it through the work day.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Combine that with a new semester starting (one in which I’m taking three classes) and the usual busyness of acclimating myself to a new homework and work schedule, and you have a recipe for a very bad blogger. I haven’t started the new year off well at all. I know that. I hope to change that. I appreciate the half dozen of you who remain faithful readers despite my sporadic posting and broken promises.<br />
<br />
Now, don’t let that first paragraph up there fool you. I don’t regret the quitting smoking. Not one single bit. I’m glad I’m no longer slowly killing myself with those little death sticks. I just wish that the amazing health benefits you hear about (like a boost in energy) would kick in sooner. I know that my body is detoxing right now—getting rid of all of the garbage and chemicals I’ve abused it with for around 14 years. In addition to that, my brain is working on rewiring itself—getting rid of old habits and associations I no longer need as a nonsmoker. I understand that this is a process.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOTEA4k7DhyphenhyphensAxH3ra18myG90u08GrHWgusmSU3TB8Of9SzMy-PlZagAs0Fl0giNiFksNHPyW_FWKIqFtqzj6lSyO9IMy2eJdTYglSMvzpKdRPxBYSXw761CwN4ZBu7GCe9rw2Ym74htE/s1600/nosmoking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOTEA4k7DhyphenhyphensAxH3ra18myG90u08GrHWgusmSU3TB8Of9SzMy-PlZagAs0Fl0giNiFksNHPyW_FWKIqFtqzj6lSyO9IMy2eJdTYglSMvzpKdRPxBYSXw761CwN4ZBu7GCe9rw2Ym74htE/s200/nosmoking.jpg" width="200" /></a>I’ve quit smoking before. My longest quit was a few years and my shortest was about three months. Each quit attempt has taught me something about myself and quitting smoking. I’ve learned that quitting smoking is only as hard as you make it. This time around, I chose to use the cold turkey method. I decided that if I was going to quit smoking, then I just wanted to be done.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">There really was no fanfare, I didn’t have a big plan, and there was no grandiose “final cigarette.” I smoked my last cigarette at 10 pm on January 1, standing in the garage with MusicMan as per usual. After I was finished, I decided I wasn’t going to buy anymore cigarettes. And, with that, I was just done.</div><br />
Apparently I was more ready to quit than I would’ve thought, because unlike some previous quits, this one hasn’t been so tough. I’ve had my moments, here and there, where I swear the whole world is doing its best to thoroughly piss me off. But, overall, I feel good about this decision. I feel committed to being a nonsmoker.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Of course, it helps that I now seem to be incredibly allergic to cigarette smoke. One little whiff, and I’m in sinus hell. I cannot believe how badly I used to stink when I smoked! I am absolutely positively <em>embarrassed </em>over how awful I used to smell. To think, I actually thought certain people didn’t know that I smoked. Yeah right!! There’s just no hiding it!</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I really want this quit to be the one that sticks and I’m feeling way more committed to joining the ranks of nonsmokers than I ever have in the past. That’s part of the reason I’m telling all of you about it. The more people who know, the more I feel I’m being held accountable. That strength and accountability will be helpful in future moments of weakness. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>*****************************<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">In other news, classes are going pretty well. I have two online classes, Philosophy of Religion and Biology of Women, and one traditional class, Human Biology Lab. It looks like I should be able to juggle all three this semester. I am a little worried about the homework load as the pace picks up though. I have a few large papers to write for Philosophy of Religion and the second half of the semester for the Human Biology Lab involves writing up lab reports, so it would appear there is a lot of writing in my future.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I also have to get moving on writing my admissions essay for acceptance into The College of St. Scholastica’s Social Work Program. I received word yesterday that I have officially been accepted as a student at the college, and I’m super thrilled! If all goes according to plan, and my wish comes true and I’m accepted into the social work program, I will start my bachelor’s degree in September! How exciting is that?!</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">While I’m <strike>bragging</strike> updating you all on recent events, I also have to mention that I was honored with a very special invitation last week. On Friday, I received an email informing me that I had met all requirements of eligibility to become a member of my college’s chapter of Phi Theta Kappa (PTK) International Honor Society. The email invited me to join my school’s chapter of PTK, which I gladly accepted.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIascO8xFhvCfVKZay77ZHpOdyReIl8_PKjmN1CvKYHC6tUj9zk_XVgOzyOI4l0w-UiE6W6SMAnWyEddUF_WZ_t2RvWyPduvkva0R3Y89n3jbAqGix_21c2ufUdha9vapzsM3_3_WsN8g/s1600/PTKkey.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIascO8xFhvCfVKZay77ZHpOdyReIl8_PKjmN1CvKYHC6tUj9zk_XVgOzyOI4l0w-UiE6W6SMAnWyEddUF_WZ_t2RvWyPduvkva0R3Y89n3jbAqGix_21c2ufUdha9vapzsM3_3_WsN8g/s1600/PTKkey.png" /></a>Not only will this incredible honor look good on resumes, but PTK has scholarship programs available to its members. This could be incredibly helpful for me, because I currently am not eligible for financial aid (MusicMan and I allegedly make too much money.), which means I’m financing my education with loans and paying out-of-pocket. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I’m hoping my PTK membership will give me a competitive edge as I apply for acceptance into St. Scholastica’s Social Work Program. It’s a competitive program; only about 25 students are accepted each fall, and I’m hoping to be one of Fall 2011’s 25 students. Wish me luck, lovely reader!!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;"><a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a></div>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-62880933186511458222010-12-31T11:24:00.001-06:002010-12-31T20:47:20.272-06:00H for HAPPY NEW YEAR!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPpcc_drnGbb7tDL92WfHfIShkC09g2J7E5tFe-X5hOKEJ3hKpeTLCyyVy1l6vGTevVrD4-wb3MOoMtHBYqqRjgWEMrUho1_i9BydZZDT2Bhw8JdfV6nWvZj2Ua-LtRdQJFwgTNs8ZxU0/s1600/HappyNewYear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPpcc_drnGbb7tDL92WfHfIShkC09g2J7E5tFe-X5hOKEJ3hKpeTLCyyVy1l6vGTevVrD4-wb3MOoMtHBYqqRjgWEMrUho1_i9BydZZDT2Bhw8JdfV6nWvZj2Ua-LtRdQJFwgTNs8ZxU0/s320/HappyNewYear.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
To my lovely, amazing, wonderful readers:<br />
<br />
I wish you a very <strong><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">HAPPY NEW YEAR</span></strong>!! Thank you so much for the support, encouragement, laughs, and wisdom you've shared with me over the past year. I never would've imagined when I started this blog how many truly awesome and amazing people I would "meet." I didn't anticipate the many friendships I'd form with people I've never actually met in person. This has been an amazing experience, thanks to you, and I struggle to find the words to adequately express both the appreciation and amazement I feel over the fact that many of you consistently come here to read what I have to say and to share your thoughts with me.<br />
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One of my goals for next year is to post at least a few times a week in order to maintain my contact with you all and to further grow the friendships that have formed. Of course, I <em>did </em>get a Kindle for Christmas, and classes start up againg January 10, so there's going to be even more competition for my time; but, blogging is a big priority for me.<br />
<br />
I will be working on a post over the weekend to tell you all about the wonderful Christmas MusicMan and I had. I'm also working on a post to share my thoughts on the memorial bonfire we had for my sister. Please come back soon to see those!! For now, I leave you with a recap of 2010:<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta;"></span> <strong><span style="color: magenta;">January</span></strong> started out bumpy with a <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/01/e-for-emergency-room.html#">trip to the emergency room</a>. Things didn't improve, because a few weeks later, I had <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/01/b-for-breakdown-bff-and-bail-money.html">car troubles</a>. The end of the month started to show improvement when I <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/01/o-for-out-with-old.html#">bought a new car</a>.<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d;">Feburary</span></strong> found me <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/02/n-for-nostalgia.html#">feeling nostalgic</a>, receiving my first <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/02/for-award.html">blogging awards</a>, and celebrating a couple <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/02/h-for-happy-birthday.html#">birthdays</a>.<br />
<br />
In <strong><span style="color: magenta;">March</span></strong>, I <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/03/i-for-idiot-m-for-moron-i-is-one.html#">tried my hand at being an economist</a>, <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/03/e-for-examining-differences.html#">examined the differences between my younger classmates and I</a>, and <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/03/w-for-what-french-toast.html#">was a little overwhelmed</a> with how busy life had gotten.<br />
<br />
The overwhelming busyness continued in <strong><u><span style="color: #38761d;">April.</span></u></strong> I pondered <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/04/l-for-life-d-for-death.html#">life and death</a> and was excited to receive <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/04/i-have-been-awful-blogger-lately-lovely.html#">more blog awards</a>.<br />
<br />
In <strong><span style="color: magenta;">May</span></strong> I shared some information about <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/05/f-for-f-ed-up-family.html#">my family</a> and the constant frustration they cause. I started my <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/05/w-for-wayback-wednesday-part-1.html">Wayback Wednesday</a> sereis to tell you all about how MusicMan and I met, and I also <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/05/b-for-birthday.html#">celebrated my 32nd birthday.</a><br />
<br />
The <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/06/s-for-summer-of-hell-week-1.html#">Summer of Hell</a> started in <strong><span style="color: #38761d;">June</span></strong>. In one of the few blog posts I had time for, I talked about <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/06/c-for-choice.html#">choices</a> people make. <br />
<br />
I was quite <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/07/l-for-let-crazy-began.html#">busy</a> in <strong><span style="color: magenta;">July</span></strong>, due to the Summer of Hell, and ended up feeling really <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/07/b-for-burnt-out.html#">burnt out.</a><br />
<br />
In <strong><span style="color: #38761d;">August</span></strong>, I shared the story of <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/08/w-for-wayback-wednesday-part-9-special.html#">how MusicMan proposed</a> in anticipation of celebrating our <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/08/for-anniversary.html">two year wedding anniversary.</a><br />
<br />
I introduced you to <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/09/m-for-memories-and-mud-volleyball.html">mud volleyball</a> in <strong><span style="color: magenta;">September</span></strong>, and opened my heart to tell you about <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/09/t-for-trials-and-tribulations.html#">a day I didn't think I'd ever get through.</a> I rounded out the month by sharing an <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/09/b-for-bad-neighbor.html">embarrassing secret.</a><br />
<br />
I suffered from writer's block in <strong><span style="color: #38761d;">October</span></strong> and only posted a quick <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/10/u-for-update.html#">update</a> and shared my thoughts on <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/10/w-for-words-are-powerful.html#">the power of words.</a><br />
<br />
In <strong><span style="color: magenta;">November</span></strong>, I risked alienating some readers by writing about <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/11/i-for-i-believe.html">some of my strongly held beliefs</a>.<br />
<br />
The <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/12/p-for-passages-of-time.html#">power of forgiveness</a> was on my mind in <strong><span style="color: #38761d;">December</span></strong>. We also had an <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/12/w-for-war-is-brutal.html">unwelcome visitor</a> to contend with.<br />
<br />
It's been an incredibly busy year, lovely reader, but I've also made a lot of progress towards completing my degree. I look forward to chatting with you again in the New Year. Whatever you decide to do to welcome in 2011, I hope you have fun and stay safe!!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-52190049049013958272010-12-16T13:05:00.001-06:002010-12-16T13:06:13.319-06:00R for RaaaaaaaagggggggeeeeeeeeI’m going to warn you right now, lovely reader, this post is anything but fun, humorous, or light-hearted. I am so filled with rage at the moment that I literally cannot focus on anything else. I decided the best thing to do, because I’m stuck at work right now and thus cannot bury my face in a pillow and let out a few hundred primal screams, was to blog it out. <strong><span style="color: magenta;">Viewer discrtion is advised.</span></strong> This post contains adult language not suitable for children or those with delicate sensibilities.<br />
<br />
I have completely and totally run out of patience for my mother. Not just patience, but compassion, respect, and even love are out the window at the moment. I’ve had it!!! I’m so ready to just be done with her, and yet I can’t completely cut ties because I want access to my nephew. My mother is a vindictive bitch, and I truly believe she would withhold my nephew from me should I not keep up the illusion that we are a truly loving mother-daughter pair.<br />
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I’ll try to start from the beginning-ish (I don’t have the time to get into the history of me and my mother’s relationship right now, but I will at some point.)...<br />
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This is a terrible time of year for my family. If you’re a regular reader, you know why. If you’re new here and don’t know why, I’ll summarize it: my nineteen year old sister was murdered on December 19, 2007. You can read more about that <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/p/day-life-changed-forever.html">here</a>, if you’re so inclined. I wrote <a href="http://aforeffortbfor.blogspot.com/2010/12/p-for-passages-of-time.html">earlier this month</a> about how I refused to let this time of year drag me down anymore. How, instead, I choose to celebrate my sister’s <strong><em>life</em></strong> and celebrate the holidays as she would, were she here with us.<br />
<br />
My mother is making it nearly impossible for me to do that. It’s like, because she’s completely miserable this time of year because she <em>chooses </em>to wallow in grief and sadness, the rest of us should be as well. She called me yesterday and said, “I think we should all be together on Sunday (the anniversary of my sister’s death), so everyone is going to come over here.” Well, that’s great, but she doesn’t get to make those decisions for everyone anymore.<br />
<br />
I’m a 32 year old married woman with my own family and agenda. <strong><em>I</em></strong> will decide where I need to be and what I need to do. I lost a sister—no, a <em><strong>daughter,</strong></em> because that’s what she basically was to me my whole life, especially after my mom and my stepdad divorced—too, and as such, <strong><em>I</em></strong> (and I alone) get to decide how I’ll spend the anniversary of her death. Besides, we will all be together on Saturday at the memorial bonfire meant to honor her.<br />
<br />
Kristine has been gone for three years now. Time has healed the wounds for some of us; it's left behind jagged, ugly scars—sure—but the pain isn’t as raw anymore. While others, like my mother, choose to wallow instead of trying to heal. And that’s just fine, as long as they don’t try to force the rest of us into it. But it’s not her wallowing or insistence on focusing on the <em>loss</em> and <em>death</em> that gets to me so much. That I can get past. People grieve differently, and she has a right to her methods. What I cannot get over is her never-ending need for attention and the fact that she consistently tries to profit from my sister’s death.<br />
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That is where I draw the line. Right now, I’m nearly ready to vomit over how disgusted I am with her.<br />
<br />
As I’ve mentioned before, my mom and her husband are not in a good place financially. They probably never will be either. Why? Because they make stupid, bad decisions and don’t have their priorities in order. At all.<br />
<br />
For example, mom’s husband up and quit his job last spring. <em>Why?</em> Good question, lovely reader! Because he has a bad back and the hard work of sitting on his ass driving a school bus every day was just too much for him. He was off of work for three months, and it was only when the threats of eviction started that he realized he probably needed to get out and get a job. My mom’s meager school bus driver salary couldn’t support a family of four all on its own. Of course that put them even more behind than they already were, so now they’re playing a constant game of catch-up.<br />
<br />
The new job that mom’s husband got doesn’t pay nearly as well as his old job. And, due to my mom’s illness, is the only income they have at this point. There is no doubt that they’re struggling. They depend on the food shelf, barely get by paycheck to paycheck, and are behind on all of their bills.<br />
<br />
Musicman and I have offered to take custody of my nephew since the day after my sister’s death. And I consistently remind mom and her husband of our willingness to do so. Not just to remove some of their financial burden, but also to allow my mom to just be a grandma again. And, of course, to make sure that my nephew’s needs are consistently met and that he grows up in a home that’s loving, nurturing, and supportive.<br />
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A memorial fund was setup, a few days after my sister died, to help the family with funeral costs. I don’t know where that money ended up, but it’s gone now and my sister’s funeral was never paid off. Nor will it ever be now that mom and her husband declared bankruptcy. A few months later, there was a benefit for the family, because new financial concerns came about after my grandmother passed away and mom’s husband’s son had medical issues. Of course, at that time, people were reminded that this family had tragically lost a daughter to a senseless act of violence. (Gotta tug at the heartstrings; it gets people to open their pockets and wallets a little wider.) Thus began mom and her husband's addiction to public support and attention.<br />
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Musicman and I have helped them out faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar more than we should have. This year alone, we’ve given them well over $1,000 in financial assistance; to save them from eviction, to put food on the table, and to help out with my nephew. Or so I’m lead to believe. Until I read Facebook and find out that they had their internet turned back on (<em>not </em>a necessity), they’re eating takeout, and my mom’s husband is out standing in line (with his bad back) for the midnight release of a $60 video games. But, whatever. Shame on me for giving them the money and expecting them to honestly use it for what they said they needed.<br />
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We’ve given them money to help my nephew more than anything, because our offer to take custody of him also came with the offer to help when needed, and they’ve caught onto that and have started to use him as a pawn to try to get more out of us. When we found out that, due to my mom’s recent illness and lack of paycheck, they weren’t going to be able to buy even a single gift for my nephew for Christmas, Musicman and I offered to buy gifts on their behalf. Despite the fact that we’re already out over $1,000, we refuse to let my almost five-year-old nephew go without Christmas.<br />
<br />
We decided we’d purchase one “big ticket” item (around $50) from them and a few smaller gifts and some clothes from Santa. I figured my mother would see this as our Christmas gift to her and her husband (even thought adults in my family don’t exchange gifts) and that we’d give them the gifts at the bonfire this weekend so that they can have them all wrapped up and under the tree—ready for Li’l D on Christmas morning. Of course, we will also purchase additional gifts for him from Auntie Elle and Uncle Musicman too.<br />
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Yet what do I see on Facebook yesterday? A second fundraiser has been setup for them. One fundraiser was setup weeks ago, but apparently that one hasn’t garnered enough interest or attention, so a second one was started. Of course my mother insists that she and her husband had nothing to do with this and that their friends and neighbors want so badly to help them out. Yet she’s the one spamming everyone’s walls with the link to the fundraiser.<br />
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This recent fundraiser says that the family tragically lost their daughter three years ago to a senseless act of violence, and since that time have cared for her son. That’s pretty much the only part that’s true. The description goes on to say that the family faces financial hardship because mom’s husband was forced to temporarily quit working due to a back injury and that they’ve been struggling financially since their resources were used up in their quest to make sure that the murderer was convicted. Oh, and that because of this financial hardship, they will not be able to provide a Christmas for my nephew.<br />
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*Queue eyeballs popping out and head exploding here* What. The. <strong><em>FUCK</em></strong>?!?!? First of all, mom’s husband was never <em>forced</em> to quit working. As I stated above, he <em>chose</em> to quit his job. Because that’s what you do when life gets hard, right?! You just quit and later on depend on other people to finance your life. And it wasn’t because of an injury he had recently sustained—it’s an old injury that, to my knowledge, he’s never really sought treatment for, choosing instead to complain and whine about it. If there's one thing he and my mom excel at, it's playing the martyr.<br />
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Secondly, <em>NONE</em> of their money was used to convict my sister’s murderer. The state prosecuted him. The only out-of-pocket expense any of us had was getting time off of work (some of us unpaid) and paying for transportation and/or parking to attend his trial, and numerous pre-trial hearings, which of course wasn’t required of us. But, we all attended every day; each for our own individual reasons, but also for one we all had in common: to see justice served.<br />
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The part that really gets me though is where the fundraiser's description says my nephew isn’t going to have a Christmas. <em>REALLY</em>?!?! <strong>Why</strong> are my husband and I busting our asses, while watching our bank accounts dwindle, to purchase gifts for my nephew on behalf of my mother, her husband, and Santa?!! It’s like a slap in the face! No…A kick in the gut.<br />
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The slap in the face came after our generous offer when my mother texted me to see if we could bring nephew out shopping to buy gifts for her and her husband, because Lil’D has really been talking a lot about buying Christmas gifts for nana and pop-pop. Apparently our gift to them wasn't enough. No; I’m not joking. Within 24 hours of us offering to basically finance Christmas for them (not including all the food I’ll be preparing and bringing…just talking gifts here), she texts to see if we’ll also buy gifts for her and her husband on nephew’s behalf. <em>SERIOUSLY?!?!</em> <strong>Who does that</strong>?!? <em>Selfish </em>much?!?<br />
<br />
I haven’t received a Christmas present in I don’t know how many years. Musicman and I agreed long ago not to do gifts (we go all out for each other’s birthdays instead), and no one in my family can afford to do an adult gift exchange, so no Christmas gifts for me. It goes without saying that, since most of the adults can’t afford a gift exchange, we also do not get auntie and uncle gifts from our nephews and niece. And that’s okay. Christmas shouldn't be all about presents. I think the focus of the holiday should be on the kids, and I pay out quite a bit of money each year buying my nephews and niece what I hope are the perfect gifts.<br />
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Needless to say, I told my mom I wouldn’t have the time or the money to take my nephew shopping and sent an email to my sister asking her to step up (for a change). I wrote to my sis that, if she was having her kids make gifts for grandma for Christmas, it would be nice if she could include our nephew in that. She responded that she was going to take all of the kids (her two and Li'l D) to see Santa and to shop for gifts for mom and her husband from the kids. Great. Finally a break for me. My mom’s response to me saying no to her request? “No worries. You’ve done enough already.”<br />
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Really?!?! You fucking <em>think </em>so?!?! I’d say mooooooooooooore than enough. Waaaaaaaay more than enough! And, apparently, it’s still not good enough, because now there is a fundraiser that outright lies to people in order to get them to finance your life. The pathetic thing is people fall for their sob story. Their chronic bad luck is just unimaginable and so undeserved. How could such a caring, kind, hard-working family deserve to endure so much hardship?<br />
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The sad thing is, no matter what, it’s never going to be enough. Nothing is. Because my mom and her husband apparently think that the world should pity them for the rest of their lives, and as such, should pay to support them. It won’t be good enough until they are millionaires, because neither of them should actually have to <em>work</em> for a living.<br />
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And, as though I don’t have enough to be upset and angry about already, I get an email this morning from my mother indicating that she had forwarded details of the bonfire to the news media. One local station responded that they will pitch this as a story idea for their Saturday evening news program. <em><strong>WHY</strong></em>?!? Why would she do that?! Because my mother needs attention. She is addicted to drama and attention. I seriously think she went off the deep end long, long ago.<br />
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God forbid the memorial bonfire be a <em>private</em> event for friends and family to remember and honor my sister. Nope. That’s not good enough for mom. She <em>needs</em> attention on her.<br />
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I’m telling you right now, if the news media shows up on Saturday, I’m leaving. Enough of my private, personal thoughts, feelings, and emotions were on display for the public three years ago; when I was in too much shock, and my emtions too raw, to know that I could've (and should've) said no to the interviews and the prying. I will not stand there and watch my mother’s disgusting attempts to garner sympathy and pity by telling the world about how not only does she continue to struggle with recovering from the tragic loss of her daughter and the burden she carries raising her grandson, but also her bad luck never seems to change. Now she’s terribly ill and once again faced with struggles that no one should have to deal with. Poor her. Poor, poor her.<br />
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I’ve had it. I’m pissed off. I’m beyond pissed off. I’m so livid right now that I’m almost turning myself inside out with rage. I don’t want my nephew being raised to think that this is how life works; that because his mom was murdered, he’s entitled to do what he pleases and not worry about the consequences because the world owes him everything. That’s bullshit! I also don’t want it constantly thrown in his face that his mom was murdered and that he should be perpetually sad about that. Of <em>course</em>, he is probably the biggest victim in this awful, terrible, horrible tragedy, but that should not define him. He doesn't need to live his life as a victim; not when he can live as an inspiration, a survivor!<br />
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I honestly don’t know how my mom lives with herself. How do you sleep at night knowing that you’re <strike>lying to</strike> conning people to try to profit from your daughter’s death?!? I wonder how much time she spends each day anticipating what the award she deserves for stepping up and taking care of her grandson will look like, and the monetary value that will be attached to it, of course. Because, apparently, she deserves big things.<br />
<br />
When, really, <strong><em>she let her daughter die</em></strong>. She sent my sister to the murderer’s house that day. Alone. Because she insisted that her grandson should see his father. Despite the fact that she, unlike many of the rest of us, knew that the murderer had been violent towards my sister in the past, she sent her daughter to the lion’s den. Of course, she will admit that to no one.<br />
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Instead, she gets to look like the poor, grieving mother whose heart was ripped out the day her daughter—her <em>baby</em>—was murdered. And, while there’s no doubt that’s tragic—trust me, I get that; I live through the loss of my sister every single day—the true tragedy lies in the fact that she chooses to capitalize on her daughter’s death instead of celebrating her daughter’s<em> life</em> and focusing on the wonderful little piece of her that's been left behind and helping him to grow into a better man than his daddy ever was (instead of using him as a pawn).<br />
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<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-90830971295392061832010-12-07T13:45:00.005-06:002010-12-07T16:23:57.275-06:00A for Absolute Madness!Let the madness begin!!!<br />
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This past weekend, MusicMan and I both got the obligatory Christmas plan emails from our moms. Even though both of them should know the routine by now, because MusicMan and I have been married for a little over two years and celebrating holidays together for about four years, our mothers like to be coy. We spend Christmas Eve with MusicMan’s family and Christmas Day with mine. <br />
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My crazy mother, who you’ll remember is sick and thus supposed to be taking it easy, decided that we’d do brunch on Christmas Day at around noon. And, just in case people stick around long enough to get hungry again, she’ll have lasagna ready to go in the oven later on in the day. The email she sent to my sister and me indicated that we should invite our in-laws. (Well, my sister isn’t technically married, and it’s hard to keep track of whether or not she and the doofus who fathered her children are together or not at any given moment, but whatever.) The more the merrier, right?!<br />
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<strong><em><span style="color: magenta;">WRONG!</span></em></strong> My MIL (Mother-In-Law), though I love her to pieces, and my mom are way too much alike, which means they don’t necessarily get along very well. This is understandable, because it’s hard enough to give one drama queen enough attention (Is there ever enough attention for an attention-whore?!), so you can imagine how hard it is to muster up enough attention for two. MIL most likely won’t join us; nor will my father-in-law, but there’s always a chance (however slight that chance may be).<br />
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How my mom thinks we’re going to cram four extra people into her tiny house that barely accommodates the “normal” crowd is completely beyond me. Also, she’s supposed to be taking it easy, but she won’t be if my and my sister’s in-laws join us, because then she’ll have to play the hostess with the mostest to prove just how incredible she really is; especially in the face of adversity. (She is still incredibly sick. We find out Thursday if they're going to hospitalize her for a bit or not, because she's retaining so much fluid that she can now no longer bend her legs and her skin is starting to show signs of being stretched to the max. There is also fluid in her lungs<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">—likely because it has nowhere else to go.</span>)<br />
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I, being the loving and helpful daughter that I am, asked my mother to let me know what I could bring to Christmas. I was really hoping the answer wasn’t going to be fruit salad. That’s the standard item usually assigned to me for all holidays. I’m assuming that’s because my family knows I’m not much for cooking. I am capable of more than fruit salad, and MusicMan is quite a good cook, but still I get stuck with the fruit salad.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv6SlgvORbLUygJa4iB6Co5O1oPNQ7q0ZxMa-qs7cJd36hrO6rhukwelbTW80KVIOzmo0lB1KI1pe80p8Ek3z2w_IHD5Zxojp39KFLlNI4Z2OgRHpN-k3ZHvVCV6rfe0FQUV1sfwxQkqQ/s1600/fruitsalad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv6SlgvORbLUygJa4iB6Co5O1oPNQ7q0ZxMa-qs7cJd36hrO6rhukwelbTW80KVIOzmo0lB1KI1pe80p8Ek3z2w_IHD5Zxojp39KFLlNI4Z2OgRHpN-k3ZHvVCV6rfe0FQUV1sfwxQkqQ/s320/fruitsalad.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo <a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://img.recipezaar.com/img/recipes/17/05/89//large/picsJQ2pI.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.recipebridge.com/recipes/q-ambrosia-fruit-salad-recipes.html&usg=__GQZMUDKCOqUz9Vr1WlpUeEAI9tg=&h=461&w=593&sz=42&hl=en&start=6&zoom=1&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=HHK9eOri6JqicM:&tbnh=105&tbnw=135&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dambrosia%2Bfruit%2Bsalad%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26safe%3Dactive%26sa%3DN%26tbs%3Disch:1">Courtesy</a> (My family prefers it sans nuts. Doesn't that just look like a culinary delight?!)</span></div><div align="center"><br />
</div>I <strong><em>hate</em></strong> the fruit salad!! I don’t even eat it—practically no one does (except mom’s husband and his son)—yet I have to prepare it every holiday. It’s not particularly hard to do, which is why I get the task:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Take a large can of that gross, syrupy fruit cocktail, drain it, pour it in a large bowl</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;">Add three or four sliced Bananas and a can of Mandarin Orange slices (drained) to bowl</span> (I usually forget this part.) </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Add one bag of those pastel colored fruity mini marshmallows to bowl</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;">Add large container of Cool Whip to bowl</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Don’t use real whipping cream, because that will totally mess it up. The “salad” needs to taste as overly sweet as is humanly possible without it being actual candy. The irony of the healthy image projected by the name—fruit salad—is the secret ingredient to this not at all healthy “fruit salad.” So, it’s very important to use Cool Whip.)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Stir.</span></div><br />
That’s it. See? Not very hard at all. The hardest part about it is making sure most all of the syrup from the fruit cocktail is drained so that, once it’s mixed with the cool whip, it’s nice and smooth instead of a congealed mess. Oh, and remembering the bananas and oranges; I seem to always forget those for some reason, and the lack of bananas totally ruins my mom’s husband’s life. I think I’ve totally ruined his life like three times now. Also, trying not to slit my finger open on the jagged, sharp metal edge of the fruit cocktail can seems to be an ever-present challenge.<br />
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(Don’t want a repeat of the Thanksgiving of 2007 when half the fruit salad—i.e. all of the bananas and some of the marshmallows—ended up in the trash because they were covered in my blood. Maybe preparing fruit salad is harder than I thought.) <br />
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I learned too late to be careful what I wish for. My mom responded to my offer saying that she’d love for me to bring my French Toast Bake,* a “bunch” of cooked sausage and bacon that we can heat up in the oven, and maybe some fruit salad. (SERIOUSLY?!) <br />
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(*Which I introduced at Easter last year, just to show that I’m capable of more than fruit salad, and it would’ve been great with other brunch foods, but someone forgot to tell me that the menu had been switched from brunch to lunch, and French toast doesn’t go so well with ham, cheesy potatoes, mashed potatoes and gravy, various vegetables and other savory items, and then I vowed <em>never</em> to bring anything to a family holiday meal <em><strong>ever</strong></em> again. <strong><em><u><span style="color: magenta;">Ever!</span></u></em></strong> But, you can see how well that worked out. Sometimes, but very rarely, I might have just a tinge of my mom’s drama queen genes.)<br />
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I will, of course, obediently bring the foods I was assigned. <strong><em>Except</em></strong> the fruit salad! I am taking a stand. This will be a fruit salad-less Christmas, because I am going to conveniently forget to make it and bring it. Thus single-handedly destroying the holiday for my mom’s husband, I’m sure, but hopefully he’ll find a way to pull through and survive; he’s a fighter. (No, he's not.) Too bad. Important causes, like this one, sometimes have casualties.<br />
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Now, I’m just wondering how I’m going to get everything done. You see, my mom seems to have forgotten that I’ve already offered to make and bring five types of cookies, a few dozen cake balls, and some fudge. And, while she is off of work and can make one of each of her five types of cookies per day on the week leading up to Christmas and get done in plenty of time, I don’t have that luxury. I can’t even start baking until next weekend.<br />
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This coming weekend I have to study for my Algebra final. Next weekend is, of course, the memorial bonfire for my sister. The Friday night before, I have to prepare the food I plan to bring to the bonfire. This means I’m stuck baking five types of cookies (and hopefully cake balls and fudge), at least four dozen of each kind so there are plenty to go around, on the Saturday night after the bonfire and that Sunday. I work the following week, and that next weekend is Christmas already, so truly next weekend is the only time I’ll have!!<br />
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My mother also seems to have neglected the fact that I work on Christmas Eve day, because my company is apparently run by Ebenezer Scrooge and is too cheap to give us the day off. Granted we only have to work a half day, but still; it's inconvenient and kinda sucks. A lot. So, instead of unwinding for a bit between getting home from work and going to my in-laws’, I’ll have to prepare the French Toast Bake that needs to sit in the refrigerator overnight so that the bread can soak up all of the custardy goodness. (And I can hopefully prove to my family, once and for all, that I'm capable of culinary delights beyond fruit salad.)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNpidfTFlymr90trus4gP5imgJxwFqLhx-ifyR_xwWbX2JaP-C-XjeSYCB7DQubHXSB4OFLS_mmeu10AwTsMxOlgr6J2hJkwVOXb_Pnooj58WvWkiXWrUN9ahvotxdAt9MPtg7GKs2zA/s1600/scrooge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNpidfTFlymr90trus4gP5imgJxwFqLhx-ifyR_xwWbX2JaP-C-XjeSYCB7DQubHXSB4OFLS_mmeu10AwTsMxOlgr6J2hJkwVOXb_Pnooj58WvWkiXWrUN9ahvotxdAt9MPtg7GKs2zA/s320/scrooge.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo <a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://assets3.indy.com/photos/191787/default.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.indy.com/photos/191787/people/whitney%2520smith&usg=__FcKpBQneL1TxSVRUaEip2OjPX5Y=&h=800&w=751&sz=103&hl=en&start=25&zoom=1&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=VT3j0qIhOWMsrM:&tbnh=143&tbnw=134&prev=/images%3Fq%3Debenezer%2Bscrooge%26start%3D20%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26safe%3Dactive%26sa%3DN%26ndsp%3D20%26tbs%3Disch:1">via</a></span></div><br />
I’m tired just <em>thinking</em> of doing all of this, but I have to find the energy to actually <em>do</em> all of it now! And, I feel like I’m coming down with something, but I’m not even going to think about being sick because I just don’t have the time for it. Mind over matter!<br />
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If you don’t hear for me for a while, lovely reader, it’s likely because I’ve been overcome by cookie dough. You’ll probably find me, rocking back and forth in the fetal position, under a mound of Snickerdoodle, Peanut Butter, and Oatmeal cookie dough. Don’t approach too quickly; you don’t want to startle me and end up getting pelted with cake balls!!! :-)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a></div>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-62040897603501386942010-12-03T12:58:00.000-06:002010-12-03T12:58:44.588-06:00W for War is BrutalMusicMan had a gig Saturday night, so it was just the puppies and I hangin’ out at home. It started out as a peaceful, quiet night. I practiced some Algebra problems, realized I was really tired and not in the mood to do anything but laze around, and decided to watch a movie instead. We’ve splurged on Showtime in order to be able to get our Dexter fix, so I decided to see what movies they were playing. “The Road” sounded interesting, so I settled down to watch. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_1ZzxWKhP-putHPkT6yR5mfWXI9hCMh-upIF8y6hLZ5hddkRNqMuR39NEP5Ik7RtwdnE1GwNKEnye2JQwCjp9QMjkLjM1TdidK6Vq2asEYWpTDsGF1ip-j2ScfUOmQOKviQTjvcyvgmU/s1600/The+Road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_1ZzxWKhP-putHPkT6yR5mfWXI9hCMh-upIF8y6hLZ5hddkRNqMuR39NEP5Ik7RtwdnE1GwNKEnye2JQwCjp9QMjkLjM1TdidK6Vq2asEYWpTDsGF1ip-j2ScfUOmQOKviQTjvcyvgmU/s320/The+Road.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><br />
Have you seen or heard about this movie? It’s based on the 2007 Pulitzer Prize winning novel of the same name. Just in case you haven’t, I won’t spoil it for you, but here's a brief summary:<br />
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The movie takes place within the few years following an unknown apocalyptic event, the details of which are never revealed. The world is constantly dark, covered with what seems to be ash, and plant and animal life have been wiped out. Few seem to have survived, except for the main characters—a man and a boy whose names we don’t know—and the few others they run into along their journey south. The man and boy battle to stay alive as they journey towards, what they hope, is a better and brighter future.<br />
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Perhaps I’m not as “cultured” as I’d like to think, but I really disliked this movie. I wanted to stop watching it several times, because it was really just depressing, but I just had to see if there was a happy ending. It didn’t help that, because the movie is set in a post-apocalyptic world, everything was always dark and gray—that really set the mood. But all of the struggles the man and boy face along the way just got to be too much. I found myself wondering when they’d catch a break! So, yeah, this movie just wasn’t for me. That shouldn’t prevent you from watching it, of course, if it sounds interesting to you.<br />
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When the movie was over, I went out to our attached garage to have a final cigarette before bed. (I know, I know, it’s a dirty, horrible, disgusting habit. I’m trying to get myself into the right mindset to quit once and for all.) As I was standing there, contemplating what I would do were I stuck in a post-apocalyptic world and forced to face some of the situations and decisions the man and the boy did, I noticed movement in the periphery. Turning my head more to the left, to get a good look, I noticed a little gray mouse peeking over the safety sensor for our automatic garage door.<br />
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W.T.F?! From about 10 feet away, I slowly and carefully walked over to the other side of the garage to see if there was a hole that Mr. Mouse had come through. I saw nothing, so I figured he must’ve scampered in when the garage door was open and now couldn’t figure out how to leave, or he’d gotten in under the gap between the garage door and the concrete. I opened the door to the house and called Dexter, our Pug, out to the garage in the hopes that he would scare Mr. Mouse away. It seemed to work, because when I looked again, Mr. Mouse was nowhere in sight.<br />
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Realizing that, if Dexter was to actually see Mr. Mouse, he might try to get Mr. Mouse, resulting in a much bigger problem for me, I let Dexter back into the house. A few minutes later, Mr. Mouse reappeared. I was starting to freak out. I didn’t know what do to.<br />
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After looking around the walls shared by both the garage and the house, and determining there was no way for Mr. Mouse to find his way into the house, because, ya know, I’m a damn expert on finding teeny, tiny little holes and mouse entryways, I decided MusicMan <strike>and I</strike> would just have to deal with the issue the followng morning. I consoled myself with the fact that Mr. Mouse probably wouldn’t try to enter the house, because the telltale scent of dog would ensure understanding that it was an inhospitable territory for a mouse, and instead would intelligently decide to find his way out of the garage. I shut off the garage lights, went in the house, and texted MusicMan to beware ‘cause there was a big, bad mouse in our garage. My main concern wasn’t so much the mouse getting into the house, but instead, the mouse crawling up into MusicMan’s nice warm car and wreaking havoc by chewing on wires or something.<br />
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After a brief lecture to Lulu and Dexter about how we were at war with Mr. Mouse and they must warn mommy if the enemy tried to infringe on our territory, I went to bed. Even though I was pretty sure neither dog understood me too well since they both just stared at me, occasionally tilting their heads as though they were trying to understand, or at the very least, pay attention, I felt comfortable enough (read: was too exhausted to care about the mouse's possible actions and motives) to go to sleep.<br />
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The next morning, I showed MusicMan where I’d seen Mr. Mouse, and MusicMan went out to purchase a couple mouse traps. We’d decided he would buy a couple live traps, if they weren’t too expensive, because we didn’t want to kill Mr. Mouse simply because he’d had the misfortune of stumbling into our garage and not being able to find a way out. The big box hardware store MusicMan went to didn’t have live traps, so he settled on these:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.acehardware.com/product/index.jsp?productId=3686451&CAWELAID=366055964"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7mR_pBEbAKThYHO9dSlUCqkN8nW9zUrZPVLyGBubJS_NsD-sxU7-XtDdGoOSZXjUmT4bnmtiQK0Z6Etc1mld1MY1ahPNLy728d3W2rBc0EH07u7rusTGMA0v5Lgsa4cEnYQ6GupcEtH0/s320/MouseTrap.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo </span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_881741917"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">via</span></a></div><br />
The guy at the store told him that these traps likely wouldn’t kill the mouse unless it was trapped for so long that it starved to death. Even though the box had that kill guarantee on it, MusicMan reasoned that we’d check the traps often enough to avoid killing a mouse by starvation, so he purchased the two-pack and setup the traps as soon as he got home. He put one close to the sensor I’d seen Mr. Mouse standing on and the other on the opposite end of the garage, by our garbage can.<br />
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Two hours later, as he was leaving to run an errand, he saw that the trap by the garage door sensor had been sprung. Upon inspection, he found that the trap did, indeed, contain a mouse. Sadly, the mouse was dead.<br />
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MusicMan came into the house to tell me that we’d caught Mr. Mouse, he wasn’t as little as I’d thought he was, and the guy at the hardware store lied because Mr. Mouse was most definitely dead.<br />
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Well, what can I say? War is brutal. It isn’t easy, and it’s never pretty.<br />
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I realized, were this a post-apocalyptic world, we’d probably have saved Mr. Mouse's carcass instead of throwing him, trap and all, into the garbage (which would, thankfully, be taken away in a coule days). In a post-apocalyptic world, we’d have to rely on eating mice and bugs for sustenance, assuming they somehow survived the apocalypse too. That’s not a life I want to live. Having to fight, every single day, simply to survive is a scary proposition. I think that’s why I disliked “The Road” so much. It forced me to think about unpleasant, scary things that I didn’t want to think about.<br />
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Thankfully, for now at least, the war seems to be over. The other trap remains in position, unsprung, which is a very good sign that our enemies have gotten the mesage that this is <em>our </em>territory. But, a good warrior knows never to let her guard down; the enemy could strike again when it's least expected. And we remain at the ready.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a></div>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-49104037421927502312010-12-01T13:34:00.001-06:002010-12-01T13:35:08.788-06:00P for Passages of Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0a7_RF7iOaL8kDQitOPPpBka4LAk3lnq-hq_R5uCMAwGmhEzFa4Aw0ZftFdWp6WxQJCO9qttLErqJ-lLSqRU1jku2TRKC1wChYBkj9fhZuGvujSZYx3pShDrkj81mDOjVUndTlWZgOCA/s1600/clock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0a7_RF7iOaL8kDQitOPPpBka4LAk3lnq-hq_R5uCMAwGmhEzFa4Aw0ZftFdWp6WxQJCO9qttLErqJ-lLSqRU1jku2TRKC1wChYBkj9fhZuGvujSZYx3pShDrkj81mDOjVUndTlWZgOCA/s320/clock.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It is amazing how quickly time manages to fly by; isn’t it, lovely reader? Life has been hectic lately. Like don’t remember what day of the week, let alone what month, it is kind of hectic. Psychology class is over, and Algebra wraps up in a couple weeks, which means I’ll soon be on a lovely three week winter break! Wooohooo! I’m looking forward to having some downtime, catching up on my blog reading (I have <strong><em>a lot</em></strong> of catching up to do), and enjoying some time with friends and family. In addition to the busyness of school, work, and life in general, there has been some pretty major family drama too. I just don’t have the energy to get into it right now, so I’ll summarize as best I can…<br />
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My mother, who had weight loss surgery over three years ago, is incredibly ill. Like the possibility of dying exists kind of sick. While she insists that this illness has nothing to do with her surgery, it’s hard to deny that it makes recovery more difficult. It’s also hard to ignore that she’s been ill, in one way or another and to one degree or another, since she’s had the surgery. But, whatever.<br />
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She’s severely malnourished; her body does not retain any nutrients, or calories, or apparently anything from the food she eats. She’s gained 30 pounds of water weight alone. Apparently there's a possibility that she might have thyroid cancer, but the tests haven’t come back yet. She just started 24/7 IV nutrition therapy in the hopes that they can get her nutrition levels up enough to figure out what exactly is wrong with her, and then hopefully fix whatever it is. To top it off, she and her husband continue to barely scrape by financially. I have <strike>loaned</strike> given them more money than I care to think about or admit. And there’s no sign that any of that will get better anytime soon. It could, in fact, get worse, because there is a very real possibility that my mom will lose her medical insurance as a result of having to take 3-6 weeks of leave from work in order to try to get better.<br />
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It has become a very real possibility that MusicMan and I will need to take custody of my nephew, Li’l D, a lot earlier than we thought we would. We’re as ready as we can be for this, and of course, we want what’s best for Li’l D. Unfortunately, my mother remains stubbornly resistant to the idea. It’s getting to the point where I’m going to have to tell her that, if I’m going to financially support Li’l D any longer (because that’s really the only reason I have given her so much money), then he’s going to live with me. That’s not going to sit well at all. She might sever ties with me, and as a result sever our access to Li’l D. In which case, I will be forced to drag the whole thing into court, because I want what’s best for my nephew. But for now, we wait. And hope…<br />
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That things will get better. That my mom will heal and survive. That Li’l D living in such a stressful environment won’t affect him detrimentally for the rest of his life. That mom will come to her senses and do what’s best for Li’l D. That MusicMan and I will be able to handle suddenly becoming “parents” to an almost five-year-old basically overnight. That life will just quit being difficult for a while.<br />
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Speaking of difficult, I mentioned at this time last year that I hate this time of year. I gave a few reasons; the biggest of which, is that the anniversary of my youngest sister’s death is in December. It’s amazing the difference a year makes, lovely reader…<br />
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December 19 will mark three years that my sister has been gone. I’ve been so focused on finishing up the semester at school, getting ready for the holidays, and excitedly anticipating the bonfire we’ll have (on December 18) to celebrate her life that I momentarily forgot the significance of the date. My cousinfriend made a comment in a conversation we had recently about the date, December 19, being a hard day for my other sister and my twin brother (this is what my mother told my cousin, anyway). I seriously had to think for a few moments about why that would be. Imagine my shock and horror when I realized that the significance of the date is that it is the day, almost three years ago, that my sister was robbed of her life. Time flies.<br />
<br />
This, of course, caused me to think about how far I’ve come in that time. I don’t cry nearly as much as I used to. I no longer fear the question, “How many siblings do you have?” and can talk about Kristine’s death without feeling anxious or having a panic attack set it. These are really good changes. Yes, I’ve come a long way since December 19, 2007.<br />
<br />
When I first noticed that I hadn’t “lost it” in a good long while, I felt so guilty. How could I not be crying over my dead sister? What was wrong with me?! Then I realized that there was nothing to feel guilty over. Not crying regularly doesn’t in any way diminish the feelings I have for my sister or the profound sense of loss that will always exist as a result of her absence from my life. I love her beyond words. I am thankful that I got to spend the time with her that I did. And, I will never, ever, ever forget her.<br />
I can't cry forever, and crying really truly doesn’t make me feel better about anything. Nor will it change anything. Don’t get me wrong, when those moments of extreme, gut-wrenching anguish hit, I give in to them. I cry my heart out until I just can’t cry anymore. But those moments don’t happen nearly as often anymore, and for that, I am incredibly thankful. The fact that I don’t cry as often anymore means that I’m not in pain as often, and that’s a good thing. It means I am moving forward.<br />
<br />
I still think of Kristine every single day—at least once a day, but usually quite a bit more. I miss her more than words can even describe. Of course, I want her here. I want to hear her laugh, I want one of her amazing hugs, and I want to be enveloped in the light—the spirit—that was her. I want my nephew to have his mommy; to know what an amazing mother she was instead of having to hear about it as he grows older. These feelings never go away. My heart physically aches at times over all that she’s missed out on, and will miss out on, and over just how much I miss her and long for her to be here. But, I’ve realized that just isn’t possible. She’s not coming back. Ever. That is a cold, hard, unchanging fact of life.<br />
<br />
The grief and healing process is a weird, horrible, confusing, multi-faceted, terrible, amazing thing. I’m proud of how far I’ve come, but at the same time, I know I will be healing for the rest of my life. A big part of that healing lies in forgiveness. I swore I would never, <em>ever</em> forgive Kristine’s murderer, Zachery, for as long as I lived. Like most people, I confused forgiveness with forgetting. Just as I will never forget my sister, I will never forget what Zachery did. I will always, always remember that he hit her so hard that he knocked her out, made a ligature out of a shoelace, and used all of the force he could muster to squeeze the life out of her for no less than two minutes.<br />
<br />
But, I’ve forgiven Zachery. I really mean that. Those words—I forgive—come from deep down, the bottom of my heart.<br />
<br />
I. Forgive. Him.<br />
<br />
Of course, that forgiveness is more for me than it is for him. It means nothing to him; it would mean nothing to him even if he knew. It doesn’t mean that I’m in any way okay with what he did. It doesn’t mean that I don’t miss Kristine. It doesn’t mean that I love her any less. It certainly doesn’t diminish the tragedy of what happened. No.<br />
<br />
What it does mean is: I’m done with him. Forever. He’s not worth the time or effort I was spending on hating him, being angry over him, or wondering why he did what he did. There’s just no room for that in my head or heart anymore. I’m taking back the power he, or at least what he did, had over me. He did what he did, and he’s being punished appropriately for it. Just as we have to deal with our loss for the rest of our lives, he has to deal with what he did for the rest of his, and that’s good enough for me. I’m done.<br />
<br />
I think I needed to forgive him in order to move on with my life, and I really truly have. I feel lighter...cleaner...just plain <em>better</em>. My realization the other day—that I had sort of “forgotten” the significance of the date—makes me realize that I have chosen to honor my sister’s memory not by focusing on her death, but by celebrating her life.<br />
<br />
I’m choosing the good memories over the bad. This was her most favorite time of year—the festive feel of the whole season and the buildup to one of her most favorite holidays. Since she can’t be here to enjoy it, I owe it to her to at least appreciate that I can be. This year I’ll do one better. I will joyously anticipate and celebrate Christmas like she would have. In her honor. Because I can’t think of a better way to honor her. Besides, she wouldn’t want me crying all the time. That was so not her style.<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-87104670470942832252010-11-16T11:23:00.001-06:002010-11-16T11:23:57.758-06:00N for No Thanks!I received a letter from Community College last week. Since I wasn’t expecting anything from them, I immediately tore it open and my eyes quickly began to devour the words. As a result of my outstanding GPA and superior academic achievement, I was being offered the special opportunity to enroll in an upcoming honors level English course. <br />
<br />
Since I don’t need another English class, at least not another research writing course, and the class is at a time that won’t work for me, I’m gonna pass. However, I finished reading the letter anyway. I was informed that I can ask any instructor of any class to give me honors level work. Apparently all that’s required is a special form from the registration office and the instructor’s permission. Interesting.<br />
<br />
You might be thinking, as was I, <em>why </em>would I willingly ask instructors to give me more work? Except, of course, to pad my transcript with honors classes, which I assume are supposed to somehow look better. The thing is I’m only seven classes away from finishing my associate’s degree. Had they caught me a few semesters ago, I <em>might</em> have considered a few honors classes. But, now? Well. Now I’m just a little too smart to ask for more work and/or harder work just for the sake of making me look a tad bit better on paper. Apparently that is not the only reason one takes honors classes though…<br />
<br />
The letter went on to say that taking honors level courses would provide me with more of a challenge. Oh, okay. I see it now. I’m apparently too smart for Community College, lovely reader. I wonder what tipped them off. Is it the fact that my GPA has been a solid 4.0 for over a year? It took them long enough to notice. And while I <em>am</em> a perfectionist, apparently I am not an overachiever, because I’m not buying into the “honor” bestowed on those who <strike>abuse</strike> challenge themselves with honors level courses. Perhaps in a bachelor’s or master’s degree setting, sure, but for an associate’s degree? Really? I don’t think so. <br />
<br />
Community College doesn’t seem to understand that they are just a means to an end for me. I need to get my associate’s degree done efficiently (and cheaply) and they meet that need. Once I have what I want from them, I’m done. On to bigger and better things.<br />
<br />
Community College has either seriously overestimated my motivation or underestimated my common sense. Why would I put my flawless GPA on the line just to have the words “honors level” appear a few times on my transcript? I can’t imagine that it would give me that much of an edge when applying for a bachelor’s program. I’d think a high cumulative GPA is good enough.<br />
<br />
But, perhaps that’s the problem; I’m fine with just good enough. At least for right now, where my associate’s degree is concerned. I mean, really, is the college I transfer to going to look at a 3.6 GPA where the transcript notes some honors courses and think it’s that much better than my 4.0 GPA without honors courses? Is there <em>that</em> much of a difference? I really don’t think so.<br />
<br />
As far as being challenged? I think I have been, and continue to be, challenged just enough. Thankyouverymuch! And, because I just recently registered for spring semester classes, I can say with confidence that next semester will be a challenge. Sure there have been some courses along the way that haven’t been very challenging, or riveting, or really felt worth my time at all, but I viewed them as a necessary evil. I don’t think taking them as honors level courses would’ve made them any better.<br />
<br />
With only two regular courses—statistics and creative writing—left to take after spring semester, assuming all of the classes I’ve registered for work out this spring (more on that later), I won’t be asking for permission to take honors courses anytime soon. I guess that ship has sailed. I’ll have to be satisfied with the fact that Community College apparently thinks I’m too smart for them.<br />
<br />
I know that sounds incredibly arrogant, but that’s really all I can take away from the letter. I mean; I’ve taken four semesters of classes, and they just now caught on to the fact that I could maybe use a challenge?! Seriously?! I can say with confidence that I’ve definitely felt challenged, even if the only challenge presented with certain classes was the shear amount of work assigned. And as I try to fit seven classes (well, five classes and two competencies) into the next two semesters in order to be finished with my associate’s degree on time to start the bachelor’s program in the fall, I have a feeling that there will be no lack of challenge or frustration.<br />
<br />
Thanks, but no thanks, Community College. You can take your honors courses and shove them. I’ll keep my 4.0 GPA (or as close to it as I can manage)!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-72290414544680466862010-11-05T18:56:00.001-05:002010-11-05T18:56:38.992-05:00I for I believe...GAH! I am so frustrated lately, lovely reader. The recent election has me all in a tizzy. Now decency and politeness dictate that one should never discuss politics or religion if she wants to keep friends, but I’m going to throw caution to the wind today and focus on politics for a moment.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I seriously cannot believe the close-mindedness that exists in the world today. Republican/Democrat, Conservative/Liberal, I really don’t care. I can find viewpoints I understand and/or agree with from either party. I personally think we need to get <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">away </i>from the two-party system and back to “of the people, by the people, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">for </i>the people.” Though, in the interest of full disclosure, I tend to fall more Democrat/Independent/Liberal. What I can’t stand, and what scares me the most, is the Tea Party. Some Conservatives/Republicans even say that the Tea Party is bat shit crazy! To me, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that </i>is definitely cause for concern.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">So you can imagine my disgust and outright sadness over the fact that my state nominated a tea partier, Michele Bachman, to represent us in Congress. Yes. People <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">actually</i> went out and voted for a woman, who’s said out loud:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">"Little children will be forced to learn that homosexuality is normal and natural and perhaps they should try it."<o:p></o:p></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">( Interview with Jan Markell, Olive Tree Ministries.)</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">“Normalization (of gayness) through desensitization. Very effective way to do this with a bunch of second graders, is to take a picture of ‘The Lion King’ for instance, and a teacher might say, ‘Do you know that the music for this movie was written by a gay man?’ The message is: I’m better at what I do because I’m gay.”</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">(Speaking at EdWatch National Education Conference, November 6, 2004.)</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">"That's why people need to continue to go to the town halls, continue to melt the phone lines of their liberal members of Congress, and let them know, under no certain circumstances will I give the government control over my body and my health care decisions."</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">(As a pro-lifer, she completely missed the irony of using the same slogan as the pro-choice movement in arguing against health care reform.)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">She’s also said, “not all cultures are equal,” and, “Carbon dioxide is portrayed as harmful. But there isn't even one study that can be produced that shows that carbon dioxide is a harmful gas." She urged her supporters to vote for her so that, together, they “can take back our freedom!” But, her definition of freedom is quite skewed. Freedom to Michele Bachman means freedom from government control (funny that she’d even want to be a part of the government she hates so much) and taxes, but it does not include the freedom to decide who you will marry. If you’re a woman, Michele Bachman’s version of freedom also doesn’t allow you to make decisions regarding your own body as she wants to ban abortion.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Women who voted for Michele Bachman, or any other tea partier for that matter, are an affront to all women. I realize that saying you’ve betrayed your gender is using strong language, and that it might sound a bit harsh, but that’s how strongly I feel about a woman’s right to choose. I am completely and totally appalled that another woman would even conceive of denying such an important right to other women, and I cannot believe that women would so willingly vote to give up that right. Whether or not you have or would have an abortion isn’t the issue, the issue is that it is an individual woman’s right to choose—not the government’s, not the religious right’s, not the fetus’—it is a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">woman’s </i>right to choose. We must never allow that right to be taken away.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I fear for the future of our country if the tea party does in fact take it over. I am not at all joking when I say that I will leave this country if that happens. I realize that nowhere is perfect, and that I’ll likely have my fair share of complaints and problems in Germany, Australia, Canada, or any number of other places, but I refuse to live under the tea party’s fascist regime.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I don’t want to live in a country surrounded by heavily reinforced, tightly guarded walls simply because my country’s leaders believe we need to protect ourselves and our country from evil immigrants. We seem to forget that this country was founded on immigration. And let’s not forget that walls don’t only serve to keep people out; they also keep people in. I refuse to be trapped; forced to live under totalitarian rule, under the guise that it’s for my own protection. I don’t want to live in a country in which the government denies basic civil rights to certain citizens simply because they were born to love a person of the same sex as themselves. And I most certainly don’t want to live in a country in which governing law is based upon Christianity, which of course dictates that life is life, and as such, my uterus and its contents are subject to their “protection” instead of my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">choice</i>.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Instead of railing on about how much I hate the tea party, and fear for my country’s future, perhaps it would just be easier if I tell you what I do believe.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I believe that this country was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not </i>founded on Christianity, and as such, should <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not </i>be run based on Christian principles and values. Our forefathers came to America to escape religious persecution, and as such, our government isn’t, and should never be, based upon one singular religion. There is a reason that separation of church and state exists, and we need to keep it that way. I’m all for religious freedom. You practice whatever religion you want in whatever way you want to, but keep your religion out of my government and away from my body. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I believe that marriage, and all of the rights and protections it affords, is a basic civil right. Two consenting adults, of appropriate age and sound mind, should be allowed to unite in a legally binding marriage regardless of their sexual orientation. If you want to keep those marriages out of your church, that’s fine. You still cannot stop the government from denying basic civil rights to its citizens. Again, you are entitled to your beliefs, but you are not allowed to force them upon others. Don’t like or want gay marriage? Don’t have one! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I believe that we are all responsible for paying our fair share in taxes, and that it is the government’s responsibility to allocate those funds appropriately. I don’t particularly enjoy paying the portion of taxes that goes towards funding public schools. I don’t have children, nor do I plan to, so I don’t get my money’s worth out of those services. However, I realize that educating our children is important to our future, so I’m okay with some of my taxes going towards education.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I would like to know what services Republicans/Conservatives are willing to give up in order to lower our taxes. Should we give up the paving of roads? Police and emergency medical services? Fire departments? Oh, I know! We should cut social services, because that is the one thing that doesn’t personally impact you; am I right?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I believe that people are generally good, honest, and want to be contributing members of society. Contrary to the disgusting belief that poor people live off the government by choice, because they’re just worthless and lazy, I understand that some people need a little help now and then. Call me naïve, but I don’t think most people are content to just laze around, living off of others. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Most </i>people who utilize social services do so as a means of bettering themselves and their lives; they in no way intend it to be a permanent solution.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I’m okay with my taxes going towards providing food, shelter, and medical services to those who need it. I’m thankful that those services were available to my twenty-four-year old mother when she found herself unable to feed her three young children on her own because the little money she made at her retail job went towards daycare and rent. Many people seem to think that the government shouldn’t spend our tax money on social programs, because charities can meet the needs of the unfortunate. That simply isn’t true. My youngest sister contacted a few charities to try to get help feeding her and her toddler and paying for housing while she was temporarily jobless, and she was denied services because she didn’t fit the criteria; she apparently wasn’t poor/needy enough. If being a jobless single mom isn’t poor enough, I don’t care to know what is.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I believe that health care is a right, not a privilege. It is shameful that the richest country in the world doesn’t make sure that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all </i>of its citizens have access to basic medical care. It’s deplorable that the health care industry focuses more on the almighty dollar than on taking care of people. The system needs to change.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I believe that hate speech/crime, anti-bullying, and anti-discrimination legislation wouldn’t be necessary if people would accept that we’re all different, and that’s okay. No one is better than anyone else simply because their privilege afforded them the opportunity to be born white, or male, or middle class, or rich, or in the good old U S of A. People who had the “misfortune” of being born gay, or black, or female, or to low income or uneducated parents are not lesser people, and we shouldn’t treat them like second class citizens. We are all people regardless of race, class, gender, or sexual orientation, and as such, we deserve certain rights under the constitution. No one should have to suffer chronic discrimination or hatred or torture simply because they are deemed by someone else to be different.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I believe that rational and logical thought, scientific evidence and facts, and education are key to making informed decisions. Voters carry a big responsibility, and you do yourself and others a great disservice by voting purely based on emotions or on what your church or others tell you to believe. Knowledge is power! Educate yourself on the issues, and make <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">informed</i> decisions based on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your </i>principles and morals. Morality and God do not go hand-in-hand; nonbelievers know and understand right from wrong too, and most of us are generally good no matter where our morals and principles came from. If your morals and principles happen to match your religion or church’s, well I guess that’s pretty convenient; however, your way is not the only way and your beliefs are no more right or valid than anyone else’s.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I believe that abortion is a woman’s health issue, and it is a woman’s right to choose what is best for her. A small amount of women making poor choices (i.e. using abortion as birth control) does not mean we should take the right to choose away from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all</i> women. Women get abortions regardless of whether or not it’s legal, regardless of the risk to their lives or health, regardless of the morality of abortion, and regardless of what the fetus may or may not be. When abortion wasn’t legal, women still found ways to end their pregnancies, and unfortunately some of those methods were dangerous and ended in women dying. That is not okay, and we can never go back to that.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The life of a fetus is a subjective matter. One must first get life—i.e. be born—to have a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">right </i>to life. Fetuses are different from born human beings in prefunds ways; the most fundamental of which is that a fetus is totally dependent on a woman’s body to survive. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She</i> is the only one who can keep it alive; therefore, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she</i> is the one who gets to make the choice on whether or not to carry her pregnancy to term. A fetus doesn’t have the right to use the woman’s body against her will. Can we force people to donate organs to keep others alive? No; we can’t, because only living, breathing, viable human beings have rights.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Many times, the decision to abort isn’t made from the perspective of not wanting the child, but rather knowing that one cannot provide a decent life for that child. I know women who’ve had abortions and women who’ve given their children up for adoption, and the women in the latter group are far more psychologically troubled over their decision than women in the former group, because there is more finality and closure to abortion than there is for adoption. I am sadder for all of the unwanted children living in orphanages in this world, wishing to be adopted into families, than I am for the potential children that were lost to abortion.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">That’s right; I said <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">potential</i> children. That’s what a fetus is: a potential human life. Just as a 16 year old boy can’t walk into a bar and legally be served alcohol simply because he’s a “potential 21 year old,” we don’t extend rights, including the right to life, to a fetus simply because the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">potential</i> for life exists.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Yes, I understand that it is oftentimes partially the woman’s fault for becoming pregnant, but in cases of rape it is not. For those who believe that abortion is a viable alternative only in cases where the victim was raped, I’d ask why it’s only in those cases that the mother’s life and choice is more important than a fetus’. What gives you the right to decide that abortion is only appropriate in certain situations? Again, I say that this very private choice belongs in the hands of women.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I’d also argue that keeping our women uneducated, by not allowing comprehensive sex education in schools, further decreases her fault in accidentally getting pregnant. If she didn’t know how to prevent it, she can hardly take all of the blame for it. It is a proven fact that comprehensive sex education <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">decreases </i>pregnancy—especially teenage pregnancy—and does <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not </i>increase the likelihood that a teenager will have sex. If we want to decrease abortions, we could start with teaching comprehensive sex education in our schools, but we cannot completely remove abortion as an option. Once again, if your religion, principles, or morals dictate that abortion is wrong, don’t get one, but you cannot take that choice away from women who do not hold the same beliefs as you.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Annnnnnnnnnnnnd, I’m spent! If you’ve hung in there and read this whole post, you’re awesome and I thank you for indulging me. I am open to your thoughts and opinions, even if you don’t agree with me. As I said before, knowledge is power. I am open to hearing points of view that differ from my own, because you never know when you just might learn something. Don’t be afraid to start the dialogue by commenting below. I’m a big girl; I can take whatever it is you have to say to me. I hope you all have a fabulous weekend.</div><br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-4384663222494224112010-10-21T13:16:00.000-05:002010-10-21T13:16:12.747-05:00W for Words Are Powerful<div style="text-align: center;">“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.”</div><br />
Or something like that. We’re all familiar with this quote, or some variation of it, but have you ever stopped to consider its meaning? It’s not true. Not at all. As a former victim of emotional abuse, which is a story for another day, I speak from experience when I say that sometimes words can hurt more than sticks and stones (or punches and kicks for that matter). Bumps and bruises eventually heal, but the power of hateful, hurtful words can leave a lasting impact that’s sometimes imperceptible to everyone but the person to whom the words were said.<br />
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Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to downplay physical abuse. Having lost a sister to domestic violence, I know all too well how damaging it can be. I think most people are aware of that, because it's harder to deny the hard evidence left behind by physical abuse. Fewer people seem to know and understand the damage and long term impacts of verbal/emotional abuse.<br />
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One need only look at recent news headlines to see how much words truly can hurt. There seems to be an epidemic of gay teens, and some straight teens accused of being gay, committing suicide. Words obviously hurt them. So badly, in fact, that they saw death as the only escape from their pain. They were bullied—no <strong><em>harassed</em></strong>—to death. Day in and day out, these victims suffered in silence as they were tormented by the words of others; others who’d singled them out simply because they were different. It’s disgusting and disturbing and it makes me physically ill—my stomach and heart ache as I write this.<br />
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What has the world come to? Where are the parents of these bullies? How is this being allowed to happen? How has being accused of being gay, even if you’re not, become such a horrible thing that one would end his/her life over it? I just don’t get it. Why do people care so much about the sexual preferences of others?! It shouldn’t matter! Live and let live, for crying out loud! I seriously don’t get how or why people fear and loathe homosexuals so much. I know religion plays a role, and I don’t even want to get started down that path at the risk of offending the six or so regular readers I have out there. We are all human beings. Why can’t we treat each other as such?<br />
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We, as a society, need to fix this. We can start by teaching our children that words do hurt and it’s not okay to insult, humiliate, taunt, or demean anyone. Ever. We can stand up and show support for victims, and should intervene when we witness such harassment. As adults, we need to model good behavior for children. We need to show them that it’s important to treat others with respect, to be kind, and to not fear what we don’t understand, but rather to seek out knowledge to gain better understanding. <br />
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I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, parents need to step up and parent. You need to know what’s going on with your kids! I don’t care whether your kid is the victim or the bully; you have a responsibility as a parent to step in. You must protect your child; you cannot rely on the school or anyone else to do it for you. If you find out your kid is a bully, it’s your responsibility to teach your child that this terrible behavior will not be tolerated and cannot continue. Sometimes you just have to step up and be the authority figure instead of the friend!<br />
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Lest anyone think I’m leaving anyone out, let me assure you that I understand that straight kids are bullied too. I get that. I’ve witnessed it, and I was a victim myself. But the reality is that gay kids and teens are more likely to commit suicide as a result of the constant harassment and torture over their sexuality, because unlike the straight kids, they cannot change the thing that makes them different.<br />
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Yep. I said it. Homosexuality is <strong>not </strong>a <em>choice</em>. Homosexuals are born, not made. And until people understand and accept that fact, I fear this horror will not end. How many more lives need to be cut tragically short before people get it? I don’t care what you think your bible says, and I don’t care what your political party tells its sheeple to believe. You mustn't give in to the fear mongering. People are <strong><em>dying</em></strong>. This has to <em>stop</em>.<br />
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I don’t know what the answer is. I wish I did, but I don’t. All I know is that life is hard enough as it is. There is no good reason that any one individual should need to try to make the lives of others any harder. I'd like to believe that we're all more evolved than that, but maybe I'm n<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">aïve and too idealistic. </span>Let’s all try to honor the simplicity of the golden rule, shall we? Treat others as you’d like to be treated. I think it really <em>can</em> be that simple.<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7402354063686528268.post-41026336805045999022010-10-13T09:41:00.000-05:002010-10-13T09:41:34.044-05:00U for UpdateHello, lovely reader. Since I haven’t posted in a while, I thought I give you all a quick update of what’s going on in Elle’s world: <br />
School is going pretty well. Busy, as usual. I’m surprised at how quickly I’m catching on to a lot of the algebra concepts. I’ve somehow managed to maintain an “A” so far, but things get harder and harder every week, so we’ll see how it all plays out. This class is super accelerated, because it’s two classes—beginning algebra and intermediate algebra—jammed into one semester. We have lectures Monday and Wednesday evenings with the test(s) for the chapter(s) we’ve learned that week due Sunday at midnight (chapter tests are done online). It’s pretty intense.<br />
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The final for beginning algebra is next Wednesday, so I’ve got to find some time to study and practice problems from the first six chapters we’ve covered so far. Even though I’ve done really well on the weekly tests and the midterm, I still want to make sure that I’m comfortable enough with all of the material to do well on the final. In order to move on to intermediate algebra, one must get at least a “C” in beginning algebra, and judging by how far behind some of my classmates currently are, I think there are going to be very few of us (like maybe a dozen) moving on.<br />
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Psychology has been interesting so far, but I don’t like taking a Saturday class at all. Class meets from 1-4:30 Saturday afternoon, which seems entirely too long most of the time. The instructor spends the whole time lecturing on the chapter(s) we were assigned to read the previous week and possibly showing a video or two related to the material. Weekly homework is usually a chapter or two of reading, an online tutorial or two related to the material we’ve read (with a worksheet to fill out and hand in), and a video to watch and summarize (one typed paragraph). Overall, the class hasn’t been too tough.<br />
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I won’t take another Saturday class again unless I absolutely have to. I hate that half of my weekend is spent on homework and being in class. I typically spend Friday evening finishing up whatever assigned Psychology reading I haven’t finished yet and completing the online tutorials and video summaries. Then, I spend half of Saturday sitting in class listening to a lecture that’s just regurgitation of the material I’ve already read. It feels like a big waste of time.<br />
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MusicMan’s sister and her husband were visiting from Hawaii recently, so we went over to his mom’s house for an obligatory family dinner. I wish I could be closer with my sister-in-law (SIL), but it’s hard when she lives so far away and her husband is a giant douchebag. Just to put it in perspective for you, the last time I saw sister-in-law’s husband (Dbag) was a couple years ago. They spent the Christmas after my sister was murdered here in Minnesota. In fact, the night they flew into town and we all met at my mother-in-law’s for family dinner, to meet in person for the first time ever, was the night my sister was killed.<br />
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At first, this bonded us all together quite quickly. I was surprised at the support sister-in-law and her Dbag gave me and the sadness they showed over the loss of my sister, whom they’d never met. But, a few days after Christmas and less than a week after I’d lost my sister, we had SIL and Dbag come to our house for the evening to have some drinks and hang out so that we could all get to know each other a little better.<br />
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During their visit, SIL’s husband (we refuse to call him brother-in-law because he’s such a giant douche), Dbag, spent part of the evening lecturing me about how we all had a responsibility now to make sure that Li’l D grows up to be a better person than his father (obviously!) and his mother (WTF?!)! He’s lucky I was still exhausted and in shock, because the conversation wouldn’t have gone as calmly as it did had I not been. In fact, thinking of it now makes me want to throat punch him, followed by a swift kick to the groin, while explaining to him what a great person my sister was and telling him that, if her son grows up to even be the slightest bit like her, he’ll be an amazing person, unlike Dbag.<br />
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During this recent visit, Dbag barely even spoke to MusicMan or me; except to tell us that one of our dogs, Lucy, is “out of control.” His reasoning was that she “attacked” his dog. First of all, his dog isn’t socialized to other dogs; unlike Lucy, who has regular daycare visits and overnight stays, resulting in her being a well socialized dog. As a result, SIL’s dog doesn’t really know how to behave around other dogs. Second of all, Lucy didn’t attack his dog. She tried to play with his dog, his dog snapped at her, and she responded in kind. A little tussle ensued, which MusicMan and I have learned to just let go for a bit to see if the dogs will work it out because usually they work it out themselves and everything’s fine.<br />
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Apparently, Dbag was unaware that dogs should be allowed to work it out (as long as no one was being hurt, which no one was), and he picked Lucy up by her harness and tossed her off of his dog. I was appalled, but held my tongue, keeping Lucy with me the rest of the evening. A few days later, Lucy started to squeal if she was touched the wrong way and she refused to jump up onto the couch or the bed. We knew something was wrong, but we didn’t know what. A vet visit and $75 later, we found out that she had a pinched nerve in her shoulder, likely a result of someone picking her up by her harness as though it were a handle. Thankfully, after a week of rest and medication to reduce pain and swelling, she was back to her old self again.<br />
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Needless to say, I was livid. I wanted MusicMan to march over to his mother’s house with the vet bill and a few harsh words to Dbag or I was going to do it. Instead, we decided it best to inform his mom as to what had happened, and MusicMan left Lucy at home when we went to dinner a week later to say goodbye to his sister and Dbag (lucky for him, I had class that night and couldn’t attend dinner at mother-in-law’s). Mother-in-law, who excels at passive-aggression, made a few digs at Dbag here and there during dinner, according to MusicMan, but I’m still not happy that no one (including myself) said anything directly to him about the fact that he had injured our dog and he is a giant douchebag.<br />
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I don’t typically hold grudges, but I’m so done with Dbag. Though I love and respect my mother-in-law, I will no longer run to her house for obligatory family dinners simply because sister-in-law and Dbag are in town, granting us simpletons the honor of basking in the glow of their presence. No thanks. Despite what they seem to think, and how other family members seem to act about their visits, they are not special. Since they can’t even manage to thank us for switching our schedules around to take the time to visit with them while they’re here, nor can they seem to manage to even fake enjoyment over seeing us, I see no reason to make a big deal out of their visits. The limited free time I have can be spent on much, much better things and with much, much better people.<br />
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I’ve had a serious case of writer’s block lately, which is why I haven’t been posting as much. My carpal tunnel seems to be flaring up quite a bit lately too, which sends shooting pains up my right arm and the back of my hand and has my fingers constantly cramping and aching too. No good!<br />
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MusicMan has finally uploaded all of the Lake Tahoe photos, so I’m going to pick some of my favorites to post soon. I hope all is well in your world, lovely reader!<br />
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<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a>Ellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029614712855760844noreply@blogger.com8