The end of the semester is just around the corner, so I'm working my big ol' butt off to make sure it ends well! I finished my rock and roll class (with a 96% even!), so now it's just on to Psych. I took the day off from work to get started on my final paper (sleeping in until 11 probably wasn't the best idea, but it felt oh-so good). Currently I have a title page, an abstract, an intro and part of methods. It's definitely a good start, but there's still a lot of work ahead of me. Thankfully, Hubby is gone all weekend, so I'll have plenty of time to work on it with minimal distractions.
Now, to address everything that's been going on.
First off, fuck. Seriously, just... fuck.
OK, that having been said, this week has been beyond insane. I was working Monday, checking out Twitter for random updates when I saw something about a blast at the Boston Marathon. (It was just before 2 PM here, so the bombs had JUST gone off.) I sent a message to Hubby, who didn't see anything on CNN yet. He checked FOX news and found something about it. To say it snowballed after that would be like calling a hurricane a little rain. It avalanched. (Yep. Making it a word. Deal with it.) Within a few minutes, the internet exploded. Twitter and Facebook were flooded with updates and links. Pictures, videos, and commentary were on every site available. It wasn't long before #BostonMarathon and #PrayforBoston were trending, and the number of those affected climbed with each update. It was terrifying.
I don't think I got any work done after that. The rest of my day was spent scouring the internet for updates (mostly on this site), trying to learn the extent of the situation. I was desperately hoping that it was just a pipeline that burst or some terrible accident. When it was confirmed as a bomb, my heart sunk and my stomach knotted up. After I logged off of work, I made myself go lie down. I felt physically ill, and I knew that if I stayed anywhere near the computer, I'd keep torturing myself, hunting for pictures and videos to satisfy my morbid curiosity. That night, Hubby and I just spent time together. We watched TV, had dinner, and tried to be thankful that we had each other and we were safe. There's a certain sense of guilt that comes with that, knowing that others are suffering, but it's something good to think about and be grateful for nonetheless.
The rest of the week was simultaneously painfully slow and exceedingly fast. The explosion near Waco (and this insanely lucky/unlucky guy who escaped BOTH incidents). A potential gunman at Carroll University (which turned out to be an airsoft gun, thankfully). The ricin letters. Some crazy shit with an envelope and some (probably) psychosomatic symptoms in Beloit. And let us not forget CNN's fabulous reporting about the nonexistent suspect in custody. It was all unbelievable.
And then last night happened. I can't recall the timeline exactly, but I know that Hubby told me about a shooting at MIT. We both started following Twitter updates and checking news sites for info. We started listening in on the Boston PD scanner for awhile, and between that and Twitter, it almost felt like we were witnessing it ourselves. There were pictures, first-hand accounts, videos... Technology has made it possible for us to be on top of news before any new stations even pick up the story. CNN, of course, was extra slow in posting about the Watertown/MIT goings-on (which was probably for the best; wouldn't want to jump the gun and report something prematurely...), but Anonymous and the scanner kept us as up-to-date as if we were there.
It was intense. And scary. And I had some pretty awful dreams last night. But I marvel at the things technology has made possible, and am thankful for the good it brings. It showed me the kindness and resilience of people in the wake of such a tragedy, like the epic words of Stephen Colbert, the heroic actions of those both at the marathon and nearby, and the power and unity of Bruins' fans singing the Star-Spangled Banner.
Patton Oswalt said it best:
...the vast majority stands against that darkness and, like white blood
cells attacking a virus, they dilute and weaken and eventually wash away
the evildoers and, more importantly, the damage they wreak. This is
beyond religion or creed or nation. We would not be here if humanity
were inherently evil. We'd have eaten ourselves alive long ago.
So when you spot violence, or bigotry, or intolerance or fear or just
garden-variety misogyny, hatred or ignorance, just look it in the eye
and think, "The good outnumber you, and we always will."
#BostonStrong
Friday, April 19, 2013
Monday, April 1, 2013
I'm So Vain, I Probably Think This Blog Is About Me
I'm 28 and I'm going gray.
For the past few years, I'd occasionally notice a white hair (which, when you have dark brown hair, sticks out like a heathen on Good Friday - why yes, I'll take the biggest, juiciest steak you have! Fish? God, no. I don't want fish...). I'd pull it and be done with it. No harm, no foul. But lately, there are more. And more. And more! I can't keep up.
And truth be told, the problem isn't truly vanity. No, the problem is my OCD. When I catch a glimpse of a white hair, I have to hunt it down. It becomes my sole mission to find that hair and yank it out. But I can't stop there. White hairs are like deer and cop cars; where there's one, there are more. So then I go searching for others to pull. If I didn't have something else to do, or didn't consciously tell myself to walk away, I'd stand in front of the bathroom mirror until every damn one of them was gone. If I wasn't on my pills, I wouldn't be able to control myself at all.
Hubby hates that I do it (probably because I chastise him for similar things), and I know it's unhealthy, but they keep coming. The only option I can really see to prevent it from happening is to start dying my hair. When I was a teen, you couldn't stop me from dying my hair. Black, red, pink, orange, blonde... my poor hair must have had an identity crisis. These days... I really, really don't want to. I actually like the color of my hair (minus the little white bastards), and I hate the idea of being resigned to dying my hair for the rest of my life. (As I told Hubby, "I'm too young to dye!")
I am trying to work on letting it go. Just because I can see it there, doesn't mean it has to come out, right? Deep breaths. Re-focus on something healthy. Move along. Easier said than done. Keep trying.
If anyone out there has any techniques or ideas to offer, I'm all ears. Otherwise, I'll just keep fighting the good fight. For now.
For the past few years, I'd occasionally notice a white hair (which, when you have dark brown hair, sticks out like a heathen on Good Friday - why yes, I'll take the biggest, juiciest steak you have! Fish? God, no. I don't want fish...). I'd pull it and be done with it. No harm, no foul. But lately, there are more. And more. And more! I can't keep up.
And truth be told, the problem isn't truly vanity. No, the problem is my OCD. When I catch a glimpse of a white hair, I have to hunt it down. It becomes my sole mission to find that hair and yank it out. But I can't stop there. White hairs are like deer and cop cars; where there's one, there are more. So then I go searching for others to pull. If I didn't have something else to do, or didn't consciously tell myself to walk away, I'd stand in front of the bathroom mirror until every damn one of them was gone. If I wasn't on my pills, I wouldn't be able to control myself at all.
Hubby hates that I do it (probably because I chastise him for similar things), and I know it's unhealthy, but they keep coming. The only option I can really see to prevent it from happening is to start dying my hair. When I was a teen, you couldn't stop me from dying my hair. Black, red, pink, orange, blonde... my poor hair must have had an identity crisis. These days... I really, really don't want to. I actually like the color of my hair (minus the little white bastards), and I hate the idea of being resigned to dying my hair for the rest of my life. (As I told Hubby, "I'm too young to dye!")
I am trying to work on letting it go. Just because I can see it there, doesn't mean it has to come out, right? Deep breaths. Re-focus on something healthy. Move along. Easier said than done. Keep trying.
If anyone out there has any techniques or ideas to offer, I'm all ears. Otherwise, I'll just keep fighting the good fight. For now.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
What Goes Around... Always Finds Me
Apparently, this is the time of year that my body just decides, "Hey! You know what you need? A cold! I'll get on that for you!"
This year's late winter cold was a gift from Hubby (as my mom said, he such a good sharer!). I tried to take care of him and myself while he was sick, but with school and work both being a bit nuts, I failed to protect myself from getting this bug.
On Thursday morning I had a sore throat and was starting to cough. That night Hubby made me grilled cheese and tomato soup, something my dad always did for me as a kid when I didn't feel well. By Friday I had a mild fever, my nose wouldn't stop running, and my throat still hurt. Hubby got me some more Nyquil and some orange juice, all the good stuff that would (hopefully) make me feel better. I took Thursday and Friday evenings off from homework, thinking that pushing myself would only make it worse. I guess I'll never know for sure, but it didn't seem to work that way at all.
Saturday was definitely the worst. By mid-afternoon I had already gone through almost 2 boxes of tissues and was so hot that I wanted to turn on the a/c (but settled for Hubby bringing me an ice pack to cool my neck/back). No matter how I felt, I still had to get homework done and study for an exam on Sunday, so I did my best to push forward. It was stressful to say the least, and that night I got to a max temp of 101.3 (not terrible, thank goodness, but enough). I tried to sleep, but it took me over an hour to finally crash (even with Nyquil). Even then, I was waking myself up with coughing fits every few hours, and during one of the fits, I ended up changing my pajamas because I had sweat through them. Lovely.
I felt better when I woke up Sunday, but I still felt pretty crappy. Somehow I managed to get a 97% on my exam, even feeling like shit, and that kicked off my spring break week. It was a lazy afternoon (complete with 3-hour nap), which was beautiful. I've been slowly feeling better since then (even though my voice hasn't gotten the memo), but have still been waking up with coughing fits. When I was little, waking up coughing meant that Mom would take me into the living room, give me a hard candy to suck on and put me in her lap while she sang to me. These days it means trying not to wake Hubby up (which, really, I shouldn't be too concerned about; he sleeps through anything), and trying to get the coughing spell over with as quickly as possible to maximize sleep time before the alarm goes off and work becomes a reality. When a fit woke me up at about 6 this morning, I almost didn't bother getting out of bed. I hoped maybe it would resolve itself, but it didn't. And now I'm paying for it, groggily sliding through the day, hoping that I can make enough sense out of things to get by until I can sleep again.
Here's hoping that you and yours are all feeling better than we have the past two weeks... Well, except Maxine. She's doing just fine. :)
This year's late winter cold was a gift from Hubby (as my mom said, he such a good sharer!). I tried to take care of him and myself while he was sick, but with school and work both being a bit nuts, I failed to protect myself from getting this bug.
On Thursday morning I had a sore throat and was starting to cough. That night Hubby made me grilled cheese and tomato soup, something my dad always did for me as a kid when I didn't feel well. By Friday I had a mild fever, my nose wouldn't stop running, and my throat still hurt. Hubby got me some more Nyquil and some orange juice, all the good stuff that would (hopefully) make me feel better. I took Thursday and Friday evenings off from homework, thinking that pushing myself would only make it worse. I guess I'll never know for sure, but it didn't seem to work that way at all.
Saturday was definitely the worst. By mid-afternoon I had already gone through almost 2 boxes of tissues and was so hot that I wanted to turn on the a/c (but settled for Hubby bringing me an ice pack to cool my neck/back). No matter how I felt, I still had to get homework done and study for an exam on Sunday, so I did my best to push forward. It was stressful to say the least, and that night I got to a max temp of 101.3 (not terrible, thank goodness, but enough). I tried to sleep, but it took me over an hour to finally crash (even with Nyquil). Even then, I was waking myself up with coughing fits every few hours, and during one of the fits, I ended up changing my pajamas because I had sweat through them. Lovely.
I felt better when I woke up Sunday, but I still felt pretty crappy. Somehow I managed to get a 97% on my exam, even feeling like shit, and that kicked off my spring break week. It was a lazy afternoon (complete with 3-hour nap), which was beautiful. I've been slowly feeling better since then (even though my voice hasn't gotten the memo), but have still been waking up with coughing fits. When I was little, waking up coughing meant that Mom would take me into the living room, give me a hard candy to suck on and put me in her lap while she sang to me. These days it means trying not to wake Hubby up (which, really, I shouldn't be too concerned about; he sleeps through anything), and trying to get the coughing spell over with as quickly as possible to maximize sleep time before the alarm goes off and work becomes a reality. When a fit woke me up at about 6 this morning, I almost didn't bother getting out of bed. I hoped maybe it would resolve itself, but it didn't. And now I'm paying for it, groggily sliding through the day, hoping that I can make enough sense out of things to get by until I can sleep again.
Here's hoping that you and yours are all feeling better than we have the past two weeks... Well, except Maxine. She's doing just fine. :)
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
It's Alive!
Yep, I'm still alive and kickin'. Why has it been so long? Suffice it to say that I'm a bit busy these days.
This semester I'm taking a 4-credit research methods course for Psych, which is really interesting and I'm learning a lot, but it is time-consuming to boot. Thank goodness that it's what I want to do with my life and that I really do want to learn the material, or else it would be reaaaaaaaaally boring.
In addition to that, I'm taking a history of rock and roll class, which I thought would be a less intensive class to pair with psych. I was wrong. <rant> This class is tedious and annoying. The grading is not only entirely subjective (on papers, anyway), but we are graded against one another. Seriously. Here's an excerpt from an email our instructor sent:
This semester I'm taking a 4-credit research methods course for Psych, which is really interesting and I'm learning a lot, but it is time-consuming to boot. Thank goodness that it's what I want to do with my life and that I really do want to learn the material, or else it would be reaaaaaaaaally boring.
In addition to that, I'm taking a history of rock and roll class, which I thought would be a less intensive class to pair with psych. I was wrong. <rant> This class is tedious and annoying. The grading is not only entirely subjective (on papers, anyway), but we are graded against one another. Seriously. Here's an excerpt from an email our instructor sent:
"[Your papers] are read and graded subjectively based on the stated expectations listed in the Syllabus. INART instructors are not obligated to furnish graded papers, which would be nearly impossible given the time constraints.
Additionally, your writing is graded on its own quality along with how it stacks up compared to others in this section. You may write a perfectly acceptable paper on Chuck Berry. Many other students might write one on that same subject. The better versions will get the higher grades. There are not a lot of A+ papers. They have to be REALLY GOOD and I know them when I read them. The median grade is usually B-/B+ for acceptable, but not especially memorable papers. Those papers make their case but may not offer especially interesting or thought provoking support. I usually hear from students that tell me they put effort into the writing, answered the question, and followed my instructions. That may be true, but it does not necessarily guarantee the highest grades. Someone may have said the same thing better."
So, I don't get any feedback on my paper (I can ask for a "quick recap" of why he graded the way he did), and I'm graded against everyone else. So if there happens to be another paper that chose a similar argument to make (these are primarily position papers) and our instructor likes that paper better, I get a lower score, even though I followed all instructions and met all criteria. Grand.
Oh, and how could I possibly forget that some of the quiz questions are subjective, too? I got a True/False question wrong on my first quiz. The question read something along the lines of "Rock and roll is clearly the combination of blah, blah..." I marked it True, because our book said that several music historians and experts believed that it was a combo of whatever. It was supposed to be False, apparently, because it wasn't "clear" enough. Really? Pretty sure that's subjective, and if a bunch of experts in the field believe it to be true, that's "clear" enough for me. But hey, that's cool. Feel free to completely brush me off when I write an email about this and asking whether or not future questions would also be subjective.
OK, OK. I know I'm being a whiny bitch. But I was really looking forward to this class. Don't get me wrong... I do enjoy the music we get to listen to and I love learning the history behind certain songs or musicians, but I don't feel like the quizzes (2/3 of my final grade, BTW) really measure what I've learned, or that the papers (the other 1/3 of my grade) are graded to reflect my understanding of the topic and material. This isn't a writing class; the syllabus specifically says that. And yet... Ugh. </rant>
Anywhoozles, any "free" time I have that doesn't involve work or school has pretty much been taken up with Uncharted 3 (a game on the PS3), reading (I'm on the third book of the Game of Thrones series aka "A Song of Ice and Fire" series) or sleeping. I've gotten out to do a few fun things. Like last weekend we went to the Pet Expo and I got to meet Wallace the Pitbull. And later this week we're going to a hockey game. And before the semester started, Hubby, Maxine and I went up to Door County for a long weekend (you can see/vote for some of my pictures from that trip at Capture Door County).
Spring break is in 3 weeks, and while we're not doing anything so exciting as last year's Disney trip, it will be so nice to have a whole week without homework. Hubby and I are even taking a day off of work together. Partly because we're getting a new fridge delivered (YAY!), but mostly because my weekends are pretty full of homework, so we need a day together to just relax. Can. Not. Wait.
Well, I suppose I should get back to my busy life.
Weeeee.
Weeeee.
Friday, December 28, 2012
Christmas 2012 : A Christmas Gripe
I'm not one of those ungrateful a-holes who is going to gripe about their presents. I loved my gifts, and I'm so thankful for each and every one of them! And I'm also not going to gripe about not getting gifts from everyone I've ever known in my entire life. I don't care. If you wanted to get me something and you did, that's awesome. If you didn't, that's cool, too!
No, my gripe, unfortunately, has to do with my family. Once again, I will say that I love my family. Dearly. I love hanging out with you all and having fun together. I love spending Christmas surrounded by those I love! But you know what I don't love on Christmas? Being pressured to have kids.
I know you all want a baby in the family. I get it. I just became an aunt rather recently, and I have another niece or nephew on the way, and I'm totally psyched about it!! So I feel you. But can you please respect the fact that my husband and I do not want children?
I was nice enough not to get overly sensitive about it on Christmas, but in case you want to know how I feel, here's what I wish I could have said.
Argument 1: "Your mom said the same thing!"
Response: Yes, I know. Allow me to point out that 1) I'm not actually my mother (regardless of how alike we can be) and 2) by my age, my parents had changed their minds.
Argument 2: "That's what I said, too. You'll change your mind."
Response: Well, I think it's pretty common knowledge that some people's minds are sort of changed for them (unplanned pregnancy has a way of doing that). Just because your situation changed, doesn't mean mine is going to. However, should I someday change my mind, that decision is up to me and my husband. Period. No one else's input is going to play a significant role in that.
Argument 3: "Don't you want your mom to have grandkids?"
Response: Of course I do. But if I did everything in my life because someone else wanted me to, I wouldn't be a very happy person, would I? Besides, my mom has a granddog (that she loves very much) and gets to play with kids as part of her job. I don't think I'm depriving her too badly.
Argument 4: "We need a baby in the family!"
Response: Really? Babies grow up, so even if I decided to have a kid, you'd only have a baby in the family for a short time, because I'm not about to turn into a baby factory. Besides, people all over are having babies. Odds are someone in your life will have one in the foreseeable future, so I think you'll be OK.
Again, I love you all dearly, but whether you're friends, family or complete strangers, your opinions on my reproductive habits are not going to get me to just start popping out kids. I don't want kids. Nor does Hubby. If we change our minds someday, then so be it, but don't assume that we will or try to talk us into it. I know a lot of it's in jest, but it gets really old, really quickly, and can make a fun time turn sour.
No, my gripe, unfortunately, has to do with my family. Once again, I will say that I love my family. Dearly. I love hanging out with you all and having fun together. I love spending Christmas surrounded by those I love! But you know what I don't love on Christmas? Being pressured to have kids.
I know you all want a baby in the family. I get it. I just became an aunt rather recently, and I have another niece or nephew on the way, and I'm totally psyched about it!! So I feel you. But can you please respect the fact that my husband and I do not want children?
I was nice enough not to get overly sensitive about it on Christmas, but in case you want to know how I feel, here's what I wish I could have said.
Argument 1: "Your mom said the same thing!"
Response: Yes, I know. Allow me to point out that 1) I'm not actually my mother (regardless of how alike we can be) and 2) by my age, my parents had changed their minds.
Argument 2: "That's what I said, too. You'll change your mind."
Response: Well, I think it's pretty common knowledge that some people's minds are sort of changed for them (unplanned pregnancy has a way of doing that). Just because your situation changed, doesn't mean mine is going to. However, should I someday change my mind, that decision is up to me and my husband. Period. No one else's input is going to play a significant role in that.
Argument 3: "Don't you want your mom to have grandkids?"
Response: Of course I do. But if I did everything in my life because someone else wanted me to, I wouldn't be a very happy person, would I? Besides, my mom has a granddog (that she loves very much) and gets to play with kids as part of her job. I don't think I'm depriving her too badly.
Argument 4: "We need a baby in the family!"
Response: Really? Babies grow up, so even if I decided to have a kid, you'd only have a baby in the family for a short time, because I'm not about to turn into a baby factory. Besides, people all over are having babies. Odds are someone in your life will have one in the foreseeable future, so I think you'll be OK.
Again, I love you all dearly, but whether you're friends, family or complete strangers, your opinions on my reproductive habits are not going to get me to just start popping out kids. I don't want kids. Nor does Hubby. If we change our minds someday, then so be it, but don't assume that we will or try to talk us into it. I know a lot of it's in jest, but it gets really old, really quickly, and can make a fun time turn sour.
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