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|Monday, April 9th, 2007|
|time to get less ill
I'm still not right. Slept for 18 of this 24. Meh. Throat all full of some hard substance of mucus that seems to be hanging off the uvula. Grotesque -- woke up thinking I'd soon choke to death. This happened a few weeks ago, too. I've tried cran water, tea, cocoa, water, cola ... all to no avail. Throat spray, hot lemon gargle, extreme stunts with mouthwash -- gross. Doc's office said Mucinex and fluids.
I was practically psychotic with exhaustion at Easter -- which might have had to do with getting up to go to early-ass Mass with the folks -- but by the time it was 8:30, I was about to throw things at dad to get his ass moving. I was grouchy, which makes me sad, but I just had to get home and sleep. Slept in the car up to and back from Marblehead. Stayed out today and slept from the time I called out to the time my doc's office called me about Wednesday and then from then to 7:45 pm. I've been chugging fluids, but still have this crappy thing in the throat. Sleep seems the most sensible next step ... not like I haven't had enough today, but hey. Current Mood: ill
|Monday, April 2nd, 2007|
I'm sick of the drama at skewl, and no, I don't mean the fine people who brought us Fiddler and "i" and Rumors. Grow the hell up, people. We're supposed to be the adults in the building. I'm tired of X's explosions and Y's snitty catfighting, and all of that crew running around like anyone besides them gives a good goddamn. Ugh.
I'm cranky. End of term will do that to a person. Current Mood: annoyed
|Thursday, March 29th, 2007|
|Saturday, March 24th, 2007|
|sadder but settled
I broke myself out of the rut, and I had to give up a lot to do it, but it was sadly, necessary. The resentment has stopped festering. I do feel better. Deciding to use my childhood savings bonds for a car was a big step. I felt that cars were transitory (well, for normal people anyway - people who don't drive the same used car for 11 years) and that that wasn't a worthy use. Something 30-some years old should have gone towards a purchase more lasting, like a house or a wedding or even my education. But I have the expensive end of my education done, and while I fantasize about hitting the lottery and going to culinary and art school, I know I'm not going to do it for real. That wasn't enough to finance either fantasy, anyway.
I do, however, need to replace my poor, rusting Sylvia with her broken tie rods and squishy tires. If either of the other, more valid things happen, well ... that's what loans are for. Everyone else has one; why not me? Kevin from S&E is looking for what I want as I'm not "gotta buy it now" desperate, and since he called me back, I really do believe he'll find me the car in the next few weeks.
This choice has been eating at me for a while. Cashing the bonds in yesterday was like finally coming to terms with what my life is going to be. It means that I know that I'm not holding on to either illusions or hope. Some close people have commented anxiously on my saying that I have given up all hope, but I'm not in a bad place. Despair being the greatest sin and all. I have to eliminate hope because it is simply too painful to live with it. I know someone who retains hers, even while the possibility is so far removed from reality as to be painfully pathetic, and it makes me sad just to see her, like Ralph Wiggum holding out his valentine heart. I definitely don't want to be her.
So I stomp out my hope like my last cigarette and try to go on. The nicotine craving faded because eventually there just weren't any cigarettes to be had. Seven years now, maybe? Eight? I can live without smoking and I can live without hope that my life was going to include the things I felt were necessary. I'm not planning on pulling an Emily Dickinson or a Miss Havisham and building a barricade or a monument to my loss of hope for a full life, but right now I'm in mourning for it. That will ease. As with the smoking, the breathing will get easier, and the knot in the chest will loosen. As for the other stuff, I'm not saying that I don't hold out some vague free-floating hope that there might be other "almosty" versions of the thing I wanted -- that I'll be an aunty, or a girlfriend of a weekend father, that there'll be attraction, affection, maybe even a relationship or two, preferably of the damned and passionate sort - wouldn't want to keep some young man from fatherhood, heaven forfend -- before I finally die. I can be functionally satisfied with almost as long as I don't start to believe that these might be the real thing. And I can be functional without the almost, with nothing. I spent years alone before, and I suppose I can do it again. It's freeing, in its way, to know that. Right now I'm just not relishing the vast expanse of that possibility. I had suggested that for a week, he try an ersatz version of that life, to know what I was condemned to (so, I was a little dramatic there, but it is a condemnation ... why else would the punishment be to lead apes in hell, like some sort of spinster schoolteacher from 1850?) ... know what it is to rise alone, to come home from work whenever, to go to the supermarket and ponder whether you can buy a whole pound of meat or if you'll get bored with it by day three, to hold onto wedding and baby shower invitations only long enough to write a negative rsvp and log into some registry site to send a gift, to take yourself on a trip to the Aquarium because there is no one, absolutely no one, not even your friends with children, to go with you, to spend the weekend watching monster movie marathons on the sci-fi channel, to come home and open the door to the fridge and shut it, then open to the door of the pantry, look at the can of soup, then back to the fridge for a soda and back to the pantry for the last half bag of crackers and call that a healthy dinner because you didn't entertain the possibility of getting a Happy Meal at McDonald's. It is what it is.
I'm past anger and grief. There will still be little moments of grief ahead, for what I've decided I could no longer wait in hope for, but I made a choice. And it was a good choice, because I am not wracked with regret or churn. I am at some sort of peace. That's something, I suppose. Current Mood: done
|Friday, March 16th, 2007|
|St. Patrick's Day
Great ad for Guinness. Ah, I remember coming down to find six packs under the keg in the mornin' all wrapped in green.
So, keeping the tradition of the Irish Department alive, I invited everyone to the workroom for soda bread, Irish tea and other treats. Mary shows up and proceeds to insult the soda bread and ask inane questions and then depart. It was mildly hilarious.
"I don't like soda bread - it's so dry," says Mary, upon being welcomed with "Hey, Mary, have some soda bread."
"Have Kate's - it's not dry at all," Heidi says, encouragingly and a bit shocked.
"It's more cakey. But there's also cookies and Selina's oatmeal bread as well," say I , trying for nonchalance.
"Who made these?" (points to the ring of gold and green cupcakes around the frosted cake in the plastic holder)
"Shaw's" croaks Trish, chuckling.
"Yeah, I don't like soda bread. Soda bread's shanty Irish, isn't it," Mary asks.
Kay sucks in her breath and exchanges a look with Selina. The most Irish of all of us, the two of them know this could turn into a legitimate brawl for such a comment.
"Tis. Tis indeed," I say, not rising to the bait, "We're not too lace curtain here."
There's a few more inane comments, and then she reiterates how she's not a fan of soda bread. The rest of the table ignores her and she slithers off.
X says, "Yeah, well for someone who doesn't like soda bread, she sure put some down."
I nod, "That she did. And she even ate some, too."
"What a ...." says someone.
"Isn't 'Canty' shanty Irish?" asks another one of our guests in all seriousness.
"'Gonna hang around the shanty, mama ... and get a good buzz on'" - K & X
"Canty by marriage, I'd guess. Indian, Swedish, Croatian and something she said when I invited her," I say.
"Swedish?!" gasps Z.
"She needs a good buzz."
"She needs a good something else."
"Does it involve a shillelagh?"
"Only if there's clubbing."
"Walk softly and carry a big shillelagh?"
Porn music, courtesy of X.
"I couldn't believe she said that."
"Three times was a bit much," I agree.
"No, the shanty crack."
"Well, I am shanty. Dowd - a proud tradition as the shit family of Ireland, or so I'm told. Five centuries running," I say.
"Dowd?" asks X, confused.
"The last name's Ukrainian; the other half's Dowd. And there's some Italian on that side, too, but since I'm also from Milford, I qualify either way. But who comes invited for soda bread and talks about how much they hate it? That'd be like going to Pi Day and claiming to be a cake fan. Or whining about turkey at Thanksgiving. Whatever."
"She went to Pi Day," offers an otherwise silent person.
"Did she bitch about pie while she was there?"
"Oh, whatever. She's too funny," I say.
"Speaking of Turkey, Jack just got back from there. He's doing adult Europe trips," says Kay.
"Good carbs at Pi Day," says Z and the conversation turns.
When I try to explain the bizarreness of some of these interactions, no one believes me. They claim I'm being over-sensitive or taking things too seriously. Really, I'm not. And I wasn't feeling offended - hey, more for us if you don't like it. Asking about the clearly supermarket cupcakes was kind of freaky, though, because it wasn't just a wisecrack the way my family does, following it up with "I was up all night frosting those" -- she heard "Selina" for "Shaw's" and went further with it. There were also some comments about the vegetables and the cookies -- like what were the shapes supposed to be, which I can sort of see, but gee - 3 puffy sides and a stem and they're green on March 15th --- what jumps to mind? This is, however, quantifiably, qualitatively, bizarre behavior in a professional setting.
Anyway, Erin Go Bragh-less, everyone! Have a pint for me.
|Tuesday, March 13th, 2007|
How long after one dies, or even before one dies, does one retain ownership of one's self? No, seriously, this question occurred to me after the whole Anna Nicole thing. Things I find anywhere from barbaric to distasteful in the whole death process always kind of intrigue me. One family I know has a thing where each of the siblings has a small amount of the ashes of the father, and the rest are interred. In my own family, one person violated a very clear request not to have a viewing and had one anyway. So, I doubt the father really cared one way or the other about his kids having some of his ashes, but it would bother me. I plan to go unviewed, and then be roasted and scattered over my ocean. I don't want anyone having a piece of me, or interring me, like Anna Nicole and the billionaire husband. So, when the children of the father pass away, what do they do with their chunk of dad? Take him with? Pass him on? Statements of wishes aren't legally binding, and frankly, even when there are legally binding documents, apparently, court cases can be had to screw with those arrangements. I haven't done my final arrangements beyond my statement and my will, but that has more to do with not knowing if I'm sticking in Massachusetts. If I go while I'm still alone, I don't know that my family of origin would honor my request not to have a viewing, or not to try to bury at least a part of me somewhere, and I find that so upsetting. I really don't want to be bound to the earth.
"Don't go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want."
So, I asked for what I really want. I am not going to get it. So ... now, what? Do I stop wanting what I want? Do I stop living? Do I stop trying to move forward? No, really ... where do I go from here? How do I stem the resentment?
|Tuesday, March 6th, 2007|
Sick. Didn't win the 355 million $ lottery. Fully expected to, of course. Went in today for meeting. Slept. All I want to do is sleep. Maybe I have kudu. I think I'll call the doc and see about adding some bloodwork to my carotid ultrasound. I ain't right. And it's making me cranky and distracted. I'm not fit company for man nor beast. Concentration's shot and my brain feels like someone tried to put in carpet -- crappy 70s shag carpet from Building 19. And in unrelated news, except that it makes sense to me without a segueway, not unlike one of my classes' essays ... Whalen has my car, damn him. :) With heated seats. No, literally, he has exactly what I wanted, so now I can't, like, go copy him. I'll just buy a black Prius and pretend I have heated cow seats. Down for more sleep now. Meh.
|Thursday, March 1st, 2007|
|Just Do It
1. Shave the tragus hair. Men, anyway.
2. Abolish cats.
3. Never support a move to dark chocolate exclusivity.
4. Deregulate/declassify penicillin. Mostly just so I can self-prescribe without the time-consuming peskiness of med school.
5. Give everyone my friend's menstrual cycle: 3 hours on one day for every other month.
Get on those 5 and we'll talk. I'm bone tired.
|Monday, February 26th, 2007|
|Unknown Caller Log
2/26 10:57 am Current Mood: sleuthy
2/25 5:43 pm
2/24 3:26 pm
2/24 10:57 am
2/24 10:55 am
2/23 3:52 pm
2/22 4:22 pm
2/21 11:28 am
2/20 8:50 pm this was the "Hello"
2/20 2:52 pm
2/20 10:58 am
2/19 8:15 pm
2/19 6:24 pm
2/19 3:27 pm
2/19 9:18 am
2/18 5:16 pm
2/18 2:23 pm
2/18 1:02 pm
2/17 5:05 pm
2/17 11:23 am
2/16 11:36 am
2/15 6:34 pm
2/15 1:29 pm
actually, I think that's about where it started
Sometimes there are hangups and sometimes it just makes the call log.
Sooo ... anyone have any thoughts? Current theories: 1) I have a stalker, 2) Howie has a stalker, 3) There's an impotent auto-dialer out there somewhere that calls ... but I'm on the do not call list, so maybe not, 4) Howie has a piece of ass on the side who uses the internet white pages, and thinks I'm the wife, so keeps calling and hopes he'll pick up, 5) it's some sketchy person from my past who wants to talk to me ... or God help me, has to talk to me ... but lacks the cojones to say hello, 6) it's Garrett - who had some issues with the phone, or 7) my answering machine is having an affair. I like #3, #4 and #7 the best.
|Friday, February 23rd, 2007|
So, this site
has some interesting things to say about astrology.
I like the thing about transfiguration looking very weird lately. Mine has. I've cleaned. Hard-core dust-level cleansing. Something, as D said, is morphing. I am cleaning for something to come into my life. I didn't realize it at first -- I am not just finally taking time to perform a task that has left me guilty for neglect - I am preparing a space. That's kind of cool.
"In a few days we get the first Lunar Eclipse March 3. 15 days later we experience the first Solar Eclipse of the year at March 20. Both eclipses will shut some old ways of life down forever, leaving us space to embrace the new that is already prepared for us exactly mirroring what we have prepared for up to now. These will shine a light on closures, courage, and transmutation of energies into personality strengths in our process of "escaping from a narrow destiny," promised by whatever has educated us since September 2006's Solar and Lunar Eclipses." Current Mood: intrigued
Interesting. I'm not ordinarily one to be all that involved in this stuff, but I do accept that the planets have an influence on the tides of everything. And we're 80% water at least.
Well, there's the deadline. If things don't change in my life as I'm expecting them to, then maybe it is a narrow destiny ... maybe there is something more to be had. It won't be what I think I want, but it might be what I need on this passage.
I think it might be time for a ritual. I want more clarity. At the same time, I think I already know the answer.
|Tuesday, February 20th, 2007|
"Unknown caller" said hello tonight. Then hung up. On the weird off-chance that unknown caller is someone I know, I say this: say hello.
|Friday, February 16th, 2007|
|the complicated real estate of the heart
So, I wanted to grab my student teaching journal for Stacy and couldn't find it, then remembered it came home in the great purging o' the desk when I gave my room to D. I had put it in my office at home, with my photos, on the "save this if the house is on fire" shelf. Some time in the last two years, I had sorted through some accumulated crap, and sorted out the photos and the school stuff that I wanted to save. It's almost a decade later -- do I care that I have photos of the time my English 10 class made a room-long "river" upon which to post their chapter summaries for Huck Finn? Not really. I have never done that activity since, but not for any real reason. Or the photo of the Guernica-esque whiteboard drawing my first Apes left me when I went out sick from the second cheese-bagel incident, and when I came in on Monday, all I could do was laugh and take a picture? Maybe. Will I one day sell the photo of M suggestively embracing the Cookie Monster to the National Enquirer the day after he wins his first Academy Award? Nah, probably not, but it still cracks me up. Does it still pierce me to tears to see Tiffany grinning in the background as a boy whose name I can no longer recall stands proudly with his poster? Yes. There also had been some photos I believed I had thrown away, on the reasoning of "I've grown past this - this is stupid/maladaptive to keep" and yet tonight I found that I still had them or photos like them, in the same unsorted pile, and I was strangely glad. That belongs to me, too, and I have to own the whole thing - this is not a "reality-show-edit" - it was what it was, and I wouldn't be me without those experiences. Current Mood: nostalgic, a tiny bit
And at times, I find myself looking for something else and I come across some of this stuff, and it hurts like finding the key to a house that burned down.
I should put all of my monsters and my angels in one box. At least then I won't stumble across them accidentally.
|Thursday, February 15th, 2007|
available for a limited time only: once-brilliant, still-funny, but ugly aging redhead who can cook (fabulously), garden (adequately), snowboard (humorously), school people at Pac Man (truly) and kick ass (constantly). 30 year-old LARPers with cats need not apply. Same for overly-aggressive younger Indian men and older lipstick lesbians. Tony, Samir and Ellen - you know who you are, and the rest of you - sheesh, people: get lives. Don't waste your time if you can't hold your end of a conversation better than her pet fish. The ability to amuse yourself while she reads and comments papers for five hours at a stretch is non-negotiable. Avoid asking her for anything in the morning - her hand in marriage, any sort of cognitive functioning, or even a hall pass - before she's had her French vanilla iced coffee. She likes her culture low, high and everything in between, except for full of staph. Staphylococcus sucks. She gets the visual puns in the Simpsons, the philosophical crap in Heroes and the mythology in Stargate SG1. She steals lesson plan ideas from Project Runway Challenges, knife technique from Food Network, and unwashed pears at the orchard. When time allows, she is likely to read literary critical theory, cookbooks, forensic science, science fiction, magical realism, and the occasional practical how-to series on everything from carpentry to welding. Her time period is mid-20th century American, but she harbors a secret love for Rumi, Dante, and Heian Japan, Tang China and Middle Kingdom Egypt, and occasionally, the Iron Age Celts. Rumi and Dante don't know about each other, but Rumi'd be down with it, and Dante's willing to let a lot of things go, like complete lack of contact. Socially awkward, randomly affectionate, semi-selectively deaf, vaguely open-minded, seemingly irreverent, occasionally witty, half-assedly artistic, highly-functioning geeky, fond of dogs, duct-tape, iPods, Irish butter, occipital releases, robots, infused syrups, horses, pirates, commas, fish, dangerous weaponry, pysanky, harpists, and children, and often associated with other oddly juxtaposed combinations, Kate is feeling gently snubbed by fate, of late. Unexpectedly alliterative, she also realizes her multiple shortcomings.
Ye gawds, it's a difficult business to try to love me. Few have tried, most have failed. Some have failed spectacularly, and some were just failures.
I'm kidding. A little. Although I am horrified by what a scary picture this profile paints. It's worse that it's kind of accurate. How horrid if I were to begin the process again. Would it be better to be upfront about this stuff with potential significant other or just go for the ambush?
My poor sweetie has been illin' with what I had (although I maintain that he got it from his dad), and we had a snow day, so we've not celebrated Val Day nor our 5th anniversary. It's still a better Val than being dis-engaged, but still, I am feeling a bit under-loved at the moment. I'm not usually one to complain of lacking attention, and I know all too well that the reasons are legitimate and that it's not the way we want it to be, but all the same .... :( All will be well soon, and we'll open our red-wrapped gifts, sit down to share exotic culinary treats, and spend quality time together. Right now, I need to go give my frozen car some love, so I'll try to maintain.
Current Mood: lonely but amused
|Saturday, February 10th, 2007|
Not long after the double vision fun, I landed a virus that has been kicking me hard for the last several days. I had meetings Monday and Tuesday, so I took Wednesday out to just sleep and mainline orange juice and tea. I've been trying to maintain the last few days, but I'm so far behind now it's not even funny. Basically, the pattern has been to come home, have tea and Nyquil, go to sleep, wake up for Simpsons and spaghetti (completely without taste), then back to bed. I lead an exciting life, I tell ya.
I keep blowing out my left ear when I try to empty my nose. How can any human have so much snot? I know there's brain in that skull - I've seen it in there recently on the CT - so from where does this incessant flow of mucus spring? Ugh.
We had lockdown drill this week. That was fun. Not. Back to more quality time with various documents. Just felt like updating/whinging.
|Tuesday, January 30th, 2007|
"all your unfulfilled desires
are from your greed
for gain of fulfillments
let go of them all
and they will be sent as gifts" -- Rumi, of course
It explains why, when people give up on something, usually seeking love, that it comes to them, Why, occasionally, infertile couples adopt and then conceive. Why people bang their heads against the wall (metaphorically) trying to accomplish something, but it doesn't happen until they step away.
In most cases, the universe knows what the hell it's doing. Let it do its thing.
This is easy to accept on some sort of level; however, one of the hardest things to do in practice. We think we have some measure of control. We hear things like "make it happen" - which is true only to a certain point. It's a far enough walk to that point, but still. Like a tether.
Had a freaky few days.
Since last night, my eyes went nearly completely on me. Couldn't read text -- too blurry. Even this is not so hot right now. So, I got in to see the eye doctor and did the whole high tech checkout. Retinas and maculas are fine. Cornea has some schmutz built up from my atrocious contact lens habits. The enhanced astigmatism is pronounced, but could be due to this debris and eyestrain. I'm to wear my glasses and rest my eyes and clean them for the next two weeks when we get to play with the refractor again. I hope that this is just the way this goes. However, my olfactory thing yesterday in connection to this has me slightly tweaking -- found the smell of food nauseating - tooled on P for his garlic, but then found it was pretty much anything, including my own dinner. J made corn, but it smelled like chicken to me. This is freaking me out. I like my text sharp. LIke "I can estimate the kerning" sharp. This is fuzzy and sketchy. C was in rare form at department meeting. Ugly. If I say something I'm wrong, and if I say nothing I'm wrong. I guess I'm just going to have to address it point blank. Current Mood: relinquish illusions o control
|Thursday, January 25th, 2007|
Mama Bird called randomly and took me to Zio's for risotto and steak and and tiramisu. Thank you, Mama Bird! And Papa Bird! Current Mood: stuffed
|Wednesday, January 24th, 2007|
tired (can't breathe all night, not getting a good sleep)
sore (yeah, let's stretch during finals ... there's a brilliant idea)
cranky and sad ( a few quarts low - it will pass, but it sucks while you're in it ... and even I don't want to listen to me whine, so I'm taking the time to try to let out some of these icky feelings, like opening a bag of snakes at the edge of the woods -- maybe they'll come back to the village, maybe they'll go free and elsewhere)
overwhelmed (3 new classes, 1 new course, upstairs/downstairs, this schedule thing at school, certain lingering issues, tons of commenting ahead, my eyes are going, soooo much planning involved, so ... some interesting challenges)
irritated (whatevah, it'd be a whole book if I went off on it)
cold (it's cold constantly)
lonely/socially understimulated (I want to go out and play, but it just requires sooooo much energy that I don't have, and I'm lonely for some of the people who are still part of my life but I don't have to time to chat with them or go visit, anyway, so feeling far away from people is even more unpleasant and useless - it's like waving at people through Lucite)
hungry (I don't want pasta or soup. I don't want to go get something. I don't want to cook - always a bad sign. I don't want to have something delivered. I just want the heavens to open and the mama bird to come down and drop a regurgitated worm in my throat. Is that too much to ask? The last few nights it's been like this. I have to eat something, so the last English muffin is looking attractive. Maybe I'll go carb-crazy and have some oatmeal. Maybe some tea will cheer me up.)
impoverished (tomorrow's payday, meh.)
uninspired (I want to do something cool in 20th C tomorrow, but I'm at a loss on how to make chapters 6-9 engaging)
really wanting a new [to me] car (no suspension left)
whiny -- sheesh, just look at all the whinage here ... but I'm supposed to (carefully and safely) express my negative thoughts and feelings, not keep them so tightly clamped that they eat away at me
B stole my fucking lab today without so much as an apology. Ran into P in the hall and he said he'd pull a "Oh, Kate was supposed to be in here" and I bumped into A while I was still cranky about it seconds later, but no apology extant. If I had the energy, I'd be pissed. But I really don't so I'm like, whatever, I sent the kids all over the building, and Don let them use the color printer, so it was all good. Besides, had we gone to the lab en masse, we'd have missed the accidental swastika construction, which was kind of hilarious (in context -- out of context, it just sounds creepy and terrible).
I told F&D my story about getting kicked out of CCD class for asking about the Isaac story. It was pretty amusing. 20th C with the addition of M today, was also kind of interesting. Sometimes the inappropriate thing is the only possible thing that can be said.
And really, what is the deal with men who have cats? Wtf?! Ugh.
|Tuesday, January 16th, 2007|
The Evil One began with a nastygram for me but then was civil to me during the actual meeting. Perhaps because X is planning maternity?
I am a cynic.
But past experience has shown that when I am most cynical about other peoples' motives, I am also most accurate.
If this seems like obsession, this is the only place I am putting these thoughts, I need to clear them from my head in order to function.
|Tuesday, January 9th, 2007|
|I love ...
broccoli -- it is my friend
taking a full breath
sleeping all night long again
this moment where things fall back into focus
my book from this summer's course - re-read it tonight
being emotionally 5
unexpected kindness from people
endings and beginnings
not knowing the answers Current Mood: trying
|Saturday, January 6th, 2007|
Thanks for cheering me up. The videos below are priceless.