Well, I've been hard at work with school and writing The Master Painter. Huge props to my friend Becky for being the editor of my dreams. As they say, to write is human, to edit is divine. With Becky's help this story is coming together and I hope to finish it in about a week.
In rodent news, we have a new mouse named Twinkle and my dear Biscuit died. Biscuit wasn't my rat, but a friend's. Last time I saw him he was just a tiny baby and he would be almost a year old now.
I saw a licence plate the other day that read "GOD SPED". I think it was supposed to say 'God speed' but all it ended up doing was accusing God of not obeying traffic laws. Mildly humorous.
So it's a Sabbath afternoon and I'm bored out of my socks. I should really go take a shower or at least change clothes since I have the Slobber of the Northside Church Babies all over me.
Nakies is up for her afternoon constitutional. She says hi. I love my Nakies...:-)
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Saturday, April 7, 2007
My First Post
Oh my. It's my first post on Blogger. Salutations world-of-blogging-on Blogger! So far I like it.
I'm being lazy thing morning. I was supposed to be at College View Church (CVC) at 8 AM since Unionaires in singing for both services. It's 10:13 and I am still in my pajamas...
I thought about it and thought about it and eventually decided that, what with my health being in such a delicate state, I needed to rest and take it easy today. Tomorrow will be very busy and I'll need my energy.
There is still a possibility that I will go and perform for the second service, but it is a rather small possibility. Is it bad that I'm just having an off day where I don't do anything I'm supposed to? I seem to do that quite often. What can I say, I'm an artist and can't be counted on to be constant.
Meanwhile I am wishing it were not so cold because otherwise I would go for a walk. It looks so pretty and sunny outside, making me want to go play and prance around, but I can't abide by the cold, so I guess I'll just sit inside and knit and read The Fellowship of the Ring. It is my second time reading it, by the way, and I just finished the chapter about Weathertop/Amon Sul.
Baby Crash is up and says hi.
I'm being lazy thing morning. I was supposed to be at College View Church (CVC) at 8 AM since Unionaires in singing for both services. It's 10:13 and I am still in my pajamas...
I thought about it and thought about it and eventually decided that, what with my health being in such a delicate state, I needed to rest and take it easy today. Tomorrow will be very busy and I'll need my energy.
There is still a possibility that I will go and perform for the second service, but it is a rather small possibility. Is it bad that I'm just having an off day where I don't do anything I'm supposed to? I seem to do that quite often. What can I say, I'm an artist and can't be counted on to be constant.
Meanwhile I am wishing it were not so cold because otherwise I would go for a walk. It looks so pretty and sunny outside, making me want to go play and prance around, but I can't abide by the cold, so I guess I'll just sit inside and knit and read The Fellowship of the Ring. It is my second time reading it, by the way, and I just finished the chapter about Weathertop/Amon Sul.
Baby Crash is up and says hi.
Friday, March 30, 2007
A Long, But Meaningful Blog
I haven't written a journal in a long time and, with so many thoughts and theories floating around my head I thought it best to get them down on paper, or, rather, my hard drive.
Its spring now here in Lincoln, Nebraska. The daffodils, crocus and tulips are blooming, the trees are budding and grass is green. Constant showers encourage God's work to shine. How beautiful the earth can turn in what seems like overnight. It makes me think of how someday this earth with transform into something even more beautiful than what we see now.
Why, just last night I had a dream that the world was dark, with war in every land. There was a tower in the middle of the land that was grey and covered in dead ivy. It had once been the palace of a good king who ruled the earth with love and, under his care, it flourished. But the hearts of the people turned to darkness and soon the king was forced to retreat into his palace to lay dormant until enough people with true hearts should call him forth to reclaim the land.
I was standing with my mother in front of the dark palace with a small group of others. When we called upon the king to come and rescue us from the darkness, the tower transformed into a beautiful green and gold structure with carvings and statues of creatures long gone on it. Bells chimed and two heralds stepped out of the palace. They were the most beautiful creatures I had ever seen looking as if they were part of nature. The king was about to come out when I woke up.
So, yes, sort of Lord of the Rings-y, but whatever. The point is that the transformation of nature in the springtime is such a magical thing to watch and holds me mesmerized. And I think of how much I really do love it here in Lincoln. As I drive through town I see kids riding bikes, young couples walking dogs, pushing strollers. I see children walking home from school with backpacks slung over their shoulders, and I can't help but fall in love with this city again. When I was young
I used to think that Lincoln was the safest place ever. In Minnesota I shied away from everyone since most of them were drunks with guns. But I thought that should I ever lived in Lincoln I would not be afraid to approach someone on the street to ask the time or some other such thing. I know now, of course, that Lincoln is no city of angels, but it is by far the best city I have ever lived in.
I ask myself, would I ever leave Lincoln? I can't really know the answer any more than I can really know the answer to a question like, what would you do if the boogieman was real and lived under your bed? I can't know what I would do in that given situation unless I was actually in it. There are potential circumstances to be considered, like, maybe the boogieman is friendly? Perhaps he is allergic to peanut butter? Likewise, I can't know if I'll ever leave Lincoln until I am in the actual predicament.
Northside has a new pastor, Pastor Martinez. He's okay. I've only heard him preach twice, since he's only been here two Sabbaths. I like his preaching okay. I don't really know yet, I haven't gotten to know him as a person, so we'll see. Anyway, his first sermon was about heaven. The sermon was okay, but not gripping or anything (I'm a firm believer that if you're going to preach on heaven, its got to be gripping and that doesn't mean use the same pictures and thoughts as every other preacher out there). However, it was a reminder that God chooses some of the weakest things to make His point and to touch us. Pastor Martinez was using power point for his sermon and he had up some pretty pictures from nature (I'm a sucker for those things). He probably said something then that sent me contemplating for the remainder of the sermon. I thought about how, since I was about fourteen, I've had this little world of my own in my head that I retreat to. Some of it is forests, some moors or rolling hills. Some is ocean and beaches, some is prairie. And I have little houses scattered throughout. I fit the world to the mood I'm in.
Maybe its sounds strange to you, but I've lived a very strange life and without a place of escape I would not have made it. I'm guessing that not everyone has my wide expanse of imagination, but I'm sure we all have a "happy place" in our minds. Anyway, I had surprisingly never thought of it before, but this little world of mine was probably a glimpse of what heaven would be like. "They shall build houses and inhabit them," says the Bible. I started to think about that.
Then I thought about how I had heard that the desire of a man's heart was to have a beautiful life to enjoy and someone to enjoy it with. I thought about how, sometimes my little world served it purpose in letting me get away, but it was rather lonely. I wanted someone to share it with, someone who understood it. This world to me is my heart and I wanted to share my heart. This world also spills out and meshes with the real world. I guess what I mean by that is, the way I interpret and see the real world around me is echoed in the world of my heart/mind. Am I getting too philosophical? This probably makes no sense to anyone but me.
Anyway, then I thought of how nature is God's second book, how it is His finger print. I enjoy nature so much more now because I am not letting myself be constrained to some Adventist mind set devoid of all individuality. God forbid I should be a cookie-cutter Adventist explaining everything with common phrasing and mind set. Once I let myself free of that, I was able to see what a big and creative force our God is and to enjoy Him for who He is, not the over-theologized God from my Sabbath School quarterly. What if I were to let that God be the force, the meaning behind the world of my heart? I remember that sometimes, when I needed to be very honest with God I would "meet" Jesus in my world and talk to Him there. It was a more meaningful kind of prayer that is individual to me and not a patented-by-the-church approach.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I'm coming back to 14-year-old perception of God, which is probably more correct. It is that perception of God that drew me into the New Age movement. Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely not doing that again, but I'm coming back to a more sacred, peaceful place where much more emphasis is placed on nature, on awareness of the living things around you. Many of these things I know the church tried to teach me, but I just couldn't grasp it. It seems to me that the church likes to focus on God's government; the rules, the prophecies and all other such things. We don't focus enough on a relationship, on a personal, living experience. The only Seventh-Day Adventist Ministry that I've seen do this is Empowered Living Ministries. They are totally on the ball, but it is sad that they are so few.
Another dream I had: I was with the Christian people because, while straying for a time from all of those beliefs, I counted myself among them. We were climbing white stairs up into the clouds. All the faces around me were shining with joy and in everyone's hands was a treasure from their life on earth to lay before the throne. The higher up the stairs I got the more nervous I became. What if I was not deemed good enough to enter before God's presence with my people? Had I tarried too long in my wayward journey? Did I miss the call home? Then I started to despair; I'm not good enough! I'll be made a fool of! But I was, at the same time, at peace knowing that God's judgment would be fair. I reached the throne and watched as a dear friend of mine who was ahead of me put down her gift, smiled into the face of her creator and walked on. I walked hesitantly up to the throne and put down my gift. I think it was my journals, but I can't quite remember. I was nervous, but the hand of grace, though not physical, was reached out to me and a voice said, "I have placed you on this journey and you will be granted time." With relief I turned followed those ahead of me back down another staircase back to earth.
I'm not claiming to be any Ellen White or anything, but I have always had meaningful dreams. My dreams are one of the main ways in which God speaks to me and the dreams are personally for me. They are not prophetic or aimed to guide anyone else, However, if you should get a blessing from hearing them, then I am glad.
On a more physical note, things are being worked out Sunrider-wise to prevent me from ever having my colon removed. I have glasses, too. But who cares about that stuff anyway?
Its spring now here in Lincoln, Nebraska. The daffodils, crocus and tulips are blooming, the trees are budding and grass is green. Constant showers encourage God's work to shine. How beautiful the earth can turn in what seems like overnight. It makes me think of how someday this earth with transform into something even more beautiful than what we see now.
Why, just last night I had a dream that the world was dark, with war in every land. There was a tower in the middle of the land that was grey and covered in dead ivy. It had once been the palace of a good king who ruled the earth with love and, under his care, it flourished. But the hearts of the people turned to darkness and soon the king was forced to retreat into his palace to lay dormant until enough people with true hearts should call him forth to reclaim the land.
I was standing with my mother in front of the dark palace with a small group of others. When we called upon the king to come and rescue us from the darkness, the tower transformed into a beautiful green and gold structure with carvings and statues of creatures long gone on it. Bells chimed and two heralds stepped out of the palace. They were the most beautiful creatures I had ever seen looking as if they were part of nature. The king was about to come out when I woke up.
So, yes, sort of Lord of the Rings-y, but whatever. The point is that the transformation of nature in the springtime is such a magical thing to watch and holds me mesmerized. And I think of how much I really do love it here in Lincoln. As I drive through town I see kids riding bikes, young couples walking dogs, pushing strollers. I see children walking home from school with backpacks slung over their shoulders, and I can't help but fall in love with this city again. When I was young
I used to think that Lincoln was the safest place ever. In Minnesota I shied away from everyone since most of them were drunks with guns. But I thought that should I ever lived in Lincoln I would not be afraid to approach someone on the street to ask the time or some other such thing. I know now, of course, that Lincoln is no city of angels, but it is by far the best city I have ever lived in.
I ask myself, would I ever leave Lincoln? I can't really know the answer any more than I can really know the answer to a question like, what would you do if the boogieman was real and lived under your bed? I can't know what I would do in that given situation unless I was actually in it. There are potential circumstances to be considered, like, maybe the boogieman is friendly? Perhaps he is allergic to peanut butter? Likewise, I can't know if I'll ever leave Lincoln until I am in the actual predicament.
Northside has a new pastor, Pastor Martinez. He's okay. I've only heard him preach twice, since he's only been here two Sabbaths. I like his preaching okay. I don't really know yet, I haven't gotten to know him as a person, so we'll see. Anyway, his first sermon was about heaven. The sermon was okay, but not gripping or anything (I'm a firm believer that if you're going to preach on heaven, its got to be gripping and that doesn't mean use the same pictures and thoughts as every other preacher out there). However, it was a reminder that God chooses some of the weakest things to make His point and to touch us. Pastor Martinez was using power point for his sermon and he had up some pretty pictures from nature (I'm a sucker for those things). He probably said something then that sent me contemplating for the remainder of the sermon. I thought about how, since I was about fourteen, I've had this little world of my own in my head that I retreat to. Some of it is forests, some moors or rolling hills. Some is ocean and beaches, some is prairie. And I have little houses scattered throughout. I fit the world to the mood I'm in.
Maybe its sounds strange to you, but I've lived a very strange life and without a place of escape I would not have made it. I'm guessing that not everyone has my wide expanse of imagination, but I'm sure we all have a "happy place" in our minds. Anyway, I had surprisingly never thought of it before, but this little world of mine was probably a glimpse of what heaven would be like. "They shall build houses and inhabit them," says the Bible. I started to think about that.
Then I thought about how I had heard that the desire of a man's heart was to have a beautiful life to enjoy and someone to enjoy it with. I thought about how, sometimes my little world served it purpose in letting me get away, but it was rather lonely. I wanted someone to share it with, someone who understood it. This world to me is my heart and I wanted to share my heart. This world also spills out and meshes with the real world. I guess what I mean by that is, the way I interpret and see the real world around me is echoed in the world of my heart/mind. Am I getting too philosophical? This probably makes no sense to anyone but me.
Anyway, then I thought of how nature is God's second book, how it is His finger print. I enjoy nature so much more now because I am not letting myself be constrained to some Adventist mind set devoid of all individuality. God forbid I should be a cookie-cutter Adventist explaining everything with common phrasing and mind set. Once I let myself free of that, I was able to see what a big and creative force our God is and to enjoy Him for who He is, not the over-theologized God from my Sabbath School quarterly. What if I were to let that God be the force, the meaning behind the world of my heart? I remember that sometimes, when I needed to be very honest with God I would "meet" Jesus in my world and talk to Him there. It was a more meaningful kind of prayer that is individual to me and not a patented-by-the-church approach.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I'm coming back to 14-year-old perception of God, which is probably more correct. It is that perception of God that drew me into the New Age movement. Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely not doing that again, but I'm coming back to a more sacred, peaceful place where much more emphasis is placed on nature, on awareness of the living things around you. Many of these things I know the church tried to teach me, but I just couldn't grasp it. It seems to me that the church likes to focus on God's government; the rules, the prophecies and all other such things. We don't focus enough on a relationship, on a personal, living experience. The only Seventh-Day Adventist Ministry that I've seen do this is Empowered Living Ministries. They are totally on the ball, but it is sad that they are so few.
Another dream I had: I was with the Christian people because, while straying for a time from all of those beliefs, I counted myself among them. We were climbing white stairs up into the clouds. All the faces around me were shining with joy and in everyone's hands was a treasure from their life on earth to lay before the throne. The higher up the stairs I got the more nervous I became. What if I was not deemed good enough to enter before God's presence with my people? Had I tarried too long in my wayward journey? Did I miss the call home? Then I started to despair; I'm not good enough! I'll be made a fool of! But I was, at the same time, at peace knowing that God's judgment would be fair. I reached the throne and watched as a dear friend of mine who was ahead of me put down her gift, smiled into the face of her creator and walked on. I walked hesitantly up to the throne and put down my gift. I think it was my journals, but I can't quite remember. I was nervous, but the hand of grace, though not physical, was reached out to me and a voice said, "I have placed you on this journey and you will be granted time." With relief I turned followed those ahead of me back down another staircase back to earth.
I'm not claiming to be any Ellen White or anything, but I have always had meaningful dreams. My dreams are one of the main ways in which God speaks to me and the dreams are personally for me. They are not prophetic or aimed to guide anyone else, However, if you should get a blessing from hearing them, then I am glad.
On a more physical note, things are being worked out Sunrider-wise to prevent me from ever having my colon removed. I have glasses, too. But who cares about that stuff anyway?
Friday, February 23, 2007
It's Been A Long Time
Its been a long time since I've last written a journal. I'm sort of disappointed in myself. I write journals when I feel alive. I have to write about life and all its intricacies and generalities. When I don't write I've lost some of that passion. I'm off in some other world. And so I've been.
I do chores, run errands, do schoolwork and then in my spare time I disappear. That wasn't my plan when this started. I didn't want to have my head in the clouds. Now that original mind set is coming back to me every now and then. Reminding me. That's not to say I regret anything, although I'm sure if I thought about it long and hard enough I'd find something. This is a journey, not a mapped out course. I'm growing up and flowing in and out of experiences, worlds…I suppose that is why it is so important to me that no one judge me. I don't yet have my feet on the ground about what I want, who I am. I'm never constant. Save judgment for another time.
Lately I've been reading too much X-Men and listening to t.A.T.u. Yeah, pretty deep, huh? I've had a really cool, but scary dream I call The Master Painter. I should have written it as a short story when I'd first woken up, but I didn't. Perhaps I will soon. I had a very disturbing dream in which a certain someone was trying to woo me. Can you guess who that was? I, of course, spent most of my time making snide remarks or yelling at him.
I've been meaning to write a letter to someone I've yet to meet. It would start, 'Dear potential boyfriend…". It was going to be a this-is-who-I-am-and-this-is-what-you're-getting-into letter, but I think I would just put in the lyrics to Bitch. That song pretty much sums it up. It's the one that goes, "I'm a bitch/I'm a lover/I'm a child/I'm a mother/I'm a sinner/I'm a saint".
I've been thinking about friendship issues. Like, listening to what James and Gina went through with Christina and it all making sense. Then I think about when I go back to being a full-time Christian and if they will still love and accept me as they do now. I won't be who I was before, certainly, but I will be different than I am now. But I'll still be me. All the time.
I do chores, run errands, do schoolwork and then in my spare time I disappear. That wasn't my plan when this started. I didn't want to have my head in the clouds. Now that original mind set is coming back to me every now and then. Reminding me. That's not to say I regret anything, although I'm sure if I thought about it long and hard enough I'd find something. This is a journey, not a mapped out course. I'm growing up and flowing in and out of experiences, worlds…I suppose that is why it is so important to me that no one judge me. I don't yet have my feet on the ground about what I want, who I am. I'm never constant. Save judgment for another time.
Lately I've been reading too much X-Men and listening to t.A.T.u. Yeah, pretty deep, huh? I've had a really cool, but scary dream I call The Master Painter. I should have written it as a short story when I'd first woken up, but I didn't. Perhaps I will soon. I had a very disturbing dream in which a certain someone was trying to woo me. Can you guess who that was? I, of course, spent most of my time making snide remarks or yelling at him.
I've been meaning to write a letter to someone I've yet to meet. It would start, 'Dear potential boyfriend…". It was going to be a this-is-who-I-am-and-this-is-what-you're-getting-into letter, but I think I would just put in the lyrics to Bitch. That song pretty much sums it up. It's the one that goes, "I'm a bitch/I'm a lover/I'm a child/I'm a mother/I'm a sinner/I'm a saint".
I've been thinking about friendship issues. Like, listening to what James and Gina went through with Christina and it all making sense. Then I think about when I go back to being a full-time Christian and if they will still love and accept me as they do now. I won't be who I was before, certainly, but I will be different than I am now. But I'll still be me. All the time.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Prodigal
Two nights ago I did something big: I picked up my Bible. I was ready to read just a little bit. It's like I went on this detox to get all this "dogma" out of my system, all of the opinions of men. Now the detox is nearing its end and I'm ready for something pure, I'm ready to hear what God has to say. I needed to know that I couldn't find love that satisfies fully out in the world. I had to know that for sure so that I could come back to God and say, "I know You're the real thing". I had to come back to the primitive belief that, yes, there is a God. Perhaps that's easier for me than most. For me, its never been a question. All I have to do is look at nature to know there's a God. All I have to do is look at people, circumstances, and I know. We have a big God. A creative God. And He's a lot different that what people tell you. You can only tell someone about God so much; they have to experience God. I know that sounds preacher-ish, but I think its true. You have to know for yourself and you have to see God for who He is. Human words can't describe it. Maybe that's why the Bible is so big-people trying to describe God in every way they can.
So, anyway, I was ready to open up my Bible again. I think I opened to the book of Job. I read a bit there and then went on the Psalms. I didn't read a whole lot, but let me tell you, I was captivated! After not reading this Book for so long and having shed the glasses of the ideas of men, this Book was amazing! The beauty of words that I had no doubt came straight from God. I've been reading a lot of really good books the past few months, but they seemed so trite compared to what I was reading at the moment. It was a magical experience.
Now, I've done more praying through this whole ordeal than you may think I have. I've had at least one heart-to-heart with God. What surprised me was that God still loved me. He wasn't looking at me sin, I could just tell. He was looking at me, His creation, who I was. He was looking at me on this journey and He understood because He had lain the path beneath my feet. The reason I was surprised at this was that I have trained myself to believe that if I so much as don't say my morning prayers, God hates me and I'm going to have to put on one heck of a show to prove to Him that I'm sorry (even if I don't truly feel it). I have a lot of unconfessed sins at the moment, but somehow I get the idea that God isn't interested in hearing my confessions; He's interesting in hearing my thoughts, my heart.
So, after I'd read a bit of the Bible, I turned of the light, lay down in bed and prayed. I used to do this a lot, and most of my real praying is done as I'm falling asleep. I recall someone calling it "pillow talk" with God. I just talked to God about what I thought about Him, about me, and about what was going on. I reminded God that I do love Him, that I always have. He knows. This journey is far from over, but I think I've taken the first steps home. And I know the God wants me to take my time and that He will always be there to guide me, the prodigal daughter.
So, anyway, I was ready to open up my Bible again. I think I opened to the book of Job. I read a bit there and then went on the Psalms. I didn't read a whole lot, but let me tell you, I was captivated! After not reading this Book for so long and having shed the glasses of the ideas of men, this Book was amazing! The beauty of words that I had no doubt came straight from God. I've been reading a lot of really good books the past few months, but they seemed so trite compared to what I was reading at the moment. It was a magical experience.
Now, I've done more praying through this whole ordeal than you may think I have. I've had at least one heart-to-heart with God. What surprised me was that God still loved me. He wasn't looking at me sin, I could just tell. He was looking at me, His creation, who I was. He was looking at me on this journey and He understood because He had lain the path beneath my feet. The reason I was surprised at this was that I have trained myself to believe that if I so much as don't say my morning prayers, God hates me and I'm going to have to put on one heck of a show to prove to Him that I'm sorry (even if I don't truly feel it). I have a lot of unconfessed sins at the moment, but somehow I get the idea that God isn't interested in hearing my confessions; He's interesting in hearing my thoughts, my heart.
So, after I'd read a bit of the Bible, I turned of the light, lay down in bed and prayed. I used to do this a lot, and most of my real praying is done as I'm falling asleep. I recall someone calling it "pillow talk" with God. I just talked to God about what I thought about Him, about me, and about what was going on. I reminded God that I do love Him, that I always have. He knows. This journey is far from over, but I think I've taken the first steps home. And I know the God wants me to take my time and that He will always be there to guide me, the prodigal daughter.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
I Wish...
My wishes. What I want to have done in my life, but will probably never get done. Life is too short. I do wish reincarnation was real, sometimes. Most of the time. These wishes are limited to reality.
I want to learn to speak German, French, Vietnamese, Spanish, Russian, Welsh and an Asian language (perhaps Japanese) fluently. I would also like to work short-term jobs at translators for all of those languages.
I want to go to Ireland (perhaps with a good friend, or as my honeymoon) with one suitcase and a large amount of money. When I get there I would like to buy a car and then drive around Ireland with no specific destination. I would like to have adventures consisting mainly of new people, places and food.
I want to be a secretary, preferably at a hospital.
I want to be an anesthesiologist, while I’m on the subject of hospitals.
I want to be involved in a large, dramatic rat rescue.
I want to save an animal’s life in a heroic endeavor.
I want to rent a small, chilly flat in London and smoke cigarettes.
I want to stay at a Victorian bed and breakfast for a long period of time and write something.
I want to go to a big, old college somewhere out of the country and study literature.
I want to study abroad for a year.
I want to write a book and see it made into a movie.
I want to live on a moor.
I want to be a chef.
I want to star in an opera.
I want to learn to play the piano, the violin and a wooden flute.
I want to own at least one of each once in my lifetime: sugar glider, munchkin cat, chinchilla, skunk, leopard gecko, frog, many fish (saltwater and fresh), ring necked dove, squirrel, hamster, gerbil, mouse, African Gambian rat, a large snake, turtle, degu, dog, rabbit, goat, horse, pig, and a sheep.
I want to be a zoologist and in that career aid in keeping an endangered species.
I want to be a wildlife rehabilitator.
I want to be a wonderful gardener and grow beautiful flowers and organic produce.
I want to adopt a child.
I want to have my own child.
I want to be an astronomer.
I want to have my own, small house and have only just enough money.
I would like to have a faithful pen pal whom I have never met and never will meet.
I want to dance ballet…independently.
I want to have a large, old library willed to me.
I want to be the librarian of a large, old, library. Or a small, old library.
I want to do the Beatrix Potter/Edwardian Lady thing: go outside everyday exploring, writing and painting.
I want to visit Vietnam for Tet.
I want to read the dictionary.
I want to go shopping in France with no budget.
I want to learn to have beautiful handwriting (not calligraphy).
I want to be a coffee barista.
I want to see the John Knox house in Scotland.
I want to see my family in Italy.
I want to go to bed…
I want to learn to speak German, French, Vietnamese, Spanish, Russian, Welsh and an Asian language (perhaps Japanese) fluently. I would also like to work short-term jobs at translators for all of those languages.
I want to go to Ireland (perhaps with a good friend, or as my honeymoon) with one suitcase and a large amount of money. When I get there I would like to buy a car and then drive around Ireland with no specific destination. I would like to have adventures consisting mainly of new people, places and food.
I want to be a secretary, preferably at a hospital.
I want to be an anesthesiologist, while I’m on the subject of hospitals.
I want to be involved in a large, dramatic rat rescue.
I want to save an animal’s life in a heroic endeavor.
I want to rent a small, chilly flat in London and smoke cigarettes.
I want to stay at a Victorian bed and breakfast for a long period of time and write something.
I want to go to a big, old college somewhere out of the country and study literature.
I want to study abroad for a year.
I want to write a book and see it made into a movie.
I want to live on a moor.
I want to be a chef.
I want to star in an opera.
I want to learn to play the piano, the violin and a wooden flute.
I want to own at least one of each once in my lifetime: sugar glider, munchkin cat, chinchilla, skunk, leopard gecko, frog, many fish (saltwater and fresh), ring necked dove, squirrel, hamster, gerbil, mouse, African Gambian rat, a large snake, turtle, degu, dog, rabbit, goat, horse, pig, and a sheep.
I want to be a zoologist and in that career aid in keeping an endangered species.
I want to be a wildlife rehabilitator.
I want to be a wonderful gardener and grow beautiful flowers and organic produce.
I want to adopt a child.
I want to have my own child.
I want to be an astronomer.
I want to have my own, small house and have only just enough money.
I would like to have a faithful pen pal whom I have never met and never will meet.
I want to dance ballet…independently.
I want to have a large, old library willed to me.
I want to be the librarian of a large, old, library. Or a small, old library.
I want to do the Beatrix Potter/Edwardian Lady thing: go outside everyday exploring, writing and painting.
I want to visit Vietnam for Tet.
I want to read the dictionary.
I want to go shopping in France with no budget.
I want to learn to have beautiful handwriting (not calligraphy).
I want to be a coffee barista.
I want to see the John Knox house in Scotland.
I want to see my family in Italy.
I want to go to bed…
Friday, January 12, 2007
Doing the Hospital Thing, Big Girl Style
It’s the day after my procedures. I feel like crap, but I am grateful for food and water. I’m not accustomed to recording the practical things that are going on in my life, but rather my little thoughts and revelations. However, I suppose I should, for the sake of any future events or readings, record yesterday’s goings-on.
My appointment was for eleven A.M., but I wasn’t expecting to actually get my procedures done until one at the latest. Radiology is never on time. One the way out I was parched and hungry. I hadn’t been allowed to drink anything since midnight and I hadn’t eaten in about three days. I had pushed myself beyond what I thought I was physically and mentally capable of in those past three days. Most of that happened trying to get down the last laxative, which tasted so bad I actually ended up gagging on it mid-sip. In all seriousness, if I am ever holed up in prison being tortured and starved because of my religion or something, I’ll be an old hat at it. I just know I’ll be thinking, “Well, at least I’m here because I believe in something and I’m not being forced against my will to eat nothing but chicken broth and jell-o and swallow laxatives like Go Lytely.” I only got down half of that stuff before quitting, by the way. If you could taste it you would think highly of me for getting that far.
Anyway, we (my mom and I) were in the car headed to Omaha for the big day and I was ignoring my bag of amusements and looking out the window, thinking. This is my usual style. I was thinking about how the littlest things can be a big sign of how much a person has grown up. Through the whole bowel cleanse ordeal and I didn’t whine and cry as I usually would (okay, so I whined, but in an adult manner). I wasn’t putting numbing cream all over my hands and arms for the I.V.. I knew when I got there that I wouldn’t make my usual list of demands (keep the oxygen mask away from my face until I’m out, make sure to pull out the intubation tube while I’m still out, explain to me clearly when you are going to put any drugs in my I.V. that would make me sleepy and let me watch you do it, and for goodness sakes, let my mom come into the room with me until I’m out. Oh, yeah, and the stuffed animal stays with me.). And, of course, I wouldn’t be a pediatric anymore. I would be with the old stuffy people, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t use what cuteness I had left to get people to treat me sweet like.
My mom said I should make as many demands as I wanted to but I said, no, I wasn’t doing this because I was trying to be grown up, I was doing it because I was. I didn’t need those things any more. I put my trust in whoever was running the show in that room and I was going to let them have their own way (to a point, of course).
So when I got there it was the same story I’ve been through countless times, except my mom wasn’t allowed to come back until I was all ready to go. I had to put on one of those ugly gowns with no ties in back except one around the neck. And of course I wasn’t allowed to wear anything underneath except my pink fuzzy socks, which had to be covered up with the most ugly blue paper things you’ll ever see. Another robe went around me and tied in front so I could walk about with dignity. The robes had this pattern on them that mom and I spent awhile contemplating, which is what you do when you have to sit around with nothing else to do for over two hours.
“Someone out there has the job of designing these patterns,” I said. Mom nodded.
“But isn’t even totally original. Its just these weird dashes and a box with that little paisley thing in it. Its like generic paisley.” So that’s what we called it from then on. Generic paisley.
After my generic paisley robes and blue foot things were put on I was told what would happen during the procedures (live biopsy, colonoscopy and endoscopy). Then I had to sign a bunch of consent forms. After that this poor nurse tried to put an I.V. in me that I said would be a sure stick. I had been working this vein in my hand all morning as happy to finally have something that would work. Well, apparently that vein decided it didn’t want to come out anymore by the time I was at the hospital. Not that you can blame it, I hadn’t had anything to drink in quite awhile. It was a rather painful experience and the nurse tried to see if she’d gotten the I.V. to thread by putting in some saline, which only sat under my skin and made a bruise. She felt really bad and refused to try on me again. Another nurse, who was obviously more experienced got a vein on my other arm.
Since that was done my mom was allowed to come back. She was quite relieved, actually because she had been sitting in a waiting room with two middle aged ladies who could do nothing but talk about their children’s sports, the latest sale and Penny’s. My poor mother. She doesn’t really fit in with most people her age. Kind of like me.
So there we waited and waited talking about generic paisley and the like. I was remembering why I always used to be so upbeat and original in hospitals. It was because I was surrounded with the kind of people who were passing by my bed that day. Old, say ghosts who shuffled about with their heads down, looking like poor excuses for human beings in their bed-creased generic paisley robes. I had to balance all that out somehow, so I became this witty, intelligent, and rather demanding girl who always wanted nothing more that to put on her normal clothes and go to the bathroom by herself. I told my mom I would try to be a ray of sunshine that day and it was a good thing I’d taken my Lexapro that morning.
My dear Dr. Gilroy was running the show in there, which was cool because I really like him. I mean, come on, he has an Aussie accent and calls me ‘boss’. It was about a quarter until two when he wheeled me into the procedure room.
“I don’t have a license for this,” he warned me, speaking of rolling beds around. He was quite right because we bumped into more than a few corners. When we got into the room he picked up an Ipod and said, “What do you fancy?” or something equally un-American. I chose classical. He put on a beautiful guitar version of a song I like that Sarah Brightman sings.
My I.V. wasn’t hooked up to anything so he just took my hand and put in two syringes of drugs right in front of me and then told me to turn on my side. I turned, but before I touched the pillow the drugs kicked in. I put my head down on the pillow and blanked out. The next thing I remember is feeling like someone had stuck a tube into my intestines (which they had) and was pushing it as hard as they could against the wall of the intestines (though what was really happening was they were inflating my intestines with air). I heard myself moan and maybe say, “ow” or something and then Dr. Gilroy give a command for more drugs. After that, I was waking up back in recovery. I asked Dr. Gilroy how it went and he said they’d had to take a lot of biopsies, which mean that they found a lot of weird stuff in my intestines, I guess. I asked if they’d done the liver biopsy and he said no, they were going to do that now. That was odd to me, since I had always been asleep for liver biopsies. He ushered in a couple people with a ultrasound machine. I was kind of drifting in and out of sleep, or whatever those drugs made me do. Next thing I know, Dr. Gilroy is numbing the area with lidocaine, which hurt because he had to go deep with it. Then he took the long biopsy needle and warned me that it might sting, but the lidocaine did the trick and I didn’t feel a thing. Turns out I have cirrhosis (hardening) of the liver. We’ll have to see how that turns out.
From then on it was just a two hour recovery. I was offered a glass of ice water, my first liquid in 15 hours. It tasted as sweet as if Moses himself had brought it. I was still a little tipsy-turkey, but I got my clothes on and we went straight to the gift show for my first food in three days: Twizzlers and Chex Mix. Delicious. One the way back we stopped at a gas station and I got a Krispy Kreme, a turkey sandwich and the gas station’s rendition of french vanilla cappuccino. It was great.
By the time we got home I was dead beat. I couldn’t breath in or out all the way because the lidocaine from the biopsy had worn off and was starting to really hurt. I got online and sent a quick email to James and talking to Jordan and Christina. Pretty soon I had to go lie down.
I woke up this morning at five A.M. Its been a rough day because of the biopsy site giving me so much grief. I’ve had to lie in bed and focus on breathing. I finished two books, clipped out pictures from magazines and watched one of the many movies Kathy brought over for me to watch. I also had mac and cheese. Its so great to eat, even if I can’t eat a whole lot in one sitting yet (my poor intestines have been through a lot). I’ve been acting like those ghost people from the hospital I hate so much. I forgot to take my anti-depressant and I’m in a lot of pain. So I just sort of lay in bed with my poker face and shuffle around the house as needed. My good mood comes and goes.
In other news, my dad is coming tomorrow, which is awesome. It snowed again today. And best of all, Baby Crash actually snuggled with me! We’re still waiting for her to brux, though. Eloise gave me some lip, also, which I suppose is her trying to take after Baby Crash a bit. She couldn’t do it properly, however; she squeaked instead of meeping.
So I’ve filled up about three pages and I guess the writer in my got a little carried away. I didn’t think I’d enjoy telling that whole story. Now I hurt like heck so its time to go back to bed after a spell check.
My appointment was for eleven A.M., but I wasn’t expecting to actually get my procedures done until one at the latest. Radiology is never on time. One the way out I was parched and hungry. I hadn’t been allowed to drink anything since midnight and I hadn’t eaten in about three days. I had pushed myself beyond what I thought I was physically and mentally capable of in those past three days. Most of that happened trying to get down the last laxative, which tasted so bad I actually ended up gagging on it mid-sip. In all seriousness, if I am ever holed up in prison being tortured and starved because of my religion or something, I’ll be an old hat at it. I just know I’ll be thinking, “Well, at least I’m here because I believe in something and I’m not being forced against my will to eat nothing but chicken broth and jell-o and swallow laxatives like Go Lytely.” I only got down half of that stuff before quitting, by the way. If you could taste it you would think highly of me for getting that far.
Anyway, we (my mom and I) were in the car headed to Omaha for the big day and I was ignoring my bag of amusements and looking out the window, thinking. This is my usual style. I was thinking about how the littlest things can be a big sign of how much a person has grown up. Through the whole bowel cleanse ordeal and I didn’t whine and cry as I usually would (okay, so I whined, but in an adult manner). I wasn’t putting numbing cream all over my hands and arms for the I.V.. I knew when I got there that I wouldn’t make my usual list of demands (keep the oxygen mask away from my face until I’m out, make sure to pull out the intubation tube while I’m still out, explain to me clearly when you are going to put any drugs in my I.V. that would make me sleepy and let me watch you do it, and for goodness sakes, let my mom come into the room with me until I’m out. Oh, yeah, and the stuffed animal stays with me.). And, of course, I wouldn’t be a pediatric anymore. I would be with the old stuffy people, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t use what cuteness I had left to get people to treat me sweet like.
My mom said I should make as many demands as I wanted to but I said, no, I wasn’t doing this because I was trying to be grown up, I was doing it because I was. I didn’t need those things any more. I put my trust in whoever was running the show in that room and I was going to let them have their own way (to a point, of course).
So when I got there it was the same story I’ve been through countless times, except my mom wasn’t allowed to come back until I was all ready to go. I had to put on one of those ugly gowns with no ties in back except one around the neck. And of course I wasn’t allowed to wear anything underneath except my pink fuzzy socks, which had to be covered up with the most ugly blue paper things you’ll ever see. Another robe went around me and tied in front so I could walk about with dignity. The robes had this pattern on them that mom and I spent awhile contemplating, which is what you do when you have to sit around with nothing else to do for over two hours.
“Someone out there has the job of designing these patterns,” I said. Mom nodded.
“But isn’t even totally original. Its just these weird dashes and a box with that little paisley thing in it. Its like generic paisley.” So that’s what we called it from then on. Generic paisley.
After my generic paisley robes and blue foot things were put on I was told what would happen during the procedures (live biopsy, colonoscopy and endoscopy). Then I had to sign a bunch of consent forms. After that this poor nurse tried to put an I.V. in me that I said would be a sure stick. I had been working this vein in my hand all morning as happy to finally have something that would work. Well, apparently that vein decided it didn’t want to come out anymore by the time I was at the hospital. Not that you can blame it, I hadn’t had anything to drink in quite awhile. It was a rather painful experience and the nurse tried to see if she’d gotten the I.V. to thread by putting in some saline, which only sat under my skin and made a bruise. She felt really bad and refused to try on me again. Another nurse, who was obviously more experienced got a vein on my other arm.
Since that was done my mom was allowed to come back. She was quite relieved, actually because she had been sitting in a waiting room with two middle aged ladies who could do nothing but talk about their children’s sports, the latest sale and Penny’s. My poor mother. She doesn’t really fit in with most people her age. Kind of like me.
So there we waited and waited talking about generic paisley and the like. I was remembering why I always used to be so upbeat and original in hospitals. It was because I was surrounded with the kind of people who were passing by my bed that day. Old, say ghosts who shuffled about with their heads down, looking like poor excuses for human beings in their bed-creased generic paisley robes. I had to balance all that out somehow, so I became this witty, intelligent, and rather demanding girl who always wanted nothing more that to put on her normal clothes and go to the bathroom by herself. I told my mom I would try to be a ray of sunshine that day and it was a good thing I’d taken my Lexapro that morning.
My dear Dr. Gilroy was running the show in there, which was cool because I really like him. I mean, come on, he has an Aussie accent and calls me ‘boss’. It was about a quarter until two when he wheeled me into the procedure room.
“I don’t have a license for this,” he warned me, speaking of rolling beds around. He was quite right because we bumped into more than a few corners. When we got into the room he picked up an Ipod and said, “What do you fancy?” or something equally un-American. I chose classical. He put on a beautiful guitar version of a song I like that Sarah Brightman sings.
My I.V. wasn’t hooked up to anything so he just took my hand and put in two syringes of drugs right in front of me and then told me to turn on my side. I turned, but before I touched the pillow the drugs kicked in. I put my head down on the pillow and blanked out. The next thing I remember is feeling like someone had stuck a tube into my intestines (which they had) and was pushing it as hard as they could against the wall of the intestines (though what was really happening was they were inflating my intestines with air). I heard myself moan and maybe say, “ow” or something and then Dr. Gilroy give a command for more drugs. After that, I was waking up back in recovery. I asked Dr. Gilroy how it went and he said they’d had to take a lot of biopsies, which mean that they found a lot of weird stuff in my intestines, I guess. I asked if they’d done the liver biopsy and he said no, they were going to do that now. That was odd to me, since I had always been asleep for liver biopsies. He ushered in a couple people with a ultrasound machine. I was kind of drifting in and out of sleep, or whatever those drugs made me do. Next thing I know, Dr. Gilroy is numbing the area with lidocaine, which hurt because he had to go deep with it. Then he took the long biopsy needle and warned me that it might sting, but the lidocaine did the trick and I didn’t feel a thing. Turns out I have cirrhosis (hardening) of the liver. We’ll have to see how that turns out.
From then on it was just a two hour recovery. I was offered a glass of ice water, my first liquid in 15 hours. It tasted as sweet as if Moses himself had brought it. I was still a little tipsy-turkey, but I got my clothes on and we went straight to the gift show for my first food in three days: Twizzlers and Chex Mix. Delicious. One the way back we stopped at a gas station and I got a Krispy Kreme, a turkey sandwich and the gas station’s rendition of french vanilla cappuccino. It was great.
By the time we got home I was dead beat. I couldn’t breath in or out all the way because the lidocaine from the biopsy had worn off and was starting to really hurt. I got online and sent a quick email to James and talking to Jordan and Christina. Pretty soon I had to go lie down.
I woke up this morning at five A.M. Its been a rough day because of the biopsy site giving me so much grief. I’ve had to lie in bed and focus on breathing. I finished two books, clipped out pictures from magazines and watched one of the many movies Kathy brought over for me to watch. I also had mac and cheese. Its so great to eat, even if I can’t eat a whole lot in one sitting yet (my poor intestines have been through a lot). I’ve been acting like those ghost people from the hospital I hate so much. I forgot to take my anti-depressant and I’m in a lot of pain. So I just sort of lay in bed with my poker face and shuffle around the house as needed. My good mood comes and goes.
In other news, my dad is coming tomorrow, which is awesome. It snowed again today. And best of all, Baby Crash actually snuggled with me! We’re still waiting for her to brux, though. Eloise gave me some lip, also, which I suppose is her trying to take after Baby Crash a bit. She couldn’t do it properly, however; she squeaked instead of meeping.
So I’ve filled up about three pages and I guess the writer in my got a little carried away. I didn’t think I’d enjoy telling that whole story. Now I hurt like heck so its time to go back to bed after a spell check.
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