Many of you who know me see me as a somewhat aloof person, somebody who sits in the corner, doing my lace or my reading, and not really jumping into the conversation. Hello, I'm a NERD, and I definitely look and act the part. But on the phone, I turn into a completely different person.
I have spent the whole morning on the phone, calling various places in and around Charlotte, NC, doing research for my current writing project. And it has been a BLAST! I loved it. I got tons of information, I got to talk to a lot of people who wouldn't have been half as nice to me if they had met me face-to-face, and they're all going to email or mail me even MORE information. I even had one little girl who was tickled to death to be talking to a "real writer," asked me what my novel was about, and the more I told her, the more excited she got about sending me information.
How cool is that?
I know what it is. God has given me many many MANY gifts in my life. But a beautiful face and body was not one of them. Plus, I am often intimidated by talking to other people face-to-face; when I was a kid, I had a terrible stammer and that may have had something to do with it. And maybe not. I still stammer occasionally, even today, but I have NEVER really stammered on the phone, even when I was a kid. Go figure.
But the guy I'm talking to on the phone? He can't see me. It's like a mask, and I can be anybody I want to be on the phone. I can be brave, and funny, and charming, because it's anonymous. I'm like Spiderman, only without the icky spider thing, and armed with a fountain pen and a phone book, rather than cool superpowers and webslinger gadgets.
and then again, maybe it was just cool because I was making progress on the research for my story. I love writing, even the "dull" research bits. I feel excited by today's work so far; it makes me feel alive, invigorated.
Yes, I'm crazy. come on, it's not like it's a surprise to any of you, right?
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Catching Up
It has been a long long time since I updated this blog. Over a year, in fact. My last post celebrated my son's wedding, and two weeks ago, he and Anna celebrated their first anniversary. Shame on me, right?
I have an explanation, but not excuses. I don't believe in excuses.
As I stated in an earlier post, I have been down in my back since about Thanksgiving 2006. It got progressively worse until I was basically housebound. Climbing in and out of the car, walking through a store, even walking around in my house became so incredibly painful that I just stopped doing it. I couldn't sleep, I stopped going to school, I couldn't do my housework, I couldn't hug my children. I couldn't do anything. I spent a year and a half sitting in a chair, in agony.
I couldn't hug my children. Do you know how much that breaks your heart? It still makes me cry, just to write about it. It was more traumatic than I think I realized at the time.
FINALLY, my doctor and I figured it out. It was osteoarthritis, which can be genetic (my mother and sisters also have it). I'm a bit young for osteo this severe, which is what was screwing up our diagnosis. She started me on some meds that are helping. Am I 100%? No. Right now, I range between 50% and 75%, depending on the weather, how well I slept, and other factors. Hell, I'm never going to be nineteen again, no matter how many miracle pills I choke down (and thank God for that! You couldn't pay me to be that young and stupid again!). But even 50% is better than sitting in a chair and suffering.
For those who haven't been there -- and you should thank God if you haven't been -- being in that sort of constant pain is physically and mentally exhausting. You don't want to do anything; you don't have the energy. I stopped making lace -- which is something that I love to do -- I stopped sewing, I stopped the SCA (another thing I loved), I stopped playing music. I just didn't have the mental energy they required. I was probably also pretty depressed by it all, though my doctor kept me on my happy pills religiously; she knows me better than I know me, sometimes.
The only things I did do were read and write. I've been a voracious reader since I was four years old, and written stories since I was eight. I've even sold a few pieces, and worked as a contributing editor for a "little" magazine when I was in my mid-twenties. the reason I could do those things -- which take a lot of mental energy, more than you think, and something I had in short supply -- was because they were a place to hide from the pain for a little while. As long as I had my books and my little netbook computer to write on, I could ignore the pain for a little bit.
"You wrote," you say. "Why didn't you write on your blog?" Well, because blogs are journals, aren't they. They are for introspection and communication of your innermost thoughts. I didn't want to examine things too closely, because if I was examining myself, then, by definition, I couldn't hide from the pain. I would have to look at it straight on, and that was something I definitely did NOT want to do.
Hey, I never claimed to be brave.
Now that I'm on the pills, and I'm not a puddle of goo all the time, I'm doing all my fun things again, and more (OK, I'm not playing the piano; when Adam married, he took the piano with him, darn his ornery hide! But that's okay, I still have my violin and I am coveting a little lap harp). Yay me!
And I am still reading. And I am still writing, more than ever. But not to hide this time. I'm doing it because being a writer is the only thing I've ever wanted to be since I was about twelve years old and realized 1) that I had some serious talent; 2) that people actually could make a living at it, and 3) it's still the most fun thing I have ever done in my life.
Again: Yay me!
I have an explanation, but not excuses. I don't believe in excuses.
As I stated in an earlier post, I have been down in my back since about Thanksgiving 2006. It got progressively worse until I was basically housebound. Climbing in and out of the car, walking through a store, even walking around in my house became so incredibly painful that I just stopped doing it. I couldn't sleep, I stopped going to school, I couldn't do my housework, I couldn't hug my children. I couldn't do anything. I spent a year and a half sitting in a chair, in agony.
I couldn't hug my children. Do you know how much that breaks your heart? It still makes me cry, just to write about it. It was more traumatic than I think I realized at the time.
FINALLY, my doctor and I figured it out. It was osteoarthritis, which can be genetic (my mother and sisters also have it). I'm a bit young for osteo this severe, which is what was screwing up our diagnosis. She started me on some meds that are helping. Am I 100%? No. Right now, I range between 50% and 75%, depending on the weather, how well I slept, and other factors. Hell, I'm never going to be nineteen again, no matter how many miracle pills I choke down (and thank God for that! You couldn't pay me to be that young and stupid again!). But even 50% is better than sitting in a chair and suffering.
For those who haven't been there -- and you should thank God if you haven't been -- being in that sort of constant pain is physically and mentally exhausting. You don't want to do anything; you don't have the energy. I stopped making lace -- which is something that I love to do -- I stopped sewing, I stopped the SCA (another thing I loved), I stopped playing music. I just didn't have the mental energy they required. I was probably also pretty depressed by it all, though my doctor kept me on my happy pills religiously; she knows me better than I know me, sometimes.
The only things I did do were read and write. I've been a voracious reader since I was four years old, and written stories since I was eight. I've even sold a few pieces, and worked as a contributing editor for a "little" magazine when I was in my mid-twenties. the reason I could do those things -- which take a lot of mental energy, more than you think, and something I had in short supply -- was because they were a place to hide from the pain for a little while. As long as I had my books and my little netbook computer to write on, I could ignore the pain for a little bit.
"You wrote," you say. "Why didn't you write on your blog?" Well, because blogs are journals, aren't they. They are for introspection and communication of your innermost thoughts. I didn't want to examine things too closely, because if I was examining myself, then, by definition, I couldn't hide from the pain. I would have to look at it straight on, and that was something I definitely did NOT want to do.
Hey, I never claimed to be brave.
Now that I'm on the pills, and I'm not a puddle of goo all the time, I'm doing all my fun things again, and more (OK, I'm not playing the piano; when Adam married, he took the piano with him, darn his ornery hide! But that's okay, I still have my violin and I am coveting a little lap harp). Yay me!
And I am still reading. And I am still writing, more than ever. But not to hide this time. I'm doing it because being a writer is the only thing I've ever wanted to be since I was about twelve years old and realized 1) that I had some serious talent; 2) that people actually could make a living at it, and 3) it's still the most fun thing I have ever done in my life.
Again: Yay me!
Monday, July 6, 2009
My son got married to his childhood sweetheart. Here are the pictures!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Could a mother be any prouder?
My daughter was just promoted to Chief Petty Officer in her Navy ROTC class, and just received her service dress blues today. She looks TERRIFIC! In my humble opinion, of course (which, of course, is never wrong!)
Friday, March 27, 2009
Poem
My daughter Faith wrote the following poem for her English class.
"Soldier
I am a soldier.
I am back on the fields, artillery firing all around me.
I am looking around, bodies lying dead, wounded. Still, men crying to go home ... a strange sight.
I look to see my brother wounded, reaching out for me, wanting me to hold him.
I run to him, I kneel to take him in my arms.
He's cold and still. He's dead....
I am a soldier.
The poem moved me. It reminded me of my late friend Andrew.
When are we bringing our boys and girls home?
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Surprise
Wow. I've not posted to this blog since March. For those who ever check this site, for the record, I've been ill since about March, so that's my excuse. I let my entire world go until I started feeling a little better.
Do I feel better now? Not so much. But I was tired of doing my impression of broccoli, so I decided that, pain or not, I'd better get up and start doing again. I keep telling myself that my father lived with terrible pain for seventy years, and he still made an impression in his world. I can damn well suck it up and do the same, right?
Things have been quiet around here. I'm not doing so great in school; being sick got me down. I got myself a little sub-notebook computer, so I can do my writing a little easier. Not that I'm getting a lot of writing done, but I AM trying, so we'll see how that goes.
The kids are well. Jim's still Jim. That about covers it for now. Maybe I'll do better next time.
Do I feel better now? Not so much. But I was tired of doing my impression of broccoli, so I decided that, pain or not, I'd better get up and start doing again. I keep telling myself that my father lived with terrible pain for seventy years, and he still made an impression in his world. I can damn well suck it up and do the same, right?
Things have been quiet around here. I'm not doing so great in school; being sick got me down. I got myself a little sub-notebook computer, so I can do my writing a little easier. Not that I'm getting a lot of writing done, but I AM trying, so we'll see how that goes.
The kids are well. Jim's still Jim. That about covers it for now. Maybe I'll do better next time.
Monday, March 17, 2008
I don't know how to title this....
My little sister, Margaret, has one daughter and one son. Her daughter, Meghann, is profoundly autistic. She's a sweet child, but she will never speak, never be able to live on her own, never take a normal place in society.
Margaret wrote something once about Meghann's autism, and read it to me on the phone. It made me cry. I asked her to mail it to me. Here is what she sent, the entire email. She welcomes thoughts and opinions, and so do I.
June,
I went to Meghann's school for an IEP meeting and afterward the principal and I were talking. She said that I should write a book. I thanked her but told her that I really wasn't a writer. That night I went to bed and when I woke up the next morning this was on my mind so I immediately wrote it down. It could be a preface, an introduction, or a dedication for a book. If I'm never able to write another thing quite like this it really wouldn't matter because I'm proud of what I was able to write and in some ways it says everything.
A Box of Dolls
It's just a simple cardboard box with a lid. It was made to hold copier paper. This one is full of dolls. Some are porcelain dolls. Some are soft dolls. There are a few collectible bean bag toys and there is even a "Kewpie" doll that at one time belonged to my grandmother.
When I was seven or eight years old I believed that when I grew up I would have a little girl of my own. I started collecting dolls and later storing them away for her. When my daughter, Meghann, was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder, I soon realized that she would never understand what was meaningful to me. And so, the dolls sit in a box in the top of my closet waiting for a little girl to love them the way my little girl, my Meghann, probably never will.
We all have dreams and goals that we store away for our children, whether it's in a box, a bank account, or just in our hearts and minds. This is for all the families who have had to alter their dreams because of Autism.
That's all there is for now. As I said before, I think I'll have to be a little further down the road to see the forest for the trees. Until then, recently I heard a profound quote on television. You'll be surprised who said it, but under his circumstances, I'm not.
It just goes to show that even the smallest voice can make a contribution.----Jim Carrey
Margaret wrote something once about Meghann's autism, and read it to me on the phone. It made me cry. I asked her to mail it to me. Here is what she sent, the entire email. She welcomes thoughts and opinions, and so do I.
June,
I went to Meghann's school for an IEP meeting and afterward the principal and I were talking. She said that I should write a book. I thanked her but told her that I really wasn't a writer. That night I went to bed and when I woke up the next morning this was on my mind so I immediately wrote it down. It could be a preface, an introduction, or a dedication for a book. If I'm never able to write another thing quite like this it really wouldn't matter because I'm proud of what I was able to write and in some ways it says everything.
A Box of Dolls
It's just a simple cardboard box with a lid. It was made to hold copier paper. This one is full of dolls. Some are porcelain dolls. Some are soft dolls. There are a few collectible bean bag toys and there is even a "Kewpie" doll that at one time belonged to my grandmother.
When I was seven or eight years old I believed that when I grew up I would have a little girl of my own. I started collecting dolls and later storing them away for her. When my daughter, Meghann, was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder, I soon realized that she would never understand what was meaningful to me. And so, the dolls sit in a box in the top of my closet waiting for a little girl to love them the way my little girl, my Meghann, probably never will.
We all have dreams and goals that we store away for our children, whether it's in a box, a bank account, or just in our hearts and minds. This is for all the families who have had to alter their dreams because of Autism.
That's all there is for now. As I said before, I think I'll have to be a little further down the road to see the forest for the trees. Until then, recently I heard a profound quote on television. You'll be surprised who said it, but under his circumstances, I'm not.
It just goes to show that even the smallest voice can make a contribution.----Jim Carrey
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Whinging
Normally I try to keep my game face on, keep the Mask up of being cheerful, pleasant, whatever it is my friends need me to be. Please, don't be annoyed that I can't do it today.
I am in PAIN. Lots and lots of pain. My back has been giving me no end of trouble since around Thanksgiving 2006. It's getting worse and worse, all the time. I can't sleep. I can stand up, but not for long, and often not without help. Sitting's not so bad, so long as I assume the correct posture. It's even starting to affect school: last semester I think adrenalin kept me going through the school day. But now, not so much. At the end of speech class on Tuesday, it took me five minutes just to get from my seat to the door. Thank God I was the last one out; nobody saw.
I've been to the doctor. I got Vicodin, and an admonishment to lose some weight. Hated the Vicodins, and only take them when I'm absolutely at my wit's end, and must get some sleep. The weight loss makes good sense, but isn't easy (yes, I AM trying).
I know there are people who live their entire lives in constant pain. My father, God rest his soul, was one of them. They live in pain, and still manage to be cheerful, normal people. Apparently I'm not that strong.
It's really starting to get me down. I'm depressed, I'm testy. I have managed to insult and/or piss off at least three people in the past week, out of bad temper and exhaustion. I had an extra explanation this week (I've had some sort of nasty stomach virus, AND my car went wonky, AND I had midterms). But that isn't an excuse, and I wish i hadn't done it.
I would give anything in this world to be able to sleep through the night, just one night.
I am in PAIN. Lots and lots of pain. My back has been giving me no end of trouble since around Thanksgiving 2006. It's getting worse and worse, all the time. I can't sleep. I can stand up, but not for long, and often not without help. Sitting's not so bad, so long as I assume the correct posture. It's even starting to affect school: last semester I think adrenalin kept me going through the school day. But now, not so much. At the end of speech class on Tuesday, it took me five minutes just to get from my seat to the door. Thank God I was the last one out; nobody saw.
I've been to the doctor. I got Vicodin, and an admonishment to lose some weight. Hated the Vicodins, and only take them when I'm absolutely at my wit's end, and must get some sleep. The weight loss makes good sense, but isn't easy (yes, I AM trying).
I know there are people who live their entire lives in constant pain. My father, God rest his soul, was one of them. They live in pain, and still manage to be cheerful, normal people. Apparently I'm not that strong.
It's really starting to get me down. I'm depressed, I'm testy. I have managed to insult and/or piss off at least three people in the past week, out of bad temper and exhaustion. I had an extra explanation this week (I've had some sort of nasty stomach virus, AND my car went wonky, AND I had midterms). But that isn't an excuse, and I wish i hadn't done it.
I would give anything in this world to be able to sleep through the night, just one night.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Back in Action
Y'all know those nasty storms that tore through my part of the country last week? Tornadoes, flooding, cats and dogs living together, End of the wo.... ahem. Anyway, here in Podunk Junction, we had our share. No tornadoes, precisely. But fifty mile an hour winds, and some flash flooding. Our power was knocked out for a bit.
AND! A power surge fried my computer. And I mean FRIED it. Sizzled the mother board, burned up the power supply, and apparently our hard drive magically became a 160 gig paperweight. So I had to go out and buy a new one.
I didn't think it was possible to piss through that much money in less than twenty minutes!
BUT! We're back online, back in business, and now I get to spend the next few days replacing my links, and mourning the 120 gigs of information that I didn't have backed up, damn it!
AND! A power surge fried my computer. And I mean FRIED it. Sizzled the mother board, burned up the power supply, and apparently our hard drive magically became a 160 gig paperweight. So I had to go out and buy a new one.
I didn't think it was possible to piss through that much money in less than twenty minutes!
BUT! We're back online, back in business, and now I get to spend the next few days replacing my links, and mourning the 120 gigs of information that I didn't have backed up, damn it!
Monday, February 4, 2008
My friend
From the Rocky Mountain News:
Major Andrew Olmsted was killed in Iraq on Jan. 3, 2008. Olmsted, who had been based at Fort Carson in Colorado Springs, began blogging after his unit was sent to Iraq with the mission of helping train the Iraqi Army. A sniper killed Olmsted as he was trying to talk three suspected insurgents into surrendering. A sniper's bullet also cut down Capt. Thomas J. Casey. They were in Diyala province, northeast of Baghdad.
This is my friend Andy. I can't seem to stop crying for him. All of us who loved him will miss him very much.
Major Andrew Olmsted was killed in Iraq on Jan. 3, 2008. Olmsted, who had been based at Fort Carson in Colorado Springs, began blogging after his unit was sent to Iraq with the mission of helping train the Iraqi Army. A sniper killed Olmsted as he was trying to talk three suspected insurgents into surrendering. A sniper's bullet also cut down Capt. Thomas J. Casey. They were in Diyala province, northeast of Baghdad.
This is my friend Andy. I can't seem to stop crying for him. All of us who loved him will miss him very much.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Bah, Humbug!
Yes, friends and neighbors, the Silly Season is upon us once again, bringing out most all my Scroogelike tendencies. Aren't you thrilled? Christmas has not been fun for me in a long time, essentially ever since I got married. My mother in law -- That Woman -- wants to make it a competition: who's spending the most money on the children, "I spent a thousand dollars per child, why didn't you?" who does their house up bigger, who makes a bigger fuss.
Being a contrary sort of person, I answer by refusing to compete. We haven't even put up a Christmas tree in like ten years. I do for my children, but nothing like she does: I buy what I can afford, and if she wants to go berserk, knock herself out.
My finals start tomorrow. Well, that's not strictly true. I already had my math final, got a B on it, and I'm perfectly content. Tomorrow, I have my history exam; Wednesday is Computers. Thursday, I get to drive to Berea yet again, and bring my boy home for the holidays. Then Friday, it's the Biology final.
Once that week is over, I will have finished my first semester in college in a very long time, and I will have passed all of my classes with a B or better score. Not too shabby. I was a little afraid I wouldn't be able to pull it off, particularly after missing a big chunk of October, thanks to organ malfunction. I hope that bodes well for the rest of my time in college.
In other news: I got a lovely gift yesterday. I don't know if it qualified as a Christmas gift, but I like it very much anyway. The NEC I've had in hand since the beginning of the school year, the one that was loaned to me? It's now MINE MINE MINE!! According to the original owner, my dear friend and little brother, he thought I would give it a good home, and a good workout. True on both counts, I think. I agree with him that I'm surprised the keyboard still has letters on them. I usually wear the ink off the faces of my desk computer's keyboard, a source of consternation to my husband. Jim subscribes to the Finders Keepers School of Typing.
That's about it for now. I'll keep you posted on the Silly Season Developments.
Being a contrary sort of person, I answer by refusing to compete. We haven't even put up a Christmas tree in like ten years. I do for my children, but nothing like she does: I buy what I can afford, and if she wants to go berserk, knock herself out.
My finals start tomorrow. Well, that's not strictly true. I already had my math final, got a B on it, and I'm perfectly content. Tomorrow, I have my history exam; Wednesday is Computers. Thursday, I get to drive to Berea yet again, and bring my boy home for the holidays. Then Friday, it's the Biology final.
Once that week is over, I will have finished my first semester in college in a very long time, and I will have passed all of my classes with a B or better score. Not too shabby. I was a little afraid I wouldn't be able to pull it off, particularly after missing a big chunk of October, thanks to organ malfunction. I hope that bodes well for the rest of my time in college.
In other news: I got a lovely gift yesterday. I don't know if it qualified as a Christmas gift, but I like it very much anyway. The NEC I've had in hand since the beginning of the school year, the one that was loaned to me? It's now MINE MINE MINE!! According to the original owner, my dear friend and little brother, he thought I would give it a good home, and a good workout.
That's about it for now. I'll keep you posted on the Silly Season Developments.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Feeling a little cranky
Well, the day started beautifully. OK, it was cold as whiz. But I started my new story, and got a terrific first run at it: over twelve hundred words on on a first day. That's really good. Usually it takes me a day or two to get that far, and at least a week to get up to my typical running speed of 2,000.
The day has gone downhill from there, however. Mostly I'm just BORED. I can't seem to get thrilled about doing anything.
The worst bit was talking to my baby girl. Her ex boyfriend is being ugly, in typical high school soap opera fashion, and it's breaking her heart. I could give a damn about the boy or the drama (I know the boy, and I know his family: "dumb as a lobotomized rock" is a phrase that leaps to mind). But you know how mommies are: hurt my baby, face me. I can't bear to see her cry.
But there's nothing I can do, not to protect her feelings, or to protect her reputation (which this little bastard is systematically destroying). And it frustrates the HELL OUT OF ME.
Grrrrr.......
The day has gone downhill from there, however. Mostly I'm just BORED. I can't seem to get thrilled about doing anything.
The worst bit was talking to my baby girl. Her ex boyfriend is being ugly, in typical high school soap opera fashion, and it's breaking her heart. I could give a damn about the boy or the drama (I know the boy, and I know his family: "dumb as a lobotomized rock" is a phrase that leaps to mind). But you know how mommies are: hurt my baby, face me. I can't bear to see her cry.
But there's nothing I can do, not to protect her feelings, or to protect her reputation (which this little bastard is systematically destroying). And it frustrates the HELL OUT OF ME.
Grrrrr.......
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Back in the Saddle Again
Well, Monday I got a clean bill of health from my surgeon, and that meant I got to go back to school this week!!! YIPPEE!!! I was losing my mind, I missed it all so much. Luckily, I didn't fall too far behind. I am right up there with math and computers, and I only have one bit of Biology and a couple quizzes in History to make up, and I'll be back to normal.
I was surprised how many people at school missed me! Everybody asked after me, including every one of my professors. Who knew?
As of tonight, I'm caught up with all my game writing -- I THINK -- but my non-game writing has kinda fallen by the wayside for the moment. I was hoping to do NaNoWriMo again this year, but I missed the deadline. Darn it! I had a good story idea, too! Oh, well, I'll just write the story anyway, without the write-it-in-a-month thing. Maybe it'll be fun.
My November promises to be busy enough, without Nano. I looked at the calendar this morning, and realized that this is the only Saturday in the month that isn't claimed by some activity. Next week I have a lunch outing with a friend. The weekend after that is an SCA event. The weekend after that is Thanksgiving, and the beginning of the hated Silly Season. All this on top of school, family, writing, etc.
Well, at least I won't be bored!
I was surprised how many people at school missed me! Everybody asked after me, including every one of my professors. Who knew?
As of tonight, I'm caught up with all my game writing -- I THINK -- but my non-game writing has kinda fallen by the wayside for the moment. I was hoping to do NaNoWriMo again this year, but I missed the deadline. Darn it! I had a good story idea, too! Oh, well, I'll just write the story anyway, without the write-it-in-a-month thing. Maybe it'll be fun.
My November promises to be busy enough, without Nano. I looked at the calendar this morning, and realized that this is the only Saturday in the month that isn't claimed by some activity. Next week I have a lunch outing with a friend. The weekend after that is an SCA event. The weekend after that is Thanksgiving, and the beginning of the hated Silly Season. All this on top of school, family, writing, etc.
Well, at least I won't be bored!
Friday, October 12, 2007
Greetings from the Planet Morphine!
OK, so this is what I get for spending the year sick, I think. Tuesday evening, I ditched Port Oasis Fighter Practice early because I had a tummy ache. By Wednesday morning, it was a bellyache of epic proportions, plus deep pain south of there, plus a temp of 102 or so, plus being about half deranged.
Being me, instead of going to the hospital, I go to bed. Yeah, I know I know: ten points for bravery, negative 113 for brains. By about three AM Thursday morning, I can't fricking BEAR it anymore, and schlep myself down to the hospital.
The lovely doctor says, "Oh, you've ruptured your appendix, it's got to come out. NOW." Suffice it to say, I didn't take this news well. But, happy or not, there was no getting out of it, either. So I have the surgery -- only the second surgery I've ever had in my life, and my first abdominal surgery ever -- and get sent up here to where I am now to recover.
Being sick has its compensations. Apparently the hospital now provides the Internet to its patients to entertain them (and it's a DSL connection! Sweet!). And this is my first time EVER being given morphine.
Wow.
Let me reiterate: Wow.
I can understand why everybody makes such a fuss. Definitely. The morphine is what is making it possible to sit up and type this blog. Unfortunately, it's also the reason I've had to spell every word at least twice.
Somebody tell my son Adam that I'm okay? He only heard about me being sick online, and I'm worried about him.
Being me, instead of going to the hospital, I go to bed. Yeah, I know I know: ten points for bravery, negative 113 for brains. By about three AM Thursday morning, I can't fricking BEAR it anymore, and schlep myself down to the hospital.
The lovely doctor says, "Oh, you've ruptured your appendix, it's got to come out. NOW." Suffice it to say, I didn't take this news well. But, happy or not, there was no getting out of it, either. So I have the surgery -- only the second surgery I've ever had in my life, and my first abdominal surgery ever -- and get sent up here to where I am now to recover.
Being sick has its compensations. Apparently the hospital now provides the Internet to its patients to entertain them (and it's a DSL connection! Sweet!). And this is my first time EVER being given morphine.
Wow.
Let me reiterate: Wow.
I can understand why everybody makes such a fuss. Definitely. The morphine is what is making it possible to sit up and type this blog. Unfortunately, it's also the reason I've had to spell every word at least twice.
Somebody tell my son Adam that I'm okay? He only heard about me being sick online, and I'm worried about him.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Gosh, my back hurts....
It always hurts when I sit in the car for a long time. Yesterday morning, bright and early, I drove up to Berea to collect Adam. He has "reading days" on Monday and Tuesday, which means a long weekend! I just HAD to go collect him! He's not been well; his sinking spells have gotten out of hand, and the school is sending him to a neurologist. THEY think it's epilepsy. His girlfriend thinks it's hyperthyroid or something like that. I think it's the same thing I have: severe hypoglycemia. It runs in the family: my mother, my aunt, my younger daughter, and I all do the same thing. He doesn't need a neurologist; he needs to carry a candy bar in his man-purse.
The drive is six hours, round trip, which is way rough. Usually, I bring a ton of music, and sing along to the CD player so much that I'm hoarse by the time I hit Winchester; then Adam and I talk all the way back, and both my back and my voice are useless for the rest of the weekend. This time, however, I brought recordings of the Starbase Phoenix podcasts, and listened to them. Ken, Adam enjoyed them so much, he said it makes him want to join the game.
I finished my midterms this past week, and I'm on fall break for the next two weeks! Whee! Midterms went better than I had any right to expect. I know I got 88% on my biology test; a nice, solid "B" and the professor said my essay questions were "very refreshing." I got a perfect score on that section. Computers went well, too; I missed one question on the lab, and got like a 90% on the book test. Computers is basically a gimme, anyway.
History test was only one question, but with a hell of an answer: describe all the developments in Europe, from The Cradle of Civilization on, that made the colonization of America possible. I wrote four pages, in my smallest handwriting, and I was the last person done. I should get at least a C, just on volume! I think I did well on my math midterm as well; I didn't get stuck but the one time, and it was the question I had to guess at. The rest seemed really, well, not easy, but within my grasp, you know?
I am actually considering taking College Algebra next semester, even though I don't need it for my major. How's that for a sign that I'm feeling good about the subject? How's that for a sign of the coming Apocalypse?
I am going to get through this semester with my grades in the mid-B range. And I can totally live with that.
I am slowly binding a new book for my friend Kaija. I am using the opportunity to work on a lace experiment as well, so I'm back at the shuttle and rod, which is a good thing. That's keeping my hands busy during fall break. And the Star Trek PBEM game is keeping my brain busy.
Oh, gosh, the Game. I have always credited the game for my continually growing skills at writing character; I've always been good at plot, but not so much at character. My big problem with the game is that it has a tendency to subsume all my other writing projects. It just so damned FUN. And Starbase Phoenix is better than the average; so many good writers, so many opportunities to just get creative, and be encouraged by other creative people.
Right now I've got two characters and an NPC on Phoenix, two characters on S'Task, three of those characters are involved in their own little stories, plus I'm playing the villain in one plot, just been asked to play the villain in another plot, and I'm conlanging for the Andorian language on the side.
It's just so fun!
Come November, though, I'm going to try and dial it back a tiny bit. It's NanoWrimo, and I'm going to give it a try again. I've skipped it the last couple years, because I was hopelessly blocked. This time, I'm going to give it another shot. And I already have my story idea planned out: a horror novel. I think I'll give this one to my dear, sweet friend, Phil. He's always been so encouraging, he's another horror junkie like me, and I owe him a bit of writing (my last story I was writing for him kinda went to pieces)
I tend to write better when I know I have an audience, like Phil, like Tom, like the Game. I'm goal oriented. Go figure.
OK, enough of this. It's almost 8 AM, and I have Andorian verbs to conjugate!
The drive is six hours, round trip, which is way rough. Usually, I bring a ton of music, and sing along to the CD player so much that I'm hoarse by the time I hit Winchester; then Adam and I talk all the way back, and both my back and my voice are useless for the rest of the weekend. This time, however, I brought recordings of the Starbase Phoenix podcasts, and listened to them. Ken, Adam enjoyed them so much, he said it makes him want to join the game.
I finished my midterms this past week, and I'm on fall break for the next two weeks! Whee! Midterms went better than I had any right to expect. I know I got 88% on my biology test; a nice, solid "B" and the professor said my essay questions were "very refreshing." I got a perfect score on that section. Computers went well, too; I missed one question on the lab, and got like a 90% on the book test. Computers is basically a gimme, anyway.
History test was only one question, but with a hell of an answer: describe all the developments in Europe, from The Cradle of Civilization on, that made the colonization of America possible. I wrote four pages, in my smallest handwriting, and I was the last person done. I should get at least a C, just on volume!
I am actually considering taking College Algebra next semester, even though I don't need it for my major. How's that for a sign that I'm feeling good about the subject? How's that for a sign of the coming Apocalypse?
I am going to get through this semester with my grades in the mid-B range. And I can totally live with that.
I am slowly binding a new book for my friend Kaija. I am using the opportunity to work on a lace experiment as well, so I'm back at the shuttle and rod, which is a good thing. That's keeping my hands busy during fall break. And the Star Trek PBEM game is keeping my brain busy.
Oh, gosh, the Game. I have always credited the game for my continually growing skills at writing character; I've always been good at plot, but not so much at character. My big problem with the game is that it has a tendency to subsume all my other writing projects. It just so damned FUN. And Starbase Phoenix is better than the average; so many good writers, so many opportunities to just get creative, and be encouraged by other creative people.
Right now I've got two characters and an NPC on Phoenix, two characters on S'Task, three of those characters are involved in their own little stories, plus I'm playing the villain in one plot, just been asked to play the villain in another plot, and I'm conlanging for the Andorian language on the side.
It's just so fun!
Come November, though, I'm going to try and dial it back a tiny bit. It's NanoWrimo, and I'm going to give it a try again. I've skipped it the last couple years, because I was hopelessly blocked. This time, I'm going to give it another shot. And I already have my story idea planned out: a horror novel. I think I'll give this one to my dear, sweet friend, Phil. He's always been so encouraging, he's another horror junkie like me, and I owe him a bit of writing (my last story I was writing for him kinda went to pieces)
I tend to write better when I know I have an audience, like Phil, like Tom, like the Game. I'm goal oriented. Go figure.
OK, enough of this. It's almost 8 AM, and I have Andorian verbs to conjugate!
Saturday, September 29, 2007
It's very early in the morning and everybody is asleep. I've been more than a little ill, on top of a rough school week, and a bit more stress than i've been used to lately. But right now, six in the morning, I feel good. I'm sitting here listening to music on the computer, and looking through my picture files. I have one particular folder of pictures from one of Adam's visits home. I've been looking through it, enjoying the memories associated with each image.
Don't get me wrong. I love my children. But, for you parents out there, you know how sometimes you forget that. Well, not so much forget it, as it gets lost in the minutiae of daily life. I'm so busy making sure Adam is getting enough sleep, or did Faith miss the bus, have you brushed your teeth, and will you stop that arguing? that you lose track.
But right now, when everybody is asleep and the house is quiet, right now I love my babies so much that it hurts. They are so very beautiful. They have lovely faces, and more important, they have beautiful souls. Each of them, in their own way, are so special and good and unspoiled, such as I can't really comprehend.
How could God have given me such perfect things, to take care of? What did i do to deserve such a precious gift?
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Busy weekend
That's one way to put it, I guess.
Friday went well enough. I had classes, and we classified bugs by dichotomous key in biology lab. Enjoyed that more than you might expect. There's a secret science geek under my pragmatic hillbilly exterior. Basically, we were each given four bugs -- dead, preserved in alcohol -- and given a notebook kinda thing, that described characteristics of various insects. We had to examine each insect, and play a sort of Biology Twenty Questions. Eventually we were able to determine the order/species stuff on each insect.
It was fun, believe it or not. Though that's the closest I ever EVER want to get to a wasp, living or dead.
Saturday, I had a lunch date with my dear friend Thomas. We met in Portsmouth, and had a WONDERFUL conversation, over Chinese food, and later over lemonades at River Days. Then again, Thomas and I always have lovely conversations; you put us together in a room, and, unless the windows are open, we usually end up in need of oxygen supplements, we talk so much.
It's always good to talk to Thomas. We like many of the same things. We don't AGREE on all of those things, but even the disagreements are entertaining and cordial.
On Sunday, well, I was invited to be a guest speaker on a podcast conducted by the Star Trek PBEM game I've been with since 1999. The fact that I have been there so long was the impetus for the invitation, and I have to say, I had a good time. Lots of laughs, and some good thinking involved, too.
THEN, I heard the published podcast this morning. Ummm.... Lookit, I have lived all my life with a Southern accent. I live where everybody talks exactly like me: my family, my friends (most of them, I have a couple DamnYankees for friends), my neighbors, the lot, they all sound like me. So it's safe to say that I am almost never aware of my own accent.
Then I hear the podcast. Not only am I listening to a recording, which makes the accent that much more noticeable, but the two gentlemen with me are both Northerners, which emphasize my accent by comparison. It sounded like I lost twenty IQ points! It was strange, and slightly embarrassing.
Oh, well. The accent may have sounded weird, but my ideas were fairly acceptable.
Monday, that was quieter. Both my girls are in the Navy ROTC at school, and they both marched in the Labor Day Parade. I'm very proud of them.
Tomorrow: Math test. I should be studying, but I'm online instead. Cross your fingers for me.
OK, the blog is a little disjointed today. So sue me.
Friday went well enough. I had classes, and we classified bugs by dichotomous key in biology lab. Enjoyed that more than you might expect. There's a secret science geek under my pragmatic hillbilly exterior. Basically, we were each given four bugs -- dead, preserved in alcohol -- and given a notebook kinda thing, that described characteristics of various insects. We had to examine each insect, and play a sort of Biology Twenty Questions. Eventually we were able to determine the order/species stuff on each insect.
It was fun, believe it or not. Though that's the closest I ever EVER want to get to a wasp, living or dead.
Saturday, I had a lunch date with my dear friend Thomas. We met in Portsmouth, and had a WONDERFUL conversation, over Chinese food, and later over lemonades at River Days. Then again, Thomas and I always have lovely conversations; you put us together in a room, and, unless the windows are open, we usually end up in need of oxygen supplements, we talk so much.
It's always good to talk to Thomas. We like many of the same things. We don't AGREE on all of those things, but even the disagreements are entertaining and cordial.
On Sunday, well, I was invited to be a guest speaker on a podcast conducted by the Star Trek PBEM game I've been with since 1999. The fact that I have been there so long was the impetus for the invitation, and I have to say, I had a good time. Lots of laughs, and some good thinking involved, too.
THEN, I heard the published podcast this morning. Ummm.... Lookit, I have lived all my life with a Southern accent. I live where everybody talks exactly like me: my family, my friends (most of them, I have a couple DamnYankees for friends), my neighbors, the lot, they all sound like me. So it's safe to say that I am almost never aware of my own accent.
Then I hear the podcast. Not only am I listening to a recording, which makes the accent that much more noticeable, but the two gentlemen with me are both Northerners, which emphasize my accent by comparison. It sounded like I lost twenty IQ points! It was strange, and slightly embarrassing.
Oh, well. The accent may have sounded weird, but my ideas were fairly acceptable.
Monday, that was quieter. Both my girls are in the Navy ROTC at school, and they both marched in the Labor Day Parade. I'm very proud of them.
Tomorrow: Math test. I should be studying, but I'm online instead. Cross your fingers for me.
OK, the blog is a little disjointed today. So sue me.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
School Days
Now see? That's what I always thought/imagined/hoped attendance at an institution of higher learning would be like. A young fellow, just my Adam's age, stops and asks me for change for a dollar. This evolves into, "Aren't you in my biology class," which then wanders - in true Queen of the Tangential Conversation fasion -- into a half hour discussion of majors, criminal justice, famous prisons, and the 1960-something Stanford (Stamford?) Prison Study.
THAT's what school should be like: people of different ages, backgtrounds, interests, etc, coming together to share ideas, to pass around information and passions, to learn and to teach, regardless of whether there's an actual teacher involved. I know, I know. 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. But, hey, it happened once. There's no telling but what it may happen again.
I WANT to be exposed to new ideas, new information, new viewpoints. Even when those ideas, viewpoints, etc. are stuff that I HATE, stuff that I oppose at the top of my lungs. I can only be improved by hearing them, regardless of whether I agree. I can only be improved by the exposure. For the millionth time, I'll say it: "The day you stop learning is the day you start dying."
Right now, I have only two fears. The first is obvious: that something will happen again that will take the whole thing away from me. Money, children, the vicissitudes of life, whatever it may be, that will force me to leave school. I fear that terribly.
The second is ... well, that I want it all too badly. There's a part of me that feels like a starving man who's suddenly been thrust into the midst of a smorgasborg. I want it all, I want every fragment I can choke down, and there's that fear that I'm going to make myself sick. Slow and steady, that's the only way I can eat this particular elephant (if you don't mind me mixing my metaphors).
Can you tell I'm loving my classes? About a dozen times, I've been asked by fellow students, "Oh, don't you just dread going to X class?" or "God, isn't Professor X boring?" Frankly, I have not been. Even math class -- usually either intimidating or boring to me, back in the day -- has been absolutely gripping. I can't wait to get to class, I am absolutely mesmerized by every lecture, even the "boring" stuff, and I'm always mildly disappointed when class ends. Maybe the charm will wear off when the newness wears off. I don't know. I hope not. I can easily get through four years and more, if it's all going to be this stimulating.
Which is not to say I'm the perfect student. By no means. I'm averaging about a B in my history class (my personal favorite); my professor is quiz happy (his term, not mine), and, while I'm holding my own on them, I'm not perfect. The same goes in my other classes.
How can somebody with my supposedly fabulous brain not be doing perfect? You know, I'm not quite sure. A lot of it probably has to do with just having other things to tend to: maybe if I didn't have a family and a household to take care of every day, I'd be able to give my lessons a little more attention. Maybe it has to do with being out of practice? Bad study habits? I really don't know.
I had an employer tell me one time, I was too smart for the job: that my brain was off in the stratosphere, doing its thing, telling stories or whatever, and not enough of my attention was on the mundane work under my hands at the moment. This was a fair assessment. I'm a daydreamer. Or a sloppy worker, however you want to look at it.
You know, normally when I write, I do NOT let my topic meander as much as I do in this blog: start off talking about one thing, end up someplace near by but not quite on topic. Sloppy writing practice, and one I've worked hard not to indulge in. But the blog.... well, it's sort of my journal, isn't it? A journal I let friends, and the occasional complete stranger, read. In a journal, you record your thoughts and feelings. And while my writing is not allowed to meander, my thoughts do that a lot.
Maybe that's why I'm a B student instead of an A student.
THAT's what school should be like: people of different ages, backgtrounds, interests, etc, coming together to share ideas, to pass around information and passions, to learn and to teach, regardless of whether there's an actual teacher involved. I know, I know. 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. But, hey, it happened once. There's no telling but what it may happen again.
I WANT to be exposed to new ideas, new information, new viewpoints. Even when those ideas, viewpoints, etc. are stuff that I HATE, stuff that I oppose at the top of my lungs. I can only be improved by hearing them, regardless of whether I agree. I can only be improved by the exposure. For the millionth time, I'll say it: "The day you stop learning is the day you start dying."
Right now, I have only two fears. The first is obvious: that something will happen again that will take the whole thing away from me. Money, children, the vicissitudes of life, whatever it may be, that will force me to leave school. I fear that terribly.
The second is ... well, that I want it all too badly. There's a part of me that feels like a starving man who's suddenly been thrust into the midst of a smorgasborg. I want it all, I want every fragment I can choke down, and there's that fear that I'm going to make myself sick. Slow and steady, that's the only way I can eat this particular elephant (if you don't mind me mixing my metaphors).
Can you tell I'm loving my classes? About a dozen times, I've been asked by fellow students, "Oh, don't you just dread going to X class?" or "God, isn't Professor X boring?" Frankly, I have not been. Even math class -- usually either intimidating or boring to me, back in the day -- has been absolutely gripping. I can't wait to get to class, I am absolutely mesmerized by every lecture, even the "boring" stuff, and I'm always mildly disappointed when class ends. Maybe the charm will wear off when the newness wears off. I don't know. I hope not. I can easily get through four years and more, if it's all going to be this stimulating.
Which is not to say I'm the perfect student. By no means. I'm averaging about a B in my history class (my personal favorite); my professor is quiz happy (his term, not mine), and, while I'm holding my own on them, I'm not perfect. The same goes in my other classes.
How can somebody with my supposedly fabulous brain not be doing perfect? You know, I'm not quite sure. A lot of it probably has to do with just having other things to tend to: maybe if I didn't have a family and a household to take care of every day, I'd be able to give my lessons a little more attention. Maybe it has to do with being out of practice? Bad study habits? I really don't know.
I had an employer tell me one time, I was too smart for the job: that my brain was off in the stratosphere, doing its thing, telling stories or whatever, and not enough of my attention was on the mundane work under my hands at the moment. This was a fair assessment. I'm a daydreamer. Or a sloppy worker, however you want to look at it.
You know, normally when I write, I do NOT let my topic meander as much as I do in this blog: start off talking about one thing, end up someplace near by but not quite on topic. Sloppy writing practice, and one I've worked hard not to indulge in. But the blog.... well, it's sort of my journal, isn't it? A journal I let friends, and the occasional complete stranger, read. In a journal, you record your thoughts and feelings. And while my writing is not allowed to meander, my thoughts do that a lot.
Maybe that's why I'm a B student instead of an A student.
Monday, August 13, 2007
First Day of School
9:15AM
Just arrived in the lounge, I have fifteen minutes to my first class, and I'm already out of breath. The worst part of the morning is that I have to climb the Matterhorn to get from the parking lot to the main building! Something like 75 steps. Which is why I'm sitting here typing instead of hunting for room 303: I'm catching my breath, and waiting for my heart rate to drop to a tolerable level!
Guess that means I'll be getting into shape, as well as getting educated this semester!
10:15 AM
Well, so far so good. I've gotten through one class orientation: History. The professor seemed cool, and he seemed to have the same idea I had about how to approach history. That approach is basically that dates, names of battles, and which general fought for which side is stuff that can be found just about anywhere. What's more to the point is how everything worked, what led up to things, how the Big Picture comes together. He calls himself a "chalk and talk" teacher: lots of lectures, and we need to be prepared to take a LOT of notes.
Good thing I bound a new book just for this class, huh?
Even better, at least for me: Professor Mahan is all about the reading, and all about the writing. We have a listing of what we need to have read each day (and there's a lot), and we'll be required to write serious analyses of each book we have read for class. Ooooh, I'm going to love that!!!! My two favorite things, together in one classroom!!!
Weird moment: one of my old students from my days of tutoring math, Justin, is in class with me. I must have made a good impression on him, back in the day, because he asked me to sit with him, he talked to me while we were waiting for class to start, and he bragged to all his friends that I was his old math teacher. Justin is a good kid, and he was fun to have in math. It's nice to have a familiar face, a friendly face, close at hand as I start off on this new adventure.
5:00
I didn't have the time to write after computer class, and after my math class, I ran (waddled) for the car just as fast (slow) as my little, fat legs could carry me.
The computer class, the one I thought was going to be a bird course, it looks HARD. Quizzes every Monday, they're going to be going really fast, and already I'm having trouble with my network log-on. Grrrr..... But the teacher, Professor Childress, is great, very cheery, very full of energy and fun. That makes things good. AND, I've already made a good impression on him: I was the only one in class who knew what USB stood for (Universal Serial Bus), even though I'm the Old Broad in class.
BTW: Thomas, you almost lost the NEC. I sat down in the front row, and pulled the NEC out to take notes. Professor Childress practically snatched it out of my hands, and declared it "really nifty."
Then there was Math Class: Intermediate Algebra. Professor Conley is the only really professor-y teacher I have. He looks, moves, talks, and acts like the stereotype: a bit ponderous, but dedicated, you know? He managed to work me into a bit of a lather at first. Math is the class I've been worried about, because it's been twenty years since I sat down in a math class, math was always the subject I had problems with, blah blah blah. So the professor spends twenty minutes talking about, "you need to be sure, absolutely sure you're in the right class, you have to have passed this or that to be in here, and if you didn't, you need to handle it right now, etc, etc...."
Well, I DIDN'T pass the previous class to get into this one. I got all the way to Calculus in high school; that qualified me for this class. But high school was a long time ago, wasn't it. So I'm sweating it, right? Maybe I'd made an error.
Then he comes out with this test. Seems the math department is looking to develop a more revealing placement test for incoming students, and they're all testing it out on the classes this year. It doesn't count towards our grade; it's testing the test, not us students. He also says the test is graduated; if you're supposed to be in this class, you should start jamming up around question twenty, because that's where the Intermediate Algebra questions start coming up.
I was up to question thirty, before I started having troubles. I had to leave three questions blank, which is more than respectable. The test relieved my anxiety. If I can get that far before I start jamming up, then I'm probably in the right class.
I've got homework in every class, so I need to go work on that. More later!
Just arrived in the lounge, I have fifteen minutes to my first class, and I'm already out of breath. The worst part of the morning is that I have to climb the Matterhorn to get from the parking lot to the main building! Something like 75 steps. Which is why I'm sitting here typing instead of hunting for room 303: I'm catching my breath, and waiting for my heart rate to drop to a tolerable level!
Guess that means I'll be getting into shape, as well as getting educated this semester!
10:15 AM
Well, so far so good. I've gotten through one class orientation: History. The professor seemed cool, and he seemed to have the same idea I had about how to approach history. That approach is basically that dates, names of battles, and which general fought for which side is stuff that can be found just about anywhere. What's more to the point is how everything worked, what led up to things, how the Big Picture comes together. He calls himself a "chalk and talk" teacher: lots of lectures, and we need to be prepared to take a LOT of notes.
Good thing I bound a new book just for this class, huh?
Even better, at least for me: Professor Mahan is all about the reading, and all about the writing. We have a listing of what we need to have read each day (and there's a lot), and we'll be required to write serious analyses of each book we have read for class. Ooooh, I'm going to love that!!!! My two favorite things, together in one classroom!!!
Weird moment: one of my old students from my days of tutoring math, Justin, is in class with me. I must have made a good impression on him, back in the day, because he asked me to sit with him, he talked to me while we were waiting for class to start, and he bragged to all his friends that I was his old math teacher. Justin is a good kid, and he was fun to have in math. It's nice to have a familiar face, a friendly face, close at hand as I start off on this new adventure.
5:00
I didn't have the time to write after computer class, and after my math class, I ran (waddled) for the car just as fast (slow) as my little, fat legs could carry me.
The computer class, the one I thought was going to be a bird course, it looks HARD. Quizzes every Monday, they're going to be going really fast, and already I'm having trouble with my network log-on. Grrrr..... But the teacher, Professor Childress, is great, very cheery, very full of energy and fun. That makes things good. AND, I've already made a good impression on him: I was the only one in class who knew what USB stood for (Universal Serial Bus), even though I'm the Old Broad in class.
BTW: Thomas, you almost lost the NEC. I sat down in the front row, and pulled the NEC out to take notes. Professor Childress practically snatched it out of my hands, and declared it "really nifty."
Then there was Math Class: Intermediate Algebra. Professor Conley is the only really professor-y teacher I have. He looks, moves, talks, and acts like the stereotype: a bit ponderous, but dedicated, you know? He managed to work me into a bit of a lather at first. Math is the class I've been worried about, because it's been twenty years since I sat down in a math class, math was always the subject I had problems with, blah blah blah. So the professor spends twenty minutes talking about, "you need to be sure, absolutely sure you're in the right class, you have to have passed this or that to be in here, and if you didn't, you need to handle it right now, etc, etc...."
Well, I DIDN'T pass the previous class to get into this one. I got all the way to Calculus in high school; that qualified me for this class. But high school was a long time ago, wasn't it. So I'm sweating it, right? Maybe I'd made an error.
Then he comes out with this test. Seems the math department is looking to develop a more revealing placement test for incoming students, and they're all testing it out on the classes this year. It doesn't count towards our grade; it's testing the test, not us students. He also says the test is graduated; if you're supposed to be in this class, you should start jamming up around question twenty, because that's where the Intermediate Algebra questions start coming up.
I was up to question thirty, before I started having troubles. I had to leave three questions blank, which is more than respectable. The test relieved my anxiety. If I can get that far before I start jamming up, then I'm probably in the right class.
I've got homework in every class, so I need to go work on that. More later!
Thursday, August 9, 2007
You can charge that much money, and keep a straight face?
In other news.....
I went to the college today to buy my books. My classes start on Monday, and I'm looking forward to starting. Can't wait, actually.
All I can say is, thank God for federal financial aid. My books today cost $460!!! Jiminy Christmas! I was able to get one of my books online; it was in the public domain, so I saved maybe ten bucks.
I've been looking through the books. Some of the stuff looks dead boring. But there looks to be a lot of it that promises to be really interesting. For example, they're MAKING me take an Introduction to Computers class, to teach me how to use word processing programs, Excel type accounting programs, how to get email, etc. Duh! I've been doing that since I was eighteen, for God's sake.
But as I look through the textbook, there's a section at the end of each chapter, entitled "Writing for Technology." They pose ethical questions (should the FBI be allowed to use sniffer programs to track email and Internet activity?), or discuss copyright issues (is it stealing to copy HTML source code from a webpage?), and the student is supposed to write essays to answer those questions.
Call me a geek: I enjoy that sort of thing. Bullshitting is something I've always been very good at!
I went to the college today to buy my books. My classes start on Monday, and I'm looking forward to starting. Can't wait, actually.
All I can say is, thank God for federal financial aid. My books today cost $460!!! Jiminy Christmas! I was able to get one of my books online; it was in the public domain, so I saved maybe ten bucks.
I've been looking through the books. Some of the stuff looks dead boring. But there looks to be a lot of it that promises to be really interesting. For example, they're MAKING me take an Introduction to Computers class, to teach me how to use word processing programs, Excel type accounting programs, how to get email, etc. Duh! I've been doing that since I was eighteen, for God's sake.
But as I look through the textbook, there's a section at the end of each chapter, entitled "Writing for Technology." They pose ethical questions (should the FBI be allowed to use sniffer programs to track email and Internet activity?), or discuss copyright issues (is it stealing to copy HTML source code from a webpage?), and the student is supposed to write essays to answer those questions.
Call me a geek: I enjoy that sort of thing. Bullshitting is something I've always been very good at!
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