Parental Discretion Advised

I've been swearing a lot lately. Yesterday at the six green lights that I sat through waiting for the traffic to pass near one of the lakes. Today about (but not at) the group member who decided after an hour of work on our project that he was "really beat" and "could we send him the document when we finished?" That one merited a "is he fucking shitting me?" as I recapped the incident for others. Just take a second, though, and think about that one. Seriously. Is he fucking shitting me? There is simply no other possible response.

Running for Dummies

I don't mean to poo-poo this gorgeous weather we're having, but it does remind me that I can't run at the same level I was running at a year ago. Recovery from a marathon just shouldn't take so long, so there has got to be more going on with my form, strength, alignment, and other life-long running-related issues. I decided last week to finally see Rickie, Running Specialist Extraordinaire, but it turns out she's not in my network of providers and even with a referral, I can't afford her. So instead, Dave has decided to print copies of his exercise program and to train me back to running health. We both figure that doing something is better than doing nothing even if it turns out to not exactly be the right something. I have to prepare myself for the daily inquiries from him about whether or not I've completed my exercises, and I have to prepare to actually do the exercises instead of lying to my coach, which, if the weather weren't so nice and I didn't want to run so badly, I might be inclined to do.

I've been awake for about an hour and it's really pushing my limits

This has turned out to be the dreaded week that I thought it would. All of my professors decided to assign papers this week, and with the conference talk preparation in the weeks before, it was questionable whether or not I'd be able to write all 21 pages in time. Things were moving along fairly nicely through Monday with 13 pages down and an extension on one paper.

Then, last night, while drafting paper two, I felt a little wave of nausea wash over me. It was sudden and unmistakable, but I thought it would be over quickly. Twelve hours later and 3 to 4 bouts of vomiting per hour (among other things that I'm sure you can imagine, but don't want to), Cassie drove me to the ER. It turns out that I had contracted a strain of the noroviris, which pretty much sucks all life and liquid out of you while leaving you to writhe in severe unrelenting abdominal pain.

I'm a polite person, but when the ER nurse told me it'd be just a minute before they were able to get me to a room (next to the bathroom), I responded, "You have to hurry. And you have to make the pain go away." They got right on it, and 45 minutes later, an IV of fluid, nausea medication, and morphine pumped into my veins, I felt like a new person.

I've pretty much slept the day away, and the thought of food still makes me jilt. The profs have been great about missed classes and paper extensions, but my spring break next week doesn't look so exciting anymore. Cassie follows me around with antibacterial spray and has made quite a project out of disinfecting the house. I can see the streaks of rubbing alcohol across my laptop screen as I write this. We're pretty sure she gave me the virus, so I don't mind watching her clean. I figure it's penance.

The Other Side of the Table

KC and I had a productive morning at the coffee shop. She finished the article that she's submitting for publication and I (almost) finished the outline for paper #1 of 3 due this week. KC headed home for a run and I stuck around to get this mother done. Things were looking pretty good.

Until.

A couple of young men, not more than 25 each, sat down behind me to talk over, well, all of life on earth. They've covered global politics, the housing market, why they can't live with their siblings, whether or not life can be considered a game as described in some song by Boston, why they love music groups named after cities (like Kansas), how the BeeGees seem like they could be gay even though they are not (like Queen), and now they're on the difference between economic risk and life risk. All of which they do with their baby faces and all the confidence and knowledge in the world.

It's somewhat admirable.

They gave me a funny look when I moved to this side of the table -- so I could write this without their knowing, of course. I haven't gotten anything done on my paper since they sat down. The fact that I've started counting how many times they use the words frickin' and dude, signals, if nothing else, that it's time for me to go home.

Snow Day

Class cancelled. That should give me just the three hours I'll need to shovel myself out of the driveway. Really wishing I owned a sled right now. . . wonder how sturdy my baking sheets are.

Zit Happens

All of the momentous occasions in my life seem to be marked by at least one large zit on my face. Is it possible that in thinking about the zit and waiting for it to go away I am less stressed about the pending event that has caused the zit in the first place? Maybe.

I leave for Nashville tomorrow to present at my first research conference. And my left cheek is carrying extra baggage for the flight.

1984

Maybe I'm a little slow on the uptake here, but I just realized that whenever I receive a message from someone on my Gmail account, the ads on the side of the message correspond with the content of the message. We're being watched and it's eerie. If the program thinks a message might be spam, it'll even offer links to Spam recipes on the side.

So.

We're being watched by idiots, but it's still a little disturbing.

Slogging Along

I realize that this has been one sad blog lately, but here's the thing: I can't get myself to do anything. I have books to read, papers to write, talks to prepare, lessons to evaluate, research to conduct, and hats to knit, but as the to-do list gets longer and longer, I get lazier and lazier. Although there are aspects of this that don't suprise me at all, there's also some other element that's really not like me. I'm hoping it's just a phase.