battle cry

RAAAAAAAAAAA!

day one. done.

also gross

a trip to walgreen's is always just a slice of life for me.

inside the drugstore today i experienced and witnessed tiny little old ladies having accidental reunions, tiny little old ladies running the checkout lines, carabiner flashlights, an intense internal debate on which #2 pencils to buy for my upcoming exam (settled on the mirado black warriors; hopefullly i won't regret that because they're a little too smooth for filling in circles), and teenage boys looking down each aisle for something to do (at walgreen's?).

all that aside, this time it was the parking lot that held today's noteworthy item: a pair of sweatpants with a college name emblazoned across the butt.

i get riled up about this. how can women complain about being objectified by men when they wear pants like these? it's ridiculous for a girl to walk around in, say, juicy brand sweatpants, and expect guys not to stare at her caboose, read the word, and think, "juicy."

bah, i said to myself. then the real kicker.

the wearer of these sweatpants was some white-haired dude. looked to be in his late fifties.

now THAT just ain't right.

gross

maybe it's the time of year, for it really was like a scene set up for halloween.

i walked down the stairs of my empty apartment and turned into the kitchen. there i stopped dead in my tracks. something wasn't right. i scanned the room. the refrigerator hummed contentedly. the drip, drip, drip of the faucet was the only other sound to be heard. i started over to tighten the fixture but then, out of the corner of my left eye, i saw a small, dark flicker of movement.

no. my heart slithered downward into my stomach, and my stomach clenched around it. i took a deep breath and turned to focus my eyes on the moving thing.

upon a single slat of the vertical blinds crouched a tiny figure, black and imposing. the shadows of his minions moved about in a loathsome dance behind him, shrouding him in a most disturbing grey aura.

i wanted to scream, but i could not.

cockroaches. one had found its way in. the others crawled about on the other side of the glass door, waiting to invade.

bum BUM BUM!
(insert climactic tremolo chord here)

i am now preparing for battle.

update: the sun has set, cloaking the army outside my door in darkness. inside, however, the kitchen is immaculate, and i have blasted their leader with potent neurotoxin. as he dies, legs flailing about in the air, i wonder—what will their response be? i cannot know. as the hum of the enemy platoon crescendoes in my ears, i wait, rubber gloves and bug spray in hand.

near-miss

i was almost on tv last night.

the unit secretary said to me, “i need to ask you something.” we don’t talk like that around here unless it’s personal, so i was a little worried about what he had to say.

“i’ve got media relations on the phone. did you hear about that kid who dropped dead at school? the news wants a doctor to comment about her condition. it was a heart thing. just to tell the public about it. i asked dr. k and dr. s. they told me to ask you. dr. s said, ‘she’s smart as a whip, and she’s got the face and the look for it.’”

WHAT?

fuss fuss fuss! no time for attempts to re-establish humility! hi, nurse r, i don’t know, dude, but thanks for the compliment. hi, other nurse r, i’m not sure, but thanks too. nurse m, you’re so sweet to say so, i’m not so sure if i’m excited....

no time for explanations; media relations is on the phone. you want me to do what? don’t you want a cardiologist? i am not familiar with this patient. i see. well, i could try, if it would help people in general. okay. oh, she wasn’t a patient here. oh, she never made it to a hospital. i see. what did the autopsy show? uh-huh. oh. you don't know if that's even the right word? why don’t you spell it for me? okay it's probably close, but it’s not a diagnosis, that’s just a finding. it’s not specific enough for me to be able to make any comments that would be informative to anyone. right. sorry! let me know if they make a diagnosis.

hey dr. s. what the heck, dude— me? you’re disappointed? hi nurse m. you’re disappointed too?

i guess i’m a little disappointed now that they mention it. but i’m mostly relieved. i really really could have made a big fool out of myself.

you know what is not cool?

all-out man-bashing. most women who man-bash spend too much time complaining about situations and not enough time doing worthwhile things to make those situations better.

what is also not cool is the "girl power" movement. i mean, please. it does nothing to create respect for our gender to take little flowers and ruffles and bows or cutesy cartoon characters and pretend that they're powerful or cool. there is no power in declaring that you have power. when you're truly powerful, you don't need to tell people for them to know.

oh! and women with fake squeaky voices! they sound like they deserve to be squished! ugh! (shudder)

lastly for today, what is not cool is freakin' "grey's anatomy." usually dumba** medical shows earn simple disdain from me, but this one seems so stupid it makes me want to hurt things. i think i may actually hate it. i got your real-life medical professional soap opera drama right here, baby. and sandra oh is not an attractive asian woman, i don't care what you asian fetishists say.

question

"are you seeing anyone?"

i looked up, startled, uncapped needle and syringe in my hand. i didn't expect that at all. his blue eyes looked into mine with an intensity that could only have been put there by hope. the wrinkles around them twitched ever so slightly.

why would he be asking me that? with all my might i struggled to keep that question mark from actually becoming visible above my head. then the words came to me.

"you mean, patient-wise?"
"yes."
"i'm about to sedate someone for a debridement, yes."
"okay. thanks."

see, i was already busy. just because it was time for dr. m to leave didn't mean i'd drop everything to take over his workload.

apropos to nothing

but funny nonetheless.

though we adore men individually
we agree that as a group they're rather stupid

winnifred banks, in mary poppins

lucky me

i really do feel lucky to be in the field i'm in. (dangling preposition.)

this evening i am looking at an atlas for the picture section of my upcoming exam. i cracked open the book at random and enjoyed the new-book smell. then i looked at the images to which i'd opened.

poopy diapers. a variety of different types of poopy diapers, their notable characteristics, and how to distinguish between them.

lucky, lucky me.

reserve

thank God, thank God. i've finally gotten back into studying mode. it has been so long since i have been a student. we've finally managed to wrest open the door to my brain's learning center (basically tore it off its rusty hinges) and start cramming in the information. oh, it was ugly at first, with little knick-knacks popping out and rolling out of arm's reach every time i squeezed in another factoid, but now things are falling into their respective places.

as the devoted reader well knows, i've had a severe information in:out imbalance of late. my blogorrhea has been quite persistent. now it is time for me to focus on input rather than output. the result? surprisingly, blog continence.

so when i don't post, it's not because i have nothing to say (though when i have nothing to say, i don't say anything! it's a good motto to live by). it's because i'm elsewise occupied.

worry not, for there are more camo-licious concoctions a-cookin'. they're simply steeping, simmering, and stewing for now.

the national board certifying exam's on halloween and the day after. send good vibes my way, if you get a chance. i'll be there for two days with my number two pencils and my two tiger-striped bunny ears, raring to go.

resemblance

from wurmwood & gaul, strip #26

domination

it's official, folks. i am now the dominant camobunny on the web. check any search engine and see.

not the only camobunny, but the dominant one. and isn't that what matters?

but who's surprised?

?

ummmmm ...

hmm. uh ...

has someone out there been praying for me?

good things are happening inside me. it's a funny feeling.

riposte

OH YEAH?

well, i can, um, i can...

i can heal the sick!

so there. take (unh) THAT!

making conversation

i've never been strong in the social graces, but i do try to be polite and gracious.

i need help with a standard response when someone compliments me. i've never been good at receiving compliments gracefully. for example, the other day at church a nice lady told me "you are pree-tee" out of the blue. my options, as i see it, are:

1. express appreciation for the complimentor's kindness and encouragement. something like, "it is very kind of you to say so, thank you." notice one need not necessarily reveal whether or not one believes the compliment to be true.

2. reciprocate. "why, thank you. so are you." gracious, but not always truthful. risk for seeming insincere.

3. lapse into the age-old culturally specific tradition of false humility and denial. "no, please. not at all. not like you." this message is not understood in all cultures, but is the expected response in some.

4. tell how i really feel. "FOOOOOOOOOOOLED YOOOOOOOOOOU!"

i gave option number two yesterday out of my habit of reciprocating, although i believe option number one to be the best one. i'm working on getting it built into my system. number four would be really hilarious to do to someone someday.

toujours, toujours

you should know that i am not a fan of using superlatives and absolutes in speech.

there have been two examples of the above absolute in my life.

number one:
"il me faut surtout avoir des fleurs, toujours, toujours."
claude monet

number two was an outright lie. an outright lie that has affected me for always, always.

eleanor rigby

ah, look at all the lonely people
ah, look at all the lonely people

eleanor rigby
picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
lives in a dream
waits at the window,
wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
who is it for?

all the lonely people
where do they all come from?
all the lonely people
where do they all belong?

father mckenzie
writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear
no one comes near
look at him working,
darning his socks in the night when there's nobody there
what does he care?

all the lonely people
where do they all come from?
all the lonely people
where do they all belong?

ah, look at all the lonely people
ah, look at all the lonely people

eleanor rigby
died in the church and was buried along with her name
nobody came
father mckenzie
wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave
no one was saved

all the lonely people
ah, look at all the lonely people
where do they all come from?
all the lonely people
ah, look at all the lonely people
where do they all belong?

diva

this bothers me.

i must have hit reset or auto-adjust on my monitor or something, because nothing is right anymore. the green of my sidebar and my '897' isn't quite as yellow as it used to be, it's paler and mintier, and the blue up top is not quite right. the prickly pineapple looks sort of a dusty sour color.

maybe not. the difference is so slight i can't tell if i'm imagining it. maybe it's just that my contacts are dry and i had a margarita for claire's birthday. because i don't remember what i did to the monitor; i know i messed with the buttons a little last night. now i can't fix it and it makes me want to walk away in very mild disgust.

i didn't think i had that in me.

i know you don't care either, unless maybe you're puffintoad.

work

sometime i actually enjoy the idea of being on call.

i guess i don't call it on call anymore. it's just work now.

often before working one of my sixteen hour shifts i will have the presence of mind to pack all this stuff ahead of time. first and foremost i prepare a big bag of food. i fill a plastic shopping bag with all of these things i think i might like to eat or drink while at the hospital. i always include a hot drink mix/bag of some sort. i like to think that i'll have a chance to hide away in my little hidey hole, away from all the responsibilties of this place where i'm supposed to be VERY PROFESSIONAL and do something as ridiculously personal as making a beautiful cup of flavored coffee or snacking on a star crunch while skeletonizing a quick poem idea. so yes, i also bring things to read and to write on. and a bunch of toiletries. it's like going on a little business trip, and you know how i do love to travel.

the dynamics of call are funny, especially the 1500 to 0700 shift. most of the time i arrive to relative quiet. i take signout, and then once my colleague leaves, i walk around, multiple laps to make sure i know what i'm doing. i make a list of the tasks i need to do and at what time. i put my lists in my back pocket and set my pager to go off at 2240. then i can set up in the call room. i get out the paraphernalia appropriate for my chosen task o' the day (lately it's been board review), make sure i have a drink, and get started. i don't usually get very far before getting paged. the first page is usually something stupid and trivial, like this baby has a diaper rash can i use butt cream on it. but after that i feel as though something's up and i walk into the nursery. my presence usually triggers a chain reaction of, oh, i'm glad you're here, i wasn't going to call you but... and oh there's this, and what about this, oh me too! so i do a few paperworky things and tie up some loose ends. i do another lap or two just staring at the kids at each bedspace before i leave again.

then i can get back to my personal task. just when things get rolling and i'm studying well or in the middle of a beautiful flow of phrase, i get paged. i hustle (i always hustle at work, people make fun of me for it sometimes) off to save a life.

[knock, knock] "pediatrics," in a suave tone that yet means business. you have to comfort and command authority at the same time. (two knocks because three is too aesthetic, two communicates a sense of urgency, especially if you start opening the door on the second one.) grab a pair of gloves on the way in. try not to be angry that i wasn't called earlier. push the curtain aside and enter with a smile toward the laboring woman at her most vulnerable, in the most physical pain she will ever be, exposed in a most compromising position to a perfect stranger. smile sweetly, while worst-case scenarios dance like sinister sugarplums across the stage in my head. no time for words. to the ohio table! listen to the nurse rattle off what she thinks is important for me to know. ask about the things i actually need to know, in very very hushed tones. try not to be annoyed thinking that i shouldn't have to ask while the rest of my mind thinks suction: bulb, delee 80-100 cm of water; oxygen: mask inflated? check pressures, cpap, bag breaths; airway: laryngoscope, i like the zero blade but the one has its uses, screw that lightbulb in tight tight! so tiny, so hard core! e.t. tube. meconium? CRAP (literally). get the right darn e.t. tube, why don't we have 3.5's here? mec aspirator. why do you fumble with it so awkwardly? wait. wait. wait. wait. cry. cry. cry. come on, cry. CRY! cry? oh good. i half subconsciously do a little wiggly dance of relief to hear that, God, what a great sound. thank God. let's go, rub!

very well, life saved. say something honest but suave and sweet to make it seem like it was nothing because i hate making moms cry. and back to me. wait. get paged. save a life. return. repeat.

at 2240 the pager goes off. there is a slight twinge of anxiety in my chest as i leave the comfortable familiarity of stressful babyland to take on the e.r. i help clean up the crap that my colleague got slammed with and let that poor soul go home. by then it's about 0130, and of course someone else needs to deliver. i go, knowing i'll return for my nightly "nothing is wrong with me but my parents got freaked out" patient. "before i begin, i want to let you know i'm carrying the delivery pager, so if someone needs to be born i may get called away and have to run."

i can't often use the bed to sleep. i use the computer or turn on the stupid little tv and think. i go over the lists. a few times through the night i will burst into the nursery and ask, "is everybody breathing? okay. oh and butt cream for everybody, so you don't have to page me." do a quick lap and walk away. occasionally this process is stalled by a "these parents have some questions they forgot to ask during the day." about what? "oh this and that that was answered this morning or completely doesn't matter." i have nothing to add but i add it anyway, VERY PROFESSIONALLY, convincing rather than informing, closing the door to future irrelevant and unnecessarily anxiety-provoking questions.

(yesterday i arrived to pure chaos instigated by troublemaking triplets. get signout. what signout? walk around. assess. intubate. surf. extubate. assess. intubate. surf. extubate. assess. bless. who's looking sicker? assess. reassure. realize that it's gonna be crappy for a couple hours yet.)

by 0430 i'm starving. i've already eaten all my food. cafeteria is closed. i could sleep i guess. but then i'd feel all funky if i had to do something, and besides five o'clock gases will all come back at 0540. i stay up and watch the clock. i make sure i haven't left any loose ends i'd be ashamed of. i tie up each issue with a pretty little bow. and at 0630 i go get breakfast so i can signout at 0700 and leave.

sometimes all that is null and void. i can arrive to a complete disaster and then work in an all out berserker frenzy from moment of arrival to moment of replacement. that is pure torture, and probably one of the reasons i stay thin. in those situations there is no time to sit, eat, or think about oneself at all. there's barely time to go to the bathroom.

i remember that man at that party who made the ridiculous comment that oh, you're just a pediatrician? now that seems easy. i mean, they're just kids. so simple. what could you need to know? bito and ghu looked at me with these terrified looks on their faces, as if they were afraid i'd erupt and singe them too with my spewing lavastorm of correction. i just kept quiet and faked calm on my face while bito hurriedly said, "nah, dude." i knew if i opened my mouth the tirade would get more and more bitter until i made it personal. he was a personal trainer for a living.

i don't know how to end this, but i just worked a sixteen hour shift so there will be no careful consideration put into concluding gracefully. because now i am at home and i have (thus) put work behind me.

food!

i was SO EXCITED about eating my last meal it was as though i were an animal, probably a dog. if i had a tail it would have been wagging uncontrollably. i was almost frantic just before i started eating. i can just see it: ears flopping everywhere, paws and claws click-clacking on the linoleum, running toward food. tongue hanging out. face disappearing into bowl. and at the end of the meal how the dog licks the bowl, then tosses it up in the air and bites it along the edge as if to make sure there's nothing left at the bottom, then places it upside down on the floor and looks at you feeling very satisfied and proud of itself—it was that sort of enthusiasm.

i ate half a large pizza.

it's great getting so much pleasure out of something so simple.

(what is wrong with me?)

¡ojalá que!

yeah, oh if only! seriously, ¡ojalá que!

i have always had more stamina than my non-medical musician friend counterparts. given the opportunity i could sing all day long. the only time my voice has ever been fatigued was the time i had worked a busy overnight shift before early morning rehearsal and late morning service. i think my entire body and brain were fatigued because my voice was there but i couldn’t control it! i couldn’t make it make the pitches i wanted or control dynamics or vibrato. it felt like an out of body experience in a way. i will rest more before singing. but i heard k-dub worry that the weekend would be a musical marathon and i just thought, i wish! oh if only!

i don’t want to be a professional musician; that would so kill it for me. my music is mine, MINE! but cousinray (camocuz?) has a musical marathon coming up and i’m jealous.

wait, actually... hey, i’m not jealous. i’m proud in a weird cousinly sort of way. and i definitely do not covet anyone’s life if they have midterms. good luck cousinray. get plenty of sleep and fluids and study. the gigs are a night each. the grades a little longer.

now, back to banging my head against the books for pediatric boards.

funny villains

speaking of he-man—

my brothers would occasionally get action figures as gifts. there were two really funny villains that i remember them having that i still think are hilarious.

first there was this one that smelled bad. right out of the package we lifted the figure to our noses and sniffed. it smelled like skunk. its name was stinkor. what kind of marketing strategy is that?

the other that comes to mind is this dude, mantenna. he has a lever on his back and when you push it, his eyeballs pop out on these really long stalks. so freakin' funny. i think he was from she-ra rather than he-man.

we only had a few. nothing like eric brown, who lived down the street. he was an only child. he had the full set of everything masters of the universe AND care bear. or was it strawberry shortcake?

is there?

is there a kind of hope that lacks confidence?

i am certainly not hopeless. i have never lost hope. but i would say a lot of the time my hope is small, kind of cringing in the corner. worried. i have an image in my head of that wimpy cat from the he-man cartoon, quivering in a spotlight. wasn't his name cringer? it seems counterintuitive, that hope could be diffident, uncertain.

there's a poem rattling around in my head about it. something about how i dare not drink from this pool of hope, that i might fall, be caught up in waves of expectation and drowned in depths of disappointment. i haven't written it yet.

but i do have hope. it's small, but it's there.

i hope.

please

some sleepless night
if you should find yourself alone
let me be the one you run to
let me be the one you come to
when you need someone to turn to
let me be the one
to set things right
when this whole world’s turned upside down
let me be the one you run to
let me be the one you come to
when you need someone to turn to
let me be the one
for love and understanding, to find a quiet place
for silent understanding, a loving touch
come to me when things go wrong
and there’s no love to light the way
let me be the one you run to
let me be the one you come to
when you need someone to turn to
let me be the one

craving

and now i'm finally going to go and get me that falafel i've been craving for a week. thank you folks. tip your waitstaff.

... break for lunch ...

ended up with sushi and krispy kremes instead. falafel tomorrow. why? i don't know. who cares.

and now? mmmmmm. post-prandial alkaline tide. (aka "food coma".) mmmmmmm.

uh-oh, she's losing it

bichon frise.

HAAAAAhahahaha!

battle cry

and all i’ve got to say to you all is

boo hoo.

boo freakin’ hoo.

this is not a poem for once; this is a message i want you to hear clearly. it is meant in love, even if it is in the dour tone that i cannot seem to sweeten no matter how many revisions i make. i’m sorry, it’s my vernacular. (haha, kj!)

you feel as though you are missing something from your life because you have arranged your life around yourself. it’s hard not to do; it’s human nature. but to you all who have your spouses and children, your families, your jobs, your american security: don’t you understand what you have been given, and the power that you have to do something incredible with it?

i share my life with no one, which is difficult, but thank God that i do not lack for purpose and meaning every single day of my life. every day i know exactly why i am here. every day i know that i am still here because He has something yet for me to do. and every day i know that when i am finished the reward will not be for what i have done, but it will be because i am done. i have something definite to look forward to, but i am not waiting for anything to begin. i do not mistake the fact that i am living my life right now.

boohoo. you’re bored with your job. boohoo. your american dream has never come true; you aren’t young or beautiful or fit anymore; you haven’t written your novel or built your empire. boohoo. you are no one’s hero; you have no quest, no battle at which to cry your battle cry. boo. hoo.

you blame the changes in your life. you say that new roles in your life are so demanding that you have no time to be who you used to be, to accomplish the goals that used to be so near and dear to your heart. you are complaining about your complacency, without even recognizing it for what it is.

you don’t seem to understand the gifts you have been given. goodness, you may as well have nothing. starvation in the midst of plenty. that’s this place for you. only the rebellious dwell in a parched land, my friend. or worse, you let these things take over your life and suffocate you; you drown in all these rich blessings that are being showered down upon you.

and it’s not fair. no, it isn’t. so don’t complain about how it hasn’t happened for you. if it hasn’t, it probably wasn’t ever supposed to. if it is supposed to, then go and make it happen.

ask for your eyes to be opened. look around at what you have been given. there are opportunities all around you that you just haven’t had time or care to see. there is a place for you; there is something for you to do. are you prepared? no, i assure you, you are not. you will not be ready for what you are about to see; you cannot realize what will be required of you. it will be hard, it will be new, it will challenge you and even hurt you. but are you equipped? yes, by all means, yes.

the armor of God
finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of His might. put on the full armor of God, so that you will be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil. for our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places. therefore, take up the full armor of God, so that you will be able to resist in the evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm.
stand firm therefore, having girded your loins with truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the preparation of the gospel of peace; in addition to all, taking up the shield of faith with which you will be able to extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. and take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

now i hope someone of you is honest enough with me to tell me when i’m boohooing too. i do it a lot.

did you know?

it really is quite a disservice to someone, putting them on a pedestal.

from up there, you can see just how low everyone’s standards really are.

it's also simply unfair. you fall from up there, you get hurt worse.

ain’t that a kick in the head?

don’t pedestalize. it’s not nice.

human web

i cannot extricate myself from this tangled human web they call society. i tried setting fire to certain bridges, only to find they get extinguished as soon as i turn my back.

how is a person supposed to move on? witness protection program?

don't say it

i do not like hearing the phrase, "the heart wants what it wants".

don't even say it.

excuses

the eschemo survivor can accurately isolate the etiology of her emotional lability, because she is naturally so even-keeled. i, however, have no excuse.

how do you tell everyone that you didn't have a good time, when they all did? you don't.

i actually did try prednisone for a little bit. just a mini-burst. a burstlet. staving off the musty spirits, you know? i don't think it's what made me cranky.

that's it. cranky. that's exactly the word to describe how i've been since the weekend. from the moment of my arrival and learning i was assigned to bunk with a bunch of silly giggling college girls, i was cranky. old and cranky.

all weekend i had to deal with prejudice too. i don't know if it's even worth trying to fight it. sometimes i can't tell if i think i'm fighting prejudice and ignorance, but really i'm just standing up for my own ego. the three things i have to say regarding that are: 1) would you ever ask a black american where in africa "home" is? you'd be flayed in a heartbeat. 2) just because i have a uterus doesn't mean i plan on leasing it out to a fetus anytime soon, or ever for that matter. 3) i AM a doctor, but if you won't acknowledge me because i'm a young woman doctor even after a life has just been saved then i can't be of help to you.

did you ever think? no one is there to support the doctor after something scary happens. you can't take it easy after someone almost dies. all i wanted was a freakin' hug. thank God for little kids.

most sadly of all, the music was lackluster. i know, everyone else seemed to enjoy it and it served its purpose, so it isn't worth discussing. i wish i could be truly as "laid back" as i try to seem. how should i explain that mediocrity doesn't sit well with me, and that i don't like participating half-heartedly? i shouldn't. but also i know that was all me. look, i made a new musician friend, but sitting down to play with her she committed two of my biggest musical pet peeves: she played everything too loud and too fast. kind of like when kids blaze through piano sonatinas as quickly as they can with no sensitivity whatsoever. not to say she isn't talented; she is. i guess i just felt it incompatible, and then i couldn't enjoy it. my loss, really.

it really isn't fair of me. i can't compare one year to another. maybe i had unfair expectations. honestly, i don't know what i was thinking. i was hoping it would be— fun. relaxing. it wasn't.

maybe it was just pms. that would make a great excuse. i hope that's it.

unpleasant surprise

nothing like seeing a picture someone else took of you and being reminded how hideous you actually are.

chunky

we've got a chunky blog period coming up. i can feel it.

reoccurrence

i dreamed this morning that i was walking against the wind. it was really hard to get anywhere. i held on lightly to bumps in the windows and walls. a couple of times i lost a lot of ground because i was blown backwards, floating slowly and gently back for several feet. i was more fascinated than frustrated.

that reference seems obvious. that one is easier to talk about than the other one from this morning, where i was looking for two of my pairs of shoes. whenever i found one pair, i had to change shoes and leave the other pair behind for a while, knowing i'd have to come back to get them later. black patent kate spade slingbacks vs. punk diesel poser track shoes. i had to go all over this artists' area of town, in and out of playhouses, teahouses, hotels, the front seat of a brown el camino. i saw people from every sphere of my life, including my ex, who hasn't made a dream appearance in many months, and complete strangers. i got busted by cops who were telling me it was safe to come out and they opened my car door to find me holding the little boy undershirt that i was trying put onto my own shirtless little boy torso. i screamed and nobody understood why. i calmly snuck around alone while something in or near the theatre burned, creating a bizarre haze inside and outside, making the players wave towels around in the air, or just their arms. they let me in on their secret but wanted me to keep it quiet. i attended a bizarre old-fashioned full-coverage granny-nightgown belly dance wherein i guided a tiny little yellow-nightgowned person with a yellow nightcap pulled over her eyes in a wheeled walker ceremoniously and toruturously slowly around the room in a circle. i watched as a random girl who was my friend found something she'd dropped on the sidewalk the night before, her red spangly purse-bag that somehow matched tonight's outfit. i saw my friend d-win with pins in his bloody broken left arm, laughing and crying very loudly at the play he was watching. i searched for my pastor at a hotel where the political convention seemed to impress my accompanying stranger-friends in their cardigan sweater set, skirt/pearls, and suit. there's a lot more i can't recall. all the while i was looking for my shoes, neither frustrated nor tired, just slightly impatient and in wonder at it all. suddenly i realized my slingbacks were in my hand and my diesels on my feet, and i felt perplexed. at least i had friends with me helping me search there at the end. no, more like witnesses.

then, i couldn't find my car.

weekend off

i could see that his lips were blue from across the pool.

surely not. i always think bad things are going to happen. they usually don't.

nonetheless i found myself already halfway there, going as fast as i could, powerwalking so i wouldn't slip and hit my head on the wet surface.

"is he breathing?"

"no."

foam covered his mouth and nose. his eyes were partly open. GCS = 6 for that would have been deceptively high. he wasn't that alive. she was terrified.

"put him on his back."

he really wasn't breathing. sternal rub. nothing.

"okay, fine. wipe his face. two rescue breaths. do it. right now."

i was nervous because his chest didn't rise. after entirely too long, it moved, and his stomach did too. she lifted her head, and more foam bubbled out of his nose. i saw more belly movement.

"good. turn him on his side. recovery position. wipe off his face again."

he breathed deeply and rapidly, in and out really hard. his pulse was thready and rapid, but present. so that's a, b, and c. now what?

does he have any medical problems? seizures? did he hit his head? no one knew. just wait, then. wait. wait.

he was hyperpneic. good, but still unconscious. it seemed a long time before his eyes started moving, flitting about. his arms and hands twitched. he never did cough like they do on tv. pupils were about 5 and 5.

"what's his name?"

wait. wait. WAIT.

i was shouting. "listen to me! squeeze my hand! come on!"

squeeze.

relief. GCS = 10. unclenching of my stomach. wait. wait. wait. wait.

he tried to sit up, flung out an arm, and hollered something in french, staring at nothing in particular. GCS = 13. he trembled. i was still shouting.

"listen to me. you're fine. lay down. we're taking care of you."

stare.

"it's a dream?"

relief. did he just say it was a dream? of course it's all dreamy. your brain just took an anoxic hit and it's waking up.

"no, you're not dreaming. you had trouble in the pool. now squeeze my hand. good. stick out your tongue. good. just wait. wait."

wait. wait. wait. i felt all over his skull, just to be sure.

"you mean this isn't a dream?" GCS = 15.

"no. follow my finger with your eyeballs. good. very good."

"i feel tired."

"that's okay. we're taking care of you. don't be scared. you'll be okay."

it's fine. he's fine. he'll be fine. give him time. call someone, let's get him to a hospital.

she saved his life. i did all the talking, but she pulled him out of the pool and breathed air into his lungs.

she saved his life.

i was just there.

something new

i like what i have in my description box above. it captures the essence of the camobunny as part of the original definition.

wanted to share some things that popped into my head this afternoon that seem as though they'd fit in the box too:

i am the camobunny.
cute.
lethal.

i am the camobunny.
i know how to kill you efficiently.
but i won't.

don't feel threatened; it's just me. why the inspiration? maybe it's the change of seasons. i don't know.

know what i mean?

it's kind of like knowing that you're being stalked, and your stalker doesn't know you know. what do you do? OR your stalker knows you know, and you don't do anything. how's that for status quo?

ever been stalked? then you know what i mean.

you know what else? i had a silly nurse walk me to my car today.

ergonomics

i never thought much about it until last night.

there was this, well, discomfort in my right wrist.

a little achey, a little tingly, a little cold, kind of sick feeling.

finally the discomfort increased until it crossed the threshold, and i noticed it.

i knew immediately exactly what it probably is. i did a quick phalen's and tinel's. nothing yet. but the discomfort is still there. kinda like the one that's been in my left pinky and ring finger for the past five days.

i hope this doesn't mean i have to stop blogging.

people, do as your mother told you. especially those of you who are young; there's still time for you. sit up straight. suck in that tummy to support your back. feet flat on the floor. shoulders back. and get a wrist rest.

doctor's orders.

props

dr. david hathaway.

he studies the sun, man. the sun!

he’s a solar physicist. i just glanced at some of his work, and man, it’s so out there! it’s so far removed from my sphere of thinking it’s wild.

people who talk about his work end up saying cool-sounding things like “solar maximum is here.”

he is in the space foundation hall of fame.

he seems brilliant (all these puns intended). at least, after the quick 10-minute google investigation i performed he does. he also seems to have done all sorts of other crazy smart stuff. like how his technology has been put into night vision cameras in cop cars to help fight crime, making the world a better, safer place. dang.

i mention him now for some work he did back in ’95 that is near and dear to my heart. he is probably too modest to mention it to anyone, but one of his mentees (?what the heck is the word for the opposite of a mentor?) has memorialized this work on his own site. i link you in at this point because i think context is everything; you must see. if you cannot find it right away, scroll to the third mini-section of the screen. click on the familiar picture.

andersen consulting must have purchased it, for i first saw it years ago in one of their adverts— and history was made.

and here he is. i wonder how appalled he’d be if he knew his picture was on some crazy chick’s blog. i wonder if he has this look on his face because he’s been staring into the sun (note strained eyebrows). but perhaps this is artifact from the photo itself.


props, dude. props.

addendum: sir hathaway corrects me. he states the work in question came to fruition at 18:41 on 02/01/1994. isn't this exciting?

at a loss

oh! oh! oh!

i'm so busted, so freakin' busted!

whatever shall i do?!

to dream, perchance to sleep

it's been happening like this for days and days now.

each time i go to bed, i fall asleep and have a remarkably vivid dream.

ten minutes later, the dream takes on a plot twist or a funky ending, and i wake up immediately.

every night and day.

i just want a good night's rest.

re-occurring goatee

at one point i was presented with the question, "what are your dreams usually about?" i didn't think i had a reoccurring motif to my dreams until a couple of days ago.

my dreams are often about a goal i have that i can't quite seem to achieve. usually it's some place i'm trying to go, sometimes it's something i'm trying to get done. many times it involves meeting or helping someone. and in these dreams something keeps coming up that doesn't quite allow me to get there. the situations will change so much as to be, well, you know how dreams are, non-sequitur even. people from unrelated social spheres and times in my life pop in and introduce new plots that twist every which way. somehow i manage to follow along each and every turn, stories and people accumulating, but still in the back of my dream-self's mind i have this small awareness that i still have that task i need to accomplish; i just have all these other, also important things to do first too. sometimes it gets to where i can't remember why i need to do the deed or get to the place, but i always remember that i still need to.

does that make sense? here's an example. the other night i dreamed that i was trying to meet suzanne for lunch. that's because the next day i was actually supposed to meet her for lunch in real life. i set out from a building of some sort on foot. along the way i ran into some college students whom i treated as my old college friends in the dream but in real life i could not name them. they decided to join me; they all wanted lunch. you can walk with me if you want, but i'm eating with suzanne, i announced. friends brought friends. then one steered the group toward another friend's apartment. while i waited somewhere by a low, moss-covered brick wall, i ran into jen, who was a roommate of mine for a brief stint in '96. we needed to catch up because she had had a baby and was pregnant again, belly rounding out her blue and steele blue and slate grey crocheted sweater in a very reasonable manner, at least in my opinion. i was talking to her, thinking that i need to get to suzanne but i need to catch up with jen, and people were asking, "so, where are we going?". i got on the cell phone and called someone else i needed to call. we are eating at castellano's (no such place i know of). it's tapas. and i felt it was somewhere east and south, and i had to drive to get there. but there was a casa gallardo's at the mall, where they all wanted to go (there used to be one in real life, but it closed). it went on.

so that's what i mean. many times i will share the dreams that affect me most with suzanne, who usually assigns a meaning to them. i wouldn't say that i believe in the accuracy of dream interpretation but i am afraid that hers have all been or come true. i have not yet, however, alerted her to the presence of this pattern in my dreams. i don't know that it is a good theme to have.

assessment

he stepped up to our table, interrupting the meat lady (is that the right title?) in the middle of her shpiel that demonstrated the size and shape of the different steaks. we looked up from the tray of raw meat cuts and lobster tails at this busboy, who happened to be the meat lady's roommate and cousin.

"excuse me, i just wanted to say that you ladies are fi-ine!"

fortunately the meat lady thought this was hilarious and just started cracking up. that made it funny instead of freaky.

i suppose we had the right to feel complimented, but it made a small seed of resentment sprout inside me. you see, people of his race have a history of fetishes for people of our race.

whuh-oh. race. i'm not telling you what his race is, nor mine. i'm not going to say anything prejudiced. i am simply making observations, and i try to limit observations to those i have observed directly.

i was at work. he asked, "will your husband have dinner ready for you when you get home?" no. "what, no med school marriage for you?" no. "did you prepare supper before you came?" no, i needed a haircut, so i was at the salon. "i'll bet you spent 2 hours there." no, now that my hair is short it takes very little time to take care of it. "did you cut off a lot of hair?" yes. "see? why? why? anybody'll tell you that men like long hair." (he said it just like that, emphasizing each word separately.) well, did it occur to you that i don't keep my hair according to what men prefer? i am not truly shrewish enough to have said that. "i donated it to kids who can't grow hair of their own."

"oh. well, still." pause.

"what kind of food do you cook? do you cook food from your ethnicity? i mean, uh, culture?"

good grief. i outrank him by many degrees. he may be older than i am by 25 years, but i'm practically his boss. and he is sizing me up like a piece of exotic meat by asking about my domesticity.

AND i didn't even pick up on it until later. i wasn't bothered about it until the next morning, when i realized what he had been doing.

he was assessing my womanhood.

i don't appreciate that. not at all.

is it possible?

sometimes i wonder if it's possible to get dehydrated from the extravasation of excessive amounts of fluid in the form of snot.

nevermind.

and folks, we have a winner.

the winner is—puffintoad! for her correct theory stated on 9/12/05.

suddenly i want to hang out with a group of women. i'm tired of dealing with men tonight.