In Which the Teach is a Bitch

School always caused this great dichotomy:  I hated school, but I was really good at it.  I always had panic attacks when I didn't understand something, which may have led to the hating bit.  But I always took the honors classes, I scored 790 on my math, I was in the top 5%, I dropped calculus because it was dumb.  I preferred the band room, though I was no good at that.

Senior year came around, and I, like many of my other classmates, started the slide into home.  The only real thing I had to accomplish that semester, besides finding a college, was to pass senior English.  No problem, right?

Enter Mrs. Lambert.  All the girls loooovvveeeddd her.  She would giggle with the giggly girls and share make-up tips.  Teacher's pets doesn't even begin to describe this disgusting atrocity.  Anyways, clearly I was not included in this group.  I wasn't a girly-girl.  I didn't even like most girls.  Even most of my girl friends I wasn't terribly fond of.

I started doing very poorly in the class.  I started getting failing marks on my papers.  I could not fail that class.  I needed that class.  I tried and tried and I wasn't doing any better.  One fateful day I decided that I had to stay after class and ask teach exactly what I was doing wrong and how I could fix it.

I believe the girly-girls were still there.  I went up to her desk with my paper in hand and asked what I did wrong and how I can do better next time.

"You are a smart girl, you can figure it out."

"Obviously I cannot figure it out.  I keep getting bad grades, could you just help me out?"

"No, you are smart, just figure it out yourself."

This exchange carried on for what seemed like millenia.  It was probably only a few minutes.  It ended when I started crying.  I grabbed my things, heard the girly whispering, and ran to the bathroom and cried.  I don't like to ask for help.  I like figuring things out for myself, but sometimes I do need help and when I asked for that help I could not get it.

Mrs. Lambert disappointed me.

I did end up passing the class, but barely.

So Very Many Causes

Okay, so should I give you specifics or ask a general question?  What fun would it be without details, right?

It started with this:  Allow Lauren to Stay in College  Basically it is the woman from Love Bomb who needs money to stay in school.  Specifically $4,000.  The link does not state the exact circumstances, assuming there is more than there appears, but it looks like she just doesn't want to work full time and go to school.

People seem to really like her and I really like what Love Bomb does.  (I don't really think it is a non-profit organization, but it is great, nonetheless.)  I posed a question in the forum asking why her?  Why is she so special that she doesn't have to work and go to school?  Why doesn't she just get loans like the rest of us?  Or perhaps only go to school part time?  I expected hate mail and I unfortunately thankfully did not get any.  I did get one person to post some really good answers and as I respect that person's opinion, I disagree.

There are so very many people in need and this is the first time in my life that I have been in a position to donate anything, even if it is a little.

So here is my question for you:  How do you decide who or what cause to donate to? 

Sleeping and Driving

I was reading this post on Blogher today and it was too appropriate.

I have fallen asleep at the wheel before.  We were driving across country and I was told that we would be home for Christmas, even if it meant leaving me.  So despite my exhaustion, I drove on.  And fell asleep.  My sister woke me up just in time, thankfully, but it was really scary.  I really didn't give two shits whether we got home for Christmas or not at that point.  I was sleeping, if that meant them leaving me, so be it.  Everyone was angry.

That was the worst of it.  When I was commuting from Maine to school in New Hampshire to my work in a different part of New Hampshire and back to Maine everyday I got very tired while driving.  I used to pull off to the side of the road almost daily for a quick 20 minute power nap.  It was enough to get me to where I was going.

Sunday was something else, though.  I was very tired and Ryder was asleep in the car.  I was literally drifting off so I took the next exit and began looking for the Dunkin Donuts that was promised by a sign.  I might have just been too out of it to find it, but I circled the rotary three times before getting off at a random exit.  I drove, but could not find the shop.  I decided I could not drive any further.  I parked in a nice residential area on the side of the road, but not directly in front of any one house.  I locked my doors and fell right to sleep.

I think I was asleep for 20-ish minutes when this man knocked on my window.  I put the window down and the man was saying "You need to be careful!  You have a child in the car!  Police come around here - you really need to be careful."  I said that I knew, but I was just so tired. He said "You are lucky it is just me.  The police could have come by and, geez, you have a kid in the car.  You really need to be careful.  Are you okay?"  I said I was, just very tired.  He then asked me for a ride which I said no to.  He continued saying the same things then started to walk off.  When he was a ways off, I zipped out of there.

I didn't know what had just happened.  I was tired confused and now scared.  Had I been doing something wrong?  Did I put my child at risk?  What were my alternatives?  I cried the whole ride home.  I was so very confused.  I am not sure what that man thought I was doing in the car, but I am certain that I was not.

If confronted with the same situation again, I am pretty sure that I will do things exactly the same.

Bitchin'

I don't know if I can do this any more.

Today has been one panic attack after another - or have they all been part of one big one?

My pain is so much worse and I am out of Vicodin.

I get anxiety induced nausea and it was the worst ever this morning when I was in the bathroom, seconds from vomiting and the only thing I could think of was that I cannot puke up my last Vicodin.

Work was terrible for all these reasons plus it was shitty in it's own way.  I do not take to being yelled at lightly.  That woman is fucking lucky she is old, just sayin'.

I am exhausted.  Like Mono exhausted.  It is insane.

I am petrified of surgery Wednesday.  So very scared.  You would think I'd be less scared than last time, now I know what to expect and it is less invasive, but no, I am fucking petrified.

I don't know what to do about Ryder.  He is so tired when he comes home, now that he's back in school.  So tired and so miserable and so am I.

I don't like complaining.  I don't like hearing myself complain.  Writing it down makes me feel better.

Damn Feelings

Sometimes I go weeks without even a passing thought about him.  Then there are times when someone says something, or I look at Ryder a certain way and it reminds me of his father.

I try to be nonchalant about it, like I am totally cool with talking about him.  Like, whatever, he's in the past, I don't care.  But secretly it hurts.

It is hard to describe the feeling.  I obviously still love him, somewhere deep deep deep where I can't see it, but I OBVIOUSLY never want to see him again.  Not even for a moment.  Honestly, the prospect of seeing him scares me.  He is very manipulative.  I never want to doubt myself again.

I guess the feeling I get is nostalgia.  I miss what we had.  I am sad that it didn't work out.

I was always afraid of the label "divorcée" but seriously, I love saying "My ex-husband."  It makes me feel like Elizabeth Taylor or something.

Versatility

Has it really been a week?  And I haven't participated in any carnivals in millennia.  Anyways, a ton of things are happening or have happened and I will no doubt tell you over time.

Meanwhile, in bloggy land, Mel gave me this super sweet award:

So, I am supposed to tell you seven things about myself.  Not sure that there are that many things that I have yet to tell you, but here we go.

1. I have to go back to the operating room.  Nothing major, but hopefully it will end my pain.
2. I just got a passport for the first time in my life.  It's really exciting!
3. I was considering getting Clear since my stolen internet isn't wicked reliable, but I'm not going to.  I was informed that Fios is better. I'll see how badly I want to pay for internet.
4. I am wicked unobservant and have a terrible memory.  
5. Being the best place to be for Halloween you would think that Salem would be the best place to buy a costume.  It is not.  Unless you want to be a witch or a pirate.
6. I have always wanted a marketable skill.  I can knit, but I think the time put into it doesn't really equal the profits.  I started carving my own stamps, but I am still trying to figure out what I can do with that skill.
7. I think I am a supertaster.

Beethoven and Panic Attacks

A lot of people have never had panic attacks, and if you have never had one, it is extremely difficult to understand them.  Something happens inside my mind that I have never been able to describe.  I have often tried to explain it as my thoughts get physically bloated, somehow.  See, that makes no sense.

I was listening to Radiolab, and they were discussing time.  It was fascinating.  To begin and close the program they play excerpts from Beethoven's ninth symphony stretched to 24 hours.  At first I thought it was relaxing, just these beautiful long notes, but then the music starts building.  You are waiting for the climax, waiting, waiting.  Time slows way down while you are waiting for the music to just go over the top of the mountain.  The anticipation kills you.  The music builds and almost physically gets fatter.  You just need the music to climax so that you can relax again and enjoy the notes.  But it takes forever.

This is sorta what my panic attacks feel like.

Conversations With a Toddler Part 3

Ryder:  I'm hungry.

Me:  I know.  I ordered pizza, it's gonna be delivered.

Ryder:  On a mail truck?

Me:  Yeah, I mean, sorta.

Let's Not Burn the Qur'an

Got time to send this guy a quick email?  Apparently he is planning on burning the Qur'an on 9/11.  He has been getting death threats from around the world and has taken to carrying a gun.  A US General has asked the church not to do this because it could spark world violence.  I sent him a quick email here.  Here is what I said:

I know that many people are urging you not to burn the Qur'an, but I'd like to let you know that I, too, urge you not to.

I am an atheist, but I still respect other people's holy texts. I would no more support burning the Qur'an than support burning the bible. I see that as one in the same. I understand that you do not, but I would just like you to think about what you would do if the Muslim community took to burning bibles.

I know that many people have killed in the name of Allah, but need I remind you how many have killed in the name of Christ? I sincerely hope you reconsider your plans.

I Cry

I cry because I am depressed.
I cry because I am having a panic attack.
I cry because I am in pain.
I cry because I do not know what is causing that pain.
I cry because I have not taken pain killers because my mom makes me feel like a drug addict when I do.
I cry because I had surgery that fixed nothing.
I cry because I am going to have my IUD out.
I cry because I never got to use it.
I cry because I am afraid.
I cry because doctors don't seem to understand pain.
I cry because I do not explain my pain properly.
I cry because I am tired.
I cry because I am missing work.
I cry because I have to work.
I cry because I hate my life.
I cry because I have no good reason to hate my life.
I cry because I don't even have any real problems, yet they seem overwhelming.
I cry because I feel weak.

A Study in Yellow

One Day.  One Collection of Yellow.

Back Home

Hi my lovelies.

Thanks for all the well wishes!  They are all much appreciated.  It's really nice to see how much help I can get when I need it.  I feel blessed.

The surgery was fine.  They cyst had apparently resolved itself and that makes me feel really dumb.  I mean, I know I wasn't faking being in pain and there was really a cyst there, I just feel dumb all the same.  It is what it is. Some stuff was sent off to the lab, though, just to check things out.

So, I'm just chillaxing, reading, watching some tv, and playing on facebook for a few days.  Hopefully I will be fully recovered so that I can do the 13.1 mile Jimmy Fund Walk next weekend.  But I won't push it.

And in case you were worried about any TMI I won't be taking pictures of my scars.  ;)

Oh, and thanks so much to Mel - she is too sweet!