Swag

One of the best things about being sick (besides the week off work – did I mention that I got a week off work?) has been all the fabulous prizes I've won.

People are really, really nice when you get sick. I don't know if it would have occurred to me to be so thoughtful for something "minor" like an appendectomy (that is, it's minor if it happens to someone else, but TOTALLY LIFE-CHANGING HORRIBLE SHOCKING OMIGOD THE TRAAAAGEDY when it happens to me). But now that I know how great and special it made me feel, I will definitely bring on the goods.

Even the hospital sent me off with wonderful parting gifts. True, said gifts consisted of such things as little molded plastic basins that, though never used, are doubtful to be welcomed in my home as an alternative fruit basket. I was still thrilled to take them.

(At right, a lovely bouquet from C and K.)

If I Lived in 1492, I'd Be Dead

Alternate title: "I Didn't Go to Work This Week"

I decided it would be more fun to get appendicitis and have emergency surgery.

And I've gotta say...whoo boy, it totally was. I highly, highly recommend the appendicitis. It is the most exquisite illness in the world. Serious enough to get yourself a nice, long, guilt-free vacation from work; not so serious that your life is really in any appreciable danger.

It was all a very weird experience. I've never really been sick in my life – I usually don't even get colds (something I chalk up to my OCD-inspired hand washing, but hey, whatever works). Lately, though, I think I've just been working so hard and getting so little sleep that it's like my immune system just suddenly crumbled. I had the plague (well, okay, a bad cold), and then immediately after that I had this. I think my body just finally demanded a nice little break.

So, this was my first time in the hospital. I may not have mentioned it before, but I have doctor phobia. As a result, it took a lot before I finally worked up the courage to go to the ER. After all that, though, I think my phobia may be cured. I really loved the hospital. I mean, it was the most fabulous resort experience I've had in a while.

I'm all set to go on many many more visits to doctors. I believe, in fact, that I shall develop hypochondria, since this has all been so enjoyable. Doctors were great, hospital was great, pain medication was great (lest you think otherwise, I should point out that, in the interest of preserving my supply of hard-earned painkillers as long as possible, I have not taken any today). And week off work – beautiful!

I will probably go back to work next week, though maybe not Monday...will have to see how I feel.

The only downside is that this means the unfortunate demise of my 15th century counterpart. Am I the only one who plays that game? Basically, the question is, "Would I still be alive in a time before modern medicine?" No fair considering probable realities like death from a now-inoculable disease like scarlet fever or dying in childbirth at 15 or being trampled to death by a jousting-enraged horse. It has to be based purely on what happens to you today.

I think I had a pretty good run, but alas, surely the appendicitis would have done me in. R.I.P., medieval me.

How to Save a Screen

I have a new laptop. It's very pretty and fun. Vista and new Word kind of suck, but I'm probably just grumpy because they're so different that I'm having trouble getting used to them.

One thing that's driving me crazy is that I just cannot figure out how to get the screen saver to work. I have it set to run, I've checked all the power settings to ensure it hasn't somehow been disabled that way....but no screen saver. Any tips? Is there something weird about screen savers in Vista that I'm not getting?

Blast from the Past

I have the plague and am too pooped to post, hence another one of these.

The explanation.

~~~~

A Million Little Pieces
Originally posted Oct. 12, 2006

Hi. My name is _____, and I'm a recovering addict.

I've been clean for five months. I thought for sure I'd never go back, but then this week I cracked and gave in to the urge that haunts my every waking moment.

------

Like so many other things, I blame it all on law school. Law school is where I got hooked on the stuff, actually.

They first offered it to me during orientation, before I'd attended a single class. "First one's free," they cajoled. "Everyone loves it." I demurred. I was too smart for them, too wise to their ways to be drawn in.

But law school is hard, especially the first year. A few weeks in, you're so desperate for an escape, something to take your mind away from the pain.

When they offered it to me again, I accepted.

------

I'm talking, of course, about legal research points. Oh, the sweet shameful delight of legal research points! Westlaw! Lexis! Each one better than the other! Gorgeous beautiful shiny pretty points you can use to get stuff! For free! FREE STUFF!!!

My addiction started out as nothing more than an infrequent diversion. Oh, sure, I'd click on the sites, every now and then. It was nice to watch the points rack up.

But then I started using the points to get the free stuff. Ohhhh, it was gooooooood, so very very good.

Next thing I knew, the points had consumed my life. Had I logged in that day? Must log in every day! I was a legally inclined Cinderella, dreading the midnight hour that marked the end of each day's point-earning opportunity.

And then I hit rock bottom. Online tutorials. Certification classes. Super Bowl quizzes. There was no limit to the depraved depths I would go to get my high, no debasement too degrading. I was a slave to my addiction, to the custom bikes and rollerblades and designer purses that teetered precariously in an ever-growing pile of ill-gotten goods.

It would have gone on forever, but then, just like that, they cut me off cold-turkey.

Slowly, surely, I began to live again. I stopped jerking awake each night from dreams that I had forgotten to earn my daily points. I began to forget the rush I felt when the doorbell would ring and I would receive the coveted box of point-purchased prizes, began to forget the musty-redolent bouquet that wafted up from the cardboard and made my mouth water.

------

And then, then, those bastards had to go and start the "rewards" program for associates. A jolt ran through my body when they told me, and I experienced something like dread that quickly morphed into a piercing craving so sweet it made my teeth hurt.

I took the glossy brochure that contained my 1000 introductory bonus points, trying to project a nonchalant demeanor, though inside I was hooting with joy.

I exited at a walk, but as soon as I was out of sight I broke into a sprint, urged on by my lust for the impending ecstasy.

I logged on to the site with shaking hands. It was at once foreign and yet so familiar, a homecoming long awaited but never expected.

And then...there! My 1000 points! Oooooh, the gooey orgasmic BLISS of it all! Maybe I'd get the Kate Spade purse this time, or maybe a giant grill, or maybe the diamond necklace, or... My mind raced with the possibilities, a whole universe of possibilities ripe for the taking just when I thought the door was closed to me forever!

------

And that's how they get you, my friends. Because they got me, oh yes, they got me.

I can only get more points by performing 10 searches per week. Ten searches billed to clients for a weekly total of anywhere between $70 to $1000, ten searches that will never, ever happen because I never, ever research.

Fuckers.

And It Only Took Me a Decade

I finally finished reading The Canterbury Tales, purchased for high school English IV. My cheap paperback copy is yellowed with age; it looks like it actually is from the Middle Ages. It feels like I have been reading it since the Middle Ages.

It's kind of a relief. That book has followed me for years, taunting me, demanding to be read, tormenting me everywhere I went. It accompanied me from my parents' house to my first apartment...and to the second apartment I moved into three weeks later when it turned out the first apartment was a crime-ridden, death-courting cesspool...and then back to my parents' house...and then to the next apartment...and then back to my parents' house...and finally to my current house. My parents thought they would never be rid of me; I thought I would never be rid of that accursed book. It was a millstone around my neck. Inescapable. Omnipresent.

It haunted my dreams.

Ironically, I actually finished it in my parents' house. Perhaps the book wished for its journey to end where it first began. Though in truth, I never actually had read beyond the first couple of pages, until I read it all at once. I know it's a great work of literature and all...it's just...it's, um, boring.

As for my English class, I'm still trying to figure out what the purpose of that was. We focused for weeks and maybe even months on the prologue, analyzing every word and every nuance and researching all the great contextual meaning that is hidden to us but supposedly would have been so clear to a reader of its time. At some point, I figure, a book has lost all its value except as a historical artifact if you can't appreciate even a quarter of its content it without extensive research. After all of that, I guess I knew all about how utterly scandalous the Prioress was. But gosh, since we never got beyond the prologue, there was still an entire book that I knew nothing about.

And now I do.

Eh. I could have done without it. At least it's finally done and gone.

So I've started a new book. Uncle Tom's Cabin. It bears a sticker indicating that it was purchased from a small family-owned bookstore...that was run out of business by the big boxes, oh, sometime around 1996.

Thus continues my tour o' literature a la death march....

I Went to Work Today

It is overrated.

I Didn't Go to Work Today. Again.

My car told me this:


After it stopped wanting to go. On the highway.

Fortunately I was able to get it to eke out those last few miles to the next exit, even though the car wouldn't go faster than 10 mph. I had my hazard lights on and was in the right lane, but everyone decided I was driving so slow because I am insane and they were all really really mean to me.

I pulled over here and waited for the tow truck as the rain poured down. A homeowner walked around the car sweeping the rain with a broom. I think he might really be insane, but maybe he had his reasons, just like I did with my 10 mph.

I Didn't Go to Work Today

But not for lack of trying:



(The black bars are for the purpose of removing identifying info, not because the wheel was lewdly attired.)

Dude, Where's My Door?

My front door is nice and all, but sometimes it is frustrating in that it falls short in certain areas. Such as functioning as a front door. It's rotting and doesn't quite fit in the frame anymore. There's a gap at the bottom that lets leaves and bugs blow in, which no matter how often I vacuum makes me look like a slob. I think a nice hard kick would easily break it open. Even a soft kick. A gentle breeze, perhaps.

Well, as I mentioned I am renovating, and this clearly needs to be addressed sooner rather than later. For the last month I have searched and searched for a door. And searched and searched. And then I searched some more.

And just when I think that maybe this is it, maybe I will actually really truly get to buy me a door, something happens to foil me. I can't believe it. People, I am here. I have money I want to spend. Lots and lots of money. Please, somebody, take my money.

Home Depot doesn't care. Lowe's doesn't care. And...um...I don't know of any other place to buy a door that doesn't cost $10,000. But if I did, I'm sure they wouldn't care either. It's like pulling teeth to get anyone to so much as call me back.

I don't get what the problem is. My door is a fairly standard 30" wide, 80" tall. I would like fiberglass, as obviously the wood is bad in that it rots and steel is bad in that it looks cheap. And I would like it stained a lovely, rich, dark reddish-brown color. Is that asking so much? IS IT????? Apparently.

I finally thought I had found it at Lowe's, where a guy named Fred took my sheet of paper with the measurements on it and worked up the perfect door for me. It kind of looks like this, except in the mahogany stain. Fred was a little bit weird. He greeted me by asking, "Am I bleeding?" Err...nooooo. "Really? Because my head was bleeding earlier. A lot. It still feels weird. I don't remember how it happened." Um. "But I can't tell customers about that because it would freak them out." Uh-huh. I'm a customer. But I didn't say that to him and instead offered my bland sympathies. Since I'm really desperate to give somebody somewhere LOTS OF MONEY.

So Lowe's sent out their measuring guy, and I told Fred I would buy the door and was all set to stop by and sign the contract. Then Fred calls and tells me that the door I chose did not come in my size. The door we worked up was based on incorrect measurements.

I was really ticked about having measured improperly...until I looked at the sheet of measurements I had given Fred. They were right. He's the one who messed it up when he was inputting the info into the computer. I guess an unexplained head wound will do that to you.

Summer of My Discontent

It's official. Summer is over. It may not feel like fall; it may not look like fall – but the calendar says "September," and that's good enough for me.

I celebrated by going to Overpriced Craft Store and buying Overpriced Autumnal Decor. It's totally cheap if you buy the components and make your OWN autumnal decor, but pleeeeze...what do I look like? So I paid the price and plunked it on my dining room table and it looks totally pretty.

Other than that, I guess I'm doing okay. This summer was tough, as you know. I'm still feeling disillusioned about work and particularly bummed since I DIDN'T win the lottery last night even though I think I really really deserved to. And I spent a good part of it worrying over That Bad Thing I Hoped Wouldn't Happen But Could Very Likely Have Happened...but which thankfully didn't happen. And it could have totally screwed me over at work if it had, so you'd think I'd be more grateful about work since it DIDN'T, but being human and irrational, it really doesn't. Of course, it could still happen, though I think more likely not at this stage. Whew.

All in all, it was a great relief to see the calendar turn over to September. I've been so exhausted lately...bad attitude all around, struggling to shove it down inside so no one notices and then feeling completely overwhelmed with emotion and stress each evening when I get home that I take it out on people who don't deserve it.

I left work early on Friday to go to a conveniently scheduled doctor's appointment, then spent all evening hanging out with little A. She left and I went to sleep, and then I slept and I slept and had dream after dream about oversleeping for work and for class and for other important things, but it didn't matter. I finally got up at 5 in the evening and felt...drained. Like I'd been in a coma for a month instead of asleep for 17 hours. But I also felt really good and, for once in my life, like I didn't want to climb right back into bed.

I think I needed it, and it's been good. I'm hopeful that the fall – and my SECOND year of legal practice – will be better. I think maybe yes to the first and no way to the second. I'm considering my options going forward, since I don't see that this state is sustainable. I've resolved to fix up my home so it's great for resale or for me to stay in without needing to make changes, and if I can manage that, I will try to pay it off, and if I can manage that, I will work on increasing my savings....until eventually I just can't manage it anymore, and then I will do something else. I think I can, at a minimum, make it through year #2, and then we'll see where that takes me.