Try and outdo this nightmare.

I had a wonderful dream last night, she said in a completely sarcastic way.

Didn't read my book so I wouldn't have more dreams about mountaineering, so instead I dreamed that a guy I was living with was cheating on me, only this time I was raising four of his kids. Then I was trying to figure out- wasn't there a big dog? No wait, that wasn't a dog, that was a lion. The guy had a full grown lion living in his house. He swore it was sweet, but I just spent my time waiting for to eat someone. What a restful night.

Book Review (Or: Oh, Was I Supposed to Be Doing Something?)

Tomorrow I am going to talk to this year's apprentice class about writing.  I have a lot that I would like to say in a concise manner, which means I need to be practicing and editing, but so far this evening I have been unable.  What could possibly keep me from preparing for such a neat and fun opportunity?  A book.

I suppose that's appropriate, but JEEE-ZUS, what a book.  Into Thin Air, by Jon Krakauer.  Go buy it, because you can't have mine.  I'm not even done with it yet, and it's already in my top ten favorites EVER.  I have been having terrifying dreams all night long about this book for several days, but oh my god, is it worth it.  There is a big difference between researching and writing about an event and actually living through it.  I had some idea about what happened- I'd seen some survival show, did some Wikipedia-ing (which is where I learned of this book, I think), and even watched a movie about it (which I do not recommend).  I suggest that you read nothing of it before you read this book.  I have been a fan of disaster stories for... ever, and perhaps some of you are not because they are so intense and scary, but I occasionally read historical fiction and science fiction and Shakespeare and instructional manuals, so you can read one killer (sorry) disaster book.Seriously- I finally located my bookmark on the floor where I dropped it and realized I hadn't stopped reading through a half hour dog walk, emptying the dishwasher, and making dinner.  I burned my fingers carrying the garlic toast rather than putting the book down to find a plate.

I need to get some thoughts out so I can feed my animals and get my talk out of the way so I can read more.  Seriously- I finally located my bookmark on the floor where I dropped it and realized I hadn't stopped reading since I got home- through a half hour dog walk, emptying the dishwasher, making dinner, and eating it.  I burned my fingers carrying the garlic toast rather than putting the book down long enough to find a plate.

Krakauer reaches the summit, but notes that "...the summit was really only the halfway point."
The summit is reached halfway through the book, and I love that physical connection.  I'm struck by that in an uncoincidental way, but also because 1) this clearly indicates that it will not be a quick descent and 2) isn't the summit always just the halfway point?  I always think about this in terms of a musician's rise to fame- they didn't start there, and they won't end there.

Also, there are two major life lessons not meted out, but evidenced.  One is that in the end and along the way, no one else is ultimately responsible for your safety, no matter who or how much you pay.  In situations that are no one's and everyone's fault, you may have to do all kinds of crazy things that you did not sign up for just to get out alive.  If you are extremely fortunate, you may have help, which is why the other lesson in here is about morality.  History will judge you by your humanity, not your accomplishments.  That sounds all cheesy and philosophical, but as you read about these very real life examples, you will be hard-pressed to disagree.

Not today, sorry.

Good grief.  I really don't think that I will ever be able to understand my stress level.  John told my boss about my dad's diagnosis and they were both standing there marveling at its rarity.  Then I was telling them that my dad was told it could be an auto-immune problem, which led us to mine, and my boss just pointed out to me that my thyroid problem may not be as well sorted out as originally thought, especially if I'm tired all the time.  I tend to assign blame to myself: I'm tired because I don't eat well enough, I'm tired because I don't get enough exercise.  I think these things are probably true, and certainly wouldn't hurt to improve, but she was saying that there is recent research that indicates more specific tests are needed to show what's actually working, and my doctor said yesterday that my ever-present shin rash could be a problem from the thyroid medicine.  GREAT.  John said we'd put in a note tomorrow to my endocrinologist.  There are benefits to working with nurses.

Right now I'm struggling with the fact that I have been craving Nevada Gold since I wrote my beer blog, and I really want to go have one after work, but I do not want their delicious, rich food.  I can't just have a beer.  And I really need to go do laundry anyway.  Poo.

Two bottles of beer on the wall

I have been drinking Coors Light for years.  It used to be a rare indulgence, but ever since the Great Emotional Train Wreck of 2012, there has constantly been beer in my fridge.  A few months ago, I asked Shannon (my favorite beer expert) what one might graduate to from "piss beer," as it's affectionately known in the beer world.  She made a couple suggestions and I did buy a different beer on that particular shopping trip, then went right back to my safety.

It's not that I won't drink anything else.  I have found other beers I liked, such as Great Basin's Nevada Gold.  I like to think of this as a huge step in legitimate beer.  Coors Light has been a safe bet for a long time in terms of cost, taste, and carb count, but after a recent discussion with the dietitian, I think I can explore a bit more.  I'm uninterested in wine, and while Southern Comfort and I shared many an interesting night, I am trying to be a good diabetic and she is a bad influence.

Tonight I bought Sam Adams' Boston Lager.  I think this was one that Shannon suggested, but I'll have to double check with her.  I know it was some Sam Adams beer.  I was told a while ago that my Coors Light problem means I like lagers, which would explain why I hate every pale ale I try.  I don't know that I will hate them forever, and like with Yorkshire Pudding, I will continue to try.

What I find interesting about my purchase is how it represents the way I incorporate change.  I was just strolling along through the grocery store, thinking about buying some beer and just like that, I was done with Coors Light.  I had asked questions some months before, had sampled other beers almost unintentionally, but there was never a conscious decision to switch.  I could have guessed that I was interested in a change, but there was no decision- it just happened.  Now, I could go back and revert to the old standard, but while I'm sure I will taste Coors Light again, I do feel like it will not be my preference.

There are a lot of things like this in my life: really comfortable habits that I continue on autopilot, but I feel really optimistic when something like this happens.  It makes me feel like I am not stuck, like my life will not look the same in ten, five, or even one year from now.  It makes me happy that I can surprise myself.  I keep thinking about how much I love my apartment and how I don't want to leave it, but it is a fact that I will leave it eventually, and it is also true that it will not always meet my needs so perfectly.

Way back when I was 13, I went with Amy to visit her dad in California.  Amy's grandmother made a dinner one night that was so tasty, we asked for seconds.  Her grandmother asked us why we thought we needed more just because it tasted good.  That stumped me.  It seemed so obvious why we wanted more, but I have been mulling over that question for... how old am I now?  I still can't say why, but I do know that leaving on a good note is a learned skill.  I just had that lesson reconfirmed yesterday when I out-sushied myself.  One more roll... was I insane?  No more sushi without several people to share it with.

So Jennyway... I am pleased with myself at the moment.  My apartment is clean and cozy, I have a small veggie lasagna in the oven, and I actually needed a bottle opener to drink my beer!  It's a little intense, but good, and that's pretty much how I'd like to describe my life, so I guess I tonight is about making a toast to other surprises to come.  Cheers.

But I'll sleep good now.

Explain to me why it feels like you're present and aware of what's happening in your own life, but
suddenly you find yourself a teary mess because 1) things are all fucked up and 2) you're still being an asshole about it?


Let's review.

Monday: According to my weekday board, that was just errands and stress about the looming deadline for applying for a job that I wasn't sure I wanted or was qualified for.  I might do really well at the last minute, but the stress of procrastination makes me fraught with anxiety.

Tuesday: Well, I'll just walk Riley first.  Let me eat dinner.  Oh, I should start some laundry.  But I forced myself- turned on the timer and made myself apply!  Every half hour I got a ten minute break to do chores, then back to work.  Finally, at the last possible moment (accounting for Eastern Standard Time), I hit the submit button.

Wednesday: Somewhere around 7:30 am, I get the following text from Dad's girlfriend:

"Hi Jenny. I'm here with your dad at the hospital. He's having a back problem that is causing numbness all up and down his left leg and buttock. He's probably going to have surgery today but we'll know more in a little bit. Will you please let Tracy know as well? I will keep you updated as we have news."

WTF, right?  I won't make you read through the rest of this to find out that he has not had surgery and is supposedly going to be ok as of 9pm tonight.

They waited all damn day to see the neurologist and spine specialist, got lots of imaging that didn't show anything other than a possibly ruptured disc.  They say that is not enough to cause the extent of pain and numbness he is having.

People want to know if I'm going to San Diego.  I don't know enough to answer that question.  If he's having surgery, then probably yes.

I have to go meet my Craigslist appointment to sell the TV, have to find an address, drive like an idiot, have my Craigslist buddy in place (Tracy), but the guy is actually very nice, running a reasonably busy restaurant, and gives me free food.  I complain to Mom about the Dad situation and probably a lot of other things, too.  Oh, and whatever point in here where the dryer breaks... with my wet clothes in it.

Thursday: Dad has a lumbar puncture (UUUGGHHHHHHHH) to rule out any viral or bacterial infections.  Fluid is clear, results are clear, only slightly elevated proteins which as supposedly still within a totally normal range.  It's looking plain to me that this is what Dad keeps telling me he thinks it is- a pinched nerve.  I spend Thursday evening yelling at various loved ones about the doctors at this "fabulous" hospital and how they all think they're on House, solving some medical mystery.  Actually, that's how I spent part of Wednesday, most of Thursday, and a good portion of today.  Oh, and Thursday I went to Zumba.

Friday: Fasting lab at the VA.  I only remembered that around 9 last night, and I had only eaten cheese and crackers before Zumba, so suddenly I'm starving and already supposed to be fasting.  I eat a hearty, protein-laden snack and calculate carefully to make sure I don't crash.  I wake up teetering at 70- too low to make it without food.  I drink some apple juice and drive to get my blood drawn.  At the lab, they hand me a cup and I realize I have forgotten to hold onto some pee.  I do my best and get about a tablespoon.  Well, I can't turn that in.  And now I've already peed in it.  What do I do now?  Can you save the cup to pee in at a later date?  Is this thing recyclable?

Ok well, on to work and my deteriorating patience with my foot-in-the-door job.  I can't understand why I am so unable to play along these days.  I took this emotional intelligence assessment a while ago and was hurt and surprised to see that I didn't score very well.  I told Mom that I tend to rate myself low and there was a possibility that I had room for improvement.  (How DID she keep from laughing?)  Over the last few weeks, I have been realizing that my results are actually right on, and I am actually an asshole.

Ok, well maybe I'm just an asshole right now.  It makes sense, suddenly, that I have been in a terrible, intolerant, pissy mood.  Oh and somewhere in the middle of the mess of this week, I found out the the job I wanted, the one processing disability claims that was NOT at the hospital, the one I have been wishing for since I moved here, the one that would have immediately and permanently improved my financial situation, the one that would have provided me an all-expense-paid month-long visit to the East Coast, the one that I toured and found perfectly matched my poorly drawn view of where I wanted to be... is not being filled right now.  There's good news there- they didn't say no to me specifically, and they are going to have to fill those positions at some point, but I only just now realized that that chunk of seriously disheartening information might have put a little damper on things.  But no wonder I didn't figure that out right away, seeing as how my dad is in the hospital.

We talked tonight, and he told me that the neurologist seems mostly convinced that what he's dealing with is Guillain–Barré syndrome, which we will refer to from here on out as GBS.

Wait, what?

No, that's viral, and all that was ruled out yesterday, right?  Oh well, TODAY the specialist technician guy with the nerve mapping machine finally showed up and that's where this sort-of, we-suspect-so diagnosis came in, but they're trying to confirm it with some other test blah blah...

Well, now I'm mad.  Don't you think this nerve mapping (that's my term for it, you can imagine what it really is) would come BEFORE sticking a needle into somebody's spine?

Oh, well they have to rule out all the possibilities, blah blah...

Great, that's fine, but why didn't this test come first?

Oh, well the guy sees patients all over the hospital, blah blah...

Ok, so people with chronic, diagnosed conditions come before the guy with ascending paralysis?  This smells like utter bullshit to me, but this is when a nurse came in to test his blood sugar, and he started telling me about what wonderful doctors and nurses and state-of-the-art technology they have there.  I don't blame him- have you ever had a nurse do a finger stick?

And honestly, he swears that this place is awesome, so I guess I'll have to trust that.  I think that spinal tap was bullshit, though.  Wouldn't that have been the confirming diagnostic test?  Whatever.  The good news is that the numbness is not ascending any further and he's regaining feeling in his leg.  They think they might be able to let him go Monday or Tuesday, but he'll need physical therapy.  He should return to normal.

After I talked with Dad, I felt very upset and angry.  It's very good news- better than a pinched nerve, even, because this is solvable and they apparently put him on the intravenous immunoglobulins fast enough.  No back surgery, no epidurals, no years of incurable back pain.  I'm angry because yesterday we were out of the viral woods, and today we suddenly live there.  I'm also angry because I'm an asshole, and was convinced that this was something much different.  I guess there's still some chance of that, and I was operating on the information I had.  For example, neither of them told me what was going into that IV.  It seems to me that if the doctors really suspected GBS early on, they either didn't tell Dad or he didn't tell me.  But this is the flow of information in a situation like this, and he's trying to update several people while on morphine.

I'm glad I only ran my mouth to people who understood I was angry and let me vent.  One of those was Elaine.  I updated her tonight and as I talked, I realized why I have been feeling like such a grumpy asshole this week.  When I told her I needed to go write, she said:

"Ok, honey.  Don't get writer's cramp."

"That's ok," I said.  "I deserve it."

Soft Pretzel

So important that it made the list twice.

LAAAUUUGGGHHHHndry

The dryer in my building is busted AGAINAARRRRGGGHHHH.  Worked fine Tuesday night, when I was washing easy things to dry, like socks and underwear.  It was a test run.  So what gives, dryer, when I go to wash my jeans?  I called the outside maintenance company myself this time, and totally refrained from saying snotty things like, "How about you actually fix it this time?"  God, what an asshole.  Can you imagine?  I get all rage filled sometimes.  I had another test run, this time for the conversation when calling in the work order.  I got all my nastiness out and reminded myself that this is a minor inconvenience, and I regularly waste more money than I lost to the dryer.  I used my experience in my job to remind myself to keep it brief, relevant, and unaccusatory.  Snide-free.  I was mostly good, I'm happy to report.  Still need some practice, though.  You know how brief and relevant I can be, ha ha.  Also, people in call centers do not find your jokes about things not working to be funny.  I already know this, and was totally unable to help myself.  Jenny the Jerk.

I just applied for a job that would require me to be reasonably computer savvy, so I'm pretty sure I'll have to abandon my practice of slamming the mouse around and crying when the computer doesn't work.  I haven't actually cried over it in a while, but it has been known to happen.  Oh my.  My work computer slows down like crazy and thinks really hard around the same time every day.  What a great opportunity to practice reacting like a sane person, huh?  Such zen does not yet exist in my world.