I am experiencing some moderate back pain. It's something that I've had before but not quite to this extent, since typically it tapers off after a couple days and this is currently my 3rd week and counting.
It's lower back pain, and off to one side and bad enough my husband made me see the doctor about it. Which was a hassle for the most part, but I did it because seeing me miserable was making him miserable, and I don't like for him to be unhappy. And the doctor gave me meds for it :)
Anyway, that's not really the story here. The story is that I think this is all in my head. For the past 6 months work has been a nightmare. From the pharmacy manager quiting to two lead technicians quitting to the more tolerable pharmacist quitting it's gotten to be a more than a little hectic.
After months of pharmacists-on-the-go and management being temporarily taken over by not the most organized of pharmacists we finally got a new manager . . . and that's when things started really getting bad.
What I'm saying is, I dread going to work. I hate it. I go and I'm mad about how crazy and stupid things are and then I come home and obsess about how crazy and stupid things were. My dreams are filled with scheduling nightmares and insurance company phone calls, and once images of our disorderly file box exploding from the volume of unsorted papers being stuffed into it.
But here's the kicker, yesterday, my back didn't hurt a bit. It was one of my days off, and I was just enjoying spending time with my hubby. Then about 5pm rolled around and I started thinking about the next day and every so slightly my back twinged a little, that twinge gradually grew into a steady dull ache, and by this morning it was back to it's lovely stabbing pain at any twist, turn, or bend.
I just don't think I should have to deal with both the crappy work situation and a sore back. And since the back doesn't seem to be going anywhere . . .
Friday, September 24, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Stumbling Block
Yesterday, I mentioned something to my husband about it being September 11th. He responded with "so? all that 'never forget' crap is just stupid," which kind of startled me at first, but then really got me thinking about things.
Once I got over the initial "what??" moment of his comment, it actually kind of made sense. What exactly are we remembering?
Are we striving not to forget the people that died that day? Or are we dwelling on the violent, hateful, evil act that caused all those deaths? When we think about that day to we remember the images of the planes crashing into the buildings, or do we think about the courage of the people on Flight 93 that attempted to and, at least in part, succeeded to thwart the terrorists plans? It seems that generally the focus is a negative one.
I believe that in most situations, our inability to move on only serves to handicap us. When someone offends us, focusing on the slight only makes us unhappy and spiteful. And obsessing over something we have no control over will only make us crazy. Though this was an intentional act meant to strike us to our core, it is not that different. Our negative focus has only served to create an abundance of misplaced distrust and even hatred of a culture and system of beliefs, who are likely just as horrified by the actions of the extremist groups that are truly to blame. Dwelling on the past only makes it easier to stumble and fall because we aren't looking where we are headed; to the future.
Once I got over the initial "what??" moment of his comment, it actually kind of made sense. What exactly are we remembering?
Are we striving not to forget the people that died that day? Or are we dwelling on the violent, hateful, evil act that caused all those deaths? When we think about that day to we remember the images of the planes crashing into the buildings, or do we think about the courage of the people on Flight 93 that attempted to and, at least in part, succeeded to thwart the terrorists plans? It seems that generally the focus is a negative one.
I believe that in most situations, our inability to move on only serves to handicap us. When someone offends us, focusing on the slight only makes us unhappy and spiteful. And obsessing over something we have no control over will only make us crazy. Though this was an intentional act meant to strike us to our core, it is not that different. Our negative focus has only served to create an abundance of misplaced distrust and even hatred of a culture and system of beliefs, who are likely just as horrified by the actions of the extremist groups that are truly to blame. Dwelling on the past only makes it easier to stumble and fall because we aren't looking where we are headed; to the future.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Dark Secrets
I collect dark secrets.
Not my own of course. That would be weird, I mean, how many dark secrets can one person have? When that person is me, not very many. What I'm talking about ties into this post that I wrote over two years ago. Apparently, in addition to asking me for advice about various subjects, people also like to tell me their dark secrets.
I know so much about people it's scary. I fear for my life. One of these days someone is going to do something really bad and then tell me and then they are going to change their mind about wanting me to know it. And then I'll have to make a break for it. Because even though I've taken self-defense classes twice, I know that I would lose in a fight against most people. Especially if they are someone I care about in any way. I would tell you where I plan on escaping to, but then I'd have to come up with a whole new plan because you'll know exactly where to look for me.
I have a talent for attracting confessions of past misdeeds. Or just plain regular lesser known details of people's lives. In fact, telling people that I have this bizarre gift seems to inspire more dark confessions. I don't know what to do. I should write a book. "Eris Tells All: a collection of unknown facts of the people around me" by Eris, Goddess of Discord. I could make millions! bwahahaha!
Ok, so probably not. Sorry, but even if I had the time and the guts to put together such a book, I don't think people would really be interested in buying it. Someone spilling someone else's secrets just brings to mind the tabloids at the check-out counter. Most of it could be denied. I have no proof about most of these things. Nothing would hold up in court. It's much more entertaining when someone decides to spill all about their own hidden lives. And in all honesty, there's not much I could write about on that.
How would that even go?
I ate those Hershey bars that you put in the freezer mom. Years ago. Matt helped me. Sorry Matt, but I'm not going down alone on this one.
Not my own of course. That would be weird, I mean, how many dark secrets can one person have? When that person is me, not very many. What I'm talking about ties into this post that I wrote over two years ago. Apparently, in addition to asking me for advice about various subjects, people also like to tell me their dark secrets.
I know so much about people it's scary. I fear for my life. One of these days someone is going to do something really bad and then tell me and then they are going to change their mind about wanting me to know it. And then I'll have to make a break for it. Because even though I've taken self-defense classes twice, I know that I would lose in a fight against most people. Especially if they are someone I care about in any way. I would tell you where I plan on escaping to, but then I'd have to come up with a whole new plan because you'll know exactly where to look for me.
I have a talent for attracting confessions of past misdeeds. Or just plain regular lesser known details of people's lives. In fact, telling people that I have this bizarre gift seems to inspire more dark confessions. I don't know what to do. I should write a book. "Eris Tells All: a collection of unknown facts of the people around me" by Eris, Goddess of Discord. I could make millions! bwahahaha!
Ok, so probably not. Sorry, but even if I had the time and the guts to put together such a book, I don't think people would really be interested in buying it. Someone spilling someone else's secrets just brings to mind the tabloids at the check-out counter. Most of it could be denied. I have no proof about most of these things. Nothing would hold up in court. It's much more entertaining when someone decides to spill all about their own hidden lives. And in all honesty, there's not much I could write about on that.
How would that even go?
I ate those Hershey bars that you put in the freezer mom. Years ago. Matt helped me. Sorry Matt, but I'm not going down alone on this one.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Goodbyes
It's been an interesting last 8 months. It's unusual of me to become such good friends with someone in such a short amount of time. It's weirder still that I'm that good of friends with a guy. And frankly it sucks to watch him leave.
I went to his open house last night. First person there, last one to leave. Provided about a third of the food for it, and helped prepare the house beforehand and clean up afterward. I'm not really ready to have him leave. Not prepared to not wake up to his phone calls, or practically fall asleep talking to him. There is more I want to learn about cars before he goes. More I want to laugh about. More movies I want to quote with him.
A goodbye is not complete without a hug. I was surprised, and felt very special that he invited me to be there when they set him apart as a missionary. I went knowing that I wouldn't be able to give him a hug when I left his house, and knowing it would be the last time I saw him for two years. It was a bit prolonged. I expected to leave shortly afterward, knowing that lingering would make it harder, but his family invited me to stay for dinner.
I said goodbye and shook his hand. See you in two years. I said goodbye to his family, and he followed me outside saying he needed to tell me something.
"Thanks for being my best friend."
I went to his open house last night. First person there, last one to leave. Provided about a third of the food for it, and helped prepare the house beforehand and clean up afterward. I'm not really ready to have him leave. Not prepared to not wake up to his phone calls, or practically fall asleep talking to him. There is more I want to learn about cars before he goes. More I want to laugh about. More movies I want to quote with him.
A goodbye is not complete without a hug. I was surprised, and felt very special that he invited me to be there when they set him apart as a missionary. I went knowing that I wouldn't be able to give him a hug when I left his house, and knowing it would be the last time I saw him for two years. It was a bit prolonged. I expected to leave shortly afterward, knowing that lingering would make it harder, but his family invited me to stay for dinner.
I said goodbye and shook his hand. See you in two years. I said goodbye to his family, and he followed me outside saying he needed to tell me something.
"Thanks for being my best friend."
Monday, April 20, 2009
Blind
Eyesight is overrated. I've occasionally had the thought that if I had to choose between losing my hearing and my eyesight I would rather lose my eyesight. This stems from the fact that I would probably die if I couldn't listen to music. The very thought sends shivers down my spine.
After this crossed my mind I thought for a moment that being blind would prevent me from enjoying another pastime, reading. But even as this thought crossed my mind, I remembered books on tape, and even the possibility of learning how to read in braille. Which, you have to admit would be awesome to be able to do. Half of the enjoyment of a book comes from the way it smells anyway.
I don't think I would trade the taste of chocolate for the ability to see either. I mean really, the idea is preposterous. And touch? well I wouldn't give that one up either. I mean, I can even pretty well find my way through familiar spaces without seeing, so even as a means of navigation it is somewhat expendable.
When it comes right down to it, if I had to give up one of the five senses, I would give up eyesight . . .
Except for one thing.
I would trade sound, smell, taste, and touch just to look into your eyes.
After this crossed my mind I thought for a moment that being blind would prevent me from enjoying another pastime, reading. But even as this thought crossed my mind, I remembered books on tape, and even the possibility of learning how to read in braille. Which, you have to admit would be awesome to be able to do. Half of the enjoyment of a book comes from the way it smells anyway.
I don't think I would trade the taste of chocolate for the ability to see either. I mean really, the idea is preposterous. And touch? well I wouldn't give that one up either. I mean, I can even pretty well find my way through familiar spaces without seeing, so even as a means of navigation it is somewhat expendable.
When it comes right down to it, if I had to give up one of the five senses, I would give up eyesight . . .
Except for one thing.
I would trade sound, smell, taste, and touch just to look into your eyes.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Poems
Here are some poems I wrote for my poetry class. Enjoy and please leave me comments! All comments are welcome!
Being Serious
It’s hard to talk when I hear these things from
you. My throat gets too tight to breathe, and I
can’t think of the words that will make you come
back to me again. I don’t want to cry
in front of you, but I can’t stop the tears
that are already tracing down my cheek.
I can see that it hurts, those crazy fears
that you aren’t strong enough. When you speak
of knowing what it is I want; a guy
to hug and whisper in my ear, someone
I can trust, I want to know why
that can’t be you. You want to be the one.
So hold me close and keep me safe. I know
you and I want the same thing. Please don’t go.
Passive
faces become painted masks
and eyes are broken window glass
words bubble up
trapped behind immovable lips
leaving words to dissolve
unspoken, unexplained
leaving unshed tears
to trace new drops of paint
alone in silence
Amputee
Like shadowed, phantom limbs
I feel you there.
Still there, still there
But when I look there remains only a void.
I can’t get up from this wheelchair
You’ve left me in.
You’re gone, you’re gone,
A missing piece of who I’m supposed to be.
This hand, this foot, arm, leg,
Leaving me a soul-lost cripple,
No heart, no heart,
And yet, I feel it beating.
No hope now, but prosthetic parts,
A shattered breathless shadow
Of me, of you,
The pain exquisite in its sweet torture.
Being Serious
It’s hard to talk when I hear these things from
you. My throat gets too tight to breathe, and I
can’t think of the words that will make you come
back to me again. I don’t want to cry
in front of you, but I can’t stop the tears
that are already tracing down my cheek.
I can see that it hurts, those crazy fears
that you aren’t strong enough. When you speak
of knowing what it is I want; a guy
to hug and whisper in my ear, someone
I can trust, I want to know why
that can’t be you. You want to be the one.
So hold me close and keep me safe. I know
you and I want the same thing. Please don’t go.
Passive
faces become painted masks
and eyes are broken window glass
words bubble up
trapped behind immovable lips
leaving words to dissolve
unspoken, unexplained
leaving unshed tears
to trace new drops of paint
alone in silence
Amputee
Like shadowed, phantom limbs
I feel you there.
Still there, still there
But when I look there remains only a void.
I can’t get up from this wheelchair
You’ve left me in.
You’re gone, you’re gone,
A missing piece of who I’m supposed to be.
This hand, this foot, arm, leg,
Leaving me a soul-lost cripple,
No heart, no heart,
And yet, I feel it beating.
No hope now, but prosthetic parts,
A shattered breathless shadow
Of me, of you,
The pain exquisite in its sweet torture.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
What Really Matters
This is part of Jen's Self-Esteem Carnival. Check it out.
The past year has been a crazy mess. I came home from school in January not really knowing what I would do. I worked for a while as a temp hating it the whole way, forced myself to go to church with people I believed I had no interest in knowing, and felt like a huge loser the whole time because the situation was entirely my fault.
What is it about people that makes it so much easier for us to see the amazingness in other people but not in ourselves? I look at each of my friends and I can give a list of reasons I like being around them for each and everyone of them, but when I think about myself I always shake my head and wonder, "why do they like hanging out with me?" It always boggled my mind.
With the media pushing all the physical expectations of women, we are to be gorgeous, skinny, with perfect hair, and clear skin, it's no wonder I see people falling into the trap of believing that they are only worth what their bodies can get them. I find myself talking to some of my girl friends, telling them that they deserve better that some guy that's just after some action, they deserve to be loved for who they really are. I've never believed myself to be the drop-dead gorgeous person that society expects all women to be, but I don't need to believe that to feel good about myself.
Over the last year I've found some things about myself that I hope I will remember for the rest of my life. I don't need a boy to be happy. I don't have to hate my job, I just had to find something that I enjoy doing. I can survive without one of my best friends being close by. People telling me I'm beautiful has never made me feel better about myself, but someone telling me I have "an awesome personality" does. Ditto for hearing that I have the biggest smile they've ever seen, and for people asking me if I'm ever afraid my "funny will break" because I laugh so much.
I think I used to be a crazy outgoing person, and I don't really know where this quiet person I've seen lately came from. I remember those share-something-about-your-neighbor games in Sunday School, and I remember people saying I was the person always smiling, or laughing or whatever. I think I lost that person for a while. But guess what? I think she's back.
After all, what really matters isn't what other people see when they look at us, it's what we see when we look inside ourselves. I'm happy because I've finally been able to start seeing in myself what other people have been seeing all along. And I am AWESOME.
The past year has been a crazy mess. I came home from school in January not really knowing what I would do. I worked for a while as a temp hating it the whole way, forced myself to go to church with people I believed I had no interest in knowing, and felt like a huge loser the whole time because the situation was entirely my fault.
What is it about people that makes it so much easier for us to see the amazingness in other people but not in ourselves? I look at each of my friends and I can give a list of reasons I like being around them for each and everyone of them, but when I think about myself I always shake my head and wonder, "why do they like hanging out with me?" It always boggled my mind.
With the media pushing all the physical expectations of women, we are to be gorgeous, skinny, with perfect hair, and clear skin, it's no wonder I see people falling into the trap of believing that they are only worth what their bodies can get them. I find myself talking to some of my girl friends, telling them that they deserve better that some guy that's just after some action, they deserve to be loved for who they really are. I've never believed myself to be the drop-dead gorgeous person that society expects all women to be, but I don't need to believe that to feel good about myself.
Over the last year I've found some things about myself that I hope I will remember for the rest of my life. I don't need a boy to be happy. I don't have to hate my job, I just had to find something that I enjoy doing. I can survive without one of my best friends being close by. People telling me I'm beautiful has never made me feel better about myself, but someone telling me I have "an awesome personality" does. Ditto for hearing that I have the biggest smile they've ever seen, and for people asking me if I'm ever afraid my "funny will break" because I laugh so much.
I think I used to be a crazy outgoing person, and I don't really know where this quiet person I've seen lately came from. I remember those share-something-about-your-neighbor games in Sunday School, and I remember people saying I was the person always smiling, or laughing or whatever. I think I lost that person for a while. But guess what? I think she's back.
After all, what really matters isn't what other people see when they look at us, it's what we see when we look inside ourselves. I'm happy because I've finally been able to start seeing in myself what other people have been seeing all along. And I am AWESOME.
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