My sister made an obscenely delicious dinner consisting of spaghetti, Alfredo, and chicken. It's positively inspirational. And now that I am in a good place, with good food, good music, and no worries about tomorrow, I'll tell you my tale.
I hate the doctor's office. It's the wallpaper that matches the floor and the curtains. It's the confusing hallways that all look the same. It's the long waits. It's the paperwork. It's the child that escapes from my grownup body and the need for my mother to be there. It's the cold temperatures. It's the screaming kids. It's the coughing. It's the impersonal doctors. It's the popsicle stick that chokes me every time. It's the scale. It's the fear that maybe I'm sick. It's the possibility of bad news. I hate the doctor's office.
That doesn't stop me from going. My love for leaving outweighs my hate for the doctor's office and staying. My school requires a physical to be done.
The Great Mouse Detective is playing and all eyes are glued to the screen; young and old alike. My appointment is at 8:40am and I don't hear my name until 9:ooam. "Don't say it...!" Yells Ratigan, his body turning inward. "Sewer Rat!" Basil declares.
Height: 5'4 1/4"
Weight: ***
Blood Pressure: 100/58
Eyes: 20/13 (Susan, my nurse, who I would've preferred to be my doctor as opposed to that other woman, remarked with surprise, "Wow. You have, like, Super Woman vision." As if I didn't already understand, "You have really good eye sight.")
Even the paper thin gowns match the walls. A small curtain is supposed to make me feel comfortable. It doesn't. The security camera at my back exposes me to anyone with the ability to see. I turn my back to the camera and find the quickest route to the least amount of exposure. It couldn't have been more than 4 degrees in that room. I also received a bed sheet for "extra privacy". The only extra privacy I would like to use that sheet for would be to cover up that security camera.
A thin, repulsively colored cloth separates me from the rest of the room. My flip flops remain on my feet. I sit on the sheet of paper, which I always managed to rip when I was younger, and my feet dangle an inch above the stepping stool. I hate the doctor's office. As I sit, I wonder how many other woman have worn this same gown. A pregnant woman. Someone with cancer. A child. A healthy college student. Someone suffering from pain. Did they cry? Were they nervous? Was it normal? Were they wondering about all those other woman who would wear that same gown?
There's a knock on the door, "We might have made a mistake. You might be able to get dressed." I love hearing the word "mistake" when I'm only covered in a sheet with arms. Several minutes later this was confirmed by the doctor. This took up a great deal of the morning before we could move on. I dress, fold the extra privacy sheet and manage to fold the gown (which is very similar to folding a fitted sheet). Evidentally, there was no need for me to get naked. At this point it was almost snowing in there and I had to use the route of least exposure in rewind.
Vaccinations was the next topic after the doctor asked me about multivitamins, drug use and allergies. There was a lot of waiting involved; mostly waiting, actually. After I waited, saw the nurse, waited a little longer, saw the nurse again, waited a bit more, asked the nurse a question, then waited a bit longer, I finally got two shots in my upper arm and another in my forearm to test for tuberculosis. As Susan typed I looked to my left and saw a hamper with that scary bio hazard symbol. I wonder what kind of detergent they wash those gowns in. Imagine all the gross things those gowns have seen; what if they get washed in regular, ol' Tide? That's when I prayed that they got washed in a high-tech, double strength, disease killing, special hospital detergent.
The nurse, Susan, was very nice. She laughed at my jokes and was frustrated with the doctor which was just fine with me because I didn't like her very much. The doctor wore an ugly shirt, looked into my eyes too much and wasn't married. I want a doctor who is a bit homely, with maybe three kids. I picture her as a big woman, not fat, but motherly. Maybe she'll smile at my pathetic attempts to joke, because that is my only reaction when I'm nervous, and tell a few of her own.
Not only did Susan laugh at my jokes, but when she asked me, "What are you going to school for?" Her reaction to my response, "Technical theatre" was "Fantastic!" Whereas the doctor said, "Interesting..."
Three and a half hours later I have two Snoopy band aids and another appointment to discover if I've been exposed to tuberculosis. I thanked Susan and left.
I didn't notice that my arm was sore until I got home from work. It's so very strange that the entire arm can get sore from just a small object.
Carmen.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
f(x)= stupid ideas
Read The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. Contemplate time travel and enjoy a great story along the way.
I have my last math class on Tuesday and this should provide some relief to myself; however, this being the last class means this is the final. You remember finals? It's usually at the end of the semester and the educational system thinks "hey, wouldn't it be a great idea if we gave students four exams on four different subjects all at once?" Of course you remember those feelings of failure and regretting all that procrastination you did. Who can forget the endless presentations about cardiovascular disease and Inuit art? What about, at the last minute, kissing so much butt that your lips hurt? Yeah. I'll be going through that on Tuesday.
Except the summer semester is a bit different from the usual fall/spring semesters. It's true, students don't normally carry a full load during the summer-- like myself, I'm only taking a math class-- which might cause one to think that just one class should be easy to pass. This isn't the case. I'm surrounded by people who don't have to study or turn in homework. When friends say, "hey, lets go to the beach" I have to check my schedule to make sure it doesn't clash with homework due dates or tests. It's hard trying to have a successful summer and a learning experience. During the normal semesters I'm in school-mode. I'm programed to stay stressed out, procrastinate, and then catch up with whatever I put off, while learning. It's how I get things done. But summer classes... I don't feel stressed so I tend to put my homework off. It moves so fast that I don't think I'm learning anything. And on top of it all-- it's math! My brain can only handle recreational literature during this time of the year, how am I supposed to process numbers?
I'm not really sure what we covered that first week and now my grade is going to be based off how much I remember from all the classes. Finals was a stupid idea. Summer class was a stupid idea. It's too bad, those are the only types of ideas I've been having lately.
Carmen.
I have my last math class on Tuesday and this should provide some relief to myself; however, this being the last class means this is the final. You remember finals? It's usually at the end of the semester and the educational system thinks "hey, wouldn't it be a great idea if we gave students four exams on four different subjects all at once?" Of course you remember those feelings of failure and regretting all that procrastination you did. Who can forget the endless presentations about cardiovascular disease and Inuit art? What about, at the last minute, kissing so much butt that your lips hurt? Yeah. I'll be going through that on Tuesday.
Except the summer semester is a bit different from the usual fall/spring semesters. It's true, students don't normally carry a full load during the summer-- like myself, I'm only taking a math class-- which might cause one to think that just one class should be easy to pass. This isn't the case. I'm surrounded by people who don't have to study or turn in homework. When friends say, "hey, lets go to the beach" I have to check my schedule to make sure it doesn't clash with homework due dates or tests. It's hard trying to have a successful summer and a learning experience. During the normal semesters I'm in school-mode. I'm programed to stay stressed out, procrastinate, and then catch up with whatever I put off, while learning. It's how I get things done. But summer classes... I don't feel stressed so I tend to put my homework off. It moves so fast that I don't think I'm learning anything. And on top of it all-- it's math! My brain can only handle recreational literature during this time of the year, how am I supposed to process numbers?
I'm not really sure what we covered that first week and now my grade is going to be based off how much I remember from all the classes. Finals was a stupid idea. Summer class was a stupid idea. It's too bad, those are the only types of ideas I've been having lately.
Carmen.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Freshman aren't fresh.
Guilty pleasure: The Bachelor(ette). I can't help myself. I always tell myself, "No! It's stupid!" And then while I watch it I think, "Pfft... it's stupid." And then when there's a ring on the finger I think, "...stupid..." And yet I still watch it. I just get hooked and I can't stop. I know, I know, I'm a terrible person-- but you're stupid, so shut up!
I've had some issues this week with rooming. I will be attending Catawba College in August and this is crunch-time. This next month is going to suck because any last minute forms I need to send in, registering for classes, all of that great school stuff needs to be done. So, I received a letter telling me to check out my e-mail, rooming assignment, and important dates online. When I looked into where I would be living for the next year the only thing listed was "Woodson". Awesome, I know where I'll be staying. I search the web to look at pictures and measurements and then... What?! A freshman dorm?!
I have hardly any emotions other than sarcasm and anger. Guess which emotion I chose for this moment.
At first, I thought it wouldn't be that bad. But this was the crappy dorm. Then a terrible thought hit me: what if I had to room with a freshman. Let me set the scene for you, I'm 19. I get that I'm young. There are a lot of freshman who are only a year younger than I am. However, I haven't been a freshman in two years. I didn't like freshman when I was a freshman, how would I survive? How would she survive? I would kill someone-- and there's a high chance it would be my freshman roommate. What if I got stuck with one of those girls who want to live it up? Those girls who want to have a "college experience" and that type of experience is exactly what I don't want to experience. I like to sleep. I don't drink. I would cry if I ever got a C. Don't get me wrong, I like to have fun, but it's a type of fun that I've been perfecting since my freshman year-- it includes coffee and... that's just about it. Coffee.
Oh, no. I had a flash of the worst case scenario. What if it was one of those freshman girls who want to have a "college experience" and think they can act but can't. I've been surrounded by those since I've been in college and I can barely stand them-- what if I had to live with one? Many people won't understand my loathing for people who insist on acting even though they shouldn't be except for fellow theatre students who can act. I would have to suffer through butchered versions of Shakespeare's "To be or not to be". Endless nights with a talentless tortured soul.
I wouldn't have it.
I sent out an e-mail to the housing director. On Thursday. At 11:45pm. So basically, I sent this e-mail out on the 4th which means I wouldn't hear back from anyone for 3 days. That's an eternity if you think you're living with a freshman in a crappy dorm.
To make a long story slightly shorter-- I'm not staying in a freshman dorm with a freshman. I'm staying in an upperclassman dorm with a friend and sophomore, Kaylee.
[insert sound of contentment here]
Carmen.
I've had some issues this week with rooming. I will be attending Catawba College in August and this is crunch-time. This next month is going to suck because any last minute forms I need to send in, registering for classes, all of that great school stuff needs to be done. So, I received a letter telling me to check out my e-mail, rooming assignment, and important dates online. When I looked into where I would be living for the next year the only thing listed was "Woodson". Awesome, I know where I'll be staying. I search the web to look at pictures and measurements and then... What?! A freshman dorm?!
I have hardly any emotions other than sarcasm and anger. Guess which emotion I chose for this moment.
At first, I thought it wouldn't be that bad. But this was the crappy dorm. Then a terrible thought hit me: what if I had to room with a freshman. Let me set the scene for you, I'm 19. I get that I'm young. There are a lot of freshman who are only a year younger than I am. However, I haven't been a freshman in two years. I didn't like freshman when I was a freshman, how would I survive? How would she survive? I would kill someone-- and there's a high chance it would be my freshman roommate. What if I got stuck with one of those girls who want to live it up? Those girls who want to have a "college experience" and that type of experience is exactly what I don't want to experience. I like to sleep. I don't drink. I would cry if I ever got a C. Don't get me wrong, I like to have fun, but it's a type of fun that I've been perfecting since my freshman year-- it includes coffee and... that's just about it. Coffee.
Oh, no. I had a flash of the worst case scenario. What if it was one of those freshman girls who want to have a "college experience" and think they can act but can't. I've been surrounded by those since I've been in college and I can barely stand them-- what if I had to live with one? Many people won't understand my loathing for people who insist on acting even though they shouldn't be except for fellow theatre students who can act. I would have to suffer through butchered versions of Shakespeare's "To be or not to be". Endless nights with a talentless tortured soul.
I wouldn't have it.
I sent out an e-mail to the housing director. On Thursday. At 11:45pm. So basically, I sent this e-mail out on the 4th which means I wouldn't hear back from anyone for 3 days. That's an eternity if you think you're living with a freshman in a crappy dorm.
To make a long story slightly shorter-- I'm not staying in a freshman dorm with a freshman. I'm staying in an upperclassman dorm with a friend and sophomore, Kaylee.
[insert sound of contentment here]
Carmen.
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