You know that feeling when you're about to make a major or semi-major change in life and you're just ready to make the transition so you can get back into a regular routine? That's how I feel about my upcoming move. I'm just ready to be there. I bought paint for my room last night. It's called Sassy Pink. Hopefully, we'll get a lot of the painting done this weekend and it will be ready to be settled into in 2 weeks.
One thing I haven't done is pack. Every time I move (which, yes, I know, is more than the average person) I swear that I will pack more than 2 days before moving day. I never have. I'm a procrastinator. I cannot deny it.
Another side effect of the anticipation of moving is increased dissatisfaction with my current digs. I've mentioned it before: loud neighbors, junkie facilities, poor management, apartment living in general...did I mention the ants? Oh yes, there are ants aplenty - in the living room, in the bathrooms, in the kitchen, in the stairway, in the bedrooms, on the bed, on my arm. At least they're not biting ants. They're friendly, as far as ants go. But last night I reached my limit on pests: there was a roach in my shower. It's the first roach I've seen since living there, but when I felt something crawl on my foot, I was not happy. He looked like a well fed roach: probably came over from the white trash neighbors. I took it as a sign: when he asked to borrow my shampoo, I knew for sure it was time to move.
I won't lie: I hate going to the doctor. Of course, I haven't been sick since last winter, but I haven't been to the doctor since 2001, in a moment of weakness, when someone else called the doctor for me and made me go. I don't know why I hate it so much. Part of it is the whole waiting room process. Part of it is the intrusive questions. Part of it is the money issue.
Because I hate seeking medical attention, I'm a strong believer in self medication. Whether it's a tylenol and a comtrex or a lot of water and a long nap, I generally just let my immune system take care of me.
Monday morning, as I was making the long commute from Nacogdoches to Monroe, my check engine light came on in my car. It was about 6:30 in the morning and I was only 15 minutes away from Nacogdoches. I had to be at work at 10 and I was expecting traffic issues in Shreveport, so I was short on time. I decided to take my chances. I drove on to Center, TX (about 20 miles since the light came on) and stopped at a gas station. I open the hood, and being that steriotypical female driver, I think to myself, "the engine looks alright to me." I checked the oil. I checked the water. The engine wasn't overheating, so I just moved on.
I made it to work just on time. The light was still on and there were still no other symptoms. I asked some guys at work if they had any advice and they said if it wasn't the oil or the coolant, it was probably okay to keep driving for a few days. I thought I'd try the self-healing method that works so well for me when I'm sick. Going to a mechanic is as bad as going to the doctor. If you ignore the problem, it will go away, right?
Right! The car magically fixed itself! The light just went away. Hopefully, it won't have a relapse.
Now, if only I could get that tail light to replace itself...
Dear Guy in the Blue Truck,
Why do you feel the need to pass me, cut me off, slow down, and give me a dirty look when I pass you again? I've tried to make this relationship work, but you're just too needy. Obviously, you feel the need to drive in front of me, rather than behind me, but, you see, I have this high tech system on my car called "cruise control". I'm not changing my speed. I'm not being obnoxious. It's not me, it's you. I can't go on like this. Either pass me and keep your speed up or get behind me and let me go. I know it's not easy to see me move on like that, but it's something you'll have to live with. You've got to move on with your life and let me move on with mine.
Sincerely,
Christin
*It's been a tough week. I'm happy it's Friday.
*San Antonio this weekend. Long drive. Short weekend.
*Moving August 14. The lease is signed. All I need now are lots of boxes, time, and motivation...and a truck to haul a bunch of clothes to Goodwill.
*Going to visit friends in Moscow, Sept. 4-13. Plane ticket purchased. Must quit looking at Travelocity to see if I could have gotten a better deal.
*What am I going to do with the few vacation days I have left? Florida? Chattanooga? Just stay home? I can't decide.
*Why did a sign up to take 2 classes at once, in addition to my 40 hour work week? I must be crazy.
I just committed to moving. Again. In one month. We're getting a house, which I'm really looking forward to after nearly 2 years of apartment dwelling - a yard, a quiet neighborhood, and our very own washer and dryer - all things I took for granted before moving into my current dive. The bad news? Moving itself. The changing of utilities. The packing of boxes. Deciding who gets which room. It will all be worth it to live in a decent neighborhood again. I'll be just as close to work, and no one can make fun of me for living in West Monroe anymore since I will automatically become more sophisticated once I'm on the other side of the river. I think it will be a Good Thing (as my old friend Martha Stewart would say).
Over the weekend, I finished reading John Barry's The Great Influnza: the Epic Story of the Deadliest Plague in History. I will get flu shots for the rest of my life.
The book was not what I expected. I guess I imagined it would be a historical fiction type of book - following the life story of a couple of people - based on a true story. Instead, I found the history of medicine, medical education, and the process of investigating diseases.
In the first section of the book, I was struck by the author's disdain for Christianity. He tried to place a strong antithesis between God and science and had a tone of mocking toward scientists who were Christians. After hitting that point early on, Barry left it alone for the rest of the book.
Of course, the most fascinating part of the book was the description of the particular spread of this particular flu virus around the world in 1918. The horror of the disease was truly devistating. Barry interviewed survivors who told stories of entire families dying in one day, the few doctors and nurses that were available dying, people dying of starvation and dehydration because they were too weak to get food or water and no one was available to help. People were stealing coffins. Cities and army bases were resorting to mass graves. Those who would generally be considered the strongest (ages 20-30) were the most susceptible to the disease. People wouldn't even help those who had been orphaned by the virus because they were scared to let any outsider in. Several times, I found myself fighting tears just reading of the horror.
Another thing I found amazing about the book was that, despite the remarkable death statistics, the pandemic is something many Americans know nothing about. We know about the black death. We know about the plagues of the midlle ages, we know about AIDS and SARS. Of course we know about flu in general, but not about this particular case.
At least 50 million people died - most of them with a 24 week period. Barry speculates more like 100 million died. Even in places like the US where statistics were kept, doctors and nurses stopped wasting their time counting the dead when they could be helping someone else. In the 24 years we've known about AIDS, there have been just under 25 million known deaths worldwide. Compare that to 50 to 100 million in 24 weeks! Consider that the world population was around 1/3 of this size it is now.
Because the flu virus constantly mutates and speads rapidly, it is possible that such a pandemic could strike again. Read the book. Get a flu shot.
Next on the list: Eats Shoots and Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation.
I'm not a phone-talker. In fact, there used to be frequent jokes made at my expense about my lack of ability to talk on the phone. I've tried to work on this flaw. At work, I'm usually the person to answer the phone now. I call people as part of my job. It has actually helped me become a bit more comfortable with the phone. Yet, still, after five years of living far away from many of my friends, I still procastinate about calling them..though I know the importance of keeping in touch, I'm still really bad at it.
Last night I broke my streak of non-calling. I talked to several old friends and it was so refreshing. I always forget just how important keeping in touch is to my existence.
Talking to old friends can be refreshing for many reasons: (1) they encourage me from where I am. I have a friend who is in a similar area of life. She has similar priorities, similar interests, similar concerns. She always seems to have a better attitude than I do. If I'm even tempted to complain, she always stops me without even trying. She knows where I'm coming from, appreciates my point of view, but always has great advice.
Another friend (2) knows me better than I know myself. She's been known to say things that I really take offense to. Yet, a couple days later, I find myself thinking, "the only reason that offended me was because she was exactly right." She's like family: she knows me well enough to know my strengths and weaknesses and knows how to touch that nerve that will send me over the edge. I don't think she even knows she sends me over the edge, but she does and it really makes the point hit home - and she always seems to hit that nerve, just when I need it.
Another friend (3) is always so glad to hear from me that it make me feel good to be needed...not that I think this friend is terribly needy, but it's nice to have someone who is so glad to hear from me and share what's going on there and be so interested in what's going on in my life. We don't neccesarily talk about deep life-issues, but just talking about anything is refreshing.
Another friend (4) I don't have as much in common with anymore, but I'm still happy to be friends with her. She's in a completely different situation than I could ever imagine myself in. I can't really sympathize with anything she deals with, I don't know anyone she knows, and I don't always know how to be a good friend to her, yet somehow it works.
Sometimes I'm tempted to think I'm an island and I don't really need anyone else, but just one conversation with an old friend (or a new friend, for that matter) is enough to make me realize my need for others.