May 2005 Archives
I threw open the patio door to let in the Rain Air. Mmmm. I likes me some good fresh Rain Air. Upon doing this, I noticed that the peach tree in my backyard is heavy laden with fruit. I'm telling you, I have peaches the size of brain tumors out there (that's tennis-ball-sized, for the unfamiliar).
The previous owners told us the two trees we have yielded four dozen peaches last summer. These Texas Hill Country peaches are supposed to be something very special. I am here and now soliciting for your peach recipes.
Well, I'm wired. The EEG tech glued 27 electrodes to my noggin, and sent me home with them all connected to a little computer that will record every brainwave until Friday at 2:00, in hopes of catching some seizure activity. This is so incredibly boring you can't believe...
I'm not supposed to use the laptop plugged into the wall, but we're getting around that by running it off the battery. Should be ok, long as I record in my little "patient activity diary" everything I do.
I dropped in at work this afternoon to tie up a couple of things at my desk and got dizzy when I walked in the door. I am afraid that the neurologist is going to read that strip next week and tell me to quit my job.
They said no showers, no doing dishes or laundry, and no vacuuming. We can "have relations," if you know what I mean, I just have to write it down. Wonder what those brainwaves will look like.
Coupla things.
One, we saw Star Wars this afternoon. I won't wreck it for ya. I'll just say... DUDE.
Two: Somewhere around my sophomore year of college, I drank myself sick of Mountain Dew. I'm pretty sure it can be attributed to all those late nights at The Spectrum. Then was when I started habitually drinking coffee. Recently, I've sort of lost the taste for latte`s. They only taste close to right if Erik makes them for me.
I felt it earlier in the day. You know, that *twitch* or *twinge* or somehow feeling I'll be unconscious soon. I ignored it and went about business as usual. After all, the sales month ends next week and girlfriend needs to keep her nose to the grindstone.
But I felt it nonetheless and I'm going to have to call this in to my neurosurgeon's office today.
I asked Jason to please not call the ambulance. Just please call Kristen&Mike. And that's the last thing I remember.
The guys in the ambulance cut off my new pinstrip jacket in order to deliver to my sytem a load of Valium and... something else I can't spell... because I was being combative. And I think we can all agree, when we think "combative," we think me. Oh for heaven's sake I was not awake, and you'd be combative too, if some stranger pulled off your pantyhose in your sleep.
I woke up among friends. Kristen was there. Thank you for all the cartwheels you had to turn to close up your store and have the boys picked up and for holding my hand while I was out. I heard. :) I must have been sleeping a while because Erik was already there from San Antonio. When medical staff do neuro checks on you, they ask if you know what day it is, what's your name, who's the President... My standard answer for the last 5 1/2 years has been Hillary Rodham Clinton. It's a joke.
Apparently that's the answer that buys you two more hours with the sticky things all over and the oxygen sensor on your finger. But if you want to go home you better say George Bush.
Exiting the ER, there's Mike and sweet Papa Otto, who bought us dinner and had Mike&Kristen bring it over to us. I had no coordination for eating last night, so it's in the fridge and that's on my To Do list today.
This afternoon, I returned home from a departmental celebration a sweaty, sweaty girl. I took a cool shower and awaited a call from Erik, on his way home from work in SA.
He called on I-35, about two exits from home. And after a moment, exclaimed something and hung up.
I thought, okay, he's come upon an accident or has been rear-ended, or something. I began praying. I knew I may need to hit speed dial #2. Kristen&Mike. If anything like this happened to Erik, I would need to call Kristen&Mike to help me deal with emergency fallout.
Erik is fine. He got a flat tire, but managed to get off the main road and was close enough to Walmart for me to meet him there while Brian, the tire guy, was determining whether duct tape could patch the ribbons of rubber.
I hate that shaky flat-tire-on-the-interstate feeling.
I think after his harrowing afternoon, I will need to make my own cappuccino.
Once Upon a Time... I worked at my college radio station, which I loved a lot. I even, before it was out on cd and you could buy it, spliced together "Smelly Cat" from a videotape of Friends we had and played it on the air after the format flipped from "News, Jazz, and Blues for the Red River Valley" to Thunder Radio, which was more college radio-y.
I was typing up Newsminutes one evening, and perhaps this story can be attributed to too many NewsHOURS at The Spectrum throwing small soccer balls in frustration across the room at Jeff Benyon.
So one of the stories had to do with the governor AND some other dignitary. But our heroine did not always spell check in those days, because I typed so quickly I didn't think it was necessary, because I would NEVER spell anything incorrectly or transpose two letters, right? Besides, we used Word and spellcheck did it for us, right Pam? Then the copy editors fixed anything we missed.
The sentence ended up something like, "The governor nad..." and Steve read it on-air as "The governor's NADS..."
Whoopsy daisy.
I'll bet my FCC license is still lost in the back of that cabinet in the prod room...
Mom and Dad sent Erik for his birthday a big box of Omaha Steaks delights. Pork chops and burgers and cookies and those incredible potatoes. And steak knives. Thanks! Always room for more knives.
I told him, yes, this was his birthday gift, but they also want to make sure there's food in the house and I don't starve. Win-win-win. :)
Well, yes, they care that he eats too, but let's face it. I have Baby Girl status, and that's almost impossible with which to compete.
Pray Without Ceasing. Happy National Day of Prayer. I used to pray for my loved ones at stoplights. It took the frustration out of having to wait to go. Now that I don't drive that much anymore, I just kind of pray at my desk or espresso machine, or when I look at the sky and remember just how much of a miracle this all is.
Today I'm praying for my family, their pets and pet peeves, my friends and their business ventures and babies, my husband and my job and this DIZZYING HEADACHE.
I took a Sexual Harrassment course at work today and scored ZERO. MAN. And I NEVER get picked for the random drug tests either.
Am I TOO SEXY???
I don't smell. Well, I mean, thank God I don't smell, but I really don't have a sense of smell lately either. I'm not stuffy or anything. I just *sniff, sniff* can't smell.
Ok. So when you sign up for the National Guard, you commit to two weeks a year and one weekend a month. This can quickly turn into two years in Iraq or Korea, but that's not the subject today. I just wanted you to grasp that feeling of, "Well, I knew it could happen, but I never thought it actually would..." even though my dad warned me the night Erik asked him for my hand in marriage.
Boys of all ages like me. I have Arbitrons that prove that. So if I become one day the custodial stepmother of an almost-teenage boy, I shouldn't freak out, yes? I am a control freak. I don't envision ever turning over the keys to my truck. I was raised by Curt and Judy, who, while being the most sensible team of parents you'll meet, are also complete hardasses. And I say that with great love, knowing full well they read this blog. They just wanted us to become Productive Members of Society, and hey, I turned out alright. In fact, I'm pretty darn amazing. Good job, Curt and Judy. Thanks.
I guess my main thing is that I'm afraid of high schools. I wouldn't like to parent a teenager in a large metro area like San Antonio. Not every kid is like Travis, who lived on, true story, five dollars his entire senior year of high school.
Being a hardass parent isn't such a bad idea. They'll thank you one day.
There are some cute elements to this story. Like, Avery is dying for his dad to take him fishing, and he would love siblings. Sadly, he probably won't get those. But the fishing, we could do.
