Nothing much happened to me today. My life is dry and boring at the moment. However, Rhinelander (my hometown) is producing the odd news again today:
There was once a man named Homer, really named John. He was ever so slightly off his nut. He wrote a book once talking about his recollections as a Celtic warrior of several hundred years ago (apparently he is a reincarnation of said Celtic warrior) but oddly named himself after one of John Dillinger's gang of men.
This guy, Homer, had a bit of a gunslinging reputation himself. Check this out:
A logger told investigators two men drove up and shot at him while he was working alone in the woods, sparking a gunfight in the forest, the Lincoln County Sheriff's Department said.
John "Homer" Van Meter of Rhinelander told investigators he had never seen the men before and didn't know what prompted the shooting, said Mike Caylor, communications officer with the sheriff's department.Van Meter, 52, was in serious condition at an area hospital Friday with three bullet wounds to his torso and a graze wound to his head, Caylor said. The injuries were not considered life-threatening.
According to the account Van Meter gave the sheriff's department:Van Meter was working around noon Wednesday in the town of Tomahawk when a passenger in a black sport utility vehicle got out and began shooting at him with a handgun.
Van Meter ducked behind his truck, where he retrieved his own pistol and returned fire, which he believed injured the passenger.The driver emerged with a rifle and began shooting, but Van Meter said he probably injured that man as well, and the driver got back in the SUV and drove away without the passenger.
The passenger started running through the woods, so Van Meter grabbed a 12-gauge shotgun and continued the gun battle until the man disappeared. Van Meter sustained the torso injuries during the chase.He walked back through the woods, discarding his shotgun by a road after he grew too weak to carry it. Wardens with the state Department of Natural Resources found the shotgun by the road Thursday.
Van Meter sought help from a homeowner, who called 911."Everything we're finding in terms of physical evidence is matching up with what Mr. Van Meter is telling us," Caylor said.
Investigators found more than 30 shell casings from the original shooting site, believed to have come from the driver's weapon. The crime scene covers a two-mile stretch into the woods, slowing the investigation, according to authorities.
The problem with this little story was that the whole thing, although entertaining to read, was a hoax. He made it up. Shot himself, the truck, the trees, supposedly even his dog in the process.
The police began to suspect something when Sonoma County (yes, that's California) called them up in northern Wisconsin to tell them Mr. Van Meter had pulled this once before on them. They began to suspect that the "two men" didn't exist anywhere but in the confines of Mr. Van Meter's own bullet-grazed head.
Now this man wants a gun. They haven't let him have one for a year (with good reason), but he wants one now to protect himself from those people who are trying to hurt him...but tell me: does anyone who's reading this think this guy should have even a steak knife in his possession?
Yeah, me neither. You can find a synopsis of his book on Amazon (called "Little Guy.")Apparently Amazon doesn't think too highly of him, either.
By the way, the news item of the day was that the judge refused to give him what he wanted. Apparently Homer Van Meter will have to ward off the bad guys with something less than bullets-a ray gun, perhaps? His helpful Celtic warrior persona?
That's about all I have to say on the subject. Most everyone around my family upstate thinks he's a little, well, but I know his ex-wife, who is a very nice lady and immeasurably saner than he is.
Cheerio (let the zany continue!)
Bec
27.9.07
Thursday
Today I had work early, then I had tutoring. We didn't do much math (a plan which I fully endorsed) but that was mostly because we're just waiting for the test to come back.
GULP.
Story Writing was a joy and a pleasure again tonight, even if I barely made it there before the professor did. There's something to be said for printing off your stuff long before you are trying to get to class. Not five minutes before. The computer is guaranteed to fritz on you just when you need it, and you'll be screaming at it to no avail.
This was what happened to me today. Five minutes before I'm supposed to be in the class, I'm a quarter mile away in KT pounding on a computer, frantically trying to get the equivalent of a book printed. And as Murphy would have it, the computer locks up in protest.
I shouted at it a good bit, and then moved arse and backpack over to the computer opposite it. Karma and me left each other alone long enough to let me print the stuff I needed to print, and I was off to class...at 2:58.
I ran-walked all the way to Hibbard to arrive at 3:01, pissed and in disarray. And with a headache the size of Toronto. Thank God the prof didn't show up for another two minutes, so I wasn't late.
Next week I'll print my stuff a hell of a lot earlier.
Also watched David Hewlett (Stargate actor :) in his indie film, and somehow it was so much funnier tonight than it was three months ago. I laughed really, really hard. Somehow the sight of Paul McGillion in that robe...oh, God, the robe...I keep seeing it...it's cracking me up even now. I am truly pathetic...
Tomorrow's going to be a better day. One class at noon, work for five hours, rush madly back to the dorm to watch Atlantis, and call it a night. :*) (that's my "dimple" emoticon)
Cheerio,
Bec
GULP.
Story Writing was a joy and a pleasure again tonight, even if I barely made it there before the professor did. There's something to be said for printing off your stuff long before you are trying to get to class. Not five minutes before. The computer is guaranteed to fritz on you just when you need it, and you'll be screaming at it to no avail.
This was what happened to me today. Five minutes before I'm supposed to be in the class, I'm a quarter mile away in KT pounding on a computer, frantically trying to get the equivalent of a book printed. And as Murphy would have it, the computer locks up in protest.
I shouted at it a good bit, and then moved arse and backpack over to the computer opposite it. Karma and me left each other alone long enough to let me print the stuff I needed to print, and I was off to class...at 2:58.
I ran-walked all the way to Hibbard to arrive at 3:01, pissed and in disarray. And with a headache the size of Toronto. Thank God the prof didn't show up for another two minutes, so I wasn't late.
Next week I'll print my stuff a hell of a lot earlier.
Also watched David Hewlett (Stargate actor :) in his indie film, and somehow it was so much funnier tonight than it was three months ago. I laughed really, really hard. Somehow the sight of Paul McGillion in that robe...oh, God, the robe...I keep seeing it...it's cracking me up even now. I am truly pathetic...
Tomorrow's going to be a better day. One class at noon, work for five hours, rush madly back to the dorm to watch Atlantis, and call it a night. :*) (that's my "dimple" emoticon)
Cheerio,
Bec
26.9.07
Nothing Much
Took my math test-wavering between terror that I fudged it entirely and joy that I no longer have to worry about it.
Have to take my new laptop to the doctor tomorrow and find out why the plug-in baby has battery issues and wireless problems... beyond that, it's fine.
Atlantis premiere in two days! Joyness!
My hands have been troublesome today, but not as bad as yesterday. Mom says she feels crappy too. Now my life depends on the weather, which they can't even predict right...
Have to be in bed in less than an hour, and I should be doing homework, but nah. I'll do it tomorrow morning at work (famous last words)
What else? I confessed to someone that I have a, dare I say it, FETISH for dark haired men. If they're British and nerdy, I like them even better. She thinks that I will more than likely come back with one in tow (let's just hope) and make my mother have a heart attack.
Cheery-O! I'd be glad to oblige! Especially since British guys are so much more polite and gracious than Americans. DO YOU HEAR THAT, BOYS? YOU'RE LOSING US TO THE CHARM. AND THE ACCENTS. total sucker for accents. One good 'Hullo, dahling," and I'd tip over in a dead faint. Bah-doom.
More Muse listening today. I have realized that my first attraction to this group was A) they have piano and rock music (!), but today I realized that there's another reason. B) Matthew Bellamy (lead singer) is a dark-haired British guy. Cute, too. And a genius. I've never seen anyone switch from guitar to keyboard and back again in a couple of minutes time and still keep track of where they are, never mind the fact that he was singing pretty much the whole while. And bouncing all over the stage like a loose firework (with the guitar, I mean. He kind of swings it around and does some very Hendrix-like moves with it. Hasn't set it on fire yet, but then again, it IS a custom-made guitar...)
I can hear you chanting hopeless. Why yes, thank you. Very, very hopeless...
Cheerio,
Bec
Have to take my new laptop to the doctor tomorrow and find out why the plug-in baby has battery issues and wireless problems... beyond that, it's fine.
Atlantis premiere in two days! Joyness!
My hands have been troublesome today, but not as bad as yesterday. Mom says she feels crappy too. Now my life depends on the weather, which they can't even predict right...
Have to be in bed in less than an hour, and I should be doing homework, but nah. I'll do it tomorrow morning at work (famous last words)
What else? I confessed to someone that I have a, dare I say it, FETISH for dark haired men. If they're British and nerdy, I like them even better. She thinks that I will more than likely come back with one in tow (let's just hope) and make my mother have a heart attack.
Cheery-O! I'd be glad to oblige! Especially since British guys are so much more polite and gracious than Americans. DO YOU HEAR THAT, BOYS? YOU'RE LOSING US TO THE CHARM. AND THE ACCENTS. total sucker for accents. One good 'Hullo, dahling," and I'd tip over in a dead faint. Bah-doom.
More Muse listening today. I have realized that my first attraction to this group was A) they have piano and rock music (!), but today I realized that there's another reason. B) Matthew Bellamy (lead singer) is a dark-haired British guy. Cute, too. And a genius. I've never seen anyone switch from guitar to keyboard and back again in a couple of minutes time and still keep track of where they are, never mind the fact that he was singing pretty much the whole while. And bouncing all over the stage like a loose firework (with the guitar, I mean. He kind of swings it around and does some very Hendrix-like moves with it. Hasn't set it on fire yet, but then again, it IS a custom-made guitar...)
I can hear you chanting hopeless. Why yes, thank you. Very, very hopeless...
Cheerio,
Bec
25.9.07
My Own Personal Hell
Today I finished some scholarship stuff (finally) listened to some more Muse (wondering yet again how Matthew Bellamy gets his voice that high without effort) and doing math.
Do I need to remind my small yet wary audience that my detestation for this subject increases by the microsecond? No? Okay.
But I think I scared two girls in the hallway with my little spiel about how I hated it, and as I was telling my roommate, rather vehemently, that the whole damned subject should be cursed to the pits of hell, and that if I ever visited hell, however briefly, that I was sure millions of graphing problems would be waiting for me in a locked room.
I would be fine if I had even an inkling of understanding for it, but the inkling left on the last train. Now I'm fighting already to keep up (Week 3?).
The tutor (bless her little positive soul) tells me I am so NEGATIVE, that if I just TRIED, that if I just WORKED at it, then apparently it would descend on me like angels landing on the halo of God, like water from a drainspout, like a rainbow with a gold pot to clunk me on the head sharply and WHAM-BANG. There I'd be, a genius.
If I could tell the difference between negative and positive, you bet your rumblebuttons that'd I'd be the plus sign. Whichever one that is.
But after 4 years of college, after 3 rounds of 010 and being caught in the 2nd round of 020, my positiveness is waning fast. Everyone else my age has pushed right past it and is done with the blasted subject, while I sit and get frustrated in a sophomore-level class. So, I'm sorry if I don't get it. I'm sorry if I act dumb, but let's face it: I AM DUMB. At this subject anyway.
The tutor thinks she can save me from my dumbness. Fat chance. Others have tried; none have succeeded. I applaud her efforts, but I already told her that I and her are merely together two days a week to get me THROUGH the subject, not TEACH me anything.
Try and tell her this-she's like a little ray of sunshine trying to gleam through the murky depths of my mind. And she's not getting anywhere. Today already I got the classic question: Didn't you KNOW this last week?
I probably did. I don't this week.
She just looked confused. Try being me. I'm very, very confused.
I can't WAIT to pass this subject. I can't wait to have a life where I don't care anymore what the functions are doing. Speaking of which:
Do I need to remind my small yet wary audience that my detestation for this subject increases by the microsecond? No? Okay.
But I think I scared two girls in the hallway with my little spiel about how I hated it, and as I was telling my roommate, rather vehemently, that the whole damned subject should be cursed to the pits of hell, and that if I ever visited hell, however briefly, that I was sure millions of graphing problems would be waiting for me in a locked room.
I would be fine if I had even an inkling of understanding for it, but the inkling left on the last train. Now I'm fighting already to keep up (Week 3?).
The tutor (bless her little positive soul) tells me I am so NEGATIVE, that if I just TRIED, that if I just WORKED at it, then apparently it would descend on me like angels landing on the halo of God, like water from a drainspout, like a rainbow with a gold pot to clunk me on the head sharply and WHAM-BANG. There I'd be, a genius.
If I could tell the difference between negative and positive, you bet your rumblebuttons that'd I'd be the plus sign. Whichever one that is.
But after 4 years of college, after 3 rounds of 010 and being caught in the 2nd round of 020, my positiveness is waning fast. Everyone else my age has pushed right past it and is done with the blasted subject, while I sit and get frustrated in a sophomore-level class. So, I'm sorry if I don't get it. I'm sorry if I act dumb, but let's face it: I AM DUMB. At this subject anyway.
The tutor thinks she can save me from my dumbness. Fat chance. Others have tried; none have succeeded. I applaud her efforts, but I already told her that I and her are merely together two days a week to get me THROUGH the subject, not TEACH me anything.
Try and tell her this-she's like a little ray of sunshine trying to gleam through the murky depths of my mind. And she's not getting anywhere. Today already I got the classic question: Didn't you KNOW this last week?
I probably did. I don't this week.
She just looked confused. Try being me. I'm very, very confused.
I can't WAIT to pass this subject. I can't wait to have a life where I don't care anymore what the functions are doing. Speaking of which:
These notes were written in a high school math class. They were supposed to be on factor boxes, but I was never a great math student and I never had more than the attention span of a gnat.
Hence, The Factor Boxes’ Purpose, Argued For And Against By ME
Introducing FACTOR BOXES (dun dun dun daah kssh)
Well, actually, they start like this and end up like this and then you fill them with your favorite hotdogs (and condiments FIT!)
No actually you use them for math
HOT DOGS
‘fraid not. How would you fit one in?
MAKE THE BOXES BIGGER
I can’t do all my problems on a page if I make them bigger.
WHO CARES ABOUT THEM? HOT DOGS!
Will you stop yelling at me? And you’re wasting paper with this useless argument.
USELESS? USELESS? WHY I OUGHTA…
Hey, don’t get your feathers in a knot.
WHY DON’T YOU STOP TELLING ME FACTOR BOXES ARE FOR MATH?
Because they are…
DON’T GIVE ME THAT! WHAT DO YOU KNOW YOU REGULAR TYPE FREAK?
are you insulting my writing?
YES.
oooh…
24.9.07
Muse-ing
I have gone utterly mad.
Over the weekend, I rediscovered this British band called Muse. I already had heard two of their songs, but in my explorations while trying to avoid doing math, I ran across them again.
I think I'm in love. I listened to their music repeatedly over the weekend and I'm not sick of it yet. That's either an indication of my failing memory or I really need to get a life. Probably both. I'm listening to them now (love this song) and wishing I understood my math homework well enough to finish it.
(I really like it when he hisses (hisses! like a snake stuck in a dryer full of buttons))
Have to fold laundry. Tomorrow I sell the remainder of my SG-1 set and hopefully I will have rounded up enough money one of these times to get the complete set. Here's hoping the scholarships come through...
Cheerio,
Bec
Over the weekend, I rediscovered this British band called Muse. I already had heard two of their songs, but in my explorations while trying to avoid doing math, I ran across them again.
I think I'm in love. I listened to their music repeatedly over the weekend and I'm not sick of it yet. That's either an indication of my failing memory or I really need to get a life. Probably both. I'm listening to them now (love this song) and wishing I understood my math homework well enough to finish it.
(I really like it when he hisses (hisses! like a snake stuck in a dryer full of buttons))
Have to fold laundry. Tomorrow I sell the remainder of my SG-1 set and hopefully I will have rounded up enough money one of these times to get the complete set. Here's hoping the scholarships come through...
Cheerio,
Bec
23.9.07
The Forgotten Saturday
In all the furor of yesterday, I completely forgot to write anything.
Here's what's what: I worked at the library from 9-1. I handled some pretty expensive cameras and hoped to God I wouldn't drop one (they're worth 1500 bucks. That's pressure for ya.)
I came back here, did furious battle with my new laptop. It works now, mostly. Quite well, too. Got audio and video AND the graphics card running on the damn thing so now my lemon on my desktop isn't a lemon with a strawberry rash.
Christian came by, picked up his phone, said he had to go to work. Such is life.
Yelled at my math homework, did my Oceanography exam (8 out of 10), yelled at my math homework again...
I watched 2 eps of Heroes. I'm about to go and watch the last one now (Da-DUH! Kssh!)
I have go call Mom first, though, and find out when they're going to get here, so I'll sign off. Will write more tomorrow :)
:( Oh, and a famous mime died today. They mentioned him in Stargate, when Daniel was a supposed bad guy. Jack mentioned that Daniel looked like Marcel Marceau.
Wouldn't you know, Bip the silent wonder probably got hit by a tree and nobody cared enough to go see if a mime was caught underneath.
Cheers,
Bec
Here's what's what: I worked at the library from 9-1. I handled some pretty expensive cameras and hoped to God I wouldn't drop one (they're worth 1500 bucks. That's pressure for ya.)
I came back here, did furious battle with my new laptop. It works now, mostly. Quite well, too. Got audio and video AND the graphics card running on the damn thing so now my lemon on my desktop isn't a lemon with a strawberry rash.
Christian came by, picked up his phone, said he had to go to work. Such is life.
Yelled at my math homework, did my Oceanography exam (8 out of 10), yelled at my math homework again...
I watched 2 eps of Heroes. I'm about to go and watch the last one now (Da-DUH! Kssh!)
I have go call Mom first, though, and find out when they're going to get here, so I'll sign off. Will write more tomorrow :)
:( Oh, and a famous mime died today. They mentioned him in Stargate, when Daniel was a supposed bad guy. Jack mentioned that Daniel looked like Marcel Marceau.
Wouldn't you know, Bip the silent wonder probably got hit by a tree and nobody cared enough to go see if a mime was caught underneath.
Cheers,
Bec
21.9.07
I Love Friday.
I love Friday because today I have either one or two things to do, depending on the week. This week it's one, and so I've been fiddling with my new laptop and, as evidenced by the photos, playing with my sort-of-new digital camera.
The photos of the trees, at least, turned out lovely. Me not so much. I was just shooting the lens at myself and hoping the camera took the picture.
It was a learning experience, I can say that. Also I was reminded that I am not photogenic, and neither are my teeth. :)
Today started nice and devolved into cloudy. I think we're going to be like this for awhile.
The laptop has most of the new programs it needs on it now. It's having a bit of a problem with the audio driver, one which I hope to correct soon (after dinner, if not before).
I think Mom will be surprised at how good I feel when she sees me on Sunday. When she saw me last I could barely grip a doorknob without cringing. Yay for modern medicine! And painkillers!
I still have to figure out what that black plastic thing is in my laptop. It doesn't look remotely useful, but if I toss it there'll be hell to pay.
I think I'll play with jigsaw puzzles until I can no longer see the screen.
Cheers,
Bec
20.9.07
I Am Tech Savvy
Yesterday I owned one computer, a desktop with which I do all of my communications, homework, fooling around...the works.
Tonight I am the proud owner of one used still camera and one used laptop, courtesy of the surplus place on campus having a massive sale and auction today. I scored big. 270 dollars later, I am one step closer to England, what with all the technology I'm going to be dragging with me now.
The camera I have yet to turn on, because of the simple fact that the darn thing needs batteries. The computer is mostly set up-excepting the minor snafu of me not being able to get the screen resolution to behave. Minor problem that I expect will right itself eventually.
Nothing much else going on today, except for the thing I did at the library that really ticked my supervisor off. I am extremely sorry I wasn't paying attention, but I wasn't paying attention. That was entirely my fault.
So, two computers and one camera later, I am exhausted. The blogs will get longer when I get more energy to write more, and when my hands hurt less :)
Cheers,
Bec
Tonight I am the proud owner of one used still camera and one used laptop, courtesy of the surplus place on campus having a massive sale and auction today. I scored big. 270 dollars later, I am one step closer to England, what with all the technology I'm going to be dragging with me now.
The camera I have yet to turn on, because of the simple fact that the darn thing needs batteries. The computer is mostly set up-excepting the minor snafu of me not being able to get the screen resolution to behave. Minor problem that I expect will right itself eventually.
Nothing much else going on today, except for the thing I did at the library that really ticked my supervisor off. I am extremely sorry I wasn't paying attention, but I wasn't paying attention. That was entirely my fault.
So, two computers and one camera later, I am exhausted. The blogs will get longer when I get more energy to write more, and when my hands hurt less :)
Cheers,
Bec
19.9.07
This is Going to Be Short
I am going to bed. I have been going since about 4:30 this afternoon and I just got back. Will write more when I have time to. ') ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
Night,
Bec
Night,
Bec
18.9.07
Whee!
Well, today has been interesting thus far.
First off, I borrowed out the textbook for my upcoming class at Harlaxton, and the bit that I've read was pretty good. I think I'm going to get such a kick out of taking a history class that isn't an AMERICAN history class. It'll be nice not to hear the same thing over again.
"The founding fathers built some buildings and fought with swords and Paul Revere rode around and yelled. We killed some Mexicans. They killed us. The Civil War was in 1861. A lot of people killed each other over slavery. Then there was World War 1, and World War 2, where we killed most everybody else and they killed us again, and then we invented microwaves. Then the nuclear age arrived. Hot Pockets were created, and the world rejoiced. David Hasselhoff sang on a wall. The Internet was invented by Al Gore and the human race died laughing at somebody's Youtube video..."
I talked to my mother about the head librarian back home quitting her job and apparently going for the quiet life. We're trying to figure out why, but we're also trying to sort out who might replace her. Most likely we won't like them. That's the way it usually works.
Meanwhile, Mom said Dad and her are coming down this weekend, which means I really should think about actually completing my homework before it starts. And I should really push on and finish my scholarship application (I couldn't find the right words to placate them enough to give me money. It's a tough go.)
Mom believes I am starting to talk British. If I am I am not doing it on purpose. It's leaching into my speech from all the books I've read lately about British this and British that. I'm so busy reading about it that I'm starting to talk like the people in it, and consequently I am becoming more British-y by the day. Now if THAT doesn't terrify people...next thing you know I'll be eating bangers and mash and wearing a stupid hat.
It's rained all day today but strangely I feel pretty damn good. Maybe my medication has kicked in in some small way.
I should at least skim the pages that my prof wanted me to read for tonight. The concepts mostly miss me, but I can at least make an effort. Oddly enough, though his theories are breezing by me, I know his class isn't the hardest.
No. That's math.
Surprises never cease, do they?
Everytime I get in math class I want to scream in frustration. WHO CARES about charting the Cartesian divide or sailing the exponential curve? X is constantly changing clothes and sneaking up on y and dividing him with a hacksaw. 4 is in the middle of all of it looking lonely and confused as to why the minus sign is suddenly so attracted to him. And 8 can't figure out if he's sideways or right-side up.
I don't like soap operas all that much and math is just another tale of woe. I don't need woe. Woe is bad for my health and therefore, so is math.
Can we get math declared a health hazard? At least to those who can't do it?
My tutor suggested to me today that if I'm not going to pay attention, I should at least write something down. I blamed my ADD and said that this would be easier even it were Thomas Hardy, whom I don't like but I'd be willing to read his stuff and write a paper on one of his books.
Why can't I do that instead of drawing little dots on a grid?
I would eat vile things in order to get away from it, I would. Get me the Vegemite jar...where's that haggis? Anyone for chocolate-covered cockroaches?
I have a million things to do today, so I will sign off.
Cheerio (I TOLD you I don't do it on purpose. It just happens accidentally)
Bec
First off, I borrowed out the textbook for my upcoming class at Harlaxton, and the bit that I've read was pretty good. I think I'm going to get such a kick out of taking a history class that isn't an AMERICAN history class. It'll be nice not to hear the same thing over again.
"The founding fathers built some buildings and fought with swords and Paul Revere rode around and yelled. We killed some Mexicans. They killed us. The Civil War was in 1861. A lot of people killed each other over slavery. Then there was World War 1, and World War 2, where we killed most everybody else and they killed us again, and then we invented microwaves. Then the nuclear age arrived. Hot Pockets were created, and the world rejoiced. David Hasselhoff sang on a wall. The Internet was invented by Al Gore and the human race died laughing at somebody's Youtube video..."
I talked to my mother about the head librarian back home quitting her job and apparently going for the quiet life. We're trying to figure out why, but we're also trying to sort out who might replace her. Most likely we won't like them. That's the way it usually works.
Meanwhile, Mom said Dad and her are coming down this weekend, which means I really should think about actually completing my homework before it starts. And I should really push on and finish my scholarship application (I couldn't find the right words to placate them enough to give me money. It's a tough go.)
Mom believes I am starting to talk British. If I am I am not doing it on purpose. It's leaching into my speech from all the books I've read lately about British this and British that. I'm so busy reading about it that I'm starting to talk like the people in it, and consequently I am becoming more British-y by the day. Now if THAT doesn't terrify people...next thing you know I'll be eating bangers and mash and wearing a stupid hat.
It's rained all day today but strangely I feel pretty damn good. Maybe my medication has kicked in in some small way.
I should at least skim the pages that my prof wanted me to read for tonight. The concepts mostly miss me, but I can at least make an effort. Oddly enough, though his theories are breezing by me, I know his class isn't the hardest.
No. That's math.
Surprises never cease, do they?
Everytime I get in math class I want to scream in frustration. WHO CARES about charting the Cartesian divide or sailing the exponential curve? X is constantly changing clothes and sneaking up on y and dividing him with a hacksaw. 4 is in the middle of all of it looking lonely and confused as to why the minus sign is suddenly so attracted to him. And 8 can't figure out if he's sideways or right-side up.
I don't like soap operas all that much and math is just another tale of woe. I don't need woe. Woe is bad for my health and therefore, so is math.
Can we get math declared a health hazard? At least to those who can't do it?
My tutor suggested to me today that if I'm not going to pay attention, I should at least write something down. I blamed my ADD and said that this would be easier even it were Thomas Hardy, whom I don't like but I'd be willing to read his stuff and write a paper on one of his books.
Why can't I do that instead of drawing little dots on a grid?
I would eat vile things in order to get away from it, I would. Get me the Vegemite jar...where's that haggis? Anyone for chocolate-covered cockroaches?
I have a million things to do today, so I will sign off.
Cheerio (I TOLD you I don't do it on purpose. It just happens accidentally)
Bec
17.9.07
Bouncing Off the Walls
I haven't felt this good in months.
I don't know what's triggered it-the fact that I actually got sleep this weekend, or that my stress levels today are at an all-time dip, but man, I wish I felt like this all the time. Bit of a headache, but that's because I didn't take my medication on time today and it always gives me a headache when I don't take it on time. It'll fade.
Today's going to be half of a weekend for me-one class for an hour at noon, one class for two hours at 5. No work, no homework, just nothing and nothing to do. Might watch a little Stargate...
I'm sorry if I sounded a bit angry and bitter yesterday, but it's just so tiring to have to deal with people thinking you're a nut because you're wearing gloves in 40 degree weather, to grab something only to remember that your fingers don't bend like that anymore, and to try and rip open a bag of whatever only to find out you no longer have the strength for it. Rheumatoid also takes the muscle strength out of the fingers, and because of this I have trouble ripping open something that most would take for granted. Chip bags being one. I have to cut the bag with a pair of scissors now, and it makes me feel like a damn fool.
Well, limitations are a fact of life. I just have more than most people :)
On a lighter note, I found a really cool video on Youtube that showed me a vending machine at Harlaxton. You might think this is crazy, but they don't have the same kind of snack stuff in England. (Right about now you're thinking duh. I know you're thinking it...) but I guess the sight of that vending machine drove home the fact that this is NOT where I normally hang around. This country doesn't have Doritos or Snickers or Almond Joys. They might have them elsewhere, or they might have equivalents, but that vending machine reminded me exactly how far away I am going to go.
GULP.
Meanwhile, my roommate Emily's fish Jimmy has learned a new move-if you point your finger at him he puffs. He also does it if you wave your fingers at him. He kind of flips his gills at you and looks annoyed, but we found it so amusing that we kept making him puff.
Mom and Dad might be coming down this weekend, hopefully with my new poster and that tape I asked for.
Will sign off. I think I need a couple of pills for this headache.
Cheerio!
Bec
I don't know what's triggered it-the fact that I actually got sleep this weekend, or that my stress levels today are at an all-time dip, but man, I wish I felt like this all the time. Bit of a headache, but that's because I didn't take my medication on time today and it always gives me a headache when I don't take it on time. It'll fade.
Today's going to be half of a weekend for me-one class for an hour at noon, one class for two hours at 5. No work, no homework, just nothing and nothing to do. Might watch a little Stargate...
I'm sorry if I sounded a bit angry and bitter yesterday, but it's just so tiring to have to deal with people thinking you're a nut because you're wearing gloves in 40 degree weather, to grab something only to remember that your fingers don't bend like that anymore, and to try and rip open a bag of whatever only to find out you no longer have the strength for it. Rheumatoid also takes the muscle strength out of the fingers, and because of this I have trouble ripping open something that most would take for granted. Chip bags being one. I have to cut the bag with a pair of scissors now, and it makes me feel like a damn fool.
Well, limitations are a fact of life. I just have more than most people :)
On a lighter note, I found a really cool video on Youtube that showed me a vending machine at Harlaxton. You might think this is crazy, but they don't have the same kind of snack stuff in England. (Right about now you're thinking duh. I know you're thinking it...) but I guess the sight of that vending machine drove home the fact that this is NOT where I normally hang around. This country doesn't have Doritos or Snickers or Almond Joys. They might have them elsewhere, or they might have equivalents, but that vending machine reminded me exactly how far away I am going to go.
GULP.
Meanwhile, my roommate Emily's fish Jimmy has learned a new move-if you point your finger at him he puffs. He also does it if you wave your fingers at him. He kind of flips his gills at you and looks annoyed, but we found it so amusing that we kept making him puff.
Mom and Dad might be coming down this weekend, hopefully with my new poster and that tape I asked for.
Will sign off. I think I need a couple of pills for this headache.
Cheerio!
Bec
16.9.07
Sunday
I have survived another week in the trenches of college.
I always feel out of place here, being the poor kid playing in the middle-class playground. I'm here by the grace of Uncle Sam alone, otherwise I would be out in the working world, trying to make it.
I am always reminded of that fact on days like today, when I sit with the other college kids in church, and realize to myself that I have almost nothing in common with these people. I don't drive a car (not instinctively knowing left from right is a problem when driving, something I have yet to overcome entirely), I can't live off-campus (it's more expensive for me to go off-campus; here on campus everything is covered for me) and while they all wear fashionable clothes and go partying once in a while, I can't do either. I have no money for fun and frivolity, and I don't have Mom and Dad paying for anything.
That said, none of them are facing being sick for potentially the rest of their lives, either.
My roommate and I actually got into a discussion about it last night, I think, over what possible good this little disease could do me, to try and justify why God would pull such a stunt.
She couldn't give me a good answer, and I know why: There isn't one. What possible reason could there be for this to happen to me? The one thing I said I would be freaked if I lost, and whoop! it's taken away from me faster than lightning. Sounds like a vengeful, angry being to me.
I once said that I would rather be in a wheelchair than lose the use of my arms. It's still true. If I don't write something, anything once a day, I get all of my emotions banked up and they tend to come out of me in ways that aren't healthy. Writing is my outlet, my release valve since I was 14 and angry at the world.
But what, pray tell, can I do when the release valve gets stuck?
I have spent most of my 21 years being pushed around, left out, left behind, being forgotten. Now there's this. Somebody up there remembered me, and decided it would be fun to watch me struggle to function emotionally and physically without the use of my hands. Thanks for remembering me, God.
I have tried not to get bitter. I have tried not to be furious with the supposedly almighty being who resides somewhere up there. But you tell me: what would you do if the one thing that made you happy and balanced was ripped away from you, and it was unlikely you would ever get it back?
I always feel out of place here, being the poor kid playing in the middle-class playground. I'm here by the grace of Uncle Sam alone, otherwise I would be out in the working world, trying to make it.
I am always reminded of that fact on days like today, when I sit with the other college kids in church, and realize to myself that I have almost nothing in common with these people. I don't drive a car (not instinctively knowing left from right is a problem when driving, something I have yet to overcome entirely), I can't live off-campus (it's more expensive for me to go off-campus; here on campus everything is covered for me) and while they all wear fashionable clothes and go partying once in a while, I can't do either. I have no money for fun and frivolity, and I don't have Mom and Dad paying for anything.
That said, none of them are facing being sick for potentially the rest of their lives, either.
My roommate and I actually got into a discussion about it last night, I think, over what possible good this little disease could do me, to try and justify why God would pull such a stunt.
She couldn't give me a good answer, and I know why: There isn't one. What possible reason could there be for this to happen to me? The one thing I said I would be freaked if I lost, and whoop! it's taken away from me faster than lightning. Sounds like a vengeful, angry being to me.
I once said that I would rather be in a wheelchair than lose the use of my arms. It's still true. If I don't write something, anything once a day, I get all of my emotions banked up and they tend to come out of me in ways that aren't healthy. Writing is my outlet, my release valve since I was 14 and angry at the world.
But what, pray tell, can I do when the release valve gets stuck?
I have spent most of my 21 years being pushed around, left out, left behind, being forgotten. Now there's this. Somebody up there remembered me, and decided it would be fun to watch me struggle to function emotionally and physically without the use of my hands. Thanks for remembering me, God.
I have tried not to get bitter. I have tried not to be furious with the supposedly almighty being who resides somewhere up there. But you tell me: what would you do if the one thing that made you happy and balanced was ripped away from you, and it was unlikely you would ever get it back?
15.9.07
Back From the Trenches
Well, I had orientation for Study Abroad today. If you want to know the definition of overwhelming, do this once. We went in at 9 and came out at 2:15, most of us looking haggard and lost. It didn't help that they decided to do everyone at once-there were at least 153 of us in that room, grouped together by where we're going.
This day only served to bombard me with information and terrify me about getting on the plane even more. What if a stewardess bonks me with a tray on the plane and I get a concussion? What if I get hit by a double-decker bus? What if I catch Roman fever and die like Daisy Miller (I hated that book, but nonetheless?)
I'm going to England in the spring and I'm going to live in a large manor house named Harlaxton and go a million places. I am terrified of getting lost, of not getting to go, of winding up in London and disappearing into a street corner and being found by a bunch of emigrated mimes from France.
I'm trying very hard not to look at my folder for Harlaxton right now-my head starts to hurt when I look at it. That's a lot of information I don't know what to do with right now. I think I'll let things sit a couple of days before I start trying to handle anything.
I have spoken to no one I know all day-not my roommate, not my friends. I'm all alone up in 302 right now. I kind of feel the urge to watch a movie, but I'd hate to get started on something I can't finish. Maybe I should watch one I've seen a million times, that way I won't feel guilty about missing half the plot when I'm not paying attention (a thing that happens quite often to me). I could either watch Singin' in the Rain for the 80 billionth time or I could watch Court Jester for the 90 billionth (I've known the Jester a bit longer)
I know I'm watching Stargate later, and I'd hate to watch anything I might watch tonight, so that's out...what shall I do?
Think I'll watch Jester-I can cut out on him anytime.
Cheerio, ya'll who aren't reading this!
Bec
This day only served to bombard me with information and terrify me about getting on the plane even more. What if a stewardess bonks me with a tray on the plane and I get a concussion? What if I get hit by a double-decker bus? What if I catch Roman fever and die like Daisy Miller (I hated that book, but nonetheless?)
I'm going to England in the spring and I'm going to live in a large manor house named Harlaxton and go a million places. I am terrified of getting lost, of not getting to go, of winding up in London and disappearing into a street corner and being found by a bunch of emigrated mimes from France.
I'm trying very hard not to look at my folder for Harlaxton right now-my head starts to hurt when I look at it. That's a lot of information I don't know what to do with right now. I think I'll let things sit a couple of days before I start trying to handle anything.
I have spoken to no one I know all day-not my roommate, not my friends. I'm all alone up in 302 right now. I kind of feel the urge to watch a movie, but I'd hate to get started on something I can't finish. Maybe I should watch one I've seen a million times, that way I won't feel guilty about missing half the plot when I'm not paying attention (a thing that happens quite often to me). I could either watch Singin' in the Rain for the 80 billionth time or I could watch Court Jester for the 90 billionth (I've known the Jester a bit longer)
I know I'm watching Stargate later, and I'd hate to watch anything I might watch tonight, so that's out...what shall I do?
Think I'll watch Jester-I can cut out on him anytime.
Cheerio, ya'll who aren't reading this!
Bec
14.9.07
Whew!
I'm feeling a bit more positive today (that could be because it's morning and I haven't had an entire day of trying to open doors with my wrists)
My fingers feel like there's rubber bands attached to the ends and I'm trying to bend against them. I tend to rate how they bend, 1 to 5, (5 being I can bend my fingers to my palm) and today before normal activities they are about a 4-ish. It could be debated that they're a 3, but this is my rating system. I'm being positive.
I guess I should have started with a brief, "Hi, it's me!" thing, but I was feeling a bit down and I guess I got a little weepyish.
Hi, I'm Becca, or Bec. 21, a little nuts and lonely. I have a blog, you know? I'm in the nerdy half of the planet. Incubus is my favorite band of all time. Singin' in the Rain is my favorite movie. My favorite color is blue. And my fave TV show(s) (as anyone who knows me for more than 5 minutes knows) are the Stargate shows, SG-1 (recently cancelled but moviecised! Joy!) and Atlantis (new season two weeks away. EEEEEEEEEEEE) I also like Heroes, and speaking of which, I have to catch up on episodes 13 and 14. One a day till the premiere!
Today's going to be another rough day. I liked the weeks when we had 70 degrees and I felt no pain at all, but apparently luck is on the other person's team at the moment. At this particular second, it's 45 degrees. It's not supposed to get much higher than that.
Break out the thermal gloves. Winter is coming in for a landing.
Would you believe it? Fifty-plus degrees and I am wearing gloves outside. People may look at me funny, but hey, I'm not normal anymore (like I ever was.) My hands got a little cold the other morning and zammo, they hurt so much that I preferred looking foolish to being in pain. It's a personal thing. I actually had some guy comment on my gloves, saying it wasn't that cold. I responded with, "My fingers can't take the cold." Truth before your eyes, buddy.
The sun's rising over the trees, but it still looks cold outside. I am breaking out the sweatshirt today (I have a coat, too, but I'm not willing to look THAT stupid yet.) This is Wisconsin, for God's sake. We don't put coats on until the river freezes solid.
Ha. I'll have one on the morning there's frost on the ground.
Well, my hands haven't had warm water or painkillers this morning, and they really hate the fact that I'm pounding them into the keys like this. So I will sign off, if I can end this paragraph properly (I'm an English major. I can't help it)
Cheers,
Bec
My fingers feel like there's rubber bands attached to the ends and I'm trying to bend against them. I tend to rate how they bend, 1 to 5, (5 being I can bend my fingers to my palm) and today before normal activities they are about a 4-ish. It could be debated that they're a 3, but this is my rating system. I'm being positive.
I guess I should have started with a brief, "Hi, it's me!" thing, but I was feeling a bit down and I guess I got a little weepyish.
Hi, I'm Becca, or Bec. 21, a little nuts and lonely. I have a blog, you know? I'm in the nerdy half of the planet. Incubus is my favorite band of all time. Singin' in the Rain is my favorite movie. My favorite color is blue. And my fave TV show(s) (as anyone who knows me for more than 5 minutes knows) are the Stargate shows, SG-1 (recently cancelled but moviecised! Joy!) and Atlantis (new season two weeks away. EEEEEEEEEEEE) I also like Heroes, and speaking of which, I have to catch up on episodes 13 and 14. One a day till the premiere!
Today's going to be another rough day. I liked the weeks when we had 70 degrees and I felt no pain at all, but apparently luck is on the other person's team at the moment. At this particular second, it's 45 degrees. It's not supposed to get much higher than that.
Break out the thermal gloves. Winter is coming in for a landing.
Would you believe it? Fifty-plus degrees and I am wearing gloves outside. People may look at me funny, but hey, I'm not normal anymore (like I ever was.) My hands got a little cold the other morning and zammo, they hurt so much that I preferred looking foolish to being in pain. It's a personal thing. I actually had some guy comment on my gloves, saying it wasn't that cold. I responded with, "My fingers can't take the cold." Truth before your eyes, buddy.
The sun's rising over the trees, but it still looks cold outside. I am breaking out the sweatshirt today (I have a coat, too, but I'm not willing to look THAT stupid yet.) This is Wisconsin, for God's sake. We don't put coats on until the river freezes solid.
Ha. I'll have one on the morning there's frost on the ground.
Well, my hands haven't had warm water or painkillers this morning, and they really hate the fact that I'm pounding them into the keys like this. So I will sign off, if I can end this paragraph properly (I'm an English major. I can't help it)
Cheers,
Bec
13.9.07
First
My name is Rebecca Koshak. Two weeks ago today I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis.
Yeah, me. Rheumatoid arthritis. I'm 21, a junior in college, supposedly my whole life ahead of me...and now this business.
Everyone tells me to take it easy, don't stress. Take life one day at a time. Don't drink a lot, don't smoke, and for God's sake, don't even think about ever playing sports again.
I'm supposed to be young and not care, but I guess I'm one of a million people. What's so special about little old me?
But it's me. Me. I'm kind of worried. And tired. And...oy.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about this. I think I’ve felt every logical (and yes, some illogical) in the last two weeks. Two weeks feels like years. I wonder what a month will feel like.
Tonight is a bad night. It rained today, and my hands hurt while I’m typing this. I refuse to stop, so I have to deal with the pain regardless.
I wish I could be plain old normal, not have to deal with the pain and crippling I know is coming. I guess you could say I have my own personal thunderstorm waiting to break over me.
At the moment, I feel like I’m existing from point to point, minute to minute. Four hours till the next painkiller, take my other pill, take that pill, too. Maybe this’ll work…I don’t what I’ll do if it doesn’t. What will I do?
I wonder if I’ll be contemplating shots next year or whether I’ll be on a different, more volatile medication. Maybe stronger pain meds than the ibuprofen I’ve been hanging onto for the past two years.
Where will I be next year? I don’t even want to consider 5 or 10, so sticking with next year seems appropriate. I know no insurance company will want me for a little money-I have become expensive to keep.
Tonight I’m tired. Tonight I’m confused. Tonight I’m in pain and afraid and knotted up in a million different ways.
I want to start a diary-not a diary by any normal means. I want to start a diary of pictures of my hands, seeing how the (disease sounds so final and terrifying) how the disease takes my lovely, long, graceful fingers and turns them into pretzels (the stick kind)
Pain is my inheritance. I must endure. (so quaint. When the hell did I become quaint?)
I wonder if anyone will want to date me, Ms. Future Cripple of America (God BLESS the health system) or whether they'll go for pretty, healthy girls who aren't having finger pain when it rains a little bit.
That's all for tonight. My hands are starting to really protest.
Yeah, me. Rheumatoid arthritis. I'm 21, a junior in college, supposedly my whole life ahead of me...and now this business.
Everyone tells me to take it easy, don't stress. Take life one day at a time. Don't drink a lot, don't smoke, and for God's sake, don't even think about ever playing sports again.
I'm supposed to be young and not care, but I guess I'm one of a million people. What's so special about little old me?
But it's me. Me. I'm kind of worried. And tired. And...oy.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about this. I think I’ve felt every logical (and yes, some illogical) in the last two weeks. Two weeks feels like years. I wonder what a month will feel like.
Tonight is a bad night. It rained today, and my hands hurt while I’m typing this. I refuse to stop, so I have to deal with the pain regardless.
I wish I could be plain old normal, not have to deal with the pain and crippling I know is coming. I guess you could say I have my own personal thunderstorm waiting to break over me.
At the moment, I feel like I’m existing from point to point, minute to minute. Four hours till the next painkiller, take my other pill, take that pill, too. Maybe this’ll work…I don’t what I’ll do if it doesn’t. What will I do?
I wonder if I’ll be contemplating shots next year or whether I’ll be on a different, more volatile medication. Maybe stronger pain meds than the ibuprofen I’ve been hanging onto for the past two years.
Where will I be next year? I don’t even want to consider 5 or 10, so sticking with next year seems appropriate. I know no insurance company will want me for a little money-I have become expensive to keep.
Tonight I’m tired. Tonight I’m confused. Tonight I’m in pain and afraid and knotted up in a million different ways.
I want to start a diary-not a diary by any normal means. I want to start a diary of pictures of my hands, seeing how the (disease sounds so final and terrifying) how the disease takes my lovely, long, graceful fingers and turns them into pretzels (the stick kind)
Pain is my inheritance. I must endure. (so quaint. When the hell did I become quaint?)
I wonder if anyone will want to date me, Ms. Future Cripple of America (God BLESS the health system) or whether they'll go for pretty, healthy girls who aren't having finger pain when it rains a little bit.
That's all for tonight. My hands are starting to really protest.
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