I'm not entirely defeated, I'm just having a moment

In another attempt to delay the microbiology homework at hand, I return to my blog. 

I've officially entered my last semester in what has turned out to be the longest undergraduate college career in history.  The reality of the situation has hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks:  eight years and tens of thousands of dollars later, I have earned (or will, if I can survive the final semester) the equivalent of a high school diploma.  My original plan--finish the Physician Assistant graduate program in outstanding fashion and go on to save poor starving people in third world countries--doesn't seem very likely at this stage of the game.  Who knew at the start of my education journey that upon completion I'd be old and just barely holding together a household with two much more opinionated children?  Damn you, blind optimism...

I've been told flexibility is important for survival--which goes against every let's-make-a-plan-and-stick-to-it fiber of my being.  So, in the name of personal growth, I've reevaluated where I'm at and where I'm going...and I've decided that I'm packing my bags and moving to Portland.  Possibly Seattle.  My backup plan is to attend Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health and complete a master's program in epidemiology.  Possibly infectious disease.  I'm equally optimistic about either plan...

I'm neurotic today because...
The countdown to graduation has begun...118 days, 22 hours, 54 minutes, and 1 second (seriously, I'm counting) until I don the cap and gown and drag across the stage at Johnny Unitas Stadium the shell of what used to be a highly motivated overachiever.  

For My Running Partner, JB

I'm not sure whether it's naivety or narcissism that leads me to believe I can do whatever I want.

Yesterday I completed my first half-marathon, 13.1 miles.  Was I the fastest?  Not by a long shot.  Did I run the whole race?  Nope, I took a five minute walking break.  But with very little training, I ran--albeit slowly--nearly 13 miles.  And I cheered myself 100 feet into the race because I had officially gone further than my uncle Greg could (so he says).

As I was chugging along, I began thinking of how running a marathon is much like childbirth.

First of all, you must breathe through the pain and pressure.  Accessing your quiet place is a must.  Granted, I had my share of doubts going into the race.  I knew I was ill-prepared.  I mentally listed all the reasons why this could end in disaster.  What if I trip from exhaustion and sprain an ankle?  What if I stroke out from dehydration?  What if I have bathroom issues from nerves or my donut breakfast?  It wasn't until about mile 3 that I actually began believing I was not going to die in this foolish attempt to prove something to myself.

Secondly, much like childbirth, you have difficulty walking the next day.  And sitting?  Forget about it.  I have muscle pain in muscles I didn't know existed before today.  I'm choosing to believe that even the young bodies needed an ice-down...just like childbirth, you need those Tucks medicated pads no matter how old you are when you push that watermelon of a kiddo through your hoo-ha.

In both childbirth and marathon running, sometimes you poo yourself.  It's true, I've seen pictures.  This was a real, totally unfounded concern for me going into this race.  I have a stomach of steel....there was absolutely no reason for me to believe I would have a problem.  But still, I had visions of the sag wagon scraping my humiliated carcass off the pavement and delivering me to a victorious running partner awaiting me at the finish line.  Regardless, I took a huge gamble going into mile 6 and snatched up one of those energy gel packs at the water station.  My only other experience using them actually did cause severe stomach cramping.  This is how arrogant I was feeling about half way through this race.  I took the chance and sucked down that green apple gel like it would cause me to sprout wings and fly over the finish line.

I can't explain how, despite never running more than 5 miles, I ran nearly the entire half-marathon.  I discovered a new part of me...someone who can focus so intently on accomplishing one single goal that she can ignore all the self-imposed doubts and totally unfounded neuroses.  Sure, I didn't post the best time.  I wasn't even close to being middle of the pack (because mediocre is usually my goal).  But running the half marathon is something I did solely for me...to prove I could.  So whether I'm naive or narcissistic, I'm going to continue to do whatever my little heart desires...because I can.

I'm neurotic today because...
...I forgot the pain with my first sip of post-race beer.  Much like childbirth.

I Should've Probably Thought About This Before Now

It occurred to me today while sitting in BIOL 408: Cell Biology that I really could give a frick about cell biology.  I mean, really.  Cisternae in mitochondria?  Who cares?  Western blots, Northern blots, Southern blots, Eastern blots, blah blah blahts.  This is, of course, perfect timing to check out mentally, considering I'm just one microbiology class away from earning a Bachelor of Science degree in--you guessed it--cell and molecular biology.


I've reached an interesting point in the program, actually.  There are those people, like my new found friend Ryan, who are serious brainiacs (and ipso facto, make me feel slightly retarded in comparison).  This dude is that kid in high school you hated because he got straight A's without doing any work.  I, however, forgive him for being obnoxiously intelligent because he brings me coffee every class.  Plus, he's entertaining.  For instance, when we had to get up in front of the class to present a diagram, he pulled up a circa-1998 jock jams song on his iPhone and sashayed to the podium, so as to make a "proper entrance".  He's also been known to have Tourette's-like outbursts of "I'mabout to make a scene!" or "I know that's right!".  Tonight during a fellow classmate's journal presentation, he busted out, "I'mabout  to knock that gum right outta her mouth!".

Which brings me to the second type of student:  the Idiot.

Thank sweet Jebus for the Idiot, really, because without them I'd probably cry myself to sleep.  I do think it's more than slightly shameful for a senior in college to lack the skills required for an oral presentation.  Yes, sweetheart, you look adorable in your little Ugg boots and freshly bleached hair, but power point slides are meant for bullet points, not the entire journal.  If I wanted to read the journal, I would, well...read the journal.

I'm neurotic today because...
...I can't wait to graduate college, be tens of thousands (!) of dollars in debt, and find a career only slightly related to the BS degree it took me 8 years to earn.  (At least 8...I lost track.)

Physics Will Solve Itself

If ever you receive $200 worth of speeding tickets in one night and find yourself *not* angry, you know you're in a good place.

It's not that I have an extra $200 laying around to fork over to the state of Maryland, but it seems silly to be upset (about being penalized for something for which I'm totally guilty) when I have so much Awesomeness in my life.  Sure, I could (and do) spend time complaining about my miserable 9-5, or the classwork I rarely understand, or the constant challenges of motherhood (or as I like to refer to it, Just-Survive-The-Next-Ten-Years-Without-Major-Catastrophe), but it's important, I think, to just visit Misery...don't take up permanent residence.

Goddess of Universal Compassion

Life is hard.  And interesting.  And complicated.  And beautiful.  I say, if you need to cry, cry.  If you're angry, be angry.  If you're joyful, scream it from the proverbial mountaintop.  Own your emotions.  Allow yourself to be wherever you are...but then let tomorrow be a new day.

Have compassion for others and do good work...and believe good things will come full circle (see: Tara.)  I've been blessed with friends who accept me in all my nerdy, neurotic glory; I have siblings who are my best friends; I have children who respect and admire me, despite my many, many flaws; I have parents who unconditionally and enthusiastically support all the things I get myself into; and I constantly have new people come into my life to show me the value in slowing down, enjoying quiet moments, and focusing on all the Awesomeness of Life.

Be these things to other people, and allow the people in your life to be these things for you.

I'm neurotic today because...
...I have spent the greater part of two hours sipping coffee, philosophizing,  and revamping the blog layout.  I suppose physics will solve itself.

Here's to a long, snowy Baltimore winter!

I almost lost my life yesterday...and I'm being only slightly dramatic.

A dusting of snow blew through the Baltimore area yesterday, ushering in with it the first round of panicked winter drivers. Poor planning and procrastination landed me at Target just as the skies began to go gray in anticipation of the impending fluffy (flooofy) stuff. Twenty minutes and $145 later, I evacuated Target and started the ten minute trek home.

An hour and a half later, I was still sitting on York Road. Generally speaking, I don't get upset about traffic. First of all, I rarely sit in traffic; secondly, the road was slick, so why be angry? We're all in the same boat, right? So I took the extra time in my car as an opportunity to Shazam some new songs from the radio. No big deal. And the fact that I rarely clean out my car means I could survive for weeks, if need be, from the contents of my trunk. (I have junk in my trunk, if you will.) So let there be a blizzard for all I care.

And then Angry Man in the Suburban arrived. I was creeping along in an endless procession of cars, enjoying my one-woman concert, when a very large Suburban-type vehicle decided to attempt a merger where no merger existed. Entering from my left, the mammoth truck approached my car and stopped within a foot or so of my driver side door...and in the process, blocked two lanes of traffic attempting to pass in the opposite direction. Confused, I spent the next five minutes (because, again, no one was moving) trying to determine what he wanted--behind me? in front of me? I just had no idea because his maneuver was just that asinine.

Of course, I chose wrong. Using my common sense (I can't move forward or backward), a little rough math (he was a smidgen too close), and the physics I just earned an A with (forces acting on a mammoth object on an incline plane), I decided he needed to merge behind me. There was no way he was making it in the space in front of me, even if he wanted to...which, based on his next move, he did. The two feet I finally moved forward prompted the most INSANE display of road rage to which I have ever bore witness:

"You [expletive] idiot! You [expletive] idiot! You should've let me go! Aw, shut up, you [expletive] stupid [expletive]! I can't believe you, you stupid [expletive]!"

Not only was the man screaming at me, he put his car in park, braved the 27 degree weather, and advanced in my direction to do so. I definitely saw the vein pulsating on his forehead, his crazy eyes glaring at me as he planned my slow painful death. I attempted to reason with the man, starting to explain that according to my calculations, there was no way he could even fit in the space in front of me...but then he called me a stupid [expletive], so I just shrugged my shoulders and ignored him. I figured if he did decide to kill me over two feet, there were enough witnesses to testify that he, indeed, could not fit in front of me.

So, yeah, that was the amazing start to my favorite season of the year. And this story took front seat to my story of accidentally walking into the men's room at the movie theater, and my account of accidentally forgetting which house was my friend's, ringing the wrong doorbell, and waking up a 90 year old man in the process.

I'm neurotic today because....
...after Angry Man in the Suburban merged behind me, I demonstrated my good will by allowing every car I possibly could to merge in front of me. Yeah, it made my drive longer...but it also made my point.

Stop. Blogger time.

A big part of working with the public is giving the appearance that everything is honky-dory, even when it isn't. I am essentially being paid to talk thirty-five times a day about the weather, grind some toenails, and send our patient's on their way with a coke and a smile. (Hold the coke.) Based on this week's performance, it is official that I suck at pretending. I have, in fact, been yelled at by more old people in the past two days than I care to count.

Interestingly, an irate 80 year old is the least of my problems.

Parenting, as it turns out, is by far my most difficult job. I can predict the 3-D structure of a protein or recite the Kreb's Cycle by heart, but I haven't the slightest clue how to keep my son's school binder organized. I can be the receptionist, the surgical coordinator, the medical assistant, the billing department, and the office manager concurrently, but (short of a cattle prod) I can't seem to expeditiously motivate my daughter from her bed each morning.

Now that my children are growing older, the task of parenting has become exponentially harder. They're expressing themselves, or not, however and whenever they deem appropriate. They test boundaries. They make me profoundly proud...and, at times, make me absolutely insane. As new pre-teen (gasp!) issues arise, I find myself questioning where, exactly, this roller coaster ride called motherhood will land me. Adolescent issues are big time game changers. When do I, as an overly-concerned-more-than-slightly-neurotic parent, step back and allow them to work things out on their own? Certainly, part of becoming an adult is dealing with what life deals you. But isn't it our motherly instinct to swoop in and smack all the bad guys upside their ignorant little heads (or is that just me?). Changing poopy diapers and teaching manners was so much easier.

I know this too shall pass. After all, I never thought I would make it through "The Talk"...but, low and behold, I found myself this summer pulling off an impromptu lock-and-key metaphor that not only surprised the heck out of me, but explained the birds and the bees so well that Meghan gasped in disgust over her own conception. It is moments like those, oddly enough, that really drive home how lucky I am to have the children I do. There are not many homes where sex education becomes a family discussion in which everyone actively and openly participates. (I could write a book about our dinner conversations.)

Maybe what we should do as parents is give ourselves a break and stop expecting perfection. Good kids will find their way.

Right?

I'm neurotic today because...
...countless hours of research, twenty-two phone calls, three missed classes, two parent-teacher conferences, and a partridge in a pear tree. 'Nough said.

My [Most Recent] Worst Week Ever

I smelled it as soon as I walked into the house. Could it be? Could it really be?

This week was the [most recent] Worst Week Ever. Also, my [most recent] mid-life crisis. I'd like to be one of those people who handle stress so well that you'd never know something was the matter. Unfortunately, I wear my emotions like a Mike Tyson tattoo.

On Monday, I walked into my Physics class in my usual manner--sweaty and winded from the hike across campus--to find everyone already started on an extra-credit problem. I had several issues with this scenario. First, it was Monday morning at exactly 9:01am, for Pete's sake. Seriously. I hadn't even finished my second cup of coffee, which is, of course, the one that actually helps me function for trigonometry at 9:01am. I hurried to the last row with an open seat, only to have to wait for the two geniuses on either side of the desk to move their belongings within their own space. Tick, tock. My second issue with this nonsense: we had a three minute timer on the problem. I was watching my one percent exam grade bonus tick away. I finally sat down, dug out a pencil and my electronic answer-thingy, just in time to be forced to enter any answer, a WRONG answer...because, of course, the question also counted as attendance for the day. I should've known it was going to be a long week.

After Physics lab finished at 1pm (yes, FOUR hours of Physics), I headed to work. I walked through the door--didn't even put down my backpack, eat, or pee--and was immediately bombarded with the drama of the morning. "Shelly is sick, you have to cover the desk, the phones were crazy all morning, I'm so overwhelmed, oh my goodness...." Awesome. I was so frustrated by the end of the day, that when the sun visor in my car decided it didn't want to stay in the upright position (due to the SEVERE shaking and thumping of the broken wheel bearing), I punched it....and broke off the clip that [should have] held it in place.

Tuesday evening I have class beginning at 5:30pm. Luckily, I finish work around 4pm...which gives me just enough time to do absolutely nothing. I left work promptly at 4pm and entered the parking garage at my usual entrance. Typically, I drive to an upper level where a) there are more open parking spaces, and b) I'll remember where I parked. This particular Tuesday, however, I came upon an open spot very close to the building, so I took it. I proceeded to put down my windows, turn off my car, and call the auto shop. My car has been shaking and thumping for quite some time, and I finally had the name and number for a reliable and reasonably priced mechanic. I scheduled drop off for my car for Friday and hung up. I began collecting my books from the passenger seat, reached up to turn the ignition so I could close the windows, and...nothing. My car was dead. I literally hung up from the auto mechanic two seconds earlier, and my car just died. I still had the phone in my hand! That. Just. Happened.

I called Samantha and, after some venting, decided I would contact her after class to attempt a jump-start. After I Googled "How To Jump Start A Car", and what I believe to be a valiant, albeit failed, effort to do so, we decided to drive to the towing company and/or mechanic. On the way, I telephone my insurance agent to check road side coverage...only for my phone to cut out mid-call and flash red I'm-Going-To-Die-Any-Minute. To make a long story a little shorter, I spoke to the mechanic who assured me he would get the car out of the parking area tomorrow and into the garage for inspection. Until then, it was stranded unlocked and windows-down in Towson overnight.

The next day, I received an email from Towson University regarding my school loans. Panicked, I called the Financial Aid office. As the young lady accessed my information, my cell phone rang--the mechanic. So, Financial Aid on one ear and the auto mechanic on the other...

--Yes, due to a clerical error, one of your school loans has been rescinded.
--Your battery has been leaking acid everywhere...it needs replaced, along with all the wires connecting it to the car.
--Apparently, you were entered as a full-time student, but our records now indicate you are three-quarter time.
--The wheel bearing is so bad that the only thing holding your wheel to your car are the lug nuts.
--You owe Towson University $1500, due immediately.
--I can fix everything for you, but you're looking at $800-900, easy. And I wouldn't be surprised if there was more damage with that wheel bearing, as bad as it is.

While I realize none of these things are life-threatening serious, it was pretty overwhelming for one week. I must have looked pretty rough by the end of the day, because even my deli lady was concerned. To top it all off, this is what Enterprise gave me for a rental:

What about this car says Sheila?

I'm neurotic today because...
...after everything this week, the smell of an entire pot of burnt chili sent me over the edge tonight.