Is it possible for your brain to split out of your skull?

I woke with a severe migraine yesterday at 5:21am.  I had gotten it sometime during the night while asleep so there was no chance of taking a rescue medication until I woke up.  The ironic thing is that my brain was trying to wake me up because I kept dreaming I was having a migraine.  You would think my mind would have flashed a big "wake up! You really ARE having a migraine in real life" sign instead of vague dream-like images I ignored.  I could feel the pain in my head when I moved, but attributed it to my dream.  I eventually woke and realized I was beyond immediate help.  This was going to be an all-day affair and if I am lucky I won't have to go to the ER.

I've written about migraines before in this blog and every time I have one of this level I feel the need to hash it out again.  I was told at some point that as I got older, they would diminish.  Keeping in mind that Spanish class proved to be a definite migraine trigger, I would say that outside of the Spanish outlier, they haven't.  I still take a daily preventative medication and just when I think I don't need it anymore, something like the one I had yesterday happens.  I still can't figure out what the trigger is.  I have some ideas, but when I go through them again and I don't get a migraine, I'm never sure if that is a trigger or not.

Friday the 6th, Jill, Natalie, and I celebrated my birthday.  I turned 46 on Sept. 1st, or as I like to call it, 29 again.  Jill took us to a Japanese sushi place by her house and we ate and talked for a few hours dining on all sorts of wonderful sushi, rolls, and sashimi.  I didn't have alcohol because I took allergy meds earlier in the day so that wasn't it.  I've eaten Chinese and Japanese food before without causing a migraine, so that wasn't it.  I was at work, but it wasn't an unusual day, so that wasn't it.  The only thing I can think of is that school started this week and I had something really, really irritating happen. 

As anyone who is even vaguely familiar with UW-Milwaukee knows, parking on campus is right up there with parking in New York City.  I had both of my classes on Wednesday the 3rd, and both teachers made specific points that they will under no circumstances accept emailed homework assignments.  Large, bold font also announces this in the syllabi for both teachers.  There are several points I want to  make about this, so hang in there.

First, both classes are foundational classes to the Professional/Technical writing track of my English degree.  They are classes that not only teach you about those very same subjects, but also prepare a student for the work force.  They are almost vocational in nature.  What's wrong with the point of not accepting emails?  Do they honestly think that workforces do not accept email?  Are they so cheap that they don't want to print anything out?  One teacher stated she liked to comment on the page as she was reading.  What?  Has she never heard of Word comment?  I just can't fathom why we can't email assignments. 

Second, one of the teachers then makes an assignment due, for the next day, when we DON'T have class.  AND she makes it a non-graded mandatory assignment.  AND we have to drop it off, IN-PERSON between the hours of 9am and 2pm at her "Study Abroad" booth in the student union.  She tells us that this is her way of making us aware that we can study abroad in London next spring.  I have to take a deep breath here, because I can still feel myself get really angry over this.  The assignment turns out to be a one page memo answering a few questions about ourselves.  This is something that could EASILY be emailed in two seconds versus the 1/2 hour I will need to go to campus, find a parking spot, give it to her, and leave.  AND I work a 10 and 1/2 hour day on Thursdays, from 6am to 4:30pm.  The only time I would get to do this is on my lunch, and that isn't going to happen.  Now, if my office was still at Columbia Hospital, I guess I wouldn't have minded so much.  I would have been right across the street.  But, I'm not at Columbia anymore, I'm in Glendale at the River Woods outpatient clinic.  20 mins from campus, at best.  After class was over, I waited for the other students to leave and then I went to talk with the professor.  I stated that I heard her say no emails, but I went on to explain my situation and asked if I could email mine.  Nope.  She told me I could "drop it off after work, and slip it underneath her door".  I then told her I wasn't going to be on the east side of Milwaukee, and she just repeated herself with a breezy, airy smile.  I sighed and told her that I would be going to a friend's house on Friday and could make a detour over, but I will not stop on Thursday after work because I had two errands to run that were in Mequon and Saukville that had to be done by 5pm when the store in Mequon closed.  I was NOT coming back to the east side of Milwaukee to slip a one piece page of paper under her door when she wasn't even going to be there.  I must have shown some irritation because she relented and said Friday would be fine. 

Third, both teachers made comments about being too "old" to learn these "new" ways of doing things.  The discussion was about emails and D2L, which is the electronic version of the classroom.  I've taken several courses that use D2L (desire 2 learn), and I think it is an excellent tool to get people acquainted with electronic forms of communication that isn't for a fun purpose.  It is also the classroom for all online classes.  It is a serious, work environment that is similar to what happens in the work force.  I know this because I am in the work force.  So I don't understand when I get two teachers, both in their 60's who announce to a class of 20-somethings that they are too "old to learn new tricks".  What the hell am I paying tuition for then?  And WHY would anyone choose UWM's programs if they have professors that are too old to keep up with standard, current workforce practices.  Especially in something that will use technology for its standard practice.  I am appalled at this.  Both as a student and as a taxpayer.  And, less-so, as a woman.  Both teachers are women and I feel they are just adding to the stereotype of old women who can't use computers.  Hey, that's fine if you are not teaching the next generation of kids who will be entering the workforce in a few short semesters.  You want to hole up in the 1970's and stay there, that's your problem.  But, you have NO right to call yourself a teacher of current practices then.  And, just because you are tenured, doesn't mean you get to rest on your laurels, waste taxpayer money, waste student tuition money, and make the younglings dance circles around your schedule. 

After this semester I have 19 credits left for graduation.  I am so close.  But, instead of warming to UWM, I find that I am becoming increasingly annoying and disgusted with them.  I really miss UW Sheboygan.  I'm not going to transfer to a different school with only 19 credits left.  I have no idea if a different school is any different, better, or possibly worse.  I will stick it out, get my degree, and finally put this chapter in my life to rest.  I have to keep reminding myself that I have had teachers who are normal, nice, and interested in teaching students and not for personal gain.  Who don't put on an air of quirky antiquity when trying to teach a forward-thinking technology class.  Yes, I understand that the basic principles of writing are the same.  What I'm trying to learn is how to apply that to today's business practices and if I have teachers that won't even use an established form of communication, why am I here?  Not using email is akin to using an abacus in a calculus class. 

I just hope this is the only real bump in the semester.  I can't take another 15 weeks of quirky teachers who pull this crap out of their hats and call it an education.  I really can't.  This is why college is for the young.  They don't know any better.  But I guarantee you they know how to email.  And that brings me to my last point.  The younglings of today are past email.  They will be more advanced in using technology than I will ever be, and if I can see the problem with having professors that won't use what is available in the workforce, why should they invest their, and their parent's, money into a university system that could be so much more greater than it is?  Why?  Why as taxpayers should we accept shoddy services for our money?  Why are we giving tenure to professors who have no interest in keeping current?  And, why does this bother me so much that I get a migraine so bad that I consider removing my head as a treatment option?     

Totems on the mind

My sister imparted to me the other day that she had her totems read.  At least that’s what I understood her to say.  She tells me that her left-brain is ruled by the horse and the right-brain is ruled by the bear.  And then she said that of course this is true because she is very creative like the horse.  With no offense to my sister, I was almost compelled to ask her why a horse is more creative than a bear?  Or any other animal in the animal kingdom.  Or a human.  It seems to me that horses aren’t necessarily creative.  I grew up on a farm and we had horses.  I love horses, and they are beautiful animals.  However, they are not that creative.  They usually don’t have to forage for food, don’t have to figure out how to hibernate over winter, and can’t catch fish in their mouths.  They are pack animals and don’t do well with being by themselves.  I would give them attributes of strength, speed, and dependability, but not creativity.  But what do I know about American Indian lore? 

Our family history includes some American Indian in our blood, but for the most part I’ve always regarded myself as Caucasian.  My sister, however, clings to the 1/8^th Indian part of us that may or may not be true family genetics.  The family records are unclear and not researched, but whenever the subject of my great-grandmother on my mother’s father side came up, my maternal grandmother would get very angry and tell everyone it was none of their business.  So, there’s something there, but not a whole lot.  It also doesn’t help my sister’s cause in that I’m about as white as you can get without actually being an Albino with light green eyes and blond hair, although it is a darker blond and laced with gray now.  But, my sister and my mother are/were dark complected with dark hair and brownish-hazel eyes.  They could pass for Native American mixed with Norwegian, which, I guess we are.  My father was Norwegian but always said he had Native American in him.  I’m not sure and his family records are also not researched either.  I however, have no resemblance to an Indian whatsoever, and my sister knows this, but chooses to ignore that little fact.   

But, that doesn’t stop her from believing in the possibility that she is connected to something that really isn’t there.  Which brought me to the thought of how people in general seem to cling to something that they aren’t.  Whether it is Native American heritage or super-hero status, there are people who are just never happy with whom they are.  Of course it is fun to imagine yourself saving the world, or being something special with a special purpose, or somehow being one in billions that stands out from the rest.  It’s the premise of so many movies and tv shows that it is cliché on many levels.  But, that doesn’t stop the formula from pouring forth.  And people believing in it.  And some believing so much they have identity issues and entitlement issues.   

Not everyone loses touch with the real world.  And by real world I mean the daily, boring, grind of working to support yourself and family, dealing with the problems both mundane and unique, and generally existing until you don’t.  Which is a depressing thought, but ultimately aren’t we all just marking time?  Hopefully in a way that will be agreeable to you when you look back on your life and ponder.  And maybe that’s why folks want to be special or live a life that is extraordinary.  But why is a life, normally led, seen as not good enough at the end of the line?  By “normally led” I mean the usual:  school, job, marriage, house, kids, pets, vacations, grandkids, retirement, and hopefully some type of dignified end.  Or some variation of this track.  When all is said and done, how many of us truly look back on our lives and say, “I wish I would have been a ___________________”.  It seems to me that no matter what you do in your life, and unless you choose to make some horrible choices, your life is probably well-lived with some regrets but probably more accomplishments and things to be proud of even if you haven’t saved the world.  Or subjected yourself to dangers and death, or lived as a minority ethnicity that is full of stereotypes seen as a noble people wandering around living off the Earth.   

A coworker I’m not that fond of once told me that I’m very cynical.  I prefer to say I’m a realist with a healthy attitude of skepticism.  And while I have a share of my life in fun and fantasy (science fiction, Gen Con, conventions, reading, etc) I always know I have to come back to my reality in the heritage that I have no choice in.  And while that is the roulette that is genetics, I understand that to try and make myself something I am not is simply an illusion that will leave me resentful, depressed, and wishing my life away instead of accepting what can not be changed and being happy with what I am.  I am not a woodland Indian princess.  I am not Wonder Woman.  I am not James Kirk.  I am not many things.  But I am me, and there is no one else like me out there.  Shouldn’t that be extraordinary enough?

 

Redistribute the wealth!!!!

The human capacity for judgment never ceases to amaze me.  I know it is every where and I shouldn’t be surprised by it at all, but every once in awhile it stops me in my tracks.  Both when I hear and see other people doing it and when I find myself doing it.  I know it is a human trait that is impossible for most of us to overcome, but it still strikes me as petty in most matters.  For example:  The “grass is always greener on the other side of the fence” judgment.  I have the type of job where I can have a flexible schedule.  This is one of the benefits of doing billing and accounts receivables for a living.  And, for dealing with the angry public.  For the summer, I am working four, 10-hour days a week.  This gives me a day off plus the weekend.  I organize it so that every other weekend, I have a four day weekend with the Friday and Monday before and after off.  I still work 40 hours a week.  80 in a pay period.  Anything more would be overtime.  In order to work from 6am to 4:30pm , I get up at 4am .  I am not skipping merrily into work at noon and leaving at 2.  I slog just like the rest of you.  But, my room coworker seems to think that I skip in to work merrily at noon and leave at 2.  Just because I have a day off during the week.  Her job is an 8 hour Monday through Friday deal.  That’s the nature of that position.  When you are “on-call” for other depts that are open during the full week, that’s the way it is.  However, she snarkily comments on my cushy schedule and how it must be nice to have “long weekends every week”.  It doesn’t occur to her that I’m still working a 40 hour week, the same exact amount of hours she works, but because I arrange the days so that I do have a four-day weekend every other week this allows her to pass judgment on my “cushy” schedule.   

 

On a much larger scale, the green grass on the other side is glaringly apparent in folks who want more than what they have.  The people who want to be richer than they are and use whatever example comes to mind.  Big business, oil companies, computer gurus, and any other person who has some unbelievable amount of money are the usual targets.  “Why does “X” deserve all that money, he/she/it should give it to me!”  “Let’s redistribute the wealth!”  Why?  Why does anyone have to give their money to people who are jealous and judgmental?  Isn’t that what taxes are for?  But, wait, here’s “they should have to pay their fair share of taxes!”  Really?  And you don’t take advantage of all the credits and deductions you can too?  Are you paying your “fair share” when you’ve pumped out a bazillion kids and now I, as a taxpayer that doesn’t get a kid credit, have to fork over more than my “fair share” to pay your kid credit?  Just because you can procreate doesn’t mean I owe you money.  That doesn’t seem “fair” in my book.  Maybe you shouldn’t have kids you can’t afford?  And, that’s where my judgmental side comes out. 

 

We have lost in this country the ability to say, “hey, I want “X”, maybe I should work for it.”  I have worked for everything I have in my life.  And while some folks would see me as the target of their “redistribute the wealth” scheme, I happen to think that if I got what I have today by working hard, so can they.  I made choices in my life that allowed me to save my money and not squander it.  I live below my means.  That is how you save money.  You do not live above your means.  And, when the crap storm of recession hits, you have something to fall back on.  Do I want the 4,000 sq ft house with all the amenities?  You betcha.  Do I have it?  No.  I have a 1200 sq ft house that is exactly what I need to live comfortably but doesn’t keep up with the Joneses.  And, it’s paid off.  Four years early on the mortgage because we chose to put extra money to the principal instead of squandering the cash on clothing, eating out, expensive toys, and other frivolous stuff that judgmental human beings seem to think they need to prove themselves worthy individuals.  So, again, why should I have to redistribute my wealth to pay for you and your frivolous pursuits?  You can do the exact same thing I did.  You want to judge me?  Well, I can judge you right back.  Stop wasting and whining your life away and do something about it.  You don’t like your job? Find a new one.  You don’t make enough money? Get an education and find a why to improve your financial status.  Or, here’s a thought, you don’t really need the latest fashions from Paris .  You don’t need the giant-ass house, you don’t need the Harley, you don’t need a $20,000 plus car.  You don’t need a $500 a month phone bill.  You don’t need all the cheap crap you buy on a daily basis because you think you HAVE to have it.  That brand name coffee you just dropped $5 bucks for?  No, you don’t need that.  And the $10 lunch you buy every day?  No, you don’t need that either.  So, again, why do I have to redistribute my meager wealth because you are making very poor financial decisions? 

 

Yet I get judged by the same people who want something from me.  My co-worker wants information from me.  Wants me to fix her computer.  Wants me to agree with her on everything.  Wants me to give her answers, easy answers, to her problems.  And then judges me when I don’t do any of what she wants.  Because I’m married that somehow translates to “easy street” in her book because there are two incomes.  Yet, she owns a house, a brand new car (which cost more than either of my two cars), and everything else that goes with life and still is not happy.  I pointed out to her once that a homeless person would kill for her life and she got mad at me.  I’m not making light of homeless people, but the old adage of complaining about painful shoes to an amputee comes to mind.  She is wealthy beyond measure to someone who sleeps in shelters and calls nowhere home.  Yet, she doesn’t see it that way.  She’s the victim, she’s the one oppressed, she’s the one who life is kicking and ignoring.  Because she doesn’t have money beyond count, she is the one “owed” something by big business, oil companies, computer gurus, and me.  If you can’t even convince a person they have wealth whether or not they see it, there is no hope for this country.  We will de-volve into whiny victims begging for cash while driving our expensive cars and complaining that the couch and curtains do not match.

 

The pointy end goes IN the knee

Last Monday, I got an anti-inflammatory medication injected directly into my evil, right knee.  This makes me all manner of wiggly, and even though in the grand scheme of medical tests and procedures it is a cake walk, it stills feels disgusting and is painful.  At least to me.  My doctor was nice enough to inject the needle into one of my old arthroscopic surgery scars from 1984 and he also numbed the skin up with some magical freezing spray that I've seen in the pharmacy a millions times before but have never really paid attention to it.  Now I know what it does.  The shot took around 2 to 3 mins, but it felt like 20.  At one point I must have been holding my breath because he told me to take a breath but I didn't.  I'm one of those people that tenses up and holds their breath whenever something painful is happening.  I also know that this is not a good thing to do and you run the risk of passing out when you do this.  I mention all this because by today, Friday, I'm virtual pain-free in my knee and I'm doing things that several weeks ago would have brought me to tears and close to blacking out. 

This small episode of medical drama in my life reminds me that there are so many unpleasant things we need to go through in order to get what we want in life.  It was one of my worse weeks with my coworker this week and amongst many, other topics discussed, was the subject of what we control in our lives.  A constant, running theme with this coworker is her continual need to see herself as a victim and the subject of fate with no control on her part.  And, I, of course, pretty much feel that we are in control of our lives, for the most part.  Obviously, there are things that happen to us that we don't have control over, but for the most part we can control how we handle the events of our lives.  Case in point:  Coworker hates her job.  So, I tell her to find a new one and she tells me that it won't happen, she can't find a different job, that she shouldn't have to work, and blah, blah, blah.  So, she sits at a job she hates and complains about it all the time.  She does nothing to change her situation except continually and loudly tell me that she is retiring.  (yeah, in a year)  Personally, I can't wait for her to leave.  There are many, many, examples with this person of things she doesn't like but won't change.  Almost all of them are in her power to change them. 

I waited a week and a half before I built enough courage up to get that shot in my knee.  But, as the doctor told me "come back when you've had enough of that knee" I realized he was right and that I was being silly.  You need to get through the awful before the good.  There's also no promise that the medication will last, but for now it feels pretty good. 

My coworker will not change.  She is unwilling to go through what she needs to in order to make herself happy.  Which also leads me to believe that she doesn't want to be happy.  I find this thought disturbing, but I'm really beginning to believe it.  Not only does she not want to be happy, but she wants everyone else to be unhappy too.  And that they should be happy being unhappy.  If that even makes sense. 

I had a full-blown migraine this week.  Rage, visual aura, headache, light and sound aversions, the whole kit and caboodle.  As I thank God for the miracle that is Maxalt, I realize that better living through chemistry really is my motto.  But, the next day, my coworker decides that she needs to fill every drawer in the room with plastic vials from a distance of about three feet.  Just open the box and let the vials pour out.  When I ask her to stop doing this, she gets a smirk on her face and informs me that I should just change my situation if I don't like what she is doing.  She thinks that she's turned the tables on my comments to her, so I decide right then and there that there will never be another kindness towards her from me.  She will get civility, but nothing else.  I change my situation all right, and to one she will regret.

And that is all I am going to say about her.  I've wasted too much of my energy on her, she has sucked too much of my life away for my liking and I'm not going to let her do that anymore.  I'm done with her.  She is not worth my time and that is my situation to change. 

Confessions of a car singer

I love to sing.  But not in public.  I don't think I'm a terrible singer, but I'm not good either.  As a result of that, I sing in the car.  Loudly, proudly, and constantly.  Unless, of course, the husband is with me.  I sing alone in the car.  Yes, I'm one of those crazy looking people who sing away regardless of other drivers staring and laughing at us.  Sometimes, if I'm lucky, the person in front of me in the left lane on the freeway will think I'm having an episode of road rage at them and will move over out of my way.  All they see is this crazy woman voicing something LOUDLY and assume it is anger directed at them.  Well, sometimes it is, but mostly it's me and some good singin' tunes. 

As I've mentioned ad nauseaum, I commute a sizable distance every day to work.  Now that I've transferred to UWM, I don't go to Sheboygan two to three times a week, so my singing time has been cut a bit.  Still, I manage to belt out tunes on the 45 minute drive one way to work.  What do I sing you ask?  Well, a mixed variety of classic rock, goofy tunes, show tunes, classical music, and opera.  I can hit soprano notes after some warm up, and there are days I'm good and can sing in tune and days I'm horrible and dogs are howling all the way to Milwaukee.  Then, there are just the good driving tunes that are fun.  Sometimes I think I'm performing and think about how different my life would be if I had chosen that path, and sometimes I sing just because it's easier to do that than to think about life at that moment. 

  I find that car singing is a great way to leave my work issues behind.  My job is pretty high on the aggravation factor, and some days it really proves it.  Today, was a perfect storm of first of the month (all financials are due), a half day because of school, work not being or getting done, crazy coworkers who didn't realize it is May 1st (or didn't care), and the current evil that is Ascension Health Project Symphony.  I'm not going to go into detail about Symphony because it has taken an hour at the Y, a slow drive home, a very hot shower, and pizza to put my anger away for the night.  But, needless to say, I was belting out tunes with Jackie (Evancho) all the way home.  I don't understand a word of Latin, but I can make the sounds pretty evenly.  She, however, has a perfect voice and I still marvel at her range and maturity.  She is one of the few people I've heard who I think has a real gift from God.  Anyway, I love singing with her because most of her pieces are slower and I can change pitch easier with her than with others.  Say, the Queen of the Night aria from Mozart's Magic Flute.  I can't quite hit those high notes, but I can get most of the piece.

There you have it.  I'm a car singin' maniac and I freely confess it.  I'm not sure what I'll do when I get one of those fancy cars that listens to you when you talk.  I wonder if I'll have to get ear plugs for the car?

 

Grant Writing Gone Bad

I am taking a grant writing class this semester, and with only four weeks left, I have to confess that I will be glad when the class is done.  But, I'm also sad that I didn't enjoy it more and that the thoughts I had of turning this into a second career are rapidly evaporating.  This was my back up plan and the course I am taking to finish off my degree.  What happens now?  I know grant writing is a small portion of professional writing, but what concerns me is something the teacher for this class wrote in a comment to me.  She said that I need to stop using my "voice" and just write in plain, every-day language.  That I had an awkward, stuffy, intellectual, and off-putting style that wasn't very good, at least for grant writing (I hope).  This teacher is someone I would handle very carefully.  She seems nice while she talks with you, but then turns vicious in her written comments and uses styles she has told us that are unprofessional.  She made a comment on my paper in all capital letters that wasn't really needed.  A normal comment would have sufficed.  And, it was for something that is a minor detail.  Not a big, in-your-face glaring error that would have had the funder so horrified that they would have black listed my name forever and burned the proposal in terror. 

Writing is something that I've come to enjoy, and when I come across a teacher like this, it shatters the fragile confidence that I have and really makes me wonder why I'm choosing this as a major and something I would like to use as a second career.  I've already given up on becoming a Librarian, and now I'm considering giving up on writing.  What's left?  I could switch tracks in my major, but that will take me longer to finish.  I'm ready to be done with school now and the thought of taking more semesters seems to daunting to me.  I really think that it would be easier if sometimes in life we had an owner's manual that would tell us what we want to do. 

I needed to write a blog because I've hit a point in the grant narrative where I can't come up with anything to say.  Writer's block, I guess.  This style of writing is so different from essay writing that I've not been able to come up with something good and put it down on paper.  I understand now what folks are talking about when they say they hate writing papers and can never figure out what to say.  My other problem with this teacher is that she doesn't teach so I'm not exactly sure what she wants in this narrative.  She tosses out some information but doesn't teach.  We have an outdated textbook, a cutsey hint book from her, and what information she deems fit to put on D2L.  She doesn't explain very well, doesn't show examples that are good, and doesn't give good answers to questions.  At one point in the semester, she told us that she puts up "models" not samples and admitted that they are not necessarily GOOD models.  It was up to us to figure out which were good and which were bad.  She never EXPLAINED that until she was yelling at us about putting tax id numbers on the assignment because all of her models had those listed on them.  She talked to us like we were idiots for following the examples SHE listed on the learning site.  I could go on for so many more examples of her behavior, but I won't.  It's boring and makes me irritated.  I expect from teachers solid and consistent work that helps me achieve the goals of the class.  Not bipolar manic expressions of craziness that make me doubt every single word I put down.  I am paying way too much money for her to be like this.  I am continually amazed at how in school we put up with behavior and shoddy services that in real life we'd never allow to happen.

This just makes me appreciate the good teachers even more.  And, I guess that's what I have to keep reminding myself of.  I've had more good teachers than bad, but the bad ones have been really bad.  And again, paying tuition makes this even more irritating. 

I like my Eng Lit teacher.  He makes a dry subject interesting and has his stuff together.  There's none of the crap in his class that is going on with my grant writing class.  Unfortunately, I don't think I'll have him again as almost all of the classes I need are major related.  And, this is my last required Lit class.  I am taking another Lit class this summer, but he's not teaching it.  I also need 6 credits of upper L&S credits after the summer semester, so I need to find something that is going to be fun and interesting.  But, I won't take those until the last semester.

Well, I don't seem to have writer's block for this blog.  I guess it is just for her class.  I'm at the point where I just want to submit whatever crap I have down because I know that she will trash this draft.  I'm getting to the point of not caring which is not good at all.  I need to find my motivation and realize that my best will not be good enough for her no matter what.  She is incapable of judging fairly and I really think that although she may be a good grant writer, she really shouldn't be a teacher.  She doesn't have the ability to explain very well and that is crucial to teaching.  Combined with her condescending attitude towards her students and smug, self-centered attitude about her skills makes her a shining example of what happens when someone thinks they can teach just by presence instead of by words. 

And so it begins....

As I entered the YMCA this week, it occurred to me that there is a lot of energy being expended that if it could be harnessed and some how channeled into a force of good, we'd be an unstoppable nation. 

Yes, my friends, the impossible has happened.  I started an exercise program this week.  I decided that if I spent hard earned cash on a membership, I might actually go.  I have a very complex relationship with the thought of exercising and weight loss, but basically I can see the writing on the wall with obamacare.  I can either pay an insurance company scads of cash for pitiful, measly insurance or I can pay the Y and try to get some benefit out of it.  Either way, I'm paying money that I don't want to fork over because I'm fat.  And, because we have a country that really isn't all that free anymore and there are too many people who have decided that my extra poundage is more of a problem than deadbeats who want handouts instead of working for a living.  Never mind I'm one of the tax paying middle class that is getting squeezed in that area too.  But, enough of my soap box issues. 

I have started out on a treadmill that knows my heart rate, calories burned, and has settings from a stroll in the park to death mountain footrace.  As I walk the pounds away, I keep imagining what my grandmother would make of this.  She, of the generation where you did hard farm labor which kept the pounds off, would have been stymied that I'm paying money for the privilege of working my ass off (hopefully, literally) instead of pulling weeds in the garden, mucking out the barn, or cutting hay.  But I don't live on a farm and as this country steadily loses the family farm we have put on poundage galore.  When we were laborers, we didn't need gym memberships but as we "progress" as a country and evolve, so does our waist line.  However, I have always been big-boned.  I have a fluffy, sturdy frame from hardy farmer stock.  But, there is no denying that when I got a desk job, the pounds came along with it. 

As I pound along the belt of the treadmill with my fellow fitness buffs, I feel like the kid struggling to keep up with the older siblings.  Today was the perfect mixture of "in-shape" people who not only knew what they were doing, but looked good while doing it.  And, mostly younger than me too, but there were a fair amount of oldsters on the outer ring (looking in at the beautiful people) using some contraption that looked like it had heavy bars of iron on the end of a rope.  I'm sure I will find out what those are in due time as my "trainer" promises to show me in two weeks.  For now, I have to master the treadmill and the recumbent bike.  The death bike from hell, more likely.  I got on this contraption after a half hour on the treadmill and thought I would be ok.  Yeah.  Well, it has a mind of its own too, and decided that I wasn't working hard enough so it kept increasing the resistance so that I could hardly push the pedals.  Then, because apparently I'm unable to realize I've stopped pedaling, it beeps at you and tells you to pedal.  Well, stupid bike, if you would stop increasing the resistance maybe I could keep pedaling????  Just sayin'...  Actually, I'm sure I probably hit the wrong button, but honestly, does it really have to keep beeping at me and announcing to the whole gym that I'm incapable of understanding the buttons?  Or that I'm incapable of pedaling?  Bad enough I'm in a baggy tee shirt and sweats and not the tight, form fitting fitness wear that promises to do all sorts of bodily functions for you, but does the bike have to draw attention to me too?  I very fit gentleman came over to help me with it, and had that "oh, look, she's trying to exercise, how adorable" look on his face.  I didn't know whether to smack him or thank him.  For the record, I thanked him.

As I watched the number go higher for calories burned, I kept thinking of how pitiful a number that is for the amount of work it takes.  Why again, can I consume in a mouthful what just took me an hour of hard walking to get rid of?  How does that motivate a person to work that hard only to understand that with the eating of supper the expenditure is erased?  Yes, I know.  Rabbit food and water.  Maybe I will feel differently when I've lose some weight.  But in the mean time, I will keep searching for that "exercise high" that is supposed to carry me through the work out.  And, it doesn't help that the tv I'm watching plays pizza commercials.  How rude!