Stability Is Nice, But I Want Art Too

The snow is here. It's just a couple of inches, and it's been a few days since it snowed, so it looks all used and shitty in that weak hazy sunlight. You know what kind I mean. It's that early winter/late autumn sunlight that makes everywhere look like Gary, Indiana. People complain about the lack of sunlight in the winter up here because the weather patterns of the lake usually keep it pretty overcast, but I think gray skies are just aesthetically better than the kind of sun we can get this time of year. Then again, I'm not prone to SAD--my depressive episodes tend to be independent of the weather.

Now that the obligatory Midwestern weather talk is out of the way, I can talk about more important things. Though I can't really think of any. I'm trying to write a novel, in large part because I want to not have to work anymore. Because of course it would be a best-seller and I could LIVE LARGE by just cranking out a book every couple of years. That's how it usually happens, I hear. <----(sarcasm). Honestly, though, I do really want to just do it, to see if I can and see if it's a viable option. I've been telling myself I would give it a go for a while now. Plus, it would be awfully dreamy to stay at home and write for a living, keeping my RN license in order to go off for short disaster-relief stints around the world. Something about finally having an actual career has given me the push to get going on this--it feels like it's now or never, although that's certainly not true. Not being distracted by stress over money worries seems to be helping, too.

The hard part is getting it off the ground. I've got a decent idea for a story, and I know where I want to take it. I think my main problem is taking my time in getting there. I tend to rush ahead, thinking about what comes next, and then I realize I've whipped through a section that really should have had more detail, and then I stare at the screen for twenty minutes trying to figure out what to do about it. Maybe I need to think about it less like a whole story for now and more like my master's thesis and break it down chapter by chapter. I'm also pulling in a lot of my own experience with Rich's death, because I can't really seem to get around that, but it's not a memoir and it's not really based on what actually happened--more like what I desperately wished I had done and wanted to do. Striking that balance is tricky sometimes.

Anyway. I think it will be good. Or at least decent, because I am no fan of shitty writing, including my own, and I won't be responsible for more of it floating out in the world. I hope I finish it before next fall (not an arbitrary deadline, but a subject for another time). Here's to a creative winter.

Waiting for snowfall...

My tracking software/egotistical spying application tells me that a shit-ton of people have been to my site recently. Mainly for the pictures. Apparently when you give a blog post a title that involves a line out of a Gordon Lightfoot song, the hordes come a-knocking. Note: I am using the terms "shit-ton" and "hordes" very loosely and in comparison to the usual, western-Nebraska-population numbers that generally grace me with their readership.

Things are...well, they just are. I am struggling with some interpersonal conflict. On the upside, I have (and have to keep reminding myself that I have) really awesome people around who outnumber the less-awesome others, and who could totally kick their asses, if they were so inclined, which they are not because they are thoughtful and gentle people. But they could.

Anyway. I'm wondering what else I can do to boost my numbers. Pictures of boobs are always good, but I don't know if that's really the right direction for me. Anyone have any suggestions? What do you want to see/read about? Excitement? Adventure? That would turn this into a fictional endeavor, just to be clear. Or should I just continue with my mundane, self-indulgent, kind of boring blatherings? Cause I have that list, now, you know, and I've got to do this at least twice a month.

The Gales of November, or October, or whatever

So I've been in The Big Regional Hub for the past three days, doing my chemo certification class and a little bit of following the IV team this morning. I thought I would be doing more of a training, with practice and everything, with them, but when the lady (who had already yelled at me for disparities in our practice--for the record, according to the manufacturer of the device in question, she's wrong) said "You know you're not going to be starting any IVs, right?", I just nodded. Instead I watched, and tried not to get in the way, and unwittingly followed them to the Neuro ICU, which just happens to look damn near identical to the ICU in Boston Medical Center, into the same room per that layout that I spent way too much sad time in, and tried not to hyperventilate. I also got told that we in Ashland are doing most things all wrong, as is becoming the custom for my training up here. I was happy to leave at noon. But at least I got my chemo certification, and three nights at the Sheraton, out of it.

The huge storm showed up sometime Monday night, and I have to say, I really love storms. I especially love storms on Lake Superior. Evidently parts of the lake, nowhere near us, had waves over 25 feet. Awesome. I would pay a lot of money to be able to watch something like this
all day long. I wouldn't want to be out in a canoe on it or anything, but on land at a barely-safe distance? Hell yeah. I've always been in love with the lake, ever since I first saw it as a kid, and a big part of that is due to its potential for this level of scary amazingness. A lot of people have no clue what Superior's really like. Here it is.

Photo from SymonSez blog (googling "Lake Superior waves")

Radio hasn't been any good since Clear Channel anyway

Hi there. I'm paranoid and insecure. How are you?

A while ago I was reading every piece of non-fiction that Anne Lamott wrote, and I came across a particularly brilliant section discussing our own capacity to sabotage ourselves. She had a nickname for the constant yammering that goes on in our heads sometimes, criticizing and nitpicking and pointing out our general suckiness and lack of worth. It's the radio station known as KFKD, or K-Fucked. 

KFKD's been getting a lot of airtime these days. My own personal version features an endless loop of "Nobody really likes you", "You did it wrong, again", "Your capacity for lameness is never-ending" and "Come On Eileen". I can't stand "Come On Eileen".

I'm exaggerating, slightly (but not about "Come On Eileen"--that song blows). KFKD's definitely been blasting the airwaves, but it's not quite that bad. I think my capacity for lameness does have limits. But my insecurity annoys me. And my capacity for tearing myself down actually doesn't seem to have limits. 

What I'm about to say isn't earth-shattering. I've seen it in several feminist-leaning blogs of late. But I think it bears repeating, over and over and over, until it finally starts to sink in. When I step back and look at all the crappy thoughts I have about myself, then imagine having those thoughts about a friend, I'm kind of horrified. I would never look at a friend and say, "Wow, your arms look enormous in that shirt. And you're not half as interesting as you think you are. And no one really likes you. I'm amazed you think anyone does." But apparently, I'm perfectly willing to direct that kind of abusive garbage at myself, if only mentally.  And that's kind of sick. 

KFKD sucks. It's the worst radio station ever, and that's even without having to listen to Casey Kasem and ads for monster truck rallies (We'll sell you the whole seat, but you'll only need the edge!). I wish the FCC would slap a humongous fine on it and shut it down, because I can't always figure out how to just turn it off. Maybe I can drown it out with The Soviettes or something. Or maybe I can slowly inch down the volume until it finally goes away.

We don't need no stinkin' air conditioner

Why yes it has been five weeks since I wrote last. I'm not happy with the quality of the stuff I've been writing lately, so I just kind of abandoned it for a while. Because everyone knows the best way to get better at something is not to do it, and then you will magically improve.

Summer is finally here; it's in the 80s and sunny today. No small feat when you realize it was in the 40s two weeks ago. We don't have normal seasons like the rest of the country. We have a short, pleasant fall, a freakishly long sunless winter, and a drawn-out spring. Then we get a couple of months of summer, and everyone loses their fucking minds. It's so gorgeous here in the summer, which is the whole reason most of us live here, and there's like this crazy energy, everyone trying to cram in as much as they possibly can before it starts getting cold again.

My internship is great, I wish I could just stay there. I'm learning a ton about the tribal culture and hoping to pick up a few more Ojibwe words before the summer ends, and meeting some really cool people. Plus I get to do so much community nurse networking and research, which is such a benefit, career-wise.

I'm thinking again about becoming a midwife. I had kind of shoved the idea aside after I realized no way in hell would I want a job that keeps me on call 24-7. But if there were a possibility of some kind of practice with other nurse midwives, maybe even a birth center, well, damn, why not? It becomes a lot more appealing when that enters the equation, and it's definitely not out of the question. I have a couple of years to decide, but I'm starting to get kind of excited about the idea.

Finally, Kevin and I had our third anniversary a couple of weeks ago. It doesn't seem like three years. I actually get a little spooked when I think about how fast time is going by. Still, three years ain't bad. And all of that stuff about marriage being hard work is bullshit. It's only hard work if you find it difficult to put a little effort into appreciating your spouse, communicating openly, showing love and affection, and maintaining a baseline of consideration for each other. Yeah, yeah, yeah, sometimes it requires more, but essentially, that's it and you're good. So suck it, Dr. Phil.


P.S. I chopped all my hair off. I'm officially resigning myself to getting only basic haircuts here and finishing them myself. My too-long "pixie" cut became distinctly helmet-y in less than three weeks, so I took a pair of nail scissors to it and am much happier now.

Is laziness a symptom of sunstroke?

I should really be studying for my last exam right now, but dammit, I spent the morning eating cinnamon rolls and drinking coffee with three of my fellow students out on our brand new deck under the pretense of going over our group project, and nothing will kill your motivation to memorize vaccination schedules and childhood disease like the combination of sunshine, caffeine and 4000 grams of sugar. You'd think it would be the opposite, right? It's not.

It's hard to believe the first year of school is over. I'm halfway done! I'm pretty much completely dreading this fall, as third semester seems to be the most hellacious, according to everyone who's been through it. I do love being in school, but that's not to say that there's not a ton of bullshit that comes along with it, and it often makes me pissy. I'm happy to have my internship this summer and I'm hoping that I'll love it so much that it will keep me motivated through the next year. That might be a tall order.

On an entirely different note, I'm debating chopping my hair off again. I want to go back to the pixie cut I had my last summer in Boston. It was freaking adorable. I had one picture of myself during that time; it was on my old laptop and it failed to occur to this idiot to save it to my flash drive when I wiped my hard drive clean. So you'll just have to take my word for it.