Weekly Winners

Thursday Happiness

A trip to the library that resulted in a huge stack of books. I am always so much happier when there are at least two big piles of books next to my bed. I'm getting there.

I made muffins which is happiness all by itself. It has been way too long. 

And so the house smells like chocolate chip muffins.

I got to dance and be slightly crazy while making the muffins. (It's part of the recipe for the perfect muffin. Trust me.)

It snowed yesterday. Fingers crossed I got some good shots. My fingers were just itching every time I looked outside. So beautiful. 

I have no school today. Or Friday. Do you know how amazing four day weekends are? They pretty much make my life. Because it's like you get two whole weekends all at once. I can't even begin to tell you what that felt like waking up today.

Interview on Monday. I don't want to jinx myself, but I can't not talk about it. Sorry for the vagueness. If everything works out you'll be hearing about it November 11. If you don't hear anything, assume the worst, and let's just agree to never mention it again.

But back to the happy over the vague interview. For which I'm getting all dressed up. I love getting dressed up.

I'm seventeen. It's always fun to be a new number. I still need to go see an R rated movie, as that's the only thing that turning 17 gets you.

Birthday party tonight. yay. With friends. Double yay. And I got her fuzzy socks and fuzzy socks are just awesome.

Have a happy Thursday!

Weekly Winners

October

In ninth grade I got a cold about two months in to school. In October. And I never got better.

It always starts with a cold.

These are the facts.

It's October now.

I'm ready for October to be over.

Every time I miss a day of school I worry.

And wonder.

Trying not to be negative or morbid, but wondering.

Is history going to repeat itself?

Am I going to recover from this?

Or will I, once again, spend the next three years sick, at home?

It's October.

I'm ready for it to be over.

Ready to enter a new month, ready to leave the past behind.

Ready to start making new memories.

Ready to start living without being chained to the past.

Seventeen

(Please ignore the out-of-focus -ness, and focus on the pretty new camera strap cover and how very 17 I look.)

Dance

Four years ago I bought a dress. I went with my best friend and our moms. We giggled and laughed and modeled, until we each found the dress. We spun and twirled and talked about earrings and bracelets and shoes.

I went home and showed my dad. I spun some more, and talked seriously about how it was such a good deal. (Really, it was.)

My mom and I went shopping again. For shoes. To match the dress. I fell in love with a black satiny pair that went perfectly with my dress. They were strappy and black and pretty and I loved them.

I tried them on with the dress. My parents oohed and aahed. I attempted to describe them for my friends. We were all bubbly and filled with excitement for our first high school dance.

Before I could buy a ticket or figure out what to do with my hair, I got sick.

There wasn't a dance or a dress or black strappy shoes. There were tears and doctors and home alone, not at the dance.

This year I put on that dress; it still fits. I put on those shoes. Carefully, around the injured toes. They still fit. I bought a ticket. I figured out how to do my hair. I wore earrings, but no necklaces or bracelets. I giggled and laughed and did make-up with friends. Five of us smashed into a bathroom meant for half a person.

Our parents showed up to take pictures. They oohed and aahed at all the right places.

Someone commented that it was our last dance. Everyone made sad noises about the last year. I kept quiet. It was my first dance.

I went. I danced. I sang.

I saw the best friend with whom I bought the dress. I did not dance or sing or speak to her.

I went to my first high school dance.

Weekly Winners

Weekly Winners

Disappearing

I'm home. Again. Third time this week. Three out of five is not good. It's not conducive to learning. And it's definitely not conducive to making friends.

Because for one, I disappear and reappear all the time. And so of course, people want to know where I went. So I tell them I wasn't feeling well, or was sick, or whatever. They know, in theory, about my illness. They asked up-front at the beginning of the year, and I told them. But it was quick. And not something any of us really wanted to linger on. No one wants to talk about being sick all the time, believe me.

But the reality is a lot harder to comprehend. I'm at school, looking fine, making jokes, getting almost straight As. And then I'm not there. And I say I'm sick, but they just see the words. They don't have the privilege of seeing me lying on the couch feeling terrible. Or how the numbers scramble when I look at my math homework and nothing makes sense.

I've always said that being fine just fine was my biggest problem. It makes it hard for people to see my illness. Therefore, it makes it hard for them to believe me. And even if they do believe me, to grasp how it permeates my life.

I don't want to talk about it all the time. I don't want it to be the main event in our friendship. But I know that it has to be more than it is. Otherwise I'll just become, again, the chick who disappears. With no explanation, no warning. And in the same way, I just reappear, looking and appearing just fine.

A Possibly Psychic Moment

Last night I saw a picture of myself the next day, steaming about my Anatomy quiz. Complaining, furious, to my mom that it was so easy! I had studied and killed myself and learned the whole freaking study guide and none of it was on the quiz. She would say something calm and soothing about how the thing that mattered was that I learned something. Knowing she was right, and grateful I now had all that knowledge, but not yet willing to give up my anger, I would continue ranting.

Unfortunately, I can see this happening. It happened in middle school, when I convinced myself that I was going to fail a test and so it would be appropriate to freak out and study like mad. Until I took the test, which I could have aced fast asleep.

This feels like that.

Where, even though the teacher said all that material would be tested, I'm still not convinced it will be.

Of course, being me, I have therefore convinced myself that I don't know anything and need to spend every waking minute studying.

So now I'm off to school. Wish me luck. I'm not sure what I'm hoping for. A hard quiz that I will have appropriately studied for, or the easiest quiz in the world, which would mean I was right. And apparently, psychic.

Update: I was right.

In the Elevator

I stride purposefully toward the elevators. The "up" button is already glowing orange, so I lean against the wall, grateful for even a quick break. Already waiting is a man juggling two full hands of cafeteria food.

We do that little stranger dance where our eyes meet briefly, and then we both look away quickly, each pretending we weren't sizing up the other person.

"These elevators are painfully slow" I say to break the silence.

"Oh, I know," he replies, "I've been here for five weeks."

"Wow" I say. I leave the word hanging in the air, not wanting to pry, but hoping he'll continue.

"Yeah. My wife's pregnant and on bed rest."

"Wow" I say again "When's she due?"

"October" he replies as the middle elevator dings.

We both move forward as the doors open. He gestures with his full hands that I should go ahead. I smile in thanks and enter the small space.

Pressing "6", I ask "Which floor?"

"5" he answers as the doors close and we jerk upward.

"October's a good birthday month." I smile. "Both my mom and I can attest to that."

"I think so too. I'm the third."

We smile at each other over this small coincidence.

"How long are you going to be here?"

"Until October."

"That's a long time to eat hospital food."

"Yes, but it means my wife and baby are getting the care they need. They're in the best place they could be, so I'm more than happy to be here with them, eating hospital food."

The elevator dings and the doors open onto the fifth floor.

"Good luck" I tell the man as he exits, still balancing two more hospital dinners.

The doors slide shut again and I lean against the wall.

I've never met anyone so happy to be in the hospital. Seeing it as a way to keep his family safe and healthy.

I straighten as the elevator arrives at my floor.

I brush back my hair with one hand, checking my badge is still in place and stride out of the open doors, back onto the bustling Surgical Trauma floor at shift change.

***

This was several months ago. Today is October third. I wonder about this man, whether he is holding his precious child, or if he's still patiently waiting next to his wife, eating hospital food.

***

I almost never write with dialog, so I am very aware that all the grammar is far from correct. Hopefully it's still legible, and if you know the rules, I would appreciate it if you shared your knowledge.