Songs of the Hour: Will Oldham, The Smiths

Wow, so 2 months is a bit excessive, I suppose. I've officially lost all nagging rights against fellow bloggers. Go in peace, lazy procrastinators, go in peace.

I think the blame lies in part on the study meds I was on, the accompanying apathy that came with the medication left me uninspired to say the least. I did set up blogging shop at cup a joe a few times the last couple months, but I kept running into people I haven't spoken to in forever and my writing time was spent catching up. Lame, but true.

I did end up quitting the anxiety study. It was set up so that the first 2 months you just took the meds and rated anxiety levels. The second phase either switched blindly to a placebo, or left you on the seroquel. I waited for the second phase in the hopes I'd get the placebo—but I didn't. I don't know how they expect you not to notice you're no longer exhausted, apathetic, or twitchy, but even 8 days after the "switch" I was still struggling to get out of bed or carry on a conversation, so I withdrew. I hated to do it, but I was miserable so I tapered myself off and turned in the rest. For the most part, I feel waaaaay better and alert. The down side was the first week left me feeling nauseated, excessively anxious, sleepless, and randomly sweaty. I still can't sleep. I've averaged 5-6 hours a night since I quit the study 2 ½ weeks ago, and it's tolled on me until I realized at lunch with Marco the other day that I can again barely carry on a conversation (sorry). I've tried the occasional benedryl to fall asleep but it doesn't help—I may get something over the counter (happy to take recommendations). Lying in bed I've started a dozen novels in my head until I fall asleep. If I could remember any of it the next day, it wouldn't be so bad. But that frustration of staring at the clock at 3 am knowing how worthless I'm going to be the next day produces it's own anxiety, you know? Ugh, just sucks.

Adding to my listlessness and lack of blogging, is how incredibly bored I've been at work. I told my boss 3 weeks ago that I was out of people from previous studies to try to recruit, and asked him for a new list. We recruit from other studies, so it's not like I can just put up an ad on craig's list. He said he'd get it to me, but didn't. I reminded him a couple more times, but I'm not exactly aggressive with it, so I have had nothing to do. I retyped forms for a few days, making the study materials cleaner and neater, but I ran out of those. Cleaned up the database, killed an hour. Reorganized subject files, passed a morning. Otherwise, I've spent the last couple weeks sitting in my office watching lectures on Ted.com and Ricky Gervais' "Extras" on youtube. A year ago, I would have thought that to be a rather ideal set-up, but the day drags on forever, I feel horribly unproductive, and guilty for not "earning my keep".   Finally on Monday I stopped by his office, and told him (3^rd-4^th time) I needed candidates. He dug around for a file, circled some parts, and cheerfully handed it to me. 45 seconds. Seriously. I couldn't wish for a nicer guy to work for, and I see now that when I need something I just have to go get it. No more waiting politely, he's clearly not going to get irritated, and I could have saved myself a lot of trouble. I'm such a moron.

This week I also started working on his other study. It's easier in that I don't have to do any neuropsych (memory and cognition) testing, but I do have I have to run through a couple programs testing for any major psychiatric disorders, and this somewhat uncomfortable series of questions for screening out personality disorders. There's something unsettling about sitting 2 feet away from a complete stranger and asking them about possible histories of crack use, sexual abuse, suicide attempts, or hearing voices. If I were an actual psychologist I could go on to talk about it, which would make it easier I think, than the "yes" or "no" responses I wait for on some of the questions. For the personality disorders, sounding nonchalant while asking "So you've said you deserve special treatment from figures in authority, can you tell me more about that?" (narcissist disorders) is its own trial. The suspicious nature of anyone involved in a psych study gives this second guessing element to every answer I'm given, and I can see the "how does this sound to this person?" wheels spinning behind their eyes.  Sometimes I suspect they're lying just get the screening over, which screws with the data, but there's nothing I can do about it. Hell, I lied to the shrink in the anxiety study, who am I to judge? Anyway, with more experience, I think learning how to do this kind of interview is going to be a helpful skill set. Awkward, but helpful.

Joss starts school again on the 25^th. It's funny, we've been arguing about the first day of school for weeks. He hates the first day because of the "getting to know each other" games every class goes through, where you have to say your name and something about yourself and try to remember everything about everyone else and are constantly being called on to answer things. He says he's not going, and I can't make him. Which is, unfortunately, kind of true. If he decides he's not getting in the car, it's a nightmare waiting to happen. On the other hand,  I skipped several first days of classes at UNC to avoid the same kind of shit. Forcing him to go would be incredibly hypocritical, you know, if he knew I did that. Quite the conundrum. The 21^st is the "meet your teacher" day—and this is going to be his first male teacher. I'm hoping that when we meet him, we can talk about what kind of games they'll be playing so Joss'll be prepared, and then hopefully not scared. We'll see. I feel for the little guy, but if I let him miss the first day of school, it's a bad precedent and says something I'm not sure I want to say, about not doing things that are hard, and about confronting fears.

I finally went to a psychologist to see what could be done about getting Joss evaluated. I sat and talked about him, his behaviors, his attitudes, for about 45 minutes. The Doc asked a couple questions, and then told me he was almost positive he had ADHD, because every description I gave fit the profile exactly. He told me more of the typical behaviors, which were pretty much things I had forgotten to mention. So I called the people he referred me to, but the earliest evaluation I could get was in October. I set up the appointment, and kept looking for one to get before school started, but wasn't able to find anything. So at least the ball is rolling. I've always thought ADHD to be over diagnosed, but I'll do anything at this point to minimize the struggle that school has become for Joss. He genuinely wants to succeed in school now. Last night, after telling me he was going to be on the honor roll this year, he asked me explain square roots so he'd have an advantage going into the 5^th grade. I used scrabble tiles to build squares and cubes for a visual explanation, and then a times table, and he had it for a minute but then got frustrated and gave up. I'll keep at it—any confidence he can gain will help inspire him, I think.

Eh, I gotta get home. I'm hoping we can catch a matinee of Wall-e. I was going to get into this interesting article I just read about hipsters, but I suspect I'm too sleep deprived to make much sense. Check it out, maybe, and tell me what you think.

 

Love ya.

[*this post was written sunday, but friendster was down for maintenance]

Songs of the hour: Assorted Okkervil and Devendra banhart.

Sorry for the silence. I got really sick last week, spending last weekend in a feverish delirium dreaming of trees growing in the south pole whose branches drooped against the ground so heavy they held the whole world aloft. The ear infection also brought dreams of little lava worms burrowing back and forth from ear canal to throat leaving bright orange tracers in the darkness of the imagined cranial internal. Wasn't pleasant. It drove me to leave work early on Monday and go to a doctor, something I haven't done since Joss was born. Few days on antibiotics, and good as new, save a few more scars on the ear canal scar-pile. Three cheers for healthcare, no?

Work is steady as she goes. I still love it. Working with a lot of 70+ elderly, I meet the most fascinating people (an accountant that worked on the federal budget with the Kennedy administration; a McCarthy era NSA agent who served as a Russian translator—he had some enlightening stories to tell. These guys are awesome). I don't think I'm actually supposed to have lunch with the subjects, it's not professional or something, but sometimes it just works out that way and I'm not sorry. I love these people.

 I also just finished the 3 day extravaganza of "Clinical Research Coordinator Orientation", even more boring than it sounds, and talking to the other coordinators about what they do, I see how lucky I am. Half of the research at Duke is sponsored by pharmaceutical companies, and the paperwork involved in those contracts, the insurance company stuff, or God forbid devices instead of drugs… I'm so glad my salary is paid by the NIH instead of Pfizer I practically have a new lease on life. Did you know, that if you have knee issues and qualify for replacement surgery, you can sign up for a knee prosthetic study to save out of pocket costs, and then the doctors will take you in for surgery, put you under the knife, and then may or may not actually put in an implant? If you're assigned to be a control, you get fake surgery. Fakury. To be fair, I get it. Measuring the placebo effect is necessary. You know going in you may not actually get a knee replacement. At the end of the study, unless the device was somehow harmful, you'll have the option to actually get it implanted. But still, you know? That's not really something I want to do. 

 Anyway. My spare time is spent house/apartment hunting. I want to be settled into a new school district by summer's end, preferably in a neighborhood where the 8 year olds have some kind of adult supervision and not brass knuckles. Closer to Duke would be nice. Is that too much to ask? Apparently, unless $1600 a month is in my price range, which clearly, it isn't. The most promising thing found so far is in  Cary , and I'm staring at the phone willing the owner to call (Call. Call. Call.) currently to no avail. It's such a hassle. But every time Joss gets hit/knocked down/robbed of something else by the neighborhood terrors, my resolve hardens.

 

On a happy note, the little darling is actually going to get out of the 4^th grade. His new teacher, who I have a mad parent-crush on, has been wonderful for him. His grades have gone up in both math and reading, he's more attentive, there's less disrupting—it's wonderful. He actually said something academically ambitious—he wanted to get an "A" on his Call of the Wild book report. AND he finished the book. Ok, so at least a third of it was read to him, but he did read a lot of it so I need to pay off that bribe to encourage more reading. He's been doing a lot better lately. I can only imagine what a better environment will do to help him. (Call. Call. Call).

Call.

Okay, honestly, this house hunting business is so distracting I've abandoned this post about a dozen times to look through Craig's list, the N&O, and a plethora of real estate companies. I'm not going to even pretend to be focused on blogging.

One day, I promise, I'm going to think something and then I'm going to tell you about it. Right now, life is all kinds of in the way. I'm also thinking constantly of other people's weddings and other people's soon-to-be-born babies and even though I'm not calling you interrogating you about said things, I'm thinking these questions loudly hoping you answer.  Answer.

 

 

Song of the Hour: Bag of Bones by Owen

I’ve spent the last hour or so digging through old blog posts trying to find the most recent references to my friend Tom. The way Friendster archives makes it kind of difficult, but by changing the layout to include the last 50 posts (sorry if there’s irritating load-time now) I was able to pinpoint it to "I Dreamed of You on my Farm" which was 9/7/06. The reference to when he was really sick was "Insecurious is my new favorite word" on 7/18/06. I mentioned him in the next post a week or so later, and he was better.

I was searching because I was looking for subects at work whose letters had returned. If a subject disappears, we’re supposed to look them up on the social security death index website to see if they, you know, died. One of the drawbacks of geriatric research, I guess. I’d been thinking about Tom a lot recently, but haven’t seen him in forever, so I bit the bullet and looked him up on it. I found this, and the age is about right, but he’s got a rather generic name, so I’ve been trying to confirm whether or not it’s really him. I can’t remember if that time I referred to in the
post is the last time I’d seen him or not, with my crappy damn memory. I think the home state issues the death certificate, and I know he was from either MD or D.C... the only thing that doesn’t match is the zip code-- his apartment was in a different zip code. Am I grasping? Certainly. I don’t know how to confirm, really. His phone
number reaches someone not him, he has a sister in Australia I couldn’t begin to find, and it’s not like we had friends in common. The obituary I found was a weak sentence long. I just don’t know. If that’s his record on the SS index, then he died 10 days after I had seen him last.

In my ongoing attempt to decorate my office, I dug through a few boxes looking for pictures. These are the OLD boxes-- the ones I’ve had in the closet since highschool-- with all the embarrassing letters (my my, we were prolific) with a handful of recent photo packs dumped on top. I found a poem Tom had given me-- all incohenernt about being crazy, anxious, drugged, alone. I think he had given it to me when I still worked at Waffle house on Hillsborough street. I’m glad I had saved it. There’s not a whole lot to say really, except that it makes me really sad. Anything else is going to fall into old cliches about how life is short and savor moments together, blah blah blah, the things we all know but always forget until we lose something unexpectantly and then we remember again for a while, and forget again, hypnotized by the rythm of routine that comprises our daily lives. Cherish each other. There. I said it anyway.
I’ll miss him.

Moving on, Joss and I had a fun day out yesterday. I dragged him to a couple of used book stores, where i was inspired to bribe him to read The Call of the Wild-- I’ll let you know how that goes. We stopped for bubble tea at cup a joe, where Joss managed to hold a conversation about Angel with a stranger (Patrick) which I haven’t seen him do in forever-- so that was nice (thanks). We went to Target and bought a new football, and went to the park to play.
When we got to the park, we parked by the basketball court, where about 30 teenagers were playing full and half-court games. Joss looked out the window, and said "I don’t want to go here."
I glanced at the courts, and asked perhaps a little too sternly "why not?".
He looked down and mumbled "because they’re going to make fun of me."
I turned off the car. "Why would they make fun of you?"
He said quietly, "Because I’m white."
"Sweetheart, they’re not going to make fun of you."
"All the kids in neighborhood do-- they call me names. Because I’m white."
"Well, these kids aren’t, and I came here to play, so we’re going to play."
We walked past the courts to a grassy field, and though the language they used was atrocious, we watched them play for a few minutes and then wandered on. There were 2 kids, around 12 and 7, playing at one of the goals by themselves, and everything else was semi-organized competition. We threw the football back and forth for a while, but Joss kept eyeing the kids his age on the court, and I could tell he wanted to play with them. "You want to play with them?"
"Yeah, but I don’t think they’ll let me."
I said "come on" and walked around to where they were playing. I’m not going to pretend we weren’t being stared at, because we were. When we got to the goal where the younger ones were, Joss whispered "Ask if I can play with them."
"No, sweeite, the last thing you need to do is have your mother ask them for you."
He looked at me defiatantly "I don’t care!" Which is cute and somewhat ironic, but he walked onto the court anyway asked the older kid quietly if he could play with them. They started playing, and I sat to watch.

Joss can throw a football, but the kid can’t make a basket to save his life. It was cool for a few minutes, but then older kids would walk by, take their ball, shoot it and pass it a few times completely ignoring them, then eventually pass the ball back and wander on. Joss and the other kids got frustrated, but waited it out. I kind of had the urge start an ethnography about he poilitics of public b-ball courts-- it was so fascinating. Anyway, by the time we left he had a made enough of a friend that they played football together. Ordinarily, I try to respect Joss’ anxieties, but I’m glad I forced this one. Those neighborhood wretches are having such a bad influence on him. I remember when it didn’t even occur to him to describe kids by color. I’d ask who he had been playing with and he’d give me a name, a house number, a shirt or a haircut-- but not a color. And I never asked. Now he’s hyper aware that he’s white, and therefore different, from the other kids in the area.  Hopefully some of the experiences he has as a minority in these specific situations will give him some insight when he’s older about to treat people.

That’s all for now.
Love you guys.

Song of the Hour : The Stranger, Leonard Cohen

Whatever it was I was about to write has been perhaps permanently erased from my memory, completely annihilated by the discovery that Leonard Cohen is going on tour.
Seeing that, I couldn’t breathe for like 10 seconds. Then I scanned the venue list and my conniving sanity returned, because I of all people haven’t a passport, and right now only European and Canadian dates are listed. Breathe. OK. It says August dates will be listed soon... surely, surely, he’ll play somewhere in a 1000... ok 2000 mile radius? Surely he was thinking of me specifically when he designed his tour?

Ok, did a little research, and unless my info is outdated, if you drive into Canada, you don’t need a passport. Passports are for when you fly. Plane tickets to Northern US+ show tickets + rental car + hotel + gas +foodandsuch = I don’t give a damn I want to see Leonard Cohen. A lot of the shows are sold out and if they’re not it’s because they’re not on sale yet, so I’m going to end up facing the dilemma of do I go ahead and take what I can get, or wait and hope he comes nearer. Those with experience, please advise. I’m going to leave this here for now, else I’ll write about it for hours.

In other news, I’ve finished my first month at work. Everyone I interact with is almost creepily nice; my co-worker time is predominantly spent with Carolynn, the previous coordinator for the study who’s moving on to another one, and the Psychiatrist for whom I’m working, Dr. Taylor. Carolynn is a saint, insanely patient with my never-ending questions, and happy with the speed with which I’m learning.  She’s got a strong Native American heritage, and is very... Carrboro. She works 10 hr days 4 days a week so she take Wednesdays off to paint (very talented) and meet with her writing group. Dr. Taylor happily discusses Lost theories, also eagerly awaits the April premiere of BSG, and the only sharp word he’s said to me has been to make sure I turned in my my one-day-on-the-pay-period timecard, even though it was late, after I offered to just let it go because of the paperwork hassle. Seriously, people. Did I luck out or what? Benefits package rocks, if I were to stay with Duke they’d cover Joss’ college tuition (up to 15k a semester),  and there are a zillion little perks I couldn’t begin to list. For the first time ever, I don’t dread going to work in the morning.

I spend half my time sitting in my office listening to pandora, pilfering through databases organizing reports, entering subject answers to questionnaires,  or contacting subjects to be in the study. The rest of the time I’m taking the subjects  through the various stages of the study-- to the MRI lab, the psychiatrist’s office, and soon I’ll consistently be running them through 2 1/2 hour memory and cognition tests. Since I’m dealing with elderly depressed people, these tests are kind of stressful to them. Each knows their memory isn’t what it used to be, and asking them to repeat 100 word stories verbatim 10 minutes after I’ve read it to them, tends be upsetting them when they can’t do it. I’ll have to resist the urge to say "It’s ok-- nobody ever remembers the entire story, these tasks are really hard, don’t feel like you’re failing, please, really this stuff is impossible...." because comments like that can set up a bias, an expectation of failure, that interferes with their results. I just hate to see people suffer, especially when they’re already depressed and are going to internalize a stupid memory test into how they somehow aren’t worthwhile.

I practiced on my dad last week, warily, fearing to find him slipping, since he’s constantly losing things more than the average bear. But dammit, he was spitting out answers faster than I could write them down, kept track of the stories and geometric patterns better than I could, and it was wonderful. When asked to write a sentence, he even wrote, "I love you very much, Jenny" which I think may be the sweetest thing he never actually said to me. That was a nice day. :) (As a side note, I also practiced on Joss, and though his memory is child-like perfect, he really struggles with language production. I was more impressed that he sat still so long).

The only drawback is that I feel like I have zero time. Leaving around 7:45 gets me to work 8:45, and leaving around 5:45 doesn’t get me home until about 7. I’m getting into the swing of things, but I’m asleep before 11 now and I feel incredibly old through the whole ordeal. The time change isn’t helping. I’d always thought that getting out of school would return to me some kind of social life, but it isn’t really happening. I am however getting more time with Joss, and we’ve been getting along a LOT better than the immediate post-graduation time frame. Perhaps that he’s completely kicking my ass on a daily basis at this Tony Hawk 5 business has something to do with it. Makes him feel obligated to be nicer to me after he shit talks through 5 landslide trick-attack victories. Eh, whatever works. He also has a new teacher that is, by far, the coolest and best teacher he’s had yet. I think there’s hope yet, that he may indeed get out of the fourth grade.

Ever start writing and then just completely not feel like writing anymore? That’s me right now. No clue why. So briefly:

1. I have every intention of insinuating myself into Amanda’s wedding planning, because should I ever marry, I have every intention of going to Vegas. Vicarious wedding planning is good enough for me.

2. Again, watch the Wire. You know who you are.

3. I have an office. Like, my very own office. This is my first, and I find it wonderful and exciting. Also, I haven’t the slightest idea how to decorate an office on a budget, and would very  much welcome ideas. It’s small, like 9 x 12 or something, with off white walls, 3 shelves, and an L shaped desk. Help me, it’s kind of sad in there.

4. Really really not feeling the writing. Weird.

Love.

Song of the Hour: Song of the hour: God's Gonna Cut You Down by Johnny Cash

I tried to write a post a couple weeks ago, but I never finished it. At the time, I'd been thinking heavily about the de-contextualization of the individual through global media; the saturation of post-modernism in the superstructure; and general issues of governmentality… basically things I crammed into my head for my cultural studies final exam in December that were just then really starting to take hold on my paradigm. But I never finished it and my mind shifted to full time research stuff, and I fear it's lost in the annals of yesterthought. Maybe I'll get back to it later.

 

I applied to about 20 research assistant positions over the course of December and January. Eventually, with Sara's help on my resumes and cover letters, I started getting past the HR desk. Finally, a little over a week ago, a man called me from Duke about a job I hadn't even applied for, we set up an interview. I bought a pinstripe suit, tried not to say anything stupid, and 4 agonizing days later he called and offered me the position.

 

Next Friday I start working as a research co-coordinator in Duke Hospital's Geriatric Psychiatry center. Basically, I'll be scheduling participants, running them through memory and cognition tests, assessing depression with some kind of standardized measurements, and making sure they get to their MRI's and get their blood work done. The study itself looks at factors of depression (and if it's like his other studies, that includes looking at small lesions on the white matter in the pre-frontal cortex). In other words, super exciting stuff. Some of the department's studies overlap, so I'll be doing other stuff for different studies, but I'll mostly be working with this one. (Most importantly, YAYYYYYYYY!!!!! I got a job!!!!!)

 

During the interview, Dr. Taylor said something that didn't really hit me until I accepted the job. He said that in their studies, they always have more data than they know what to do with, and that I was welcome to use it. In other words, write my own paper. I was on the phone with Dr. Algoe (the researcher I volunteer for at UNC) and I mentioned this to her and she really put this amazing opportunity in perspective. For graduate school, this position is fantastic-- if I'm actually able to pull a paper together, a good one, then getting into a PhD program will be far easier.

 

Over the course of my illustrious unemployment, I've been spending about 20 hours a week working on UNC research stuff, most of it on campus. (BTW, we're doing a paid study using couples, so if any of you couples in the area feel like making an extra $80, let me know J).  It's an interesting study—this group at UNC studies the role of positive emotions (admiration, gratitude, elation, etc.) which is a refreshing and interesting break from the usual psychopathology. I'm going to keep volunteering there as long as it seems feasible, nights and weekends and stuff. Dr. Algoe is awesome, and the things I'm learning there are really useful. When did I become such a research monkey? I can't believe I'm actually running experiments on people—attaching electrodes and pulse monitors and videotaping conversations. Isn't that awesome?

 

In other news, my father returned from China, indeed, as a married man. Bit of a cradle robber, marrying a lady some 15 years his junior, but hey, that's how my pops rolls. It's unclear as to when I'll get to meet my new step-mom, but hopefully within the year. He had a good time for the most part, though he was freezing most of the time. Apparently indoor heating is rare in non-tourist China. He wouldn't go ever the types of things he wound up eating, but he still won't go near a bowl of rice. The most amazing thing was hearing my dad use the word "poverty", I think his worldview was effected in a way he can't really articulate. Regardless, I'm really happy he got a chance to spend a month on the other side of the world—I want so much for him, you know? Anyway, I'll try to post pics when I get them uploaded.

 

Otherwise, I'm obsessively watching The Wire (as should you), and reading whichever books Amanda puts in my hand. I'd just as soon be reading her blog… but as you know she's still on hiatus (no pressure)J. The rest of you have been doing a much better job with your updates, I appreciate that. I just saw a pic of a preggers Sara on her brother's blog, and it made my day.

 

Eh, this is long and dull. Andy sent me his budding novel to read, my time is better spent there. The monkey's doing ok, I finally have a job, and I miss you people. What else is there to say?

 

Love.

Song of the Hour: Trouble by Elliott Smith; The Red Walls

I've been a mess this month. Trudging through finals, figuring out how to graduate, waking up and realizing I had like 3 days to do all my Christmas shopping, scrambling to get Joss' gifts together (half of which are already destroyed), going to Kinston to see my brother and his fam (a whole different nightmare), and then helping my dad get ready for a month in China-- it's been busy.

My dad left Friday night, driving to new york with his future (step)son-in-law, and went through a typical  holiday traveling nightmare.  waiting in the airport 6 hours, getting on the plane, some kind of fuel leak, wait another 3 hours in the terminal, get on another plane, the bathrooms don't work or something, get off again, wait for a 3rd plane, get on, leave-- having spent roughly 15 hours on the airport grounds. I think he's at the Great Wall right now, eating holiday fudge made by my godmother. It's soooo surreal I don't quite know what to do with myself. I mean, my dad's in China. Getting married. Does that blow anyone else's mind? It'll take a year for her to move to the states... maybe I'll figure this out by then. Perhaps "My Chinese Step-Mom" will make a good novel.

Christmas dinner at my sister-in-law's grandmother's house was even more traumatizing this year. Oh, in case I didn't mention it, Terry left my brother. By "left" I mean moved in with her mother, who lives across the street. That way my brother can look out the window every few hours at night and see that she doesn't get home until 4 in the morning. I don't think much has been officially filed yet, but it's a matter of time. The boys (12 and 5) are staying with my brother, though they have a time-share going. Christmas morning involved the kids waking up at 8, and my brother insisting that no one open presents until Terry got there. And she showed up at 10. So picture 3 rowdy young boys on Christmas morning having to sit on their hands for 2 hours. It was ugly. Jimmy tried to pass the time by reading the damn nativity story, which of course made it worse. By noon, when we left to go to Terry's grandmother's house, it was tense to say the least.
Terry has like 5 aunts. One of them is the bane of my existence. Loud, outspoken, nosy and domineering. Terry's family gets serious kicks out of what they consider to be subtle sexual innuendo. They literally "rib" each other. They're breathing southern stereotypes, as much as I hate to say it. I've always minded my P's and Q's with these people, because they're not going to go away, you know? But with about 18 people in a 20x20 room, asking my dad about his trip to China and impending marriage, I hear the banal Aunt ask my dad, "You gonna get yourself some sponge baths, Mr. Jimmy? (giggle giggle) This Chinese lady gonna give you some sponge baths?" I snapped. She was maybe 5 feet from me, and I stared at her until she looked at me and I asked, "What the hell is wrong with you?" As much as I HATE making people uncomfortable, I did get a tiny amount of satisfaction watching her squirm and realize that I didn't find her comments appropriate. I ignored her for about an hour, but guilt got to me and I was nice to her the rest of the afternoon. I can only hope there will come a holiday when I don't have to talk to Those People. One year where I don't have to listen to why there needs to be a wall around south Texas, or how a Clinton is an anti-christ. 17 years I've seen these people every goddamn christmas.
Well, at least we didn't have to sing happy birthday to baby jesus this year. No, I'm not kidding.

Brian got me season 1 of MacGyver  for Christmas, and I've been having a lot of fun watching it with Joss. I think he's getting into the science stuff a little bit, which of course makes me happy. He's full of interesting observations-- "Mom, Macgyver kisses a lot of different girls, but he doesn't marry  any of them!" No, sweety, no he doesn't.  I really loved the show when I was little, and it's cool to watch Joss try to figure out exactly what that man is going to do with a bucket, a towel, a swiss army knife, and match to get those gypsies out of prison. It's a kid-friendly show, which is refreshing. There's still violence, but it's manageable.

I've got to see a lot of friends this holiday, though it hasn't been the same without DD. Andy's back from London, I had lunch with Amanda, I got to have lunch with Sara and her fam, and to catch up with Suzy. It's been great. I do wonder what's happened to Chrissy, David K., and Owen-- but I just assume that if they're around they'll let me know.

Andy and I had lunch at my old Waffle house stomping ground. We're half-way into some dissection of the life of Jesus or something, when I happen to get a good look at the cook, and have a freakin' heart attack. Joss' grandmother still works there. My mind shut down for a few minutes. She either didn't see me, didn't recognize me, or didn't acknowledge me-- I don't know. Joss has her eyes-- it's a little scary, really. By the time I worked up the nerve to talk to her, she had left. The doorway to the only half of Joss' medical history I'll ever have, and I can't work up the nerve to talk to her. I don't know if any of you remember her, but she's pretty intimidating. Didn't she threatened to kill me a couple times? I think the last time I spoke her, I had let her babysit an infant Joss. I can't remember what happened after that... I had seen her and she wouldn't talk to me. Damn, this is years ago and my memory is shit. I'm a neurotic mess. I need get over it and just ask her a few questions-- that's not hard, right? The worst that can happen is that she won't talk to me again. I have no idea why I'm so anxious. I just am. Maybe I'll try again this weekend...

As a Joss side note, he has confessed that he is in love with Ms. Miley Cyrus, aka Hanna Montana.

How cute is that?  He says that the age difference (she's 15) won't be a problem. He's very confident. As entertaining as his marrying into the Cyrus family would be, I hope this phase passes soon.

Ok, I'm done. I forgot anything else I was going to tell you.
I'll leave you with some pics, and write again should I remember the rest.

   
usually Joss/Andy rough-housing

My nephews, the matching set.

If I've told you anything about Trent, this one says it all...

My favorite part of this post-grad picture is how Joss' mouth is crammed full of cookies.

Happy New Year!!

Songs of the hour: Bullet by Hayden; Portastatic; Summer Hymns.

Other Things I Should Be Doing Right Now:
1. Finishing the last 50 pages of Beloved.
2. Finishing the last 4 acts of Othello.
3. Reading recent publications for my independent psych research project (I've decided on the of the role of gratitude and guilt in religion) for my paper-- which is also the only component of my grade.
4. Writing a paper on either "love/gender roles as defined by Much Ado About Nothing and Othello" or "divine intervention in Othello".
5. Writing a paper on either "Modernism portrayed through Prufrock" or structure in Frost's "Design". (masculinity in Beloved)
6. Catching up on half a semester's worth of reading for Cultural Studies, which includes such exciting topics as "Intensities of Feeling Towards a Spatial Politics of Affect".
7. Starting my cultural studies semester project; in which I'm focusing on Patriotism in Advertising.
8. Studying for finals, which start next week.

That list was more for me than you.
Also, I need to figure out this cap and gown business, because, well, I graduate in less than 3 weeks. 3 weeks. 3 weeks and I finally get to stroll out of the ivory tower and stretch my legs a bit. Wander through the garden of reality and real work, and then amble back in when I've picked a bright enough bouquet and stay there for 5 more years. I'm getting a corner office next time... or whatever passes for a corner in a tower.

It's hard for me to picture a school-less life. No constant GPA calculations running in the back of my head. No 85 lb bookbag with me everywhere I go-- finally laying down the hardback Complete Works of Shakespeare whose shape is impressed into my back. No more nightmares about the zillion pdf's slipping unstapled and mingling out of order in my purse (so so sad). No more all-nighters tracing bird or bee imagery through the works of whoever or comparing criticisms of criticisms of criticisms of Marx to Adam Smith. No more a lot of things.
Instead, I get to cook Joss dinner every night. I get to complain about irritating co-workers. I (hopefully please) get a paycheck. I get time to Call You Back. I get to read what I want to read. And, near the top of my list of importance, I get to sleep. Oh, sacred Sleep, I will build you a shrine of feathery down and dreamcatchers, write you hymnal lullabies and love sonnets of how my heart has grown fonder in your absence.

Granted, there will be much moaning and bitching in regards to job applications and grad school applications and where am I going to get a recommendation and the nightmare of "that's my GRE score?!!" but at least I will be well-rested.
I acknowledge the risk of becoming listless and depressed in that post-college habit of losing the structure and constant near-panic of deadlines, but if I do I'll muddle through somehow. If all goes well I'll have a nice challenging research assistant position to keep me on my psychological toes and I'll keep learning in a way that'll keep my gnawing mind satisfied.

But I have to get there first. I have 15 more days under the cognitive tyranny of UNC to swim through. If I get straight A's this semester, which is highly unlikely, I'll walk out with the 3.75 GPA to which I've sacrificed all that sacred sleep. If not, I'll muster together what I can and try to arrange it neatly on a porcelain plate instead for the consumption of various grad school admissions boards. Maybe a twig of mint or parsley will make the difference.

Anyway, I should tackle something on that list now. I won't be a pleasant person for the next couple weeks; I apologize in advance. Try to bear with me. It'll be over soon....


love.
 

and yet, I do this...

How evil are you?