Last night I was doing some laundry and Pooky was in the basement having a smoke. All of the cats joined us. Mr. Doo was investigating the dryer. He often takes upon himself these investigations and conducts them in such a way that it is like I am being inspected by a lunatic with credentials. Anyhow, I tossed in the wet clothes around him and went about my business. I knew he would leave the dryer so I didn't do a cat check. I closed it up and turned it on and went over to Pooky to have a bit of small talk.
I heard a strange thumping noise coming from the dryer, like when you dry sneakers. I thought it was strange because I had only put in shirts. Then it hit me: cat in the dryer! But I was looking at Mr. Doo when I realized it!
Upon opening the door I see a very scared Mr. Smee as if one of his nine lives had just expired. Poor baby was a streak of fur out of the room and onto the stairs. I made my way over to him for comforting. He was saucer-eyed and breathing heavily. I picked him up and soothed his little body. His nerves were on the outside for a few minutes. He eventually eased his way back into the fold.
It's a given he'll most likely not join Mr. Doo again on an investigation of the dryer!
My mother was informed of her situation. Her lungs are filled with little blood clots. In fact, the doctor said that one was about an inch from her heart. If it had made it there she wouldn't be alive. He also said he had never seen someone with so many clots in their lungs and still be alive. Apparently her time wasn't up.
It's assumed that her clotting disorder is genetically based. She doesn't know of anyone in her extended family that has had this type of problem, but nonetheless, this means that I and my siblings should be aware of the possibility we could also have clotting problems.
Despite the irritation and annoyances I feel from her personality, I'm not ready just yet for her to depart from the physical. It does feel like there is more for us to work through—to experience. Hopefully she'll take this as a wake-up call...
Well, I think I faired rather nicely considering it's been two months since my last (and hopefully final) surgery. I did start my period and picked up a mild cold, and performed a wedding all during the module. I decided to skip today's portion of classes because it was only going to be for two hours and was non-supervised, peer discussion of our Beginning Theory of Counseling papers. Yesterday we discussed them to my point of satisfaction and I feel rather goodly about the feedback I received, and gave. I have only read two papers out of the 8 I was supposed to read (which reminds me, I will have to plead with the other members to e-mail me theirs so I can read them).
I am and was exhausted by going to module. I thought going to a room and sitting on my ass would not be exhausting. It is. The chairs are uncomfortable, my gut went wonky with eating greasy restaurant food (and I wasn't buying cheap fast food) and the early mornings were the bane of my existence. My bag did spring a leak during Friday afternoon's class and so I was feeling really miserable and low and decided "This is it. I'm going home and not going back." But then as I drove home and stopped for a pizza I realized that I only needed to go back one more day for just a couple of hours and I could manage to get up at 6 am and do the half-day. I thought if I slept in my own bed, was able to worship the kitties for a couple of hours, and sleep beside Pooky that whatever was ailing me and making me so tired would slough off like dead skin cells.
My theory worked. I felt better when I got home. There was a message on the answering machine. My mother: "Hi. I'm in the hospital. Give me a call."
Turns out she had yet another DVT. Her third blood clot and now it is in her other leg. She most likely threw a few tiny clots on Friday accounting for her shortness of breath and chest pains. She's getting IV heparin therapy. The doctor says she most likely has a genetic disorder with her blood. She'll have to take blood thinners for the rest of her days.
I think she must hold onto a sense of indestructability because she told me about this blood clot of hers back when I was having my second surgery. She can easily wrap herself up in a flotation device and set sail on the river of Denial. Whatever wisdom I could offer her I gave freely about such things as: "Don't fret about closing the shop. Things work themselves out. What is most important is not denying your health. Yes, life does go on, but you can always pick up the pieces when you are ready to. And if you meet people who won't cut you some slack, so be it. There are those who will understand."
She lamented that she is bored by being in bed. The doctor won't let her walk for fear of her throwing a much bigger clot that could kill her. He said he doesn't want that sense of responsibility on his conscience. She was a bit peeved to not be able to move, but I said that she does need to take it seriously right now.
Then she regretted not taking time off for a real vacation and was realizing how this felt like a forced vacation without the amenities. I said that she really should take the time off for a real vacation, that by not doing so her body made her take one. It's true. Our bodies will eventually win out in the end. We haven't yet mastered that whole near-immortality thing just yet.
I found it difficult to sit with my mom, not because I hate hospitals. In fact, they feel like home and are comforting to me. Yet, what grates on me is her personality. I wanted to just lecture to her constantly about everything that was wrong. So I stayed quiet and tried to control what I decided to talk about. Mostly I just let her carry on. It was safer that way.
As I drove home I thought how weird it is when we grow up. I recall living every day with this woman, and did so for about twenty years. I was sad to leave home in many respects, for I didn't feel completely ready to leave home when I did, but at the same time was ready to leave home because she was so irritating to me. Yet, there was that precious time in childhood when she meant the world to me and I couldn't stand being away. The same goes for my dad, too.
We really do lives most of our lives away from our parents, and yet those tender few years we do live with them stay with us for the rest of our days! I was trying to wrap my mind around it all. What caused me to feel so differently about my mother over the years? I found myself very maudlin about how very little time families really are together. I miss my siblings, the daily interaction we had with each other. Now it's such a chore to find the time to e-mail them, let alone see them or spend an hour or two with them.
I find myself wishing for the "old days" in which families didn't disperse like dandelion puffs in the wind, and that siblings stayed near the family homestead, or in some cases, never did marry and remained at home carrying on as usual and then caring for their parents when the effects of old-age set in. (I am reading the Anne of Green Gables series and the Cuthberts come to mind. Many other characters in the books also similar.)
We look back on those times and realize how unenlightened they were about family dysfunction, child abuse and molestation were kept secret, and men and women had rigid family roles. Really, though, it was all there but how it was dealt with is much different than today. I just wish that the good parts—like the togetherness—wasn't left behind in favor of living a modern lifestyle. I imagine that is the price to pay for switching from being agricultural to industrial. There is no need to stay near home because the career or job you need to have is always "elsewhere".
I'm finding that my opportunities in the counseling field is limited simply because I am in a community that doesn't need or value them that much. Most of the people are court ordered into "treatment" and don't enter into by choice. The number of privately practicing therapists/counselors in my county can be counted on a pair of hands. The community agencies are less than a handful.
So I know if I want to "make it" in my field, I will have to move to where people seek and want access to my services. I don't want to move to Seattle where I feel that there is a glut of therapists. I'd like to find an area that is open to therapy, and hasn't yet been tapped. My romance for the south beckons to my soul, and I know that the culture of the south is vastly different than what I am used to. Still, I feel up to the challenge of finding my way there and seeing if I can't establish myself in the midst of that culture.
One of the great marriage therapists of the differentiated school of thought, David Schnarch, once had a practice in New Orleans before moving to Colorado. If he was able to gain popularity and experience success down there, I feel that there is hope that I, too, can find my southern home someday.
Of course, ideally I'd love to live in the little Hamlet of Shrone. Only I think it isn't really a town anymore. It was once upon a time...
Now, I am going to share with you something that may sound oddball, but hear me out about it, and promise to consider it kindly, and not poke fun. In reading about reincarnation from Edgar Cayce's readings, he said often groups of souls will collectively reincarnate together. It is more than just families reincarnating, but can be whole communities.
When I learned Shrone was a real town, and I found so many other dear souls in my life who are Shrones, I started to think that maybe—just maybe we all once lived in that town of Shrone and we were dearest of friends. For Cayce also says that there isn't radomness in the people who come into our lives. The people that impact us the most, that we form friendships with, are indeed those souls we've incarnated with before.
In my heart I have this "fear" that when I do have the chance to travel to the town of Shrone I may very well feel overwhelmed on a spiritual level, that it is my one true home, and that I won't be able to leave it. I strongly feel that there is one place on this planet that is my True Home. And in my heart of hearts, I would so very much like to realize my wish for all of us Shrone to one day meet in the town of Shrone—for the first time in this incarnation, but a reunion of our souls.
We've got 7 pumpkins to carve: one for each human and cat, and then lights to string. I have a wedding tomorrow evening before the little ones come seeking candy. We have been very good about our pre-Halloween candy consumption. I don't want much of it left over even if that means Pooky will sulk a bit.
I'm off on Tuesday to Module 7 with the Winter track group. I'm so looking forward to meeting everyone. I've already made e-mail contact with some folks and everyone has welcomed me into their group. I have a strong feeling that everything is going to turn out fine.
Of course, I hate being away for so long. It is a long module. Pooky said since I'll have my own hotel room that he'll come up on Wednesday night. We'll have dinner, maybe some marital bliss, and then an early start of it the next day.
I won't be taking the computer with me, and if I get too lonely for blogging I can always log-on at the hotel for $4/hr, but since money is tight, I'll have to be very needy.
I'm glad that McDonald's has been running their Monopoly game because I've collected a breakfast sandwich, medium fries, and two large sandwiches for free, which I'll take advantage of because the McD's is across the street from the hotel. I will of course treat myself to some Thai food, a "blood burger" from Stanford's (the next best cheeseburger to Fuddrucker's) and probably something from Pizza Schmizza.
My ostomy has been working very nicely and I'm getting the feel for when it needs to be changed. I think of myself as a mother sensing when her baby has soiled their diaper. I had a strong craving for chocolate donuts tonight which means my period is on my way. I'm sure it is going to happen when I'm away; it always does.
I got my 10 page paper written, and looked ahead at future assignments. I noticed that there is a Theory of Counseling paper which apparently is the Beginning Theory of Counseling paper updated after a hard year of internship. I'm sure my theory will change after having to deal with people; it always does. Only with the final version you have to present it to a committee of faculty and peers and it increases to 20 pages. That's not too bad considering that most master thesis papers have to be plastic spiral bound and all of that presentation crap.
I won't have Module 1 until January of next year. By then I must have my internship or they definitely won't let me continue. My plan is to go to the agency on Tuesday when I return. I must make an appearance in person because so far nothing has happened by me sending a letter or making a phone call. If I plant myself in their office someone will have to see me.
I'm still not crocheting. How I've been expressing my creativity is through writing. I've been known to dabble in the fictional arts, and an idea for a story keeps plaguing me at night just before I fall asleep. So I've gotten a rough draft of the first chapter going. Do all writers start writing stories from the beginning? What I've started could possibly be the middle. I don't know. I feel the need to write.
One thing that is keeping me from completely freaking out is that as a second year student I may be chosen to be someone's mentor. I've not had that honor before and I am so looking forward to that. I've been thinking of the person who might pick me to be their guide.
I'm off to join Anne Shirley before I join dreamland. I got bought the entire series of books because I must know the entire life of Anne. I've only read a book or two from the series and I've seen all three of the Canadian productions starring Megan Follows. Megan does such an excellent job as playing "Anne with an e."
While I'm away surprise me with comments about all and anything that comes to mind. Make up a story, or tell me the stupidest joke you know. I'm going to terribly miss all of you, even though it is just a short handful of days!
My dearest friend in high school has been having a rough week and today I find myself thinking of her, admiring how she is handling so much all in a short space of time. She is someone that I admired back when I was 14 and still admire today, which means I've been in awe of her for 19 years! It doesn't seem that long...we actually knew each other since kindergarten, but didn't become good friends until the arrival of adolescence which caused us both to find new friendships when we outgrew the ones of our childhood.
I didn't know just how much I cared about her or missed her until I had a dream about her dying. It was sometime in the 1990s when I kept dream journals that I felt the need to reconnect with her, and I am so thankful for Classmates.com that did reconnect us after so many years.
Funny how a dream can have such deep feelings that will incite you to act differently. She was alone and wasting away in a hospital bed, all of her friends had left her, and I was the only one not afraid to be there for her, because I knew that it wasn't a scary place to be and that she needed a hug.
In that dream I hugged her, and there was that lovely feeling of warmth and love between us, the kind that poets write about between souls. It would be my wish today that if I could somehow transmit that hug to her that I had in my dream I would. She needs it.
OK, I'm one of those weirdos who happens to think stuff like that messages and things come to us in different forms and signs. I don't always think it is The Divine directly communicating but a combination of what I like to call The Powers That Be. Think of the yin/yang symbol, the collective unconscious, the good, the bad, the beautiful and ugly, and to me that is a snapshot of The Powers That Be (sometimes called the PTB).
Well, I got to thinking about what I've written lately and what has popped up randomly for me. It was a bit of a message to me from that "Lori needs" meme that I should cut my mom some slack. After all, I said I expect people to give me some slack when I'm in the hospital or coming home from it, and I figure if I want to receive something I'd better be willing to give it first.
I'm not making excuses for my mother, but rather thought of the explanation of why she eschews being truthful and honest, although I did learn from her the phrase "honest is the best policy."
It jumped into my memories how she told of an incident involving her finding the courage to confess to her father that she was wearing a bit of lip gloss or lip stick to school and then taking it off before coming home. (Her father was a religious fundamentalist who felt beating his children into submission was God's will. He would not allow my mom to enjoy the typical, normal things of a teenager in the 1950s because they were sinful and such.)
I commend her for being honest with her father. She knew she was going against his wishes, but what he did to her because of her honesty was appalling, completely against the entire religion of Christianity (as far as I'm concerned) and no doubt left an impact on my mother to form the opinion that being honest gets you nothing more than a beating within the inch of your life.
My mother is prone to exaggeration, but I don't think she was entirely off in saying that her father reacted violently. The physical abuse he inflicted on her was more than enough to have him arrested, and she said that she managed to escape with him chasing after her with a rake!
I tend to think this punishment for being honest was a common experience for her. I struggle to feel empathy for her because I perceive her as an aware, strong woman whom I feel has realized: "The way you were raised is your parents' fault. If you stay that way, it's your own." (I haven't any idea who I'm quoting here, so I would give credit where it is due if I knew.)
Right here is where I'd disgress on a tangent of how un-Christian her father was about punishing honesty. I suppose in his mind he was punishing her for breaking a rule, but there are far more effective ways to reprimand for breaking a rule than physical assault. (It's from his gene pool that I figure I get my ulcerative colitis from. Yeah, I'm not too keen on that side of the family tree.)
So my feelings toward my mom haven't been as slacky as I could have them. Lately she and I have been annoying each other and I think it began on the day I was born started most recently this summer when I had surgery. I don't know why my choice to free myself of pain nettled her so much, but it surfaced for her a lot of crap and she repeated much of the same stuff she said to me when I was 16-17 yo and in the hospital. But it's been building ever since I said I was going to be contacting my "other family members."
She doesn't call me very often, and she made a deliberate point one day to call and ask me if I had contacted "anyone" and she was sure to tell me that my dad would never be able to share his feelings.
It's a slow lesson for me to learn: my mother. How to relate to her. How to cope with her ways. Just how much she has influenced my decisions and who I am. Edgar Cayce's definition of a soul mate comes to mind. In my life she's been (to date) the one who has provoked me the most to meet myself. She's like a having a head-on collision without an air bag!
I'm in a maudlin mood which I blame on the whacky hormones, dank weather, autumnal decay, lack of sunlight, and the dread of impending life changes that are looming around the corner like a big fuzzy Muppet monster.
I'm lamenting the changes I feel are about to come: That getting an internship (which I keep procrastinating about) will take me away from home too much. My humble abode is where I like to be. It is my sanctuary, my little cozy nest where I pamper my five feline babies, and where Pooky and I seek comfort and solace from the nastiness of life.
I lament that school and my impending internship will keep me from blogging and reading my bloggy friends' blogs, and that time for crocheting will be minimal.
I dread life after graduation in which I'll grind away at some agency and/or try to establish my own practice just to pay back my student loans.
In writing this out I realize that what I dread and fear isn't my dream coming true, but that life after graduation will be this monotonous struggle of work and tedium, that there won't be any joy in working at a profession I thought I'd enjoy. And that I'll have to give up bee-bopping around the house in my Rice Krispies pajama bottoms for pin-striped slacks and put shoes on each day and have to figure what I'll have to take to lunch.
Right now I fear that I don't have what it takes to be a counselor that people will like, want, or need. I don't see myself as a failure, I just see myself as inexperienced and lacking—wanting—and I have no idea how to fill the voids within me.
I've been struggling with the lessons taught to me by bridezillas #1 and #2, which harken back to the ultimate lesson my mother has been teaching me for 33 years. You will never be able to please some people no matter what you do. It just won't be enough or the right thing for them. It's hard to remember that it speaks more about them than you; but if I am to also simultaneously believe that all people work together to co-create a situation, then aren't I being spoken of, too, and it isn't just them and their problem that they can't be pleased?
I'm pointing a finger at myself asking me, "Why do I feel that I must strive to please people? Am I seeking acceptance? Do I want to feel good about myself? Do I want them to feel happy? Do I simply want to help? Is it really more about me in that I have this insane need to correct my mistakes?"
And why is it when autumn rolls around that I suddenly crave apples dipped in caramel sauce like a pregnant lady? It's like in the summer when I suddenly need an endless supply of club sandwiches and iced tea. It's driving me nuts!
I found out today that my faculty for pro-sem wants me to write the Beginning Theory of Counseling paper as soon as possible because she feels it is more a reflection of me at this point in time versus it being a solid academic paper. Even though this means I have to bullshit for 10 pages, I still have to write thoughtful bullshit about such things as: Describe the characteristics (no more than six) of an effective therapist, or Why and how is systemic framework important to the counseling process?
There is some reading I'm going to have to do, but I am not keen about it. It feels like reading will interfere with eating apples dipped in caramel sauce.
I made contact with my new classmates yesterday. I'm part of a very small group now. The Winter track has fewer students and so soon I'll get to know everyone—I hope. I like smaller groups;I prefer them.
Somehow I've managed to write almost four pages today without getting to the real academic questions that require me to crack a book. It's a good thing double-spacing exists along with fonts that are big even at 12 points. Throw in the section headers and it helps to fill the 10 pages.
I also need to write a summary about the statistics used in a professional journal article and then before Module 2 write the update to my autobiography. The update will be the easiest thing to accomplish. I may have to write how I crave caramel dipped apples in autumn and club sandwiches in the summer and how this speaks of a greater, systemic aspect of my dynamic, luminous being! ;-)
I was looking at Yahoo headlines and found it interesting that 57% of college graduates last year were women. We know what this trend will lead to: Women demanding the jobs that once were held by men. And you know what that means: The men will need to start having the babies 'cause the women won't be staying home to do it! ;-)
All joking aside, the article says that there has been such a focus to get women into higher education that attention on men has gone by the wayside. This percentage is indicates that progress in advancing women has arrived. Yeah, but do women earn the same as men? When that happens along with no more threats about reproductive rights and a female pope is seated, then I'll agree that equality between the sexes has been achieved.
Until then this article is just an interesting statistic.
Today I'd like to rip out my uterus and see what the hell is going on with it. For the past month it has been doing a threatening sort of twinge and cramp, with each day I feel more and more pre-menstrual but with nothing happening to bring sweet relief from the pangs and moodiness of whacked-out hormones. I just know next week while I'm away at Module the dam will burst and I'll feel like the spawn of Satan unleashed to wreak havoc on the world. My head will spin; split pea soup will spew; a blood-bath will be reported on the local evening news.
Ever since going stomated, I've dreaded having my period because that means wearing undies (I'm not a tampon girl) and I've grown accustomed to being footloose and fancy-free, but more importantly, I haven't found any undies that feel right since all of them either squash up the ileostomy bag or ride beneath the flange making it feel like the bag will pop off. I may have to reconsider the use of tampons...NOT!
Besides, everything down there feels tightened up as if it had been placed on a reproductive Medieval torturing rack, only instead of stretching it was scrunching.
While I don't mind the occasional deja vu, I keep having these bodily and mental moments of reliving being sick like I was during the summer, and I feel haunted and disturbed by it. It's going to take awhile for these memories to become blurs, and it can't happen fast enough. I think what was worse for me was the fever/sickness I had last month that was either the flu or a UTI. That was more unbearable than my time in the hospital.
Being I'm in a twisted mood, I'm trying to make sense of the comments left regarding my mother's business practice of charging more when putting an item on sale. If I may correct myself, I'd rather say she is acting selfish as opposed to greedy, for her attitude about it comes across as being selfish. I'm not rescinding she has a greedy streak, however. She does.
I take issue with her deception. Instead of marking up the price through a supposed sale, why not just remark the price and announce "Now $3.99!" She doesn't always put up a big sign to draw attention to a product, so perhaps doing just that will work.
I have no issue with her raising her prices in order to stay in business. It is how she goes about raising them that I think is wrong on so many levels. What is even more disturbing is that she shows no care or concern about it being deceptive, which is why I feel it is being selfish. It's like she wants to purposefully bilk people, to find the suckers in the crowd.
Setting prices is a tricky aspect of doing business. Where her shop is at the local people won't pay Seattle prices. That means she has to sell more yarn at lower prices, and with a new Michael's opening up, she's got that type of competition to deal with.
But, if her customers catch on to her being deceptive in the end I think she'll gain a negative reputation. She already has it set in her mind that all women are completely stupid and she will treat them as such simply because they fail to catch on quickly how to read a pattern or pick up how to cast on in knitting that she feels is the one and only way to cast on.
I've seen how she'll be incredibly rude and disrespectful to people whom she's instantly labeled as being "stupid." And if she doesn't think they are stupid, then she will cast another judgement against them that is just as negative. If I hear one more sexist remark out of her mouth about women being dumb I may lash out at her and rip out her tongue!
When I worked at my university as a grad assistant in the continuing eduation department I had my first exposure to how people lack common sense at times (like the one lady who wanted to know if she could fax me a check to pay a fee), some even struck me as having a few screws loose, but I wouldn't call them dumb or stupid. I may even say a few were ignorant, but ignorance is correctable. Stupidity can't be taught, and I can't say if I've ever met anyone who is beyond teaching. The only thing that keeps people from learning are two things: severe brain damage (like the brain is missing), and the biggest culprit of all is: the person's attitude toward learning.
Before I slither away for the night and sulk because my body threatens to menstruate but won't, I'd just like it to be known that if I had any Barbie dolls in my possession I would cheerfully mutilate them by cutting their hair and dressing them up in awful clothing like I would do as a little girl when I would get snarky feeling.
What's keen is I got some new Patricia K. doily pattern books in the mail, so maybe if I don't feel so evil I'll start one. Yesterday when I came home I found that the kittens had gotten into the thread christening gown I had started and destroyed it. I hadn't gotten very far, so I wasn' totally bummed out, and I had to fix a mistake I had made and was avoiding that, so perhaps the kittens were doing me a favor by putting it out of its misery?
One of these days I won't be talking about how I don't feel like crocheting and will actually be crocheting! Even with all of these new patterns I have to swoon over, I don't feel the spark of life within me. All I want to do is eat apples dipped in caramel sauce.
I fondue, do you?
I would have been able to present more Shrones, but there was a glitch in the power company receiving their payment and they had the gall to actually turn off our power just as I was going to make breakfast! Anyhow, power was restored after much fuming.
Please give a hearty welcome to Noricum and Nancy, dear Shrones who
have the following qualities:
Noricum
- You are Canadian born putting you in the esteemed ranks of Colin Mocherie, Peter Jennings, Mike Meyers, Sarah McLachlan, k.d. lang, Lucy Maud Montgomery, Bare Naked Ladies,
- You are studying for your PhD! How cool is that?!?!? And in a scientific field no less, even cooler!
- You have a kind and generous heart.
- You have an understanding of what it means to be troubled with health problems.
- Something about you says when you get old and withered, you just might go out crusing for penis!
- You are unknowable.
- You make outstanding socks!
- You have the coolest pair of espionage bacon on the planet and highly coveted bacon bandages!
- You're one groovy chick and I think you are super cool!
- You haven't killed your inner child and you freely allow it out to play.
Nancy
- You have the greenest thumb and Shrones (if not swarmed by cats) will keep plants (sometimes giving them personalized names, too).
- You are a fellow Rat from the Chinese zodiac and that means you possess oodles of charm.
- You have a kind and generous heart.
- You've had your share of health problems (when I read up on what you had done I *gasped* and squeezed you with a big mental hug) and are dealing with your dad's declining health in a very admirable, inspiring way.
- Something about you says when you get old and withered, you just might go out crusing for penis!
- You are unknowable.
- You have been a teacher for many years without losing your mind (but as you said, you can act pretty well, so maybe...it really is lost?).
- You've got the kind of red hair that is lovely and totally Shrone! (I am referring to your photo posted honoring your hubby's birthday. I hope your hair is still that amazing color!)
- You're one groovy chick and I think you are super cool!
- You haven't killed your inner child and you freely allow it out to play.
If you'd like to direct your readership to What Is A Shrone? it may help inquiring minds to better understand what it means to be a Shrone. I happen to think we're much more snazzy than the Ya-Ya Sisterhood or the Sisterhood the Travelling Pants or those Red Hat ladies as we have an actual town of Shrone to descend upon some day and hold our first-ever Shrone gathering, donned in turbans, purple regalia, and naturally after sunset we'll apply bright red lipstick and go out cruising for penis!
I have it on good authority that the number of Shrones is soon to increase by the magic number 8! (And you always thought that "seven eight nine" thereby making it a gustatory verb!)
So be on the look-out in your e-mail inbox, and upon the good news be sure to tell the world about your new Shrone status!
The reason for the sudden deluge of Shrones is that I missed all of those months back through the summer and so I'm just now getting caught up. However, Shrone Welcoming gifts will still take 4-6 weeks to arrive, depending on my finances.
Shrone gifts are little heart-warming mementos that speak of your own unique Shronedom. And most importantly, you'll receive that snazzy laminated Shrone Card!
I recently found out that my mother's greedy streak is alive and well. Owning her own LYS has gone to her head. She was boasting to me about one of her practices. Let's say that she has a ball of yarn she marks as $2.99. If it doesn't sell as fast as she thinks it should, she'll then put a sign on it saying: Now on Sale! Was $4.99 now $3.99!
When she told me this I said that is illegal to do that. She told me that it wasn't. She does have regular customers and eventually they will catch on to what she is doing. That's not being honest or fair to her customers, period. Yet she defended her actions. Just because she thinks she can do it, why it must be legal for her to do it! She wouldn't hear any word to the contrary!
In that respect I'm not like her. I'm not greedy. I'd like to be able to pay my bills, enjoy a steak ever-so-often, and from time to time be able to spread some good will and happiness into other people's lives by giving them gifts.
Long ago my mother used to enjoy baking, and from that I acquired my fondness for the culinary arts. She taught me to crochet, and how to knit more than once. She does possess a taste for the finer things in life, as well do I. However, she hoardes clothes. I just have what I need.
From her genes I have traced that is where I acquired my ulcerative colitis tendency. The Schmitt blood has it.
She made me take notice of Nature when I was a child and this left an impression upon me that still exists to this day. It was amazing how she'd pause on a warm spring evening and say sharply, suddenly: Hey, do you notice that?
Notice what? I'd ask.
Do you smell it? Take in a deep breath and smell. It smells like spring.
Because of her, I can smell spring in the air at the end of winter; I can smell snow in the air, too, and even notice how morning air smells different than afternoon air versus evening air. Each moment of the day has a unique smell. Different regions of the country smell unique as well. The northwest has a sweet, sap smell in the woods. In Pennsylvania the smell was like earth and leaves.
She didn't think any religion or belief should be forced upon her children, so the kindest and bestest thing she ever did was let us find our own spiritual pathway. She didn't forget to teach us "right and wrong" and what is proper behavior.
As I didn't have anyone religion crammed down my throat I was able to find my own way to The Divine. My faith is hard-earned and strong and continues to grow as I I learn to trust more in The Powers That Be. My moral foundation has grown, too, and she provided me with a firm basis in which to nurture. If only she might now follow some of her own advice and wisdom...
Her interest in medicine and psychology/self-help has been a guiding force in my life, though now she doesn't appreciate too much the learning I've had over the past year as I am using that on her and she doesn't like being challenged in her behavior or ideas. (It's not like I'm cramming anything down her throat, but that my way of interacting has changed and no one likes changes at first.)
Something tells me that my worship and fondness for cats comes from her. She tells a sad story about a cat that she adored and how it ran off when they were moving. When they stopped along the roadside to take a breather, the cat escaped from her arms, bounded off into the wilderness, and her father wouldn't take the time to retrieve the cat. He was an abusive, crazy-ass religious nut who left a variety of marks on his children. After losing her cat she seemed to have lost her care for animals until she got her Beagle.
I received from my mother my inability to function properly in the morning. It is absolutely painful at times for me to get up at an ungodly hour, but I do it. Just don't be around me until I've "thawed out".
As I've gotten older, I've tended toward more daudling and moving slower and taking forever to get ready to run a day of errands. It would frustrate me to no end how long she'd take to get motivated to go to town, but now I find I'm not that anxious, either. As I age, I do realize that my worst fear is coming true: I'm becoming just like my mother!
I was pretty wound up this morning by the unfounded e-mail I received. I decided against being nasty back because two wrongs don't make a right. Since I was going to be near the courthouse anyhow, I stopped in and got a replacement certificate without any problems. It took me longer to find a parking space than to accomplish the transaction.
It got me to thinking about how business is conducted these days. My previous SO worked for a publishing company that specialized in publishing academic journals. (BTW, did you know that there is an academic journal called Turf & Lawn Management? It contains "scientific" articles on how to keep golf courses green and managed.) It was standard policy within that company to lie to anyone calling in to ask how long something was going to take. The answer to always be given was: two weeks.
Now, more often than not, two weeks wasn't anywhere near the time frame that was the truth. The truth was more like two months, sometimes six months, but in order to keep the customer happy, they were always informed it would just be two weeks. My SO hated to lie like this, but since he was a nobody within the ranks, just a rank and file proofreader, he had to follow company policy.
It was felt by management that people would forget their initial inquiry about the time frame and move on and somehow be placated with this response. However, when dealing with PhD's they tend to be wiser than the average bear and realized they were being deceived. On more than one occasion excuses and reasons would have to be supplied when the deception was discovered.
While I think people do want to be told the truth in the business world, at the same time they don't want to hear it. Therefore companies have set policies of "fudging the truth" so that the customer will like what they hear. Are we such delicate creatures that hearing the truth pushes our buttons and pulls our triggers?
When I got home this evening this is what I wrote to the upset bride:
The reason I informed you yesterday about my lack of success with getting an answer from the county auditor is I said I would keep you informed about what was going on. I have always been honest with you, and by doing so I'm judged unprofessional and unorganized. As a person studying business relations, one of the biggest complaints in the business world is the lack of honesty, integrity, and accountability. I was fully aware that if I was honest with you that I could be deemed as unprofessional and unorganized, but it was a risk I was willing to take because I feel being honest with a person is better than being caught in a lie.
Remember how when we were young we were taught not to lie and fib because it was wrong? Why do adults tend to scrap that when doing business? Is profit the motivating factor in all business transactions?
I could have easily compromised my integrity, denied there was any mistake on my part, and pulled the wool over her eyes just to make her happy, to give her that "blissful ignorance" that people want to be coddled with, but I'm the one who has to face myself in the mirror and look into the eyes of a person who could tell fibs and lies to another just because they wanted to be soothed.
In good conscience, I can't do it. It's not that I fear I'll burn in hell, but I do have this scenario in my mind that goes like this: Upon the day of crossing over into the white light, spirits come around me and I have to begin on that process of accounting for my life, to determine what karma still remains for me to balance. In the beginning of my days, before I knew better, I didn't care that much about such philosophical matters, but as I learned, I changed my behavior to reflect what I feel is true.
I want to be able to look those spirits straight in their third eye and say: I stopped lying to people because I felt that being honest was tied to my integrity as a growing soul and human being. I did my best to own up to my mistake and shortcomings and not deny them or lie about them just to make someone feel good. It did make me sad that I upset them, but I felt that in the end being honest in a polite way was the best policy I could ever adopt. I told the truth without being vicious, thoughtless, rude, or uncaring. I told the truth as I saw it as it felt wrong to do otherwise, and I didn't like feeling wrong inside because I had to live with that feeling and above all be true to myself so that I could be true to others.
When you do business, what would you rather be told: the truth or what you like to hear? How do you feel about an employee or company that you catch in a lie?
I've had another issue come up with a former bride. Turns out Pooky had to perform the ceremony in my stead since I went into the hospital rather unexpectedly. She inquired about why she hadn't received the decorative certificate. I said I couldn't find it among my papers, so I assumed I mailed it out to her (I explained that right after I got out of the hospital I don't have the recollection of events).
I then inform her that I will contact the county auditor's office to see if they will replace it as I'm assuming it is lost. However, when I called their offices yesterday all I got was a voice mail. I called twice: in the morning and in the afternoon. I informed her of this and said I would visit them in person to find out if I could get a replacement.
I also said that if a replacement wasn't available that I would refund her a portion of the ceremony fee.
Turns out as I was cleaning downstairs I found the certificate in question, only she and her groom had signed their names within the certificate body. I decided to do the white-out thing as their signatures would look goofy among the calligraphy. In the end it didn't look so good as the nib didn't want to write over the white-out. Bad decision on my part, but overall it doesn't look horrible.
I receive an e-mail from her this morning that tried to rip me a new asshole! She said she didn't believe that I had mailed them anything, that I was unprofessional and unorganized based upon my confession that prior to her wedding I said I had misplaced some of their script selections, but I did find them. She said she wished she would be able to alert other brides about my services as I have handled this entire situation to her disliking.
She said and I quote: "If you were unable to handle doing our wedding due to your sickness you should have let us know, instead of making excuses." I don't feel that I was doing either of these things, but who is to judge?
What bothers me, and I have felt this before (and not just from the original bridezilla) but that today people really lack understanding and compassion when it comes to someone being sick, or if they are honest. Because I was being honest with her it exposed my vulnerability and weakness. Being sick is being vulnerable and weak.
Does the current way of thinking toward vulnerability and weakness say that you kick someone when they are down, treat them the opposite of understanding and compassion?
Do people even know what compassion is anymore?
I'm not trying to say I'm not to be held accountable, to own up to my part in the situation. I fully admitted to her I wasn't at my best moment after coming home. Was it a mistake to say that? Should I lie from now on in order to tell people what they want to hear as opposed to telling them the truth?
It is well known that people "can't handle the truth" that they are much happier with hearing lies---being told what they want to hear. I must be a stupid sap for thinking that honesty is the best policy, even if people get angry with me.
But I don't appreciate people getting angry with me because I've been sick and not able to live up to their expectations. Yes, I do think people should cut me some slack in that department as physically and mentally when a person is ill they aren't on a level playing field with the healthy world.
I assume people should understand this, but then I realize that nowadays people don't typically get sick beyond the common cold. Maybe the flu if they are unfortunate. People don't interact with chronic illness, with surgeries and operations, and infirmities until they are retired and they expect it to happen then because they are old and old people are notoriously ill.
Have we driven the compassion and understanding out of today's people because we have whisked those incurable, chronic illnesses off to the hospital where they need to be tended to, instead of nursing people at home?
I will be sending the bride her certificate, with a note saying that since the certificate has been found, doesn't all of the fuss make it seem rather pointless? I explained why it looks shitty, too, since they signed their names when they shouldn't have. If she wants to bitch and complain more, so be it. I wash my hands of it.
She could have gotten a reimbursement by asking for one instead of calling me names and saying how horrible a person I am for being sick and incompetent. If she asks for one now, it's too late as far as I'm concerned. She can go to the county auditor and ask for the replacement. She can tell them a mistake was made and perhaps they will show her compassion and understanding and replace it.
Such is life.
| You Are 60% Boyish and 40% Girlish |
|
You are pretty evenly split down the middle - a total eunuch. Okay, kidding about the eunuch part. But you do get along with both sexes. You reject traditional gender roles. However, you don't actively fight them. You're just you. You don't try to be what people expect you to be. |
Swiped from the lovely Stacey of Yarnification
I've been thinking a lot about my dad and how I remembered him as a child compared with the 67 yo man I have recently begun to re-know. He seems far more reserved and conservative than the man I knew in my youth. I only lived with him for my first 11 years of life. That is hardly enough time to really get to know someone, considering out of those 11 years, I probably only really solidly recall about half of them. (I am one of those weird children who have very early memories. I can trace back my first memory to being in Pampers diapers—about 2½, and being toilet trained at age 3.)
This much I've surmised about my dad now is that he's been a quiet thinker all of his life, even though he's not a talker. I think he was socialized in that time period when men weren't suppose to talk or express their emotions. His father was 100% Swedish, not noted for being expressive peopple.
I realize now that my contemplative, thoughtful, reflective nature must come from my father because no traces of this type of personality/behavior have evidenced themself in my mother to any extent. My father strikes me as being very rational, methodical, deeply emotional (though he doesn't always show it), possibly sentimental, has a sense of humor, and enjoys good food.
Naturally, the above list of traits I've noticed within him are those I've noticed within myself, or believe to be true about who I am. The man that I knew in my childhood that no longer seems to be around is the man who would lounge around the house in his robe and me and my brother would whisper to each other that we could see his goods, for he wasn't too concerned with modesty.
He would have almost daily yelling tantrums that now I think he wouldn't have, for he seems to have found an inner calm and peace. He may have been frugal and not prone to extravagant spending, but he had his own type of generosity.
It's apparent to me that talking to my father in a deep, heart-to-heart style is not his way of communicating just yet, and frankly, it isn't mine. What I sense that we are doing is a little imaginative, abstract sharing of who we are through movies.
I'm very much a visual thinker, a person who can listen to a piece of classic music and see this "movie" play out in my head, for the emotional qualities of the music easily process in my mind as pictures, scenes acted out with a story to be told. I wager to bet, my dad has some of this mental ability, too.
So instead of having long talks (my dad is hard of hearing, too and won't get a hearing aid) we've been sharing favorite movies. I think that there is a lot being said between us about who we are. Our favorites and preferences are a snapshot of who we are. We may change certain preferences over time, but I'm sure long-term we stick to basic things that appeal to us, that work for us.
My secret passion for wanting to be a spy apparently has a genetic component because my dad loves spy movies—not just James Bond. My love for Monty Python also came from his gene pool as he has a penchant for British comedies. So maybe all of these years my grandmother was really onto something when she'd look at me and say in a not-so-friendly voice: Your just like a Carlson! Indeed, I am, and at last I can say I'm proud to be one!
I'm so behind on my Shrone presenting that today I thought I'd surprise three lucky gals with the news that they have joined the amazing and ever-astounding, and completely unknowable ranks of Shronedom!
In no particular order, please give a hearty welcome to: Natalie, Joy, and Elizabeth!
Probably more later than sooner, or just whenever, you will receive your official bona fide Shrone card and some welcoming gifts!
Hopefully each gal will post of her good news, but in case you don't feel like doing a mouse click over to her blog, here's what made each respective Shrone a Shrone:
Natalie
- You made the world's ugliest Ugli-ghan square, and only a bona fide Shrone could do that!
- You know the pleasures of The Weed.
- You have a kind and generous heart.
- You possess wisdom ahead of your chronological years, a hallmark of all Shrones.
- Something about you says when you get old and withered, you just might go out crusing for penis!
- You are unknowable.
- You like lions, sock monkeys and office supplies. These are good things to like.
- You have excellent tastes in fancy, baubly crochet hooks, like that glass one that costs $70.
- You're one groovy chick and I think you are super cool!
- You haven't killed your inner child and you freely allow it out to play.
Joy
- You know the pleasures of Snow Peas, which only real Shrones understand about. (I think it has something to do with that story about the Princess and the pea.)
- You too have created an imaginery business name that you'd one day like to own.
- You have a kind and generous heart.
- You like reading a good, scary story. Shrones aren't afraid to be "spooked" now and again.
- Something about you says when you get old and withered, you just might go out crusing for penis!
- You are unknowable.
- You have been known to get up early in the morning to exercise. That's admirable.
- You are a "tea junkie".
- You're one groovy chick and I think you are super cool!
- You haven't killed your inner child and you freely allow it out to play.
Elizabeth
- You make no apologies for speaking your mind, and you do so in a manner that is admirable and with integrity.
- You enjoy a good cigar now and then.
- You have a kind and generous heart.
- You've got a style all your own that I admire, like that whole three olive martini thing.
- Something about you says when you get old and withered, you just might go out crusing for penis!
- You are unknowable.
- You have excellent taste in yarn.
- You take life in stride, are realistic, yet aren't so dreadfully boring not to engage in fits of whimsy.
- You're one groovy chick and I think you are super cool!
- You haven't killed your inner child and you freely allow it out to play.
Apparently prayers are answered, or if you have no inkling toward acts of faith, then logic and reason has prevailed! I'm being allowed to attend Module 7 of the Winter track and if all goes well I'll be advanced to second year and start the new academic year in Jaunary!
I made sure to inform financial aid so my loans will be reinstated and get my loan holders into deferrment so their almost daily letters will cease.
However, the tiny fly in the ointment is this: I have to write a 10 page paper by module explaining my theory of counseling!
Bonus is: I got a room rate of $45/day through Priceline for my stay at module. I'm only 4 miles from the actual hotel the classes will be held, plus they say I get a complimentary breakfast each morning and there was Internet access, but I'm not sure if it is "free". I'm sure I won't have to pay for parking as I'm not near the airport.
Gee, now I have to engage my brain and start reading real books and thinking about my theory of counseling! Most importantly, I've got to get on the horn and call back the director at the local mental health agency and get interviewed and get my internship cemented! January won't be a reality until I get that internship solidified and stamped with the seal of approval!
| You Are Likely a Second Born |
 At work and school. you do best when you're evaluating. When you love someone, you offer them constructive criticism. In friendship, you tend to give a lot of feedback - positive and negative. Your ideal careers are: accounting, banking, art, carpentry, decorating, teaching, and writing novels. You will leave your mark on the world with art and creative projects. |
I was the second born girl, but the family baby for 11 years then my brother came along and as they say, the rest is history!
This meme swiped from Heather (Sleevesless in Utah who swiped it from another, who swiped it from another, and so on, and so on...) When applicable, I crossed out those words/phrases that didn't fit my life and personalized them. When you swipe this from me, you can embellish your findings as you wish. My findings read like a mix of horroscope and fortune cookie. Strange how the Universe can speak to you via Google!
Here's what to do: Google "[your name] needs" and list the best.
1. I think Lori needs to step out into the experiences of others and use that to make an attitude change. (Did my professors write this?)
2. Lori needs our help and support now more than ever. (Please send $50s and $100s)
3. Lori needs to be aware of her own anger and how it's affecting her, so that she can be free of it. (Hey, who has been reading my diary and/or professor's assessments?)
4. On the other side, there are times I know Lori needs sex but is too busy-minded to be aware of that fact. (We all know Pooky wrote this one!)
5. Lori needs a change, and Fred (her personal trainer father) is just what the doctor ordered, along with Prozac Celexa. (I told you Dr. S was a good surgeon!)
6. Lori needs to cut her mom some slack. (Who let my mother sneak in here?!?!?)
7. Lori needs one more year to finish med school the LIOS program, too. (This is getting eerily like real-life now!)
8. "Lori needs to do a lot more shopping," says David Pooky. (There I go again, putting words into Pooky's mouth!)
9. Lori needs hugs for all her dedication and hard work. (And my bloggy bosom friends give them to me, too!)
10. Lori needs to find the answers to the mystery involving Aunt Dimity's Mr. Doo's existence. (Why not end this on a metaphysical note?)
When you've had your fun with this, give me a ping on my trackback so I can read your "needs", too!
I decided to take a bath. You recall that 70s commercial about a woman who was having a hectic day and all she could think about was, "Calgon, take me away!" Well, sans the bubble bath, I drew myself up a nice, hot bath and added in some lavendar salts. Now, I decided to leave the door open (first mistake) because I had over-heated the room by closing it and having the heat on.
As the water was filling, Mr. Montague decided he'd hop in. He isn't afraid of water, so I found him with his paws totally covered...but that isn't the reason for this entry.
As I was trying to soak, sure enough, those wet paws of him trying to balance on wet fiberglass causes him to fall in. No surprise there. I could see it coming and kept chasing him off, but what was interesting was that when he fell in, he stayed in for a moment before realizing that he needed to get out. He was very calm about it. Mr. Doo was watching at the time. I don't think that had any bearing on Mr. Montague's reaction. Mr. Montague loves water!
Stash decided he needed to check out the big pool of water and he kept balancing himself on the edge. I kept chasing him away, but he wouldn't listen to me and he kept returning. Just as I was getting into the comfort of the bath and reading my book, I look up and see Stash perched down where I couldn't reach him, and then from behind him came Mr. Smee who spooked poor Stash with a classic "A-ha!" type ambush, causing Stash to jump into the water! Stash didn't like the sudden change in air to water, so he splashed himself out immediately and took off as if one of his nine lives had been spent!
It wasn't so much of him falling in, but how it happened! I could see Mr. Smee almost sneaking up behind him, and I think Mr. Smee didn't intend to startle Stash, but that is how it happened, and why Mr. Smee reached out with his paw to swat at Stash is not certain—I think they play this way when the tub is empty and perhaps Smee thought it was empty—as I don't think Smee is diabolical like Mr. Doo.
The look on Stash's face as he was startled was hysterical, but then the look of him being in the water was an outright laugh riot!
I tried to use the hair dryer on Stash but he'd have none of it so I had to towel him off. However, Mr. Montague permitted me to dry him! All he did was swat at the dryer a bit but he wouldn't run away from it.
Note to self: Next time leave the door closed!
On the way home from the evil experience I had at LIOS, I detoured to the Asian market since I wasn't able to go there last Saturday.
The snow peas were on sale for 99¢ plus an additional 10% off because it is the store's anniversary sale! I got 10 wonderful bags of them. (For those esteemed persons who requested I get them snow peas, soon you'll receive your share in the mail.)
But that wasn't the highlight of going there. Inside of the store is a bookstore and this time I got up the nerve to ask the clerk where the crochet books were kept. She said she didn't know what crochet was, so I asked if she knew what knitting is. She said she did, so she took me to the section and there was a special label on the shelf for crochet.
At first the books were basic doilies, but then...but then....
I found books on Irish lace crochet!
And that's not all! While scanning in the covers I realized that I bought myself a book of Yoko Suzuki's patterns by fortunate chance! I'm so thrilled! I was hoping to find more of her patterns since both Magic Crochet and Decorative Crochet are no longer being published.
What is so cool about the Irish crochet books is that they give exact patterns for making blouses and vests! None of that guess work! And though the supplemental directions are in Japanese, I can discern what thread size is used along with the hook size since my Clover hooks are in millimeters. Plus, if push comes to shove, I can now ask my sister for a quick translation as she lived in Japan for four years. (I hope she has kept her language skills fresh!)
Even though the books were 10% off, they weren't cheap. I will not say how much I gave for the Irish crochet books, but I figure they are worth ever penny! You just can't find stuff like that published here as thread crochet, let alone Irish crochet, isn't very popular, especially patterns using threads greater than size 10. What is interesting to note is that back in the day, women used to do thread crochet and all the patterns were in size 20 or higher!
Ladies, where have our thread crochet skills gone? Please don't be smart and say they've gone to Japan!
My mom said when her grandmother taught her how to crochet she learned to do it using size 30 and 20 thread! If I recall correctly, my mom put me to size 10 thread immediately, or that I took to it on my own as soon as I learned the basics.
Since she wouldn't teach me how to read patterns I quickly lost interest in crocheting. I was taught when I was about 8 years old. I even have a picture of me crocheting at that age. What a pity she wouldn't take the moment to show me how to read a pattern...Oh, well. I soon made up for lost time!
I'm still in a tizzy about the meeting I had with my professor. I will be in an even worse one come tomorrow if I find out I'm not allowed into Winter track.
I arrive 15 minutes late because morning traffic was awful. What else is new? Pooky called to say I was running late. When I get there, she starts off with reading to me a statement written by my main instructor for the year (who wasn't at this meeting). The instructor had written that I received a PC for my self-assessment from Module 5, missed half of Module 6, and all of Module 7.
My jaw dropped to the floor. When I was able to scoop it up, I said: That is totally wrong! I received an AC for my assessment, was present for the ENTIRETY of Module 6, and yes, I did miss Module 7, but I attended the final session of I-Group and the closing ceremonies in order to say good-bye to my classmates for the summer.
The professor didn't believe me! She had to then request a copy of my transcript from the program secretary before she would accept my word as having more validity than my instructor's. And even after she saw that I hadn't lied, that I did in fact receive an AC for self-assessment, and that I had done so for all of my other courses, save but the missed ones, she still treated me like I was not to be believed!
She kept pushing that I take the year off and return next fall. And that I could attend I-Group meetings with this year's first years so I can become part of their community. I said I can't do that due to financial constraints. No way will I drive for 90 minutes each way twice a week for an I-Group sessions that last 3hrs and 90 minutes respectively. My lost time and gas isn't worth it.
Then the professor said that they were concerned that this past year I didn't get the fullest experience out of the program because of my health problems. I asked her what exactly did she mean? I received AC's in all of my papers and courses, that I had "pinches" and "crunches" with fellow classmates that I attended resolution sessions with, and that I met one of my most important goals this summer by reconnecting with my estanged family—what more could they possibly want? Her reply was that I didn't actively participate in class! I said that just because I wasn't one of the people who talked continuously and didn't know when to shut-up doesn't mean I didn't participate in class!
While I do indentify myself as an introvert/non-talker, I do speak my mind and I do participate when I see it has merit and benefit. I don't go dancing out into the spotlight simply to seek attention.
My blood was boiling mad! For them to say my health issues were preventing me from getting a full experience is ludicrous! I explained to her that their theory holds no water because all I've done is exchanged on set of health problems for another, and in the process all that I lost was my constant pain. The ileostomy itself comes with its own set of health issues that they could claim would keep me from fully experiencing the program.
And if they meant that I didn't participate in extra-curricular activities, I said while at module I often spent time with my classmates while at the hotel, but that I've made numerous attempts to connect with my classmates outside of module by extending invitations for them to come down to my residence, only for those invitations to be dismissed because no one wanted to drive down to Centralia because of the awful traffic, and so I was excluded from the Seattle area clique. As for the Olympia area clique and why I wasn't allowed into that, I said I didn't know why.
Finally the professor admitted that since I had received my AC's and had only missed the one module that they no longer really had any reason to keep me from switching to Winter, but rather that the capacity for it might already be full! So they would have to talk with the lead faculty of that program to find out if there was enough room for me.
All I can think is, if that one instructor hadn't misrepresented (or should I say lie!) about my grades and the number of missed modules that much sooner I could have been switched to Winter! I think that no one wanted to deal with me because her misrepresentation of me painted me out to be a "bad" student not worth investing in and therefore, why bother to help me move ahead in the program?
Trust me, I saw this instructor already and I asked her when I could have a conversation with her to find out why she wrote those things about me without verifying the truth of them! She has acted very unprofessionally as far as I'm concerned.
Never in my undergraduate career did a professor say "boo" about me without having my transcript sitting before them. They made damn sure they knew what my grades were.
I think the reason they can get away with this shit is because the disabilities department at Bastyr is non-existant. I've been told the department has very little power, and naturally sides with the faculty and staff.
Not so at my undergraduate school. Professors bent over backwards to make sure they assisted students with disabilities so that they could succeed. This school, though it trains future therapits, counselors, and naturopathic physicians, only wants healthy, perfect people to graduate from its hallowed halls of higher academic learning.
I can hardly wait to hear what reasons my instructor is going to give me as to why she didn't bother to verify my grades or my absences, and to see how she is going to talk her way out of the damage she has done to my reputation. I'd like to know specifically what it is that I did that caused her to think of me as a "PC" student instead of an "AC" student.
Excuse me why I go rip the heads off of my stuffed animals so I can get this extreme pissed-off feeling out of my system!
Now you can all call me "Tattoo!" Forced by my endearing public, I took a pic of my not-quite-healed tattoo because I also was curious to see it. It's kind of hard to look at it since it is just millimeters above the crack of my butt. My fair hairs poke through the heart giving it a weird appearance.
If it looks a bit red, that's because it still is. I tried to photo-correct since I took the pic under regular lights which adds yellow to a photo. The colors aren't true to what they actually are.
I need to slip into bed much earlier than I am used to because I have to get up at quarter to seven as I have that very important meeting with my professors. I'll blog about the outcome tomorrow.