You are. And that is enough.
I play Family Feud on Facebook once in a while and sometimes it interprets things a little strange. I assume it’s because people don’t check their spelling when they type fast, but showing the answer CAR after writing BUSINESS CARD… like I said, a little strange.
But this morning was the worst. The category was “Something a husband rarely touches”. I got dishes, vacuum, a few things like that. My next guess was DUST RAG. The answer that popped up on the screen in its place?
ME.
I read someone’s Facebook status this morning and I reeeeeeally don’t like it. There wouldn’t be enough space in a comment box to explain why, so I figure this is a good place to do it. Here’s what it says:
“A normal person has 1,000 wishes. A MILITARY PERSON only has one, to come home safely. I know 97% of you won’t post this as your status, but the 3% that do, are my friends. In honor of someone that died, a wounded warrior, or who is fighting for your freedom, please repost in their honor. God Bless Our soldiers,sailors and airmen past, present, & future. To those still serving overseas … Come home safe!”
This. Is. Crap.
I have friends in the military who have been stationed all around the world. The ones who are on base in places like South Carolina and Florida? They don’t feel an intense desire to come back to Minnesota.
One couple in Germany? They had a lot more wishes than just to come home. Their biggest wish was to adopt a child, so they wished for a healthy child, cooperative birth parents, a competent adoption agency… a lot more than just one wish. Yes, they want to come back to the States, but their lives don’t revolve around that. (Thankfully, their big wish was granted and they now have a charming little baby boy to call their own.)
The person who wrote that status message on Facebook may have had the best of intentions. He/she may have wanted to honor everyone in the military. However, to suggest that their return is the sole focus of their lives is trivializing and demeaning and it pisses me off.
Consider this my alternative status: “I would like to honor those people who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country. To the ones who have served, are serving, or will serve in the Armed Forces, thank you and I hope you have many more than one of your wishes granted.”
When that happens, sometimes you have to improvise.
I finished taking my final exam for Quantitative Decision-Making for Managers earlier tonight and I’m burned out. That’s what happens when you sit in front of a computer and stare at spreadsheets for 3 1/2 hours straight, although I’m pretty sure it could have been a lot less in my case.
The exam had seven questions with multiple parts and we were allowed to omit one of the seven. I went through them in order, got started on all of them, but when I hit the wall on one question, I’d move on to the next. There were a few times when I knew how to get certain parts right because I remembered screwing them up on an earlier quiz. Knowing what to look for and how to solve it was… sort of a good feeling, but not entirely.
Eventually, I finished five and had the last part left on the final two. I could not figure them out.
Perhaps the worst part was that it was an open-book exam. We could look at our textbooks, PowerPoint files, spreadsheets with equations on them… the works. This professor felt the same way as my Business Stats teacher: if you’re not sure what the answer is, you can go look it up. Obviously, it was good to remember how to use some equations properly in a spreadsheet, but you always had reference materials available.
The reference materials weren’t helping. I was completely stuck. The monitors in the computer lab don’t have clocks on them—there’s only one up on the wall—so I don’t know how much time passed while I was staring at them. I finally decided to focus on one partly because it seemed easier and partly because it was only worth 3 points instead of 4. If I couldn’t come up with an answer, I wouldn’t lose as many points.
So I tried writing out this equation, but when that didn’t work, I’d try another equation, but that wasn’t the right answer either, so let’s try to figure it out this way… nada. Nothing was working.
When I looked up at the clock for the last time, it was about 9:30 and we had until 10:00 to finish the exam. That’s when I said “Screw it” and started punching in numbers. I had part of an equation written out, so as I changed one number, another would get closer and closer to the result I needed. I changed the number again and again and finally got it accurate to two decimal points—the required amount for the problem—then punched that result into another equation and it worked.
I saved the spreadsheet, uploaded it into the class database, then left. That was it. I was done. No more staring at the screen for me. Now I’m at home… using my computer. (Yes, there’s just a tiny bit of irony there.) But at least I’m not just sitting here, staring blankly at the screen with a confused look on my face.
This blog entry? Doesn’t have an answer. Doesn’t need an answer. Thank God.
I decided to rename the category “Head Case” so it indicated what the entries are really about: epilepsy.
The weather is absolutely gorgeous today. It’s 41 with no clouds; a bright sun and big blue sky overhead. Sure, some of you might be shocked that I can enjoy 41-degree weather, but you can put on a jacket to keep you warm, whereas (last time I checked) clothing can’t make clouds go away.
So I went for a walk and ended up sitting next to a little stream down by the local beach. Yes, the beach still has a bunch of snow on it. No, I didn’t try to go swimming. I started thinking about stuff and… I think it’s because I was talking about it a little during my hair cut on Tuesday—I realized how long it’s been since I’ve had an epileptic seizure.
I’ll try to make this a quick summary (assuming that’s possible): my first generalized tonic-clonic (grand mal) seizure happened the morning of Sept 30th, 1991. Freshman year, getting ready for school in the morning, put my breakfast in the microwave, sat down, woke up on a gurney being rolled down the driveway toward an ambulance.
Flash forward to the summer of 2000, which was when I was getting a physical and told the doctor that I’d been having blackouts for about a year (they usually only lasted a minute or two, so I honestly just got used to them). It’s possible for someone to have a single seizure in their lifetime and that’s it; that summer is when I was officially diagnosed with epilepsy.
Initially, I was having blackouts every two months, but they started becoming more frequent. I went to Minnesota Epilepsy Group and we started medication hopping: try one drug and increase the dosage until giving up on that one and trying another.
I spent a week and a half in 2001-02 in the epilepsy ward of United Hospital in St. Paul with a bunch of electrodes glued to my head. (A New Year’s Eve party hat wouldn’t have fit very well.) Since seizures are basically caused by a burst of overactivity in the brain, the doctors wanted to find the problem area to help them pick the right medication(s). My current prescriptions: lamictal and depakote.
My last blackout happened as I was increasing the dosage over time (lamictal can wreck your liver, so I was going up by 25mg ever other week). It was April 16th or 17th of 2002—I don’t remember which, but Minnesota law suspends your driver’s license if you’ve had an “involuntary loss of consciousness” in the last six months. I got my license back a couple days before my birthday that year; if I hadn’t, I would have needed to take my driver’s test again.
So now we’re a couple weeks away from that date in 2002. Nine years since my last blackout. That’s longer than the time between my first seizure and being diagnosed with epilepsy. (I’d been having smaller seizures as my body got acclimated to the first medication I was taking, but a doctor initially thought they were “icepick migraine headaches” since they have similar symptoms. Don’t ask me why he didn’t think they were seizures given my medical history because I haven’t a clue.)
Nine years is a long time and I started to appreciate how well the drugs have been working. No more medication-hopping, no more frequent trips to the clinic, no more seizures. It’s a trend I hope to continue so I can spend less time thinking about having epilepsy and more time outside enjoying the sunshine.
I was watching parts of Virginia Commonwealth University’s basketball game against #1-ranked Kansas this afternoon and I swear to God, I don’t get that giddy cheering for my local teams. It’s not so much that I’m rooting for the underdog (which I am) or jumping on the bandwagon (which also may be true)—I hope that VCU wins because their coach, Shaka Smart, is a fellow ’99 Kenyon grad.
I have to admit, it’s a tad disturbing how so many commentators out there have fallen in love with him during the NCAA tournament this year. When they mention names, you never hear about the players. It’s all Shaka Smart. I sometimes wonder if a bunch of them secretly want to bear his children, but that’s beside the point.
When the game was over, someone was interviewing Shaka and a couple players on the floor and mentioned how a lot of people doubted that VCU could make it to the Final Four. Shaka’s response: “Well, they don’t really matter.” He went on to talk about his team, but that one sentence slapped a whole bunch of college basketball fans in the face with a big Eff You! (Incidentally, that sentence made me feel even more giddy.)
So while I’d never heard of Virginia Commonwealth University before this year’s NCAA tournament (I’m sure I’m not the only one), I’m still all pumped up and ready to root for their team and their coach. Go Shaka! Go VCU!
Unbeknownst to me until a few hours ago, today is Earth Day, 2011. How did I find out?
YouTube.
Why am I so disappointed about my discovery?
YouTube. Continue reading “Lights on, lights off, lights on, lights off…”
