#14- Hardly Ideal

It's nearly been a year since my last post. Let me sum up everything in one word: disillusioned.

The nursing school that I have been attending has failed to live up to all of its promises. No school will ever be perfect, I know, but if you promise something you should be able to live up to that promise. Case in point: the clinical experience thus far. So far, the only time I have ever acted as a nurse was when I gave a Lovenox shot. That's it. Throughout my clinical experience the class has been coddled and cautioned because no one will let the class be nurses. I have not inserted an IV, I have not inserted a catheter, I have not even been allowed to do a wound dressing. We were promised the opportunity to practice our skills for our future careers and instead we have been used as cheap labor making beds. THAT'S IT. I swear to everything holy when I get a job and live on my own I will never make another bed, not even my own. I am supposed to graduate in November. I don't feel like a nurse, I feel like a nurse's assistant that knows how to give medication.

That is pretty much the gist of it, without going into too much detail. However now new problems are cropping up.

For the last three months, on top of nursing school and clinicals and work, I have also been taking classes at a local community college to finish up prerequisites for a RN program, one step up from an LPN (where I'm at now). Fortunately I passed all three classes with good grades.

Unfortunately, I also have a speeding ticket. And not just a speeding ticket-- I'm being charged with reckless driving, which, in Virginia, is equivalent to such crimes as DUI and petty larceny. If convicted, I can pretty much kiss that spot in the RN program goodbye, I won't even be able to take the exam for my LPN license, and pretty much everything I have worked for in this last year will be for nothing and I might as well be dead.

Court date is September 7. God help me.

Regards,

Liz

#10-May the Fourth be With You

It took me a while to get this joke. Now that I understand it, I understand why this is Star Wars day.

Ah, Star Wars. How many countless hours of entertainment and cherished memories have you bestowed upon us all? Actually, the movies are around an hour and a half long each, so for three movies about five or six.

... What, you think I'm talking about I, II, and III? HELL no! I'm talking about IV, V, and VI. This is the ONLY trilogy I will recognize. Why? Because they're the better films. The original, unaltered, theatrical releases, not the remastered directors cuts they keep releasing every couple of years that have a couple extra seconds of computerized footage. These movies are great, plain and simple.

It would take me forever to describe everything about why these movies are awesome, but one thing in particular sticks out for everyone-- the villain, Darth Vader. He was evil, sure, but in the last two movies he slowly became a more and more sympathetic character, and slowly became more and more likable, despite the fact that he was evil. He wasn't evil for the sake of being evil, he was evil because he honestly believed that ruling the galaxy was the only way to bring peace to it. He didn't like working for the emperor, he just got stuck with a psychotic emperor for a master. And just when that psycho is about to kill Luke, he has what is the ultimate redemption scene in history and saves the day.

So when good ol' George decided to make Episodes I, II, and III, which would explain Vader's origins, I was psyched. Sure, I was about 11 or 12, but I was still a rabid little fangirl. (This was, of course, before I had ever watched an episode of Star Trek.)

So the first movie came out. I actually liked this movie, and I still like it today. Despite the unholy abominations known as Jar Jar Binks and the rest of the Gungan race, and despite the podraces being too damn long, it was actually a good movie. The rest of the casting, for the most part, was pretty well done, it was a good story, and the action sequences were very well done. One other problem: the kid they got to play Anakin. That kid is just annoying. His acting sucks, his character sucks, he just sucks. I was rather peeved. 

Well, okay, I thought. It's only the first movie, and the kid is fairly young, and child actors tend to be more annoying anyway. This was supposed to be a younger Vader, right? No way. I would not have believed it. But then again, that could be hidden brilliance-- no one ever saw his crossing to the Dark side coming. Maybe the second movie will be better.

BOY was I wrong. What was wrong? Hayden Christensen was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG. You expect me to believe this whiny, angsty, snot nosed, underacting, little bastard grows up to be one of the most badass villains in movie history? What kind of idiot do you take me for?

All the pointless love scenes aside (which I know pissed off a lot of people, but hey, Luke and Leia's mother has to make an appearance somewhere), he whines through every one of his lines, he's completely disobedient and gung-ho about everything when it's painfully obvious he would get his ass killed if he wasn't so important to the story, and when shit hits the fan and his mother dies, what does he do? Throw a huge fucking hissy tantrum. Dear GOD, I wanted to punch him. I understand cutting apart the sand people that killed his mother, that was totally justified. I even understand feeling bad about the whole thing later, that's just part of the grieving process and his psychotic rampage really needed some reflecting on. What I don't understand is him blaming Obi-Wan. Of all people to blame, he blames the one person who had abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do with his mother's death. "Holding me back"? How about "knowing you're totally not able to handle yourself yet and you still need more training because you're a selfish, impulsive, immature, idiot"? Then when Obi-Wan gets himself captured (because he is also a dumbass and didn't think to LEAVE the planet before giving his report), what does he do? GET HIS OWN DUMB ASS CAPTURED. Granted, Padme was no fucking help in that department, being the one who dragged him to the dangerous situation in the first place, but who was calling the shots here? He knew for a fact that if she went there she would get into a possibly fatal scenario, and he let her go anyway? He can use the fucking force, why the hell is he letting her call the shots? Because she has more political power? Grow a fucking pair, Anakin! You could've totally steered that ship back to safety if you wanted to, you just didn't want to. I just wanted to knock BOTH their heads together! And they're supposed to be the main characters, the ones we root for! I was hoping she would die. I really was. And he TOTALLY deserved to get his hand cut off. Honestly, the only cool part of that movie was the end, with the Clone army coming in and kicking serious ass, Christopher Lee cutting off Anakin's hand, and then fighting Yoda in a lightsaber battle. FUCK that was awesome. Everything else was agonizingly annoying and painful.

I was not looking forward to the third movie. I went anyway because I like to finish a series that I've started. I'm also slightly masochistic. And this movie was just... just. It was just. I have no adjectives to describe this movie. I loved and hated it.

Again, Anakin was painfully horrid. But at least I was expecting it this time. It didn't hurt so bad because I knew exactly what was coming, so I was able to brace for it. It still didn't make it any better to know that by the end of the movie, he would be Vader. Everything else about the movie was good, for the most part-- it would have been nice to know where the fuck General Grievous came from or why he had such a dumb name or what the hell gave him lung cancer or how the hell he managed to kidnap Emperor Palpatine, but he still managed to be a cool ass villain. And everything else about the movie was great. It had suspense, action, and a total Greek tragedy-esque type of self-fulfilling prophecy there at the end. What I hated was, again, Hayden fucking Christensen. If you had gotten any other heartthrob in the world (his looks were the only reason he got the job, and he's honestly not even that good looking), it would have been a much better pair of movies. But that one whiny little punk ruined both those movies for me.

Thankfully I have the three much better movies with much better acting and much more enjoyable characters and much more exciting story lines and much less glaring plot holes.

Warm Regards,

Liz

#8- Road trips: Then, Now, and Later On

I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I grew up in Virginia, where the summers are muggy, suffocatingly humid, and full of mosquitos and thunderstorms. I had accepted it for the most part. My parents, on the other hand, both grew up in California, which gets just as hot but is at least dry enough to breathe in, and even living in South Carolina for a while didn't acclimate them to the southeast coast summer weather. Every other summer we'd drive to California to visit family, and when we didn't go to CA we'd drive to North Carolina where we'd rent a beach house for a week or so.

Yes, yes, you did read that last sentence right-- all of us piled up in the van would drive either to California or North Carolina.

For some reason the trips to and from NC never really stood out in my mind. Sure, I remember actually being there, but I can't ever remember the drives, since they were relatively short. It was always the drives to CA that I remember the most. Three days of driving across country was... well... I never thought it was so bad. We'd at least have each other to mess around with, tapes to listen to, a sibling's shoulder to sleep on, games to play, snacks to much on, and a couple hours to get out and stretch our legs. I do remember how we'd all get excited whenever we came to a state border; we'd watch for the signs that said "You are leaving this state" and count down to when we'd pass the signs that said "Now entering this state". That was always fun, and it was a good way to remember which states were where. But I can only imagine the dread my parents felt every trip we made. Squalling babies and squealing kids can get pretty grating on people's nerves after a few hours, let alone three whole days. It's times like this I like to look back on my childhood and wonder at how my parents never left us at some rest stop in the middle of God-knows-where while they went off to some party scene in Mexico.

But that was then.

Now, I cannot stand driving through cities. They take far too long to get through, with the stop signs and lights and pedestrians and other cars et cetera et cetera. Get me on the open road with a couple of good CD's and I am in Heaven.

 Usually I drive out with my folks to Arizona for summer fun, which is a five-hour drive. I can't speak for everyone, but it really is so much fun getting there. However, there was one drive that has forever haunted me. The weather was crap that day, with several storms all around us but not quite reaching us, and I was preparing to drive back home because I had college classes that started the next day. As I'm heading out with my friend B, out of nowhere this storm forms all around us. If I hadn't been driving Sibling #2's truck (which I should point out is unbalanced due to the lack of any real weight in the back) and if I had been more exposed to driving in rainy conditions, I would've been excited. As it stood, however, I had to be trained in perfect California sunny weather and borrowing a very front-heavy truck. On top of that, it rained heavily. In Arizona. Which is a desert. So there were plenty of flash floods for me to drive through.  I'd never driven through floods before. How was I supposed to know that you're not supposed to speed through them? Turns out, that actually makes things worse. After about the fifth time fishtailing through a flooded part of the road, I called my dad and he advised me to take things slow (which really helped when I came to a section where, I'm being completely honest, literally half a mile of road was covered in water). A five hour drive turned into a seven hour panic attack with me spouting prayers at every saint I could think of and calling my poor sleep-deprived father every ten minutes bawling my eyes out because, honest to God, I was going to die.

Another memorable road trip, actually my first one made by myself, was when I drove from San Diego county to Merced for my friend's wedding. What made it so memorable was, not only was I on my own, but I was on my own going up Interstate 5 through a treacherous stretch of road known as the Grapevine, which goes up and over the mountains. It's not exactly the safest route. For one thing, it's incredibly steep, so your engine is put under more stress and is more likely to overheat on you. If you ever go up that route, you will see signs that tell you to turn off your air conditioning and other signs that direct you to stations where you can get extra water for your radiator. If you keep your car in good condition, go slow up the mountainside, and turn off your AC, you should be fine. (DISCLAIMER: I am not responsible for your car if your engine fails while you go up the Grapevine in California. I'm an EMT, not a mechanic.) But, because I am prone to *~exciting~* experiences in every fucking road trip I go on, I had problems. I had no idea that the Grapevine was so LONG. I mean my God. I must have spent an hour just going up the damn mountain. Also, my dear friend decided to get married the first week of April, while California's weather is still being bipolar. As a result, there was a windstorm pushing me and my Jeep around. Hooray for me. Also, I think I hit a really big rock, because I know I heard a *ka-THUNK* as I was coming around a bend. Thankfully nothing was affected (I'm sure I would have crashed otherwise), and I successfully made it up and over the damn mountains. I must admit, I've never had a problem with that route again, and honestly it is a beautiful drive.

Later on, I would love to drive everywhere. The US is a pretty big country with long roads. I mapped out a trip with Sibling #6 around Arizona, since it turns out he's never been to the Grand Canyon; we'd go there, and then up around Black Mesa, since he's a big Half Life fan. Another big trip I want to take would be along Route 66, since all the cool kids do it. Also, just for fun, I went on Google Maps and mapped out a route to Alaska. Now that trip would be awesome.

Warm Regards,

Liz.

#6- Sleep and why I suck at it.

I, like many people in their early twenties, have a hard time sleeping. Not just getting to sleep, but staying asleep is a chore for a myriad of reasons.

For starters, I have tinnitus, which is a constant ringing/buzzing/whooshing/humming in the ears usually associated with hearing loss, and have had tinnitus for as long as I can remember. I can hear just fine, but unfortunately the constant ringing interferes with sleep. It's impossible for me to sleep now without some kind of external white noise in the background, like a fan or something, because the ringing in my ears drives me bonkers. Also, I think I'm OCD, because the noise has to be constant. If there's any kind of tapping, clicking, or rustling noises, I have to find out what exactly is making that noise and find a way to stop it. Hunting around the room in the dark wastes an enormous amount of time I could be sleeping.

Noise problems aside, it's hard for me to turn my brain off. It literally will not shut off no matter what I try to do. I can try meditating, I can try focusing on my breathing, I can try counting sheep, to no avail. SOMETHING in my memory banks is always much more interesting than trying to sleep. Then the adrenaline starts pumping because I'm so pissed off at my brain, and we all know adrenaline keeps us awake, so that's another hour or so lost just because I can't turn my brain off.

It's at this point, when I can finally get my evil conscious mind quieted down, that my bladder decides to say, "Hey, I'm full, get up and empty me."

So then I get up, incredibly angry, and by the time I get back I'm right where I started.

Laying there, as the adrenaline starts to wear off, I sometimes look at the clock. This is always a mistake. It always starts a chain reaction in my brain: I look at the clock. Then I calculate how much time I've wasted trying to sleep. Then I calculate how much time I have left to get to sleep. Then the countdown begins. I constantly have to look at the clock every half-hour or so just to see how much time is left. Why? I don't know. It might be the OCD.

Now, some of these problems aren't psycho- or neurological. Sometimes they're external. Such as the two roosters that my neighbors have--those little bastards crow constantly, starting at midnight and going off every two to three hours. That's not when the aforementioned neighbors have their oompa-loompa-Mexican-polka music playing at some ungodly hour of the night.

Or when the cat gets locked out of the main house and comes into my room (out in the guest house) at one in the morning. My door doesn't properly latch every time you close it; you have to fiddle with the doorknob and lift it a bit before it clicks into place, so it's easy for the cat to get in and start meowing.

Or perhaps when my roommate talks/moans in her sleep. This is a recent development, and it greatly concerns me, because it sounds like she's having nightmares. She never remembers them the day after, but she does moan, and it does keep me up at night. The solution to that one is simple, all I have to do is reach across with my leg and lightly kick her mattress so she rolls over and stops moaning. Sixty percent of the time, it works every time.

There's also my mom's little Dachshund who is let out every morning around six-thirty and simply must bark at everything, just in case anyone forgot that we had a dog.


So, because of all of this, I in my sleep-deprived mind at two-thirty one morning decided to go into the spare room to sleep. I turned on a fan, snuggled into bed, and was asleep almost instantly. It was wonderful.


Until the bird started chirping.

Actually, I'm not sure if you could quite call it chirping. I have no idea what kind of bird it was, but the sound it made resembled the sound of two marbles clacking together loudly. (Mockingbird, maybe? Who knows what those critters will imitate.) Anyhow, that one little clacky-bird was almost the cause of a mental breakdown. That day, I remember, was awful.

So that night I took more sedatives than was recommended on the bottle and slept like a baby.

I wouldn't recommend doing that, though-- the next day I was incredibly groggy for my drive into San Diego, and it also really scared the piss out of my mother.

Warm Regards,

Liz.


P.S.-- To all four of you that watch/visit this blog, I've been figuring out how to fiddle around with how it looks. Thank you for putting up with the changes and expect more shenanigans in the future, but for right now I think I like how it looks. Much better than the black background with the neon green font-- what was I even thinking?...