So what caused such a hiatus? Such an agonizingly long gap between agonizingly introspective interludes? Well, I’m glad you asked.
I started the Job. It’s a good Job and I like my Employer, but I think that’s as much as I’m willing to post on the internet. It takes a lot of my time and energy and by the time I get home I often ignore the things that used to bring me pleasure—which I guess was the whole point of getting a job in the first place. After four months of work, I am now back down at my pre-unemployment weight because I don’t have the time or energy to bake bread/pie/cake/etc. every day; there’s perpetually a mountain of dishes in the sink (I used to spend at least an hour every day cleaning the kitchen, which didn’t so much bring me pleasure as make me want to punch something, but you get the idea); I only go to Trader Joes once—maybe twice—a week; and I no longer harass my sisters at regular mid-weekday intervals.
I watched the whole Legend of Korra, which had real promise, but ultimately ended up disappointing me. So Bryan Konitzko and Michael Dante DiMartino should be checking their mail for their thanks for nothing cards. And believe me, they're not alone.
I had a student go behind my back and file a formal complaint (my first btws) because I gave her a D. I should also add that the D represented an extremely generous bump because this student failed to take the final and did not turn in a final paper. She based what I felt was an extremely tenuous claim on the fact that I gave my students all of finals week to take the exam any time they pleased and to leave me the papers when they were done and she was confused. In point of fact, I reminded them of this in class (which she did not always attend), I sent email reminders, I sent individualized email reminders to her because I knew she'd be a pain in the ass if something went wrong and I wanted to preserve a written record. It was all for naught. The chair told me I had to let her take the exam a month later and that I should consider changing her grade--because he resists confrontation and she promised to be a relentless pain in his ass if he didn't lean on me. So not going to miss THAT part of teaching.
I also got married—or not. We’re still in limbo on that one since the county clerk can’t find any record of our marriage certificate and has instructed us to send them ours. This makes me very nervous because at best, they are extremely rude and at worst, completely incompetent and Steve and I would very much like to have all this behind us. Some couples like to draw out their engagements without ever making a permanent commitment, but this is getting a little ridiculous. I could go on about how angry the petty, local byzantine bureaucracy makes me in all its stupid, inefficient dimensions, but it would be a boring story that would only serve to beget more resentment against an agency that has already proven that they are only going to help me how and when they are legally obligated to do so.
Finally I lost several weeks to the lords of the health care under-realm. I mean sure, I was celebrating the mandate and all, but where I REALLY lost the time was when I went in to the doctor for a routine checkup with no symptoms, received a confirmation that there was nothing wrong with me, was given an order for a test to confirm this finding and then two weeks and $7200 worth of extra tests (including one very painful and intrusive biopsy) later, my original diagnosis of “nothing” was confirmed. In the meantime none of the doctors I saw bothered to disabuse me of the (never explicitly stated but strongly implied) notion that I had cancer that needed to be addressed immediately, which is, upon reflection, probably why I let them manhandle me so thoroughly when it now seems so wasteful and unnecessary. It is with no small amount of bitterness that I’m handing over my (none too small and rather frivilously computed) deductible, and the sight of the five weeks later still unhealed site where they stuck the GIANT needle in me still acts as a daily reminder of my deeply held resentment and ever-present mortality.
There have been other, smaller battles with other Goliathic (yeah, I made that word) bureaucracies, but they’re stupid, even by the very low bar set by the present entry.
So you see, it was probably in everyone’s best interest that I didn’t regale you with my tales of woe, as there have been precious few victories and several very real temper tantrums. And while I was very happy about getting married, the Powers That Be have managed to sully even that with thick layer of helpless frustration. All of this is obviously compounded by the heat, which Steve has reminded me is not exclusively mine to lament, but has nevertheless kept me from still more of the things I enjoy (namely anything that takes place outdoors) and has microwaved my brain to a gloppy sludge. My Anglo-Saxon stock wins out in the end.
At this point it would seem foolish to encourage any of you to call me, but anyone who feels like embracing their own folly, is welcome to ring.
Things are bound to start seeming funny any moment now.
j
I started the Job. It’s a good Job and I like my Employer, but I think that’s as much as I’m willing to post on the internet. It takes a lot of my time and energy and by the time I get home I often ignore the things that used to bring me pleasure—which I guess was the whole point of getting a job in the first place. After four months of work, I am now back down at my pre-unemployment weight because I don’t have the time or energy to bake bread/pie/cake/etc. every day; there’s perpetually a mountain of dishes in the sink (I used to spend at least an hour every day cleaning the kitchen, which didn’t so much bring me pleasure as make me want to punch something, but you get the idea); I only go to Trader Joes once—maybe twice—a week; and I no longer harass my sisters at regular mid-weekday intervals.
I watched the whole Legend of Korra, which had real promise, but ultimately ended up disappointing me. So Bryan Konitzko and Michael Dante DiMartino should be checking their mail for their thanks for nothing cards. And believe me, they're not alone.
I had a student go behind my back and file a formal complaint (my first btws) because I gave her a D. I should also add that the D represented an extremely generous bump because this student failed to take the final and did not turn in a final paper. She based what I felt was an extremely tenuous claim on the fact that I gave my students all of finals week to take the exam any time they pleased and to leave me the papers when they were done and she was confused. In point of fact, I reminded them of this in class (which she did not always attend), I sent email reminders, I sent individualized email reminders to her because I knew she'd be a pain in the ass if something went wrong and I wanted to preserve a written record. It was all for naught. The chair told me I had to let her take the exam a month later and that I should consider changing her grade--because he resists confrontation and she promised to be a relentless pain in his ass if he didn't lean on me. So not going to miss THAT part of teaching.
I also got married—or not. We’re still in limbo on that one since the county clerk can’t find any record of our marriage certificate and has instructed us to send them ours. This makes me very nervous because at best, they are extremely rude and at worst, completely incompetent and Steve and I would very much like to have all this behind us. Some couples like to draw out their engagements without ever making a permanent commitment, but this is getting a little ridiculous. I could go on about how angry the petty, local byzantine bureaucracy makes me in all its stupid, inefficient dimensions, but it would be a boring story that would only serve to beget more resentment against an agency that has already proven that they are only going to help me how and when they are legally obligated to do so.
Finally I lost several weeks to the lords of the health care under-realm. I mean sure, I was celebrating the mandate and all, but where I REALLY lost the time was when I went in to the doctor for a routine checkup with no symptoms, received a confirmation that there was nothing wrong with me, was given an order for a test to confirm this finding and then two weeks and $7200 worth of extra tests (including one very painful and intrusive biopsy) later, my original diagnosis of “nothing” was confirmed. In the meantime none of the doctors I saw bothered to disabuse me of the (never explicitly stated but strongly implied) notion that I had cancer that needed to be addressed immediately, which is, upon reflection, probably why I let them manhandle me so thoroughly when it now seems so wasteful and unnecessary. It is with no small amount of bitterness that I’m handing over my (none too small and rather frivilously computed) deductible, and the sight of the five weeks later still unhealed site where they stuck the GIANT needle in me still acts as a daily reminder of my deeply held resentment and ever-present mortality.
There have been other, smaller battles with other Goliathic (yeah, I made that word) bureaucracies, but they’re stupid, even by the very low bar set by the present entry.
So you see, it was probably in everyone’s best interest that I didn’t regale you with my tales of woe, as there have been precious few victories and several very real temper tantrums. And while I was very happy about getting married, the Powers That Be have managed to sully even that with thick layer of helpless frustration. All of this is obviously compounded by the heat, which Steve has reminded me is not exclusively mine to lament, but has nevertheless kept me from still more of the things I enjoy (namely anything that takes place outdoors) and has microwaved my brain to a gloppy sludge. My Anglo-Saxon stock wins out in the end.
At this point it would seem foolish to encourage any of you to call me, but anyone who feels like embracing their own folly, is welcome to ring.
Things are bound to start seeming funny any moment now.
j
If that slow-to-heal biopsy wound is in your left breast, girlfriend, I get it. That was the second worst 3 week period of my life. And guess what? I've got a propensity to cysts.
ReplyDeleteOther-Uckers.
Welcome back, J! And congratulations on your soon-to-be validated nuptials! Miss you.
D
It was the right actually (and I had already had an ultrasound on this particular spot several years ago and it was totally fine), but the end result is, I suspect, more or less the same. I know this could easily devolve into over-sharing, but did your biopsy involve a table with a giant hole in the middle and an arcade style claw to keep your movable bits in place? We have a research hospital here that specializes in women's health, which is good because they have LOTS of technology but is bad because the doctors are researchers and not healers and have little in the way of empathy--and they love to use the technology. Actually there are several things I'd like to swap notes on, but perhaps it's best to leave it in the past.
ReplyDeleteNo harm in sharing: After the glass-plated gland squasher, I was sent to another high tech machine that-- because memory serves me not a whit at this moment--I think must have been like a regular x-ray contraption. When it came to the actual biopsy, I was simply lain (or laid?) at an incline with my left arm over my head and a block placed along my ribs and under my armpit. I was given a clear view of the main event, though, out of a complete rejection of my own mortality, I chose not to take it in. The worst part was how quotidien the "we're gonna stick a needle in your breast to see if that shit is cancerous" process seemed to the doctors. I really could have done with some post-op counseling. When the word came back that it was a benign cyst, although relieved, it took a while to shake the whole horrible experience off. Hopefully, you were treated a tad more humanely.
ReplyDeleteI don't know why, but hearing you had a similar scare makes me feel calmer about my own. (And Steve admitted that even though he wasn't sure why either, it also helped him feel less stressed out.) Thank you Debbie!
ReplyDelete