So after all the craziness of last week, I took a trip over to the doctor to see why I haven't been feeling any better despite the antibiotics I was prescribed earlier.
Well, turns out I have asthma. Heh. Looks like all that bodily abuse of the last twenty or so years is finally catching up with me. While smoking hasn't been an issue for a while (but was for more than half my life), and my drinking was brought way under control once school started (I have a tendency to drink a lot in the summer and hardly drink at all during the fall and winter months) it's mainly my weight that's plaguing me now. Looks like that's the source of all my troubles. First the bad back (which wasn't caused by the weight but is certainly exacerbated by it), then the migraines, now asthma...what's next, diabetes and a handicapped parking permit? Well, sure. Why not? Throw me a cane while you're at it.
*sigh*
I guess I'm going back to Weight Watchers. Happy Holidays, indeed.
Being fat sucks. Being fat with asthma sucks even worse. Hindsight sucks the most balls ever. Take better care of yourselves, gentle readers. I wish I had.
More on this later. My steroids are calling me.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Another semester under my belt!
As of 7:30 this evening, my semester officially came to an end. Looks like it was another relatively good one grade-wise, though I won't know for sure until grades are posted next week. I hate that they make you wait so long to find out! Talk about nerve-wracking!
I was going to post this morning, after an extended cram session that involved a shit-ton of work, reading, and stressing out and not so much sleep, showers, or nutritious food. Alas, as I sat down to write it all out, my body decided to scream a hearty "fuck you!" at me, and I crashed. Hard.
See, I was working on this project for my Visual Communications (or VisCom as it is more commonly known by those of us who just can't bear to expend the energy for eight whole syllables on a class name), and it hadn't been going very well. It was a 4-paneled advertising kiosk for a travel agency, with graphics on all eight surfaces. For the last couple weeks I struggled with design and construction problems, mostly born of motivation issues stemming from a raging case of Decemberitis and exacerbated by an otherwise hectic schedule. Then two days ago I discovered that my flash drive was missing. It must have fallen off somewhere, and though I spent the entire evening retracing my steps, I turned up nothing.
So yesterday morning I found myself no closer to being done with the thing than I was two weeks ago, and so I took a deep breath, thanked God that I'd had the wherewithal to back up all my files on disc last week (how's that for irony?), and got to work. The timeline went something like this:
6:30 - I drag myself out of bed for my second final of the semester, my Color Theory critique, which goes from 7:30 to 9:30 a.m.
Between 10 a.m. and noon, I run around gathering supplies I was going to need for the project. Then I run a few necessary errands, and by noon I'm on my way back to campus.
Noonish - 1:00 p.m. Fart around, check email, talk to some people, extract the files and organize my thoughts. Freak out a little but remind myself that I've got all the rest of the day to finish this thing.
1:00 p.m. - 3:00 p.m. one panel has the graphics and text finished and laid out, three of the four inside panels are printed.
3:00 p.m. - 4:30 p.m. I take a break to run a few more errands, come home to walk the dog, make a phone call, and stop and get some dinner.
5:30 p.m. I realize I've got exactly 24 hours and 10 minutes to get this thing finished.
4:30 p.m. - 7:30 p.m. Graphics for second panel (a photoshop collage extravaganza) are done and laid out. Still needs text, though.
7:30 p.m. - 9:00 p.m. I screw around a little, get up and stretch and walk around for a minute, then one of my classmates comes in and I end up chatting with her for a while before deciding to take another break. I go and get some coffee, stop home to check on the pets and change my shirt (I'd been wearing this huge sweater and that studio gets hot).
9:00 p.m. - 4:30 a.m. Finally finished with the layouts and printing of all eight sides, the piece is ready to for the construction phase. I decide to do this part at home, because at this point I'm really sick of the inside of Upton Hall room 203. I've had enough. I have bags under my eyes, my vision is blurring, my left eyelid is twitching, my back is stiff, and my right hand is permanently formed into the shape of a mouse.
4:45 a.m. Stop at Tim Horton's for coffee, and for the second time in two weeks, I pull up to the drive-thru only to be shot down. Who knew they closed every night from 4:30 to 5:00? Damn it!
5:00 a.m. - 6:30 a.m. Prints are mounted onto board. Boards are cut and slotted and fit together. Turkey the cat keeps jumping on me, the piece keeps falling apart, and I'm getting increasingly agitated. Finally, at 6:30 a.m. - 17 hours after I started, and 24 hours since I'd last slept - the thing is finished. I'm so damn proud of it, I take it to Starbucks with me when I go to get coffee. My coworkers are slightly baffled as to why I do this, but I wanted someone - anyone - to see the fruit of my labor. Unshowered since Tuesday, skin a sallow shade of gray mixed with the flush of sleep deprivation, looking like I'd been socked in the eyes, rocking indigestion from gallons of coffee and some horrid fried chicken strips, and on my 25th hour with no sleep, I am a picture of creative psychosis.
6:30 a.m. - 7:30 a.m. I still have two books to finish reading for my Anthro exam, which is happening in six hours. I'm confident I can do it, since they're short books with interesting subject matter. Plus I'd been to all the lectures and figure I can just skim over the contents and pick out the stuff I think he's going to test us on. At 7:30, however, my body just gives out, and I literally drop the book I'm reading onto the floor and walk, zombie-like, into my bedroom where I curl up on the bed, clothes and all.
11:30 a.m. - 1:00 p.m. I wake up in a panic, thinking I'd overslept. I look at the clock and realize I still have two whole hours before exam time, so I read for another half hour and then go back to sleep for another 45 minutes. Then I get up and - for the first time in two days - take a shower. Not since the shower I took after hitchhiking for 12 hours in 90-degree weather from Mansfield, MA to Rindge, NH in 1989 has a shower felt so good.
A short time later, I sit down to my Anthro test, and I know all but a few answers. I hope I am right and not just delusional as a result of the previous day's activities. But I'm done in 15 minutes, and walk out feeling pretty confident that I'd done okay. Shortly thereafter I meet with a professor who has agreed to look over my portfolio and advise on some things I can do with it over break in preparation for my review in February. He has lots of advice. I'm going to be busy. Anyone got a copy of Illustrator for PC they can give me?
And then...the answer to the burning question that has you all on the edge of your seats right now: How did I do on the kiosk project? Well...my classmates seemed to like it, but the prof panned it. Not totally, I mean, he didn't tell me it was the biggest hunk of crap he'd ever seen or anything like that, but he had lots of "suggestions for improvement." Basically I'm going to have to do it over again before my review.
But for now, I'm just going to get some sleep. I deserve it.
I was going to post this morning, after an extended cram session that involved a shit-ton of work, reading, and stressing out and not so much sleep, showers, or nutritious food. Alas, as I sat down to write it all out, my body decided to scream a hearty "fuck you!" at me, and I crashed. Hard.
See, I was working on this project for my Visual Communications (or VisCom as it is more commonly known by those of us who just can't bear to expend the energy for eight whole syllables on a class name), and it hadn't been going very well. It was a 4-paneled advertising kiosk for a travel agency, with graphics on all eight surfaces. For the last couple weeks I struggled with design and construction problems, mostly born of motivation issues stemming from a raging case of Decemberitis and exacerbated by an otherwise hectic schedule. Then two days ago I discovered that my flash drive was missing. It must have fallen off somewhere, and though I spent the entire evening retracing my steps, I turned up nothing.
So yesterday morning I found myself no closer to being done with the thing than I was two weeks ago, and so I took a deep breath, thanked God that I'd had the wherewithal to back up all my files on disc last week (how's that for irony?), and got to work. The timeline went something like this:
6:30 - I drag myself out of bed for my second final of the semester, my Color Theory critique, which goes from 7:30 to 9:30 a.m.
Between 10 a.m. and noon, I run around gathering supplies I was going to need for the project. Then I run a few necessary errands, and by noon I'm on my way back to campus.
Noonish - 1:00 p.m. Fart around, check email, talk to some people, extract the files and organize my thoughts. Freak out a little but remind myself that I've got all the rest of the day to finish this thing.
1:00 p.m. - 3:00 p.m. one panel has the graphics and text finished and laid out, three of the four inside panels are printed.
3:00 p.m. - 4:30 p.m. I take a break to run a few more errands, come home to walk the dog, make a phone call, and stop and get some dinner.
5:30 p.m. I realize I've got exactly 24 hours and 10 minutes to get this thing finished.
4:30 p.m. - 7:30 p.m. Graphics for second panel (a photoshop collage extravaganza) are done and laid out. Still needs text, though.
7:30 p.m. - 9:00 p.m. I screw around a little, get up and stretch and walk around for a minute, then one of my classmates comes in and I end up chatting with her for a while before deciding to take another break. I go and get some coffee, stop home to check on the pets and change my shirt (I'd been wearing this huge sweater and that studio gets hot).
9:00 p.m. - 4:30 a.m. Finally finished with the layouts and printing of all eight sides, the piece is ready to for the construction phase. I decide to do this part at home, because at this point I'm really sick of the inside of Upton Hall room 203. I've had enough. I have bags under my eyes, my vision is blurring, my left eyelid is twitching, my back is stiff, and my right hand is permanently formed into the shape of a mouse.
4:45 a.m. Stop at Tim Horton's for coffee, and for the second time in two weeks, I pull up to the drive-thru only to be shot down. Who knew they closed every night from 4:30 to 5:00? Damn it!
5:00 a.m. - 6:30 a.m. Prints are mounted onto board. Boards are cut and slotted and fit together. Turkey the cat keeps jumping on me, the piece keeps falling apart, and I'm getting increasingly agitated. Finally, at 6:30 a.m. - 17 hours after I started, and 24 hours since I'd last slept - the thing is finished. I'm so damn proud of it, I take it to Starbucks with me when I go to get coffee. My coworkers are slightly baffled as to why I do this, but I wanted someone - anyone - to see the fruit of my labor. Unshowered since Tuesday, skin a sallow shade of gray mixed with the flush of sleep deprivation, looking like I'd been socked in the eyes, rocking indigestion from gallons of coffee and some horrid fried chicken strips, and on my 25th hour with no sleep, I am a picture of creative psychosis.
6:30 a.m. - 7:30 a.m. I still have two books to finish reading for my Anthro exam, which is happening in six hours. I'm confident I can do it, since they're short books with interesting subject matter. Plus I'd been to all the lectures and figure I can just skim over the contents and pick out the stuff I think he's going to test us on. At 7:30, however, my body just gives out, and I literally drop the book I'm reading onto the floor and walk, zombie-like, into my bedroom where I curl up on the bed, clothes and all.
11:30 a.m. - 1:00 p.m. I wake up in a panic, thinking I'd overslept. I look at the clock and realize I still have two whole hours before exam time, so I read for another half hour and then go back to sleep for another 45 minutes. Then I get up and - for the first time in two days - take a shower. Not since the shower I took after hitchhiking for 12 hours in 90-degree weather from Mansfield, MA to Rindge, NH in 1989 has a shower felt so good.
A short time later, I sit down to my Anthro test, and I know all but a few answers. I hope I am right and not just delusional as a result of the previous day's activities. But I'm done in 15 minutes, and walk out feeling pretty confident that I'd done okay. Shortly thereafter I meet with a professor who has agreed to look over my portfolio and advise on some things I can do with it over break in preparation for my review in February. He has lots of advice. I'm going to be busy. Anyone got a copy of Illustrator for PC they can give me?
And then...the answer to the burning question that has you all on the edge of your seats right now: How did I do on the kiosk project? Well...my classmates seemed to like it, but the prof panned it. Not totally, I mean, he didn't tell me it was the biggest hunk of crap he'd ever seen or anything like that, but he had lots of "suggestions for improvement." Basically I'm going to have to do it over again before my review.
But for now, I'm just going to get some sleep. I deserve it.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
I'm not in love, so don't forget it...
Don't read too much of anything into this, dear faithful blogwatchers, it's just some weird philosophical musings while I procrastinate working on my final projects for school.
I was given the advice on one of my previous entries to "stop looking for love." And then I started thinking...Maybe I don't want love. Or maybe I do. And then I starting thinking that it would depend on one's definition of love.
Why does "love" have to be such a black-and-white thing? Why can't you love someone even if you don't want to run off and marry them or have their babies? Why does saying "I love you" strike so much fear in the hearts of so many? It's like saying it automatically evokes a sense of entitlement and attachment and commitment and forever-ness. But it shouldn't.
While some of us use the word with reckless abandon, and throw it prematurely, apathetically, or even with some twisted cruelty at people we don't really mean it for, some of us are so afraid of it that we doubt we could feel it at all. Or we start to feel it and we run away and shove it deep down inside because "oh my god, it's scary!" It's not supposed to be scary, though, it's supposed to be wonderful! Fluttering hearts and bluebirds and sunshine and rainbows and all that puke-inducing stuff. Right?
Right?
So why, when we feel so strongly about someone, when our hearts race and the bluebirds orbit our heads, are we not supposed to say we feel this way unless we are fully prepared to commit to this person? What IS it about those "three little words" that holds SO much power and control over us?
Three (and a half!) decades on this planet have shown me that "love" does not always equal happily ever after. It does not always equal a serious or lifetime commitment. If it did, I'd have been married a long time ago. So those I have loved in the past (and to this day still believe truly did love) are to be discounted because I didn't end up with them for the rest of my life? And am I to believe that they did not also love me, because our futures didn't align? And what about those who don't want to be married? Ever? Are they not allowed to love or be loved?
I love lots of people. I'm not just talking about my family (because let's face it, if you know me you know there are more people in that group who are not loved than who are). I have great friends whom I love most dearly. I love my pets to death. I love peppermint gum and little greasy pepperoni. And it's okay for me to say "I love you" to my sister, my best friend, or the slice of pizza I'm about to shove down my throat.
But if you're dating someone and those three words slip from either of your mouths at the inappropriate time or place, it's like the god damned world screeches to a halt and all hell breaks loose.
I guess we'll never know. Because I don't think anyone really knows what love is - or at least there aren't that many people willing to look at it a little more objectively, anyway.
Okay, back to my schoolwork. I love you all. :-)
I was given the advice on one of my previous entries to "stop looking for love." And then I started thinking...Maybe I don't want love. Or maybe I do. And then I starting thinking that it would depend on one's definition of love.
Why does "love" have to be such a black-and-white thing? Why can't you love someone even if you don't want to run off and marry them or have their babies? Why does saying "I love you" strike so much fear in the hearts of so many? It's like saying it automatically evokes a sense of entitlement and attachment and commitment and forever-ness. But it shouldn't.
While some of us use the word with reckless abandon, and throw it prematurely, apathetically, or even with some twisted cruelty at people we don't really mean it for, some of us are so afraid of it that we doubt we could feel it at all. Or we start to feel it and we run away and shove it deep down inside because "oh my god, it's scary!" It's not supposed to be scary, though, it's supposed to be wonderful! Fluttering hearts and bluebirds and sunshine and rainbows and all that puke-inducing stuff. Right?
Right?
So why, when we feel so strongly about someone, when our hearts race and the bluebirds orbit our heads, are we not supposed to say we feel this way unless we are fully prepared to commit to this person? What IS it about those "three little words" that holds SO much power and control over us?
Three (and a half!) decades on this planet have shown me that "love" does not always equal happily ever after. It does not always equal a serious or lifetime commitment. If it did, I'd have been married a long time ago. So those I have loved in the past (and to this day still believe truly did love) are to be discounted because I didn't end up with them for the rest of my life? And am I to believe that they did not also love me, because our futures didn't align? And what about those who don't want to be married? Ever? Are they not allowed to love or be loved?
I love lots of people. I'm not just talking about my family (because let's face it, if you know me you know there are more people in that group who are not loved than who are). I have great friends whom I love most dearly. I love my pets to death. I love peppermint gum and little greasy pepperoni. And it's okay for me to say "I love you" to my sister, my best friend, or the slice of pizza I'm about to shove down my throat.
But if you're dating someone and those three words slip from either of your mouths at the inappropriate time or place, it's like the god damned world screeches to a halt and all hell breaks loose.
I guess we'll never know. Because I don't think anyone really knows what love is - or at least there aren't that many people willing to look at it a little more objectively, anyway.
Okay, back to my schoolwork. I love you all. :-)
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