Well, I have decided to swtich from this site. I want to actually have a blog, but I don't like the huge gap between my posting dates on this site. I will miss you all. I am, of course, speaking to myself.
My new site is http://catheisland.blogspot.com/ if you are wondering
YAY!!!!!
This is from back when I lived with Chris:
"If I were to die in my apartment or going home at night on some Thursdays, Friday, Saturday or Sunday, for the most part, nobody would find my dead body until it began to smell. Nobody would realize that I am missing, and nobody would mourn until days have passed since my demise.
- to these statements you are probably thinking (depending on how well you know me and my living arrangement), yes, cathe, that is what happens when your roommate leaves on the weekend or you live by yourself, nobody notices you die until they happen upon your carcass.
Right, so I do realize this…. It is a common occurrence for those who die, whilst living alone, to not be found until their neighbors notice a smell, or the blood leaks through to the bottom floor’s ceiling. I have taken this into account and tried to only do life-threatening things when my roommate is home to give 911, my family and my close friends the sad phone call. Still, there is always that fear. A few weeks ago, I was quite ill one Thursday night, my roommate was gone and it was my bedtime. I felt as if my heart were about to give out and I’m pretty sure I had a high fever, so in a fit of delirium, I texted my roommate and told him to call me the next morning to make sure I was alive… he didn’t do so, comforting, so luckily I woke up the next morning and was even able to drag my sorry, sick bottom to lab.
-So now your thinking, why the note at 2:30AM on a Saturday night/Sunday morning?
Well, tonight I realized that not only when I make it home at a late hour, and don’t die, do I feel as if I deserve a trophy and cake for a job well-done, but I have reached the point in my life where I want nothing more than my parents waiting up for me and then asking my where I was and why I didn’t call…. Granted (those who know of my personal life will know this), even when I lived at home this wasn’t really the case, but at least I knew that my mother was worried, so I called anyway.
Tonight I went to a play with my friend Steve, then hung out with/did absolutely nothing with my friends Ike, Nat, Will, Ryan and again Steve on campus until around 1:50ish. This was stupid because I have to get up in the morning for church, still do, but I hadn’t seen them in a while and they are good people, so I thought “to heck with it� and I threw a handful of caution to the wind. Well, one of the joy of hanging around with my male pals is that they treat my like one of the guys, something I aspire for with most, if not all, of my male friends. Having this kind of relationship as Major Perks…. You are never the awkward female friends, almost never, and that lame chivalry thing never really pops up. Example: tonight got colder than expected and I didn’t have a jacket with me, so I asked Steve, while at his apartment, if I could borrow one of his spares and he seemed reluctant to give it to me. If I were a female to him, he would have offered me the shirt of his back to keep me from getting a “slight chill,� but because in his eyes I’m a guy, or possibly because he’s a cad (just kidding, Steve), all he thought was… grrr, if I give her my sweatshirt, I will have to wait before I get it back again, argh…. Grumble…grumble….male thought…. Other male thought….
Yet, tonight, when the guys were leaving me at the bus stop for an imprecise amount of time before my bus arrived… I really did wish that they were the kind of males that would insist on escorting me home whilst taking my arm and putting their cloaks on the cobblestones before me so not to dirty my dainty feet>>> or maybe, that would be really lame. In all truth though, I would have liked them to have waited with me or at least asked for a phone call to hear that I made it home safety. For a few cold minutes there, and then again later in the night, I definitely wanted to be the girl in the 50s movie getting treated like someone’s well attended trophy.
Anyhow, (I actually didn’t write this with the intention of bashing my lovely companions for doing something I would have done to myself) so I took the 16 on the night owl route to 6th street on nicollet mall and waited at the bus stop for my next bus… and waited… and waited… and waited. Yeah, it never came, apparently at 2 ish in the morning, buses don’t come (I knew that, but rarely to I have to experience the annoying fact). Well, I knew that some buses don’t run after a certain time and others run every hour or so, so not knowing which schedule my bus was on… I walked home… in heels.
It isn’t that the walk is so horrible, I’ve walked it plenty or times, it is just that my neighborhood is shifty in daylight when businesses are open, so at night you kind of have a 50/50 chance of death my shanking. So, there I was walking by myself in a neighborhood where well-armed groups of people should be nervous and all I can think of is all of the warning e-mails that I get from the U. I get it! People are getting robbed… I’m pretty sure that happens in a place where you shove a bunch of people from all different lifestyles, some people who are not so well-off (I think that place is called a city). Also, I don’t need the U advertising their stupid escort service to me, yeah, I have a night class two days a week, I have no intention of calling some frat boy who I’ve never met before to walk me home to WAY off campus (I don’t even think they do that) every time I feel a little nervous… so every time. Honestly, I’m probably safer walking around lake street with a sign that says, “Rape and kill me, I’m privileged, cute and have twenties.� The last thing I need in my life is the U. constantly reminding me that I’m in danger… I realize this, an untrained chimp in my position would at least sense fear; hopefully, though I know my writing skills could use a little work, I’m smart enough to know that I’m putting myself in danger. To Bad I Don’t Really Have A Choice…
When I moved into my apartment my roommate that by choosing the neighborhood that we did “we accepted that were going to be stabbed a couple of times…� at the time, we laughed. Now, we just get really quite and our eyes water, whenever the statement is mentioned.
I survived tonight, it was a good night. Next time, I might not be so lucky. I’m writing this because I wasn’t able to complain to anyone when I got home… as if no one would have noticed me missing, so I felt that it was a decent enough reason to vent online. I’m going to go to bed now…. And cry like lisa (that was for you Chris)…
-Cathe (if ever you don’t hear from me in a couple days, I’ve probably slipped, choked, been shot or are otherwise dead in my apartment or in an alley and it just hasn’t been reported yet… )"
"So I had to call the Hennepin County traffic something or another to pay an overdue traffic ticket. And it is kind of a big deal, because apparently they put a warrent our for you if you don't pay the twenty dollars right away that they want, for a violation you don't even think should exist( just putting that out there.)
Anyhow, so I call the place and the nice robot-lady on the other line decides to tell me that my wait time is 120 minutes! Seriously? The crap I could do in 120 minutes is overwhelming! Granted, it's summer and I'm in my PJs, watching Pan's labyrinth... but I was planning on going on a food run in a bit, and I can't do that if robot lady needs 120 minutes of my time. Not to mention, I'm poor, and can't really afford to lose 120 minutes of my phone bill to Kool-Jaz (aka, music for people who either don't have or don't appreciate their testicles)
So here is the debate going on in my head.
"120 Mintues! @!!@# ! Seriously! What a robot-*!&^$! "
followed closely by
THis isn't happening! This can't be happening! There is no way they will actually keep me here for 120 minutes.... I'm mean not everyone is out to lunch right? They can't be! "
My beliefs were confirmed when I got the message from robot lady that it will only take 60 minutes at max.... still a ridiculous amount of time, but half of what it was before... then it happen
(robot-"lady") "your approximate wait-time could be up to 109 minutes, please continue to hold"
"THe lying *!&^$-#!)&-*)@&... she told me 60 mintues at maximum, what a (&*(*&(&*, I should kick her F****** A**. I hate you! Robots are stupid! I hope you rust and die!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
A moment later the MUZak stopped to have the robot lady state " your approximate wait-time could be up to 35 minutes, please continue to hold."
Wow, 35 minutes, that's even better than 60, and much better than 109 or 120. Awesome! so I began to bargin.
"hey robot-lady, I bet you don't get to meet a lot of single, good-looking appliances were you work... probably all government-issued microwaves" How's about you lower the time a little and I invite you over to my place to meet my new fridge, or my fancy-pancy oven.... Oo Lala!"
"your approximate wait-time could be up to 21 minutes, please continue to hold"
Yes! it was working! "You know I also could try and find you some nice oil, and little bit of electricity. You'd like that... Robot food right? Oh, umm, I'm not trying to say that you enjoy food more than the other robots, just that I could get some for you... if you wanted it... ummm, this is awkward."
"your approximate wait-time could be up to 55 minutes, please continue to hold"
"Oh, my goodness! I didn't mean to offend you! You are a wonderful robot, I'm sure... I mean I can't see you, but you sound lovely. But I'm not hitting on you.... Oh, not that I wouldn't, except I wouldn't... but it isn't you, it's me... ummm, I've never really liked technology.... Oh! this is coming out all wrong. ummm do you take bribes?!?"
"your approximate wait-time could be up to 107 minutes, please continue to hold"
"seriously!?! Fine, clearly there is nothing I can do!"
I don't care anymore, I'll just write a facebook note while I wait... I don't need you! Bitch (didn't edit that one"
Clearly something had tightened this robot's sprocket a bit too tight, and there was nothing I could do about it.... so this note began.
And I waited....
"your approximate wait-time could be up to 13 minutes, please continue to hold"
I had gone through the five stages of greif, denial, anger bargining, depression and acceptance. I was at peace with the Traffic department's need to ruin peoples' lives while playing god. They needed it to get their kicks off, and I was above it.
Then there was a ring. It was a heavenly encouragment of my new lease on life. It was an end to my problem... the light at the end of the tunnel... the finish line... another cheesy metaphor.....
A lady answered. I basked in her rude behavior. Every chide remake was an August wind on my soul, refreshing, fragrant and needed after a long sweat. It was beautiful, Poetry and Music to my heart. I loved her abnormal name and improper usage of verbs. Her inability to respond to my chitchat and obvious dersire to end her existence and the existences of those around her fueled my love.
Peace comes to those who wait, and I was at peace.
My total wait time was 26 minutes."
"Once upon a time there were two people in a room with a dog. The room had no doors, only a window. The window was tinted. The people could see out of the window, but no one on the outside could see inside. They were alone, yet with a dog. Sans dog, they were unaccompanied.
Within the room, there was a small sofa. Protected with a plastic cover, painted in a muted floral-cream print, and stiff as a board, the upholstered seat for two faced the window. The pair watched on as the world outside reflected an old faded photo in which all of the actors are J. Does.
The air in the room is stale, as there is an object jammed in the window preventing breach. The light was low, adding to the feeling of indeterminate state which overshadows the space. The stale air and furniture causes the room to smell like an old book.
The dog in the room stands up. It scratches at the wall nearest, and then whines. It paces the room for a while. Neither man nor woman looks at the dog. The dog wanders to the corner of the room. Moments later, it has returned to its original spot. The room smells of bread and sour milk.
His stomach grumbles. They have been in the room for sometime. She wets her lips with her tongue; it was as to say preoccupation is the best avoidance. She wets her lips again; they are beginning to get chapped.
They watch the window to see evidence of some movement in the images outside. The man senses a finger twitch from the young girl with the sidewalk chalk. Sure enough her hands have begun to draw indeterminable images on the ground below. The images are childish, crude and will never amount to much, but they are in color.
The man turns to the woman.
“We have been in here sometime now.�
The woman looks up.
“When shall we go?�
The man meets her eyes. His eyes are searching for something beyond her fish-like, dead expression. The stale air has made her eyes begin to water. He knows it is her allergies to dust. The powdered remains of history cause her to sneeze.
“Are you ready?�
She gazes back at him. She reminisces all the times they had made love. Not sexually, per se, more ethereally. When they dropped off their first child at school, when she forgave him for the first time, when he began to leave the light on for her at night, when he made her breakfast, when she winked at him in public, this was when their love was made.
“No�
The man thought of how long it took to love her. He thought of the day the woman became frozen in time to him. They were driving in a car at dawn, so to beat traffic. She hadn’t put on makeup or bothered to get out of her pajamas. He watched as she languidly began to hum to the tune of “Silent Night� while running her fingers over her collarbone. As her voice cracked, time stopped. It froze on a beautiful woman whom he made his wife.
He put out his hand to hold hers. She delicately lowered her hand into his. He felt as if he was holding the hand of a statue. No. He was holding the paw belonging to the dog.
The dog begins to kick in his sleep. Both humans watch the dog signal chase in his actions. Whilst sleeping, the dog manages to distract the two people. Dog discharge odor still feels the room, yet both people feel a deep companionship for the monster.
She removes her hand from his. Wiping it on her pants, she stands and turns away from the window.
“So it will hurt, right?�
The man folds his hands in his lap and says nothing.
She gets on her knees and begins to pet the dog.
The dog awakes and breaths approval of her actions.
“It has to because life isn’t trivial, right?�
He clears his throat.
“Life is trivial, but it will hurt. It will feel as if the world is a vacuum, sucking all life from your corpse. You will cry, or otherwise languish, until you no longer do so. And the whole time, No one will understand it, though they have, or will have also gone through it.�
She turns to him.
“How do you know�
He smiles. His lips feel alien. As if he borrowed them from a normal man.
“I don’t. I assume.�
“So there will be pain.�
She wipes her hands on her pants again. The window is now alive with movement. The world is no longer halted. Everyone is going about their business and no one notices the window.
“And will we survive�
He watches the window for sometime.
The light in the room flickers as if to say that it is time to go.
He stands. Leaving the sofa for the last time, he fondly rubs his index finger over the cushions as he walks to where the woman stands.
With his hands, the man cups the face of the woman. A Chirstmas carol is playing in the distance. She wraps her arms around his waist. They close their eyes and embrace. She knows every ticklish spot belonging to the man. He knows what lotion she uses. And yet, embracing for the last time, they are two strangers.
He opens his eyes.
She opens hers.
Here is a man who ran one marathon, has two kids, eats spaghetti whenever possible and listens to Talk Radio.
Here is a woman who thought she was killing earthworms as a child when she walked outside and has never slept without first praying.
Sans woman and dog, he stands alone.
Sans he and dog, so stand she.
They were madly in love. Then they were in love. Then, like a thief in the night, their love was poisoned. So many events came about before the love was disillusioned; it could have been any one of them.
The point is, in this room, they allowed it to finally die.
Then upon this time, there are almost three dogs in the room. They shit in the corner and lick themselves at random. A window in the wall of the room shows many people walking by outside. A child draws pictures on the ground.
The woman looks around. Finding no love left in the room for her. She pets the dog again, and then pets the man. He too has found no love.
A door stands juxtaposed to the window.
The man sighs.
“We must now go through the door.�
But he turns to find that the woman has already gone.
It’s the most dreadful thing in the world when love ends. Wars have been fought and lost. Many people have been tortured beyond the conception of most others. But when blood, bile, gray matter and intestines come piling out of a person in whatever succession it does, nothing is extraordinary. A heart being ripped from the chest of a human is dust. It will decompose and all evidence will dissipate in the wind, if not for the existence of a soul.
There is a human element that holds all the carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, etc. together. Love. Compassion. Comradely. Kindness. Faith. Joy. Sorrow. These are the glue of existence. It is human love of other creatures and their projections of their love in animal lives that makes humans value the beasts. The dog is born, eats, shits and dies. It can be trained to be loyal, to follow, to lick, to cuddle and to bark loudly when its owner dies in the bathtub, but at the end of the day, it hasn’t loved. But both the humans in the room loved the dog, which is why they are not the dog.
Though without love for each other, they are close.
The woman is no longer in the room.
The man remains. He ventures toward the door.
“It will hurt.�
A man lay dead on the ground in a room. He tried to leave but the feat had proven too difficult.
A dog begins to howl. Then, upon sniffing at the body of the man, it bites at his ankle.
Grisly as it may seem, the dog saves the man from a greater embarrassment. It disposes of not only the man’s body displayed on his own vomit, but now, the woman need not ever know that he died along with her love."
"I killed four MILLION innocent lives today
or at least eighty.
They were ants,
and I killed them.
I startled some into cardiac arrest
smashed a few others
But most
I sucked them up into the vacuum cleaner.
Why?
You might wonder-
though you probably don’t wonder at all.
They went against my clean kitchen
or maybe just my view of a clean kitchen.
…I forget now, remind me
Is there a reason I can’t have ants in my kitchen?
Or have I just blindly accepted such a thought???
By killing the ants,
Did I myself become like the ants?
Mindlessly walking past a vacuum nozzle, so focused on my goal
that I have forgotten to question the status quo.
They are tiny,
and elementary school taught me that they are
single,
single-minded,
so focused on the task at hand that
they know little else…
Admirable, true.
Yet.
there is no working-ant family waiting at home
by the working-ant fireplace
with a meal for the
working-ant.
Who gives a Damn,
right?
they are tiny and single, alone- therefore expendable.
but
then
again:
to be tiny is relative.
compared to bacteria
our ants are Giants.
So
then,
Can I Be An ant?
To some cosmic being
Great in size, I could
Be the single, tiny ant
with no meal waiting on my newly scrubbed stove in my clean kitchen.
…
will i be sucked up into a Martian dirt-devil?
asphyxiated by some rainforest
that was also sucked up
like dust.
Ack!
so it seems I must marry
so to save myself
so I won’t piss off the aliens
that Are watching.
However
however, I am three.
Shriveled and red, not yet adjusted to the sun
—shine
—ing.
and when it storms
the bed hides
me.
Sometimes in bed, i get caught up with my
reading.
and if I don’t notice
I’ll forget to
pee.
what if someone did choose me….
With all my imperfections,
chooses to look past the smell?
No.
I could not exploit the dense.
So should I change
myself?
on my good days I resemble a chubby, eight-year old boy,
on my bad,
a sausage.
Should I lose weight,
self-respect
clothing?
What if I don’t want to change?
What if I like the way I am.
However, I like also not to be sucked up into the abyss of nonexistence
that is a vacuum-cleaner bag.
Honesty.
Honestly, how could I get married then?
what would be my vows
on that fated day.
I promise to stay with you forever,
not for love,
or obligation
but for fear,
because of a heart-wrenching, vomit-inducing, cold-sweat dread
that if I ever leave,
I will promptly be sucked up,
whisked away,
leaving all that I love
behind.
Should I share my paranoid nightmare
or should I smile sweetly,
never letting on that I carry weights in my pockets.
just in case.
There are worse reasons to get married.
Still
There was a commendable quality to those ants
Carrying more than they should
From my kitchen
To feed others
And their neighbor’s children.
Still
They were killed by me.
showing evidence to a great point
which is
there’s no point.
and I’ll probably be hit by a bus, anyway."
Being a college student results in a great many wonderful things.
Such as, I have gone shameful periods of time without showering or shaving.
I LOVE free food and will eat almost anything free that is given to me (FunFact: I ate a bit of a fork once [or twice]- to freak out my friend "Skipper," but still).
AND, I have a facebook account. I, of course, use this account to babble about stuff, in blog-like ways, but I feel like transfering over some of my "notes."
So the follwoing posts will be past posts on Facebook. :0
Okay, I'm going to start this entry off by saying: my love-life leaves something to be desired... like its existence.
I feel sometimes as if I am the last to be picked in gym class. Or, even worse, I'm that kid in science class that, when the teacher tells everyone to pair up, has to raise her hand and state in a loud voice,
“ Teacher, I don’t have a partner.� To which the teacher announces, “ Cathe doesn’t have a partner, is there anyone else without a partner? No? Okay. Will anyone be willing to work with Cathe in a group of three?� Then, of course, somebody begrudgedly “volunteers� and I am stuck for the rest of the semester making nice with a pair of numb-nuts (really wanted to say that) and having to finish their parts of assignments the night before they are due.
* I’m realizing that that was quite bitter.
Anyway, so I have had two boyfriends, count them… TWO! My longest relationship has lasted…. Drum-roll please…. A month and a half…
This isn’t to say that I am a complete troll. It isn’t that the guys couldn’t stand me (well maybe…), it is because I get bored or annoyed and decide that I don’t want to date… or at least not date them.
There has been no great love in my life, and I doubt that there ever will be.
That isn’t actually tragic, though it sounds like I’m a fourteen year-old girl, I don’t have a problem with never falling in love.
I don’t actually think that it is possible.
Maybe I’m a cynic, but I think that you should look for someone you can stand for long periods of time; someone who improves your life. I think for a very long time, you should think of the person as a life-bonus, not necessary, but nice.
Then, after sometime, you can start to have a dependency on them. They become family and a friend. Someone you love and respect.
Theoretically, you also desire them, though I don’t see the need for that stipulation.
They are your best friend, your relative (not in a creepy, you’re having sex with a sibling way), your lover and your partner.
It sounds easy. The problem is that people believe in love. Not “love your neighbor� love, or “friend and family� love, but this ridiculous “Cupid� love;
A love-at-first sight sort of deal.
How stupid is that? People actually feel that they can make a relationship work off a hormonal, insane attraction.
You can be Attracted to people’s scents, freckles, arms, smiles… etc, but at the end of the day, you are a complete moron if you think that by looking at someone, you “fell in love with them.�
You don’t “fall in love.� That doesn’t even make sense.
You work your butt off for a realtionship, and a lot of the time, it doesn’t work.
WOW!!!! I totally just got off topic.
Okay, summation-time. I think being in love is stupid and nonexistent, and I have had two sad, almost fictional relationships.
*Currently, I am on “good� terms with both of my ex-boyfriends, but we definitely don’t go to coffee or anything.
HOWEVER, you probably couldn’t care less.
I promise you, I had a point to this entry, here it is:
Today, I saw a beautiful guy. Gorgeous!
I was studying in a building when he walked past me.
He was wearing a Fedora, a sweater/cardigan, fantastic classic pants and fancy, “snake-skinned� shoes. He was wonderful. I made a big deal in front of my friends “Barbie� and “Skipper� and acted as if I wanted to get his phone number.
Honestly, the last thing I need in my life is to woo a boy. I would rather give myself an enema. But in the moment, I had fun “ogling� him.
Now this was not the first time I had run into “Mr. Right.� The last time, I was standing at the bus-stop, when this amazing character walked by me. He had bright red hair, a full red beard, beautiful circular, black-rimmed glasses and a semi-stereotypical “Irish, early 20th century� outfit.
I wanted to collect him.
Isn’t that creepy?
I guess at the end of the day, Mr. Perfect seems great because it would be fun to admire him from afar.
Stuff him and hang him on my wall.
As far as actually getting the guys number, and actually having a relationship with him… well the enema-thing still stands.
I really enjoy being single, honestly.
I have my moments when I crave a different priority-system. I find a boy, I draw him in, then I panic, draw back and run away>> leaving the poor darling confused.
At the end of the day, I am overwhelming content being the non-romantic cynic that is me.
(Jeepers, I sure complain a lot for someone who doesn’t care, huh?)
Here's the thing: I haven't written in quite sometime.
This is because this blog was a requirement for class, and class was over.
HOWEVER: I realized that I am just Way too talkative to not have a blog.
SO for my darling readers out there, hopefully few and far between (because it could be embarrassing otherwise), I am going to write more.... hopefully.
Now, let me update you on me.
First, the beautiful Chris that I mentioned in the previous blogs, and I are no longer together. This is because, tragic as it may sound, Chris suffers from a condition in which in his chest cavity, near his lungs, in the place where most people have hearts, he has a black, evil void that sucks the souls from small children.
Not technically his fault, I know, yet there it is.
(Really, we tried living together, and it ended poorly. In the end, I claim the aforementioned verdict; he claims I am a psychopathic shrew. Personally, I think we both have grounds for our beliefs.)
I guess you can say that I saw our split coming. I could never have a deep, meaningful relationship with someone who doesn’t believe in tipping or volunteering (soulless ass).
So, now I live with a great family. The youngest daughter is probably my closest friend in the cities, and for that reason, I will give her a cool alias (she’d kill me if I used her real name), we will call her Barbie (why? because she is gorgeous and I hate her. I hate her passive-aggressively, hence the name “Barbie�)
So that is me socially.
You may also be wondering, my devoted reader (who doesn’t exist), what happened to my utilitarianisticness (made that up). Well, to answer your question. I still volunteer for the Children’s Hospital, along with a few other organizations.
With the Children’s Hospital, I have actually joined a program called Karuna, which is basically a palliative care treatment for children at home. It is for children that seek treatment from the comfort of the their home, and for those that seek a hospice care program.
I’m sure I will update you on the many things that we be affecting my life due to my work with all my programs.
Finally, I have changed greatly since my last entry; which was posted a few days after my eighteenth birthday.
My best friend killed herself in November of 2007, resulting in a psychotic break on my part, which landed me in a hospital on suicide watch.
Upon determining that I was mentally sound, within 24 hours of my break (thank you very much), I returned back to my mother’s house.
Shortly, thereafter I went to Texas and had a moment. (<,< ) (>,> )
In addition to this, my parents chose that time in my life to file for a divorce. They both left the state of South Dakota, and my dad found himself a new girlfriend (by the New Year).
This past year I have been piecing my life back together and trying to find a purpose to my stay on this planet, beyond just existence.
If this sounds like angst-y crap, well my dear reader, you haven’t read nothing yet (yeah, that just sounded sad).
Anyway, I promise to make very detailed entries about what exactly went down, as well as what will go down.
But alas, I have homework, and I don’t feel like failing any more tests than I already have.
LOVE!!!!
My 18th birthday was on the 6th and how better to spend your birthday than at a hospital. That isn’t even meant to be very sarcastic, it is an awesome way to spend it>>> in this case. On my birthday, I got to spend time playing with very cute children. One was a younger girl who had somehow hurt herself and the others were her sisters. We went shopping, made currency and played random little games. Because it was almost Easter we also dyed Easter eggs. When I went to festivities later that night, I had the joy of blue stained fingers. Basically, I wouldn’t have way to enter our society as an adult in any other way than acting as a child.
There really isn’t much more for me to say in this blog, it was horribly written, because I have been needing to put it down for so long. So, since I know what my next one will be about, I’ll give you some foreshadowing, it involves the return of a past mentioned character. (because I have used sooo many words for other blogs, I end this one here…)
Disclaimer: This blog entry contains exaggerations spawned from forgetfulness and the desire to spice this up a bit. None of the falsehoods are realistic and can be easily spotted. This blog also contains excessive amounts of cheese. To somewhat twist a Simpsons joke for my own pleasure, I haven’t seen this much cheese since Billy Joel released his last album.
I didn’t know what to do my first day without training. I got to the hospital on time... but after arriving things kind of went south. Neither Molly nor Elizabeth were there and my much-needed ID was MIA. Molly had promised to have it waiting for me, but that didn’t happen and the last sighting of Molly and Elizabeth involved them leaving with two fishing poles>>> not promising. The hospital has a strict policy on wearing IDs while in the patient areas, if you don’t have a volunteer/staff ID you need to take a temporary picture ID at the security desk., so I figured going without would involve me getting a slap on the hand. To make things better, I forgot my real ID, so I couldn’t even go to the security desk and get a temp.
I waited until fifteen past my shift. I wasn’t really sure what to do. My training was for the weekend and they told me that it is very different for those in during the week. I was supposed to receive additional training from a Childlife staff person. By the time it hit fifteen past however, I decided to make a decision... which is a decision I don’t like and rarely make. I decided to frell the rules and go to my floor anyway.
I guess I hadn’t yet experienced volunteering at Children’s a sacrifice. Sure, it wasn’t the best experience ever, going through the application process. Still, everything had been relatively painless and the concept of working with children was worth it in my opinion.
It became evident of an impending sacrifice Friday afternoon. With the gorgeous weather and the energy running amongst my friends Frisbee and outside games were rampant. My energy level was running low on Friday so I spent most of the day sleeping (bum, I know), but later in the day, we began to make plans for the next day. Frisbee and climbing trees were on the agenda, among other things. Not to mention we planned on watching the hockey game.
It wasn’t until later on that I realized that I had the Children’s Hospital shift from 1-4, with around an hour and a half commute both ways. It wasn’t like I considered not going, it just sucked a little giving up the first real nice Saturday of the year.
I left my dorm at 11:04AM took the Campus Connector to Union and Washington. Shortly after my arrival, I took the 16 to the 5th St. Garage Transit Center in downtown Minneapolis. From there I took 94C to downtown St Paul and another bus to the hospital. Round about way, huh?
I had around forty minutes before the shift, so I ate a sandwich from a café a bit down the street. The food wasn’t very good and the service was slow, but I was too anxious for it to really bother me.
I realize that this is random, and not really class related, but it inspires me...
It came the time for me to attend my interview with Elizabeth, the lady who had called me. Accordingly, I went on to www.metrotransit.org to get my bus route to the hospital. As it turns out, it isn’t so easy getting to the children’s hospital; it might actually be more confusing than trying to get to the Children’s Hospital of Minneapolis. The first bus left a few blocks from my dorm (bailey) at around 10:45 for an interview at noon.
That day I had only one class (my usual 8:00 AM class was cancelled). My one class began at 9:35 AM and ended at 10:25AM. Being the stupid person I have become, I decided to only sleep in a half an hour and get up to get breakfast and take a shower (two things I never usually have time to do on Friday morning[FYI: I take my showers Friday night- as in, I still shower…]). For some reason I thought my class started at 10:25 instead of 9:35, a mistake I realized at 9:40… so I just skipped my class and spent more time than needed getting ready for the interview.
When it came time for me to go to the interview, I started to head out. Then I remembered to grab my bus card…. So I went back in and got my card…. Then I started out again…. Only to turn back to get money… Then I took off for good. Halfway to the bus stop, I remembered my mobile. I knew if I took any longer I would miss my bus, so I left it.
After 30 minutes at the bus stop, I accepted that I missed my bus. I went back to my dorm and started calling people to see if could get a ride. I called my sister and my friend Chris. My sister was at work (which I knew, but forgot) and Chris was asleep… after offering sexual favors to Chris, he realized how desperate I was and decided to get out of bed to go get me.
We didn’t really know how to get to the hospital, but I map-quested it. Also, I called the hospital and told them I would be a little late (they didn’t really seem to care). After taking the wrong exit a few times, we made it to the hospital with some time to spare. Our spare time we used up trying to find the right room/building. Eventually, we made it to the interview and I went back into the office for my interview.
The interview was fast. I had to fill out a background check paper thing (this made me nervous because or my connections to the Irish mafia and Turkish black market, but it turned out I had no real reason to worry). Elizabeth gave me a bunch of information for pre-med students and we scheduled my work shadow to happen on Saturday the 24th.
Afterwards Chris and I went out to eat at a nearby restaurant. The food wasn’t very good, but overall the day was a success.
I got in!!!!! I got into ST PAUL!!!! I don't have to commute a hell-of-a long way away from where I live. Instead, it should be an easy bus ride. I'm so happy! It happened on Wednesday. I was in my Theatre Practicum and my phone was off, but when I went to check my voicemails, there was one from a lady named Elizabeth, calling to see if I still wanted to volunteer. I was sure at this point I wasn't going to get in, so this caught me off guard. I called her back right away, but it was too late to talk to a real person. First, I left a message saying that I was very happy to still volunteer and that I would love to start as soon as possible. Then, I left a second message apoligizing for not leaving my number and actually leaving it.
On Thursday, a lady named Molly called back to tell me that they still want me and that I should schedule an appointment for sometime next week.
It is next week now and the appointment is for Friday. It is an excellent way to start of the break and I am really happy!
-Cathe
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