I Am Bored Tonight

And I am now looking around to see which deceased grandparent is about to put me to work doing something where I don't ever say that I am bored again.

It's weird. I should be asleep. My body is tired, but my brain won't shut off. Unfortunately, this also means that I feel the need to share this with the world, but hey. . . at least I'm keeping it clean. =P

I had strawberry French toast, buttery hash browns and two scrambled eggs for breakfast on Saturday and now, that's all I can think of. It's bizarre, but I can almost still smell the potatoes. They were delicious.

I'm also thinking of planting flowers in the next few days -- pansies, most likely, just in case we still have a freeze hiding in the weather wings. And I'll try to plant strawberries in my front porch planter as well. They didn't do well last year, but I'm hoping for better luck this time.

I have several jewelry ideas that I can't get past the brain stage -- they keep getting stuck up there and not being able to come out my fingers. I also still need one single pink briolette, but I haven't found the exact piece that I want to wire as a bail. Maybe I'll look again at Shipwreck -- I can usually find there I like. =P

If you haven't figured it out, I'm not only bored, but I'm trying to get myself back in the habit of blogging on a more regular basis. I am beginning to think that it may be the only thing that's going to keep me sane. . . or at least less crazy. =P

I am having such a hard time living in the present. I am either thinking 10-20 years in the past or I'm already planning for this summer. Why is that ? (Yeah, I think I already know. . . )

I don't think the caffeine is wearing off, but the urge to write is, so signing off for the night.

Mediocrity is my watchword. Hear me roa. . . um. . . yeah.

Thoughts ?

Because I Don't Post Enough. . . =)P

Two very fun words that I think are interesting:

Smuggle

And

Fancy

And if you are a fancy smuggler, well. . . I just may not survive.

Thoughts ?

When is Enough Actually Enough ?

The events of the last couple of weeks have gotten me thinking -- when is it time ? When is it enough ?

Those of you (all four of you, God bless ya) who read this blog regularly probably know where I'm coming from and, as such, I plan to write this as obliquely as possible and ask for your comments to remain the same.

I've always been one who was adaptable to change in limited amounts or over given stretches of time. My limits are rapidly being overrun and my patience is rapidly being depleted. No. That's a lie. My patience is gone. Gone. G.O.N.E.

I am having a Ferris Beuller's Cameron moment where he says that he will not allow someone else to dictate the events of his life. I am being held by the illusion of flexibility and the goodwill and camaraderie of my colleagues, but I am starting to look at my options very closely. I do not want to be the one to turn the lights out when the party is over, nor do I want to hold to the bird in the hand when there might be one in the bush, especially since the one in my hand is currently pecking me to the bone.

None of this makes sense on the surface -- who would give up something solid for the ethereal ? Someone who's getting the junk kicked out of them on a daily basis, that's who. Someone who is not seeing leadership. Someone who is seeing the writing on the wall.

16 weeks. My dad used to tell me that I could do nearly anything for a period of time that I set. Well, Daddy -- let's see if that's still true.

Thoughts ?

A Fork in the Road

Otherwise known as the road less taken.

I've wondered about the road less taken for a long time. I find myself wondering about jobs that I did not take and places that I did not live, schools I did not attend and what other choices I might have made.

Don't get me wrong -- I accept the choices that I've made and I don't necessarily regret any of them. I'm just wondering about what might have been. I've always heard that a re-examination of your life every ten years is appropriate, but I seem to be either late or reeeeally early this time.

I've been kicking the idea of returning to school around for quite a while and I'm starting to feel myself leaning more and more towards that fork. I just hate to have to keep starting over and always starting from scratch. Maybe another degree will be the extra "oomph" that I need in order to sell my brain and have someone appreciate the small talents that I actually possess.

I also dream about teaching. I love sharing knowledge with others, but am a little apprehensive about taking something that I love so much and possibly losing that love by having to actually do it on a daily basis.

My last dream is to be a full-time mom, but -- let's face it -- that one may be beyond me. The hands (and sands) of time wait for no man, but I had to wait a very long time for mine. Still, there are always children that need families -- all it ever takes is money, love, and time.

Back to the fork/s, I suppose.

Thoughts ?

The Reason My Knee Goes "POP"

So. . . the short answer goes like this: I went skiing. Once.

Yes, friends and neighbors, it only took me one time to absolutely destroy my right knee.

Here's what happened (thanks, Monk !) --

I went to Ruidoso, New Mexico, for a quick ski trip with some church friends back when I was young and dumb. (No, not last week -- this has been many years ago.) We got up there, got our stuff unpacked, and headed for the slopes ! My friend told me that she would teach me to ski and that I didn't even need to take the lessons -- besides, those were for the little kids, anyhow.

I should have known better, but again -- young and dumb. Anyhow, about 30 minutes later, I found myself skiing downhill, which was not so bad, EXCEPT I was going much faster than I planned, I couldn't figure out how to "steer" exactly, and I could see what was in front of me -- the huge steel pole holding up the ski lift. This was gonna be BAD.

I weighed my options and figured I could just throw myself to the side and land in the snow. It wouldn't be fun, but way less painful than hitting that pole head-on, right ? Mmhmm. I flung myself over to the right and, as I did, the toe of my right ski caught. On the snow. And did. Not. Move. Nor, I found out later, did the bindings release. These are both bad things, apparently.

Here's the plus to all this -- I now have first-hand knowledge of what it sounds like when a ligament breaks. Not tears. Not stretches. Breaks. (For those of you who were wondering, it sounds like KA-POW!) At this point, I am now flat on my hiney in the snow in what my husband has been kind enough to tell me is called a "yard sale". I realize that I have done something very bad, but I'm at least bright enough to SIT THERE and not make it worse.

My friend, who was skiing behind me, has seen all this occur and so she stops by me and says "Hey, you okay ?" I let her know, in no uncertain terms, that I was not in a good place and that the ski patrol was going to need to come get me. That poor girl. . . her first follow-up question was "Are you sure ?" I'd never realized that I could use my eyes as lasers until then. And. . . she skied off to get 'em.

About ten minutes later, the lovely ski patrol folks discovered me sitting quietly in the snow. I didn't realize they would scold you, but their first statement was "if you'd have crossed your skis, we'd have known to come get you earlier". I calmly replied, "if I'da known to do so, I assure you I would have" and grinned at them. "I've been here about half an hour and it's my first time skiing." Boy, that seemed to freak them out a little.

It always looks fun when other people get to ride down the mountain while others are carrying you. It's not. It's very disorienting because all you can see is the sky. Well. . . and other people who STARE AT YOU. That's VERY disturbing.

An hour later, I was in the ER with people trying to cut my borrowed ski pants off me. Um -- no. I told the doc that I would get the pants off, but he absolutely did not believe me. I said, "okay -- give me 10 minutes and come back". Still have no idea how I did it, but I did. Doc came back in and gave me the big eye. I guess he's never dealt with that kind of determined woman. After that, it was off to X-ray. I already knew I hadn't broken any bones, but I couldn't figure out what that pop was earlier.

It's a weird thing when the doc won't tell you what kind of damage you've done -- I guess he thought I would freak out or lose it or something. He had also seen the scars from the previous arthros on both knees and let me know that I would "need to see my orthopedic guy". All I wanted to know was how bad it was. Nope. Apparently, that needed to be a secret. Weird. Psst -- here's a secret. The radio tech will tell ya as long as you promise not to cry or hold him to his preliminary diagnosis. Yep.

Cut to me going home a couple days later. Why didn't I go home that day ? *meh* Wouldn't have done any good and all of us needed to get a little more sleep before driving home (p.s. -- I was not going to be doing any of the driving, ya see).

Got home and talked with my orthopod -- who was, honestly, not terribly surprised to see me. I think he always suspected that I would revisit him after those original arthros -- just probably not for something this serious.

MRIs are fun. When you don't realize that there's metal in your brace that the ER gave you and no one actually checks it (they just take your word that there's no metal that you KNOW of in it), the MRI machine just sucks that long blade of metal RIGHT INTO THE MACHINE. Oops. They got it fixed without having to shut down the machine, thank goodness, and loaded me in like I was a microwave burrito. I think I was one of the very few people that they'd ever seen who fell ASLEEP during the procedure. It's so weird -- it sounds like someone banging on a tin roof panel with a rubber mallet and a ball peen hammer -- how hard can that be to sleep through ? =P

Surgery was less fun, even though I got to sleep through that as well. Actually, the sleeping through it was WAY easy -- it was when I was conscious again that the nightmare began. Apparently ONE pound and TEN pounds look the same when someone fills up the icepack. Okay, maybe not TEN pounds, but. . . it felt like a hundred and I know that's just ridiculous to think about. Ow. Ow, ow, ow. That's pretty much all I said/thought about for the next several hours. Oh, and Vicodin ? Pfft. Does not even touch the pain - just makes your brain mushy. Three or four days of that nonsense and I decided that was not something I needed any more of. Ugh.

Home to recover before I got set up with PT. PT is physical therapy and normal people actually go to facilities that offer this option. Since I did something amazingly stupid and "broke my knee" in a tiny little town, I got to do all my PT at the local high school. Yes. I was between college semesters and I'm getting hit on by the high school football boys. (I could not make this stuff up.)

The coach who oversaw and administered the PT under my doc's instructions could not have been better, btw, but I'll tell ya what. I have never hated a bicycle more. I hated the stationary bike, I hated the Cybex machine, I hated the whirlpool, and I hated the training table. Oh. Did I mention that to GET to these demonic devices, I had to go down a flight of stairs ? On crutches ? With a FULL LEG brace on ? Oh, mais oui ! Five times a week for multiple months. Oh, yes.

Here it is by the numbers: 30 minutes of skiing equals 6 months on crutches, 9 months in a brace, 12 months in PT and 12K for the knee repair.

And that, dear readers, is why I have never skied again and why my knee goes "pop".

Thoughts ?