Saturday, July 31, 2010
The speed at which time seems to whiz by is a constant source of amazement to me. How one minute, it's June, and I'm dragging myself through the last days of Spanish class, and how seemingly hours later, it's the last day of July, and summer is half gone. I'm convinced there really are not enough hours in the day, because some of them must get skipped for life to go so fast. I can't seem to think of another explanation.
I suppose I'm not complaining at the lack of time, since just yesterday I was moaning about the abundance of time on my hands, but it does occasionally worry me that my days are speedily sliding away. What if, in all those hours that get left out of the day, I'm missing some extremely important lesson I need to learn that will help me through the rest of my life? I think time needs to stop and smell the roses, at least long enough for me to catch up.
Yet, I know very well that it will not. Time will continue the crazy race that it's running, sprinting toward it's unseen finish. Personally, I think a nice, slow mosey pace would do wonders for my peace of mind, but nobody asked me. At least I can be grateful for the happiness of my breakneck life, because there's no doubt that overall, life is very good. Though there's always room to find more joy in this high-speed journey.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Friday, July 30, 2010
Being Entertained
Friday, July 30, 2010
I'm afraid I'm out of practice with this daily blog thing, because I can't think of anything to write about. This is pathetic. At least I remembered that I needed to blog, so that's something.
The truth is, my mood has been less than positive for the past few days, and it puts a damper on my grateful thoughts. While I was in school, stressed out of my mind by taking too many credits and working too many hours, I dreamed of the blissful days of summer, when I would be home with nothing to do and hours to do it in, not a care in the world disrupting my well-earned break from the responsibilities of life. It sounds so idyllic, written out like that, but in reality it's anything but. The reality is that I am bored.
I have absolutely nothing to do with my days. Sure, it's nice to have a day like that every so often, when you can unwind and take a quick little break from life. But day after day after day of entertaining myself with cross stitch and TV movies takes it toll, and I have four more weeks of it. I'll be lucky if I come out the other end with my sanity still intact.
Thankfully (there we have some gratitude!), my mother is willing to entertain me. Or maybe she's simply trying to entertain herself and decides to take pity on me by taking me to movies with her and letting me talk her ear off about the wonderfulness of Skyler. Either way, she holds off the boredom for a portion of each day and helps me retain what I call my sanity. I'm grateful to be entertained.
I'm afraid I'm out of practice with this daily blog thing, because I can't think of anything to write about. This is pathetic. At least I remembered that I needed to blog, so that's something.
The truth is, my mood has been less than positive for the past few days, and it puts a damper on my grateful thoughts. While I was in school, stressed out of my mind by taking too many credits and working too many hours, I dreamed of the blissful days of summer, when I would be home with nothing to do and hours to do it in, not a care in the world disrupting my well-earned break from the responsibilities of life. It sounds so idyllic, written out like that, but in reality it's anything but. The reality is that I am bored.
I have absolutely nothing to do with my days. Sure, it's nice to have a day like that every so often, when you can unwind and take a quick little break from life. But day after day after day of entertaining myself with cross stitch and TV movies takes it toll, and I have four more weeks of it. I'll be lucky if I come out the other end with my sanity still intact.
Thankfully (there we have some gratitude!), my mother is willing to entertain me. Or maybe she's simply trying to entertain herself and decides to take pity on me by taking me to movies with her and letting me talk her ear off about the wonderfulness of Skyler. Either way, she holds off the boredom for a portion of each day and helps me retain what I call my sanity. I'm grateful to be entertained.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
A Recap
As you may have noticed, I am behind. By quite a few days actually. And the problem with being so far behind is the daunting task it presents of catching up. And the problem with this daunting task is, well, it's daunting, and one that I'm not particularly keen on dealing with. So, in an effort to actually continue this daily blog, I'm afraid I will be skipping the days I've missed and starting anew with today. Skip is a bit harsh though, because I will complete 365 posts; they just won't be consecutive. So, here we go again.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
The unfortunate thing about skipping so many days is that several of those days were full of excitement. Because I like to share my excitement, and because I love pictures, today's post will be a pictorial recap of my summer so far.
Because I've uploaded a large amount of pictures from our Rome trip into an album on facebook, I'll simply post the link here. I'd rather not post 178 pictures onto my blog as well. This would be the url:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2045860&id=1224510276&l=7892cbee4b
Onto the company pictures! My aunt, uncle, and cousins came to visit for a week, and luckily Skyler was able to come sortof that same week as well, so it was quite hectic around here for a good ten days while we toured our visitors around the area. A few pictures of our adventures for your viewing pleasure.
The white stone of the buildings in DC are really quite stunning.
It's semi blurry, and my cousin Audrey was taking a picture at the same time, which accounts for the orange light on Skyler's shirt, but I like it all the same.
I might have gotten a little carried away with my artistic picture taking.
Skyler and my dad were a little tired by the time we made it the World War II memorial. While the rest of us put our feet in the fountain, they slept.
At Ford's Theater. He didn't want to smile because 'something sad happened there.'
Waiting for everyone at Arlington National Cemetery. I believe this was our fifth try for a picture.
The best temple in the world.
I love this picture, even though it is a bit blurry. It's just so candid.
At the beach on Assateague Island. Skyler got a little bit sunburned.
The wild horses on the island.
From our trip to the Baltimore Aquarium. I couldn't believe how colorful the coral is!
If you ever see this little guy in the water, run.
And of course, Raven's Stadium, so Skyler could rub it in his brother's face.
There you have the adventures of my summer. Very fun and very warm. Thank goodness for recaps.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
The unfortunate thing about skipping so many days is that several of those days were full of excitement. Because I like to share my excitement, and because I love pictures, today's post will be a pictorial recap of my summer so far.
Because I've uploaded a large amount of pictures from our Rome trip into an album on facebook, I'll simply post the link here. I'd rather not post 178 pictures onto my blog as well. This would be the url:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2045860&id=1224510276&l=7892cbee4b
Onto the company pictures! My aunt, uncle, and cousins came to visit for a week, and luckily Skyler was able to come sortof that same week as well, so it was quite hectic around here for a good ten days while we toured our visitors around the area. A few pictures of our adventures for your viewing pleasure.
The white stone of the buildings in DC are really quite stunning.
It's semi blurry, and my cousin Audrey was taking a picture at the same time, which accounts for the orange light on Skyler's shirt, but I like it all the same.
I might have gotten a little carried away with my artistic picture taking.
Skyler and my dad were a little tired by the time we made it the World War II memorial. While the rest of us put our feet in the fountain, they slept.
At Ford's Theater. He didn't want to smile because 'something sad happened there.'
Waiting for everyone at Arlington National Cemetery. I believe this was our fifth try for a picture.
The best temple in the world.
I love this picture, even though it is a bit blurry. It's just so candid.
At the beach on Assateague Island. Skyler got a little bit sunburned.
The wild horses on the island.
From our trip to the Baltimore Aquarium. I couldn't believe how colorful the coral is!
If you ever see this little guy in the water, run.
And of course, Raven's Stadium, so Skyler could rub it in his brother's face.
There you have the adventures of my summer. Very fun and very warm. Thank goodness for recaps.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Weddings
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Today has been anticipated for quite some time, because today was Sam and Jason's wedding day. It was rather brutally hot, though that was to be expected since it is the middle of June in St. George, and the sun was practically blistering (again, to be expected), but overall the day turned out beautifully. First was waiting outside the temple for them to come out, which they finally did, looking off-the-charts happy. Then the reception later that night, where I'm confident they smiled more than I thought humanly possible. It was a really very happy day, and it reminded me to be grateful for the joy of others around us, which can so easily lift us up too. Congrats, Sam and Jason!
And, because I love taking pictures, and a picture is worth a thousand words anyway, here's a few pictures!
Outside the temple, with all their cute bridesmaids.
With all the girls.
First dance.
Decorating the car. Andrew was quite good at this.
She's so cute.
The boys didn't get too into it.
And throwing the bouquet.
Today has been anticipated for quite some time, because today was Sam and Jason's wedding day. It was rather brutally hot, though that was to be expected since it is the middle of June in St. George, and the sun was practically blistering (again, to be expected), but overall the day turned out beautifully. First was waiting outside the temple for them to come out, which they finally did, looking off-the-charts happy. Then the reception later that night, where I'm confident they smiled more than I thought humanly possible. It was a really very happy day, and it reminded me to be grateful for the joy of others around us, which can so easily lift us up too. Congrats, Sam and Jason!
And, because I love taking pictures, and a picture is worth a thousand words anyway, here's a few pictures!
Outside the temple, with all their cute bridesmaids.
With all the girls.
First dance.
Decorating the car. Andrew was quite good at this.
She's so cute.
The boys didn't get too into it.
And throwing the bouquet.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Toy Story 3
Friday, June 18, 2010
Cinematic masterpiece. Artistic genius. Most epic movie to grace theaters this year. Toy Story 3.
I am a Disney fan. Though fan might not be a strong enough word. Fanatic. Obsessed nutcase. These are perhaps more apt descriptions. I love the old Disney movies, most of which we own on VHS, and several of which I now own on DVD. I can quote large portions of my most well-loved films, and sing along to at least the chorus of almost all the classic songs. I have a Disney princess calendar, and my nineteenth birthday celebration was Disney princess themed. To me, Disney is the best thing invented since sliced bread.
This obsessive love has, in recent years, extended to include most Pixar films as well, since they are a marvelous movie-making pair and all; it's only right that I am fond of them both. And Pixar has made several notable additions to my Disney collection of favorites: Finding Nemo, Monsters, Inc., The Incredibles, Up. And, of course, the Toy Storys.
Who could fail to love the Toy Story series? On top of being voiced by notable funnymen Tom Hanks and Tim Allen, Woody and Buzz have a friendship that everyone wishes to someday have with their friends. Starting out as enemies, they eventually learn to work together, and by the end are rescuing each other from perilous situations. It's phenomenal. So who in their right minds would be unexcited to see the latest installment?
Definitely not me. I'd been looking forward to this movie for quite some time, and my hopes were not disappointed in the slightest. The movie was absolutely wonderful, a definite success, especially considering it was a sequel, which are usually poor when dealing with Disney (no offense). I loved every second of it. Thank you Pixar, for making my afternoon so very well-spent.
Cinematic masterpiece. Artistic genius. Most epic movie to grace theaters this year. Toy Story 3.
I am a Disney fan. Though fan might not be a strong enough word. Fanatic. Obsessed nutcase. These are perhaps more apt descriptions. I love the old Disney movies, most of which we own on VHS, and several of which I now own on DVD. I can quote large portions of my most well-loved films, and sing along to at least the chorus of almost all the classic songs. I have a Disney princess calendar, and my nineteenth birthday celebration was Disney princess themed. To me, Disney is the best thing invented since sliced bread.
This obsessive love has, in recent years, extended to include most Pixar films as well, since they are a marvelous movie-making pair and all; it's only right that I am fond of them both. And Pixar has made several notable additions to my Disney collection of favorites: Finding Nemo, Monsters, Inc., The Incredibles, Up. And, of course, the Toy Storys.
Who could fail to love the Toy Story series? On top of being voiced by notable funnymen Tom Hanks and Tim Allen, Woody and Buzz have a friendship that everyone wishes to someday have with their friends. Starting out as enemies, they eventually learn to work together, and by the end are rescuing each other from perilous situations. It's phenomenal. So who in their right minds would be unexcited to see the latest installment?
Definitely not me. I'd been looking forward to this movie for quite some time, and my hopes were not disappointed in the slightest. The movie was absolutely wonderful, a definite success, especially considering it was a sequel, which are usually poor when dealing with Disney (no offense). I loved every second of it. Thank you Pixar, for making my afternoon so very well-spent.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
I'm Not Allowed To Write About It
Thursday, June 17, 2010
The subject of today's post . . . well, I'm not actually allowed to tell you, because Skyler once informed me that he doesn't want an entire post dedicated to him. I guess technically I'm going against his wishes a tiny bit; hopefully he'll understand. But I will now be content to be grateful in silence for the best thing to ever come into my life. I'm sorry, dear reader, that I can't tell you more. I'm not allowed to write about it.
The subject of today's post . . . well, I'm not actually allowed to tell you, because Skyler once informed me that he doesn't want an entire post dedicated to him. I guess technically I'm going against his wishes a tiny bit; hopefully he'll understand. But I will now be content to be grateful in silence for the best thing to ever come into my life. I'm sorry, dear reader, that I can't tell you more. I'm not allowed to write about it.
Totes
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
If you asked me right this minute what holds the number one spot on my list of things I hate, it would unquestionably and without a doubt be packing. I literally HATE it. Packing requires thought and effort and care (if you don't want your stuff to be mangled upon unpacking), yet in the back of your mind you know that all that thought and effort and care really amounts to nothing in the long run, because it will all be quickly undone by the imminent unpacking (regardless of how unmangled it may be). There is very little about packing that I find remotely appealing.
The one, single, very small, semi-redeeming quality that I've discovered about packing my apartment up every time I move (I still haven't discovered anything redeeming about packing for a trip, other than it means I'm going on a trip) is the totes I use to pack everything into. How pathetically . . . pathetic does that sound? The only thing I enjoy about the process is the cheap plastic bins that protect my priceless life-items from harm. Put that way, it makes me sound rather shallow.
But there's something about totes that put me in an organizational mood, and if there's one thing I (occasionally) love, it's organization. Though you would probably never guess that from the current state of my room. I think I get excited over the organizational implements, like totes, not the organization itself. At least I get over something related to it, which is a step in the right direction after all.
Because I love totes, and because they're remarkably handy when I have lots and lots of stuff that needs storing, I've been amassing quite a collection in the past few years. Currently I have nine totes, and almost all my stuff fits in them! Which makes storing them at my uncle's house much more convenient. I quite love my totes, even though the unpleasantness of packing is not really diminished by them. Such is life. I'll be content with being grateful for my totes.
If you asked me right this minute what holds the number one spot on my list of things I hate, it would unquestionably and without a doubt be packing. I literally HATE it. Packing requires thought and effort and care (if you don't want your stuff to be mangled upon unpacking), yet in the back of your mind you know that all that thought and effort and care really amounts to nothing in the long run, because it will all be quickly undone by the imminent unpacking (regardless of how unmangled it may be). There is very little about packing that I find remotely appealing.
The one, single, very small, semi-redeeming quality that I've discovered about packing my apartment up every time I move (I still haven't discovered anything redeeming about packing for a trip, other than it means I'm going on a trip) is the totes I use to pack everything into. How pathetically . . . pathetic does that sound? The only thing I enjoy about the process is the cheap plastic bins that protect my priceless life-items from harm. Put that way, it makes me sound rather shallow.
But there's something about totes that put me in an organizational mood, and if there's one thing I (occasionally) love, it's organization. Though you would probably never guess that from the current state of my room. I think I get excited over the organizational implements, like totes, not the organization itself. At least I get over something related to it, which is a step in the right direction after all.
Because I love totes, and because they're remarkably handy when I have lots and lots of stuff that needs storing, I've been amassing quite a collection in the past few years. Currently I have nine totes, and almost all my stuff fits in them! Which makes storing them at my uncle's house much more convenient. I quite love my totes, even though the unpleasantness of packing is not really diminished by them. Such is life. I'll be content with being grateful for my totes.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Freedom
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Don't let the title fool you; this post is not a philosophical, early fourth of July discussion on the benefits of living in a free country. Or anything similar. Instead, it's about what you would probably expect if you knew that I took my final final for my Spanish class today. Yes that's right: today's post is about the freedom of not having Spanish class any longer.
It's such a good feeling, knowing that classes are over with, and for the next two months I have nothing to do but enjoy my summer. Theoretically these next two months should include a job, but I'm not entirely sure it will be able to, since it is only two months and employers tend not to hire for such a short time frame. But we'll see. Right now I'd like to simply bask in the wonderful feeling of freedom, freedom from Spanish forever. Oh it's a feeling to be grateful for.
Don't let the title fool you; this post is not a philosophical, early fourth of July discussion on the benefits of living in a free country. Or anything similar. Instead, it's about what you would probably expect if you knew that I took my final final for my Spanish class today. Yes that's right: today's post is about the freedom of not having Spanish class any longer.
It's such a good feeling, knowing that classes are over with, and for the next two months I have nothing to do but enjoy my summer. Theoretically these next two months should include a job, but I'm not entirely sure it will be able to, since it is only two months and employers tend not to hire for such a short time frame. But we'll see. Right now I'd like to simply bask in the wonderful feeling of freedom, freedom from Spanish forever. Oh it's a feeling to be grateful for.
Verb Conjugations.
Monday, June 14, 2010
In all of my planning of blog posts (which really isn't that extensive, trust me), I always thought this post would be about the last day of Spanish class, or at the very least the last day of Spring classes. However, I think you've probably heard me complain enough, or more than enough, about the misery that has been my Spring class experience, and decided to not subject you to any more whining. Please contain your excitement.
Instead, today's post will actually sortof praise Spanish. I know this is also a huge departure from the norm, but bare with me. I hope it will be worth your time.
Today I took my final Spanish oral exam. I've never been a huge fan of oral exams because speaking has always been my biggest weakness when it comes to the Spanish language. I can mostly understand what I read, and I can write a relatively understandable (though probably not grammatically correct) sentence, and I can semi comprehend what's being said as long as it's said slowly enough. But I am an awful speaker. This probably stems from my fear of saying the wrong thing and looking stupid; I think I've heard one too many stories of word mix-ups, when you say pregnant instead of embarrassed or something equally dumb, and these stories make my too nervous to practice speaking, therefore making me an awful speaker. Add to this nervousness the fact that oral exams are done in front of the professor for a grade, and the pitiful speaking ability I do have disappears completely.
In fact, I did so badly on my midterm oral exam that my professor told me, "you seemed to struggle with . . . Spanish." This was actually an accident; he meant to say I struggle with past and future verb conjugations, but those two things are such a major part of the language that his first accidental assessment was pretty accurate. However, I'm happy to report that I did better this time around. Marginally better, but better nonetheless. I think it had something to do with my improvement on my verb conjugations.
Really I shouldn't be grateful for those pesky things, because there are so many ways to conjugate a verb that it really makes the Spanish language, or any language for that matter, infinitely more complicated than it could be if it only had a few verb forms. However, strangely I am grateful for them. Even though I'm absolutely terrible at conjugating verbs correctly, and I have to cycle through all the forms I can remember before I finally hit on the right one, I still enjoy trying to conjugate them. It acts like a puzzle in my brain, and I like puzzles, so I'm grateful for anything that makes me enjoy Spanish just a little bit more.
In all of my planning of blog posts (which really isn't that extensive, trust me), I always thought this post would be about the last day of Spanish class, or at the very least the last day of Spring classes. However, I think you've probably heard me complain enough, or more than enough, about the misery that has been my Spring class experience, and decided to not subject you to any more whining. Please contain your excitement.
Instead, today's post will actually sortof praise Spanish. I know this is also a huge departure from the norm, but bare with me. I hope it will be worth your time.
Today I took my final Spanish oral exam. I've never been a huge fan of oral exams because speaking has always been my biggest weakness when it comes to the Spanish language. I can mostly understand what I read, and I can write a relatively understandable (though probably not grammatically correct) sentence, and I can semi comprehend what's being said as long as it's said slowly enough. But I am an awful speaker. This probably stems from my fear of saying the wrong thing and looking stupid; I think I've heard one too many stories of word mix-ups, when you say pregnant instead of embarrassed or something equally dumb, and these stories make my too nervous to practice speaking, therefore making me an awful speaker. Add to this nervousness the fact that oral exams are done in front of the professor for a grade, and the pitiful speaking ability I do have disappears completely.
In fact, I did so badly on my midterm oral exam that my professor told me, "you seemed to struggle with . . . Spanish." This was actually an accident; he meant to say I struggle with past and future verb conjugations, but those two things are such a major part of the language that his first accidental assessment was pretty accurate. However, I'm happy to report that I did better this time around. Marginally better, but better nonetheless. I think it had something to do with my improvement on my verb conjugations.
Really I shouldn't be grateful for those pesky things, because there are so many ways to conjugate a verb that it really makes the Spanish language, or any language for that matter, infinitely more complicated than it could be if it only had a few verb forms. However, strangely I am grateful for them. Even though I'm absolutely terrible at conjugating verbs correctly, and I have to cycle through all the forms I can remember before I finally hit on the right one, I still enjoy trying to conjugate them. It acts like a puzzle in my brain, and I like puzzles, so I'm grateful for anything that makes me enjoy Spanish just a little bit more.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Inspiring Literature
Sunday, June 13, 2010
This has just been a weekend for inspiration. First the marathon yesterday, now the movie tonight. I made my usual Sunday trip to my aunt and uncle's house tonight, where we enjoyed the cinematic genius that is the movie Invictus.
I wanted to see the movie when it came out, but being the poor college student that I am (and getting poorer by the minute, it feels like) I didn't. By the time I remembered that I could see it with good conscience at the dollar theater, it had already left the dollar theater. Luckily for me, however, my aunt and uncle own the movie, and decided that tonight would be a good night to watch it, which I wholeheartedly agreed to, and not just because Matt Damon is one of the main characters.
I absolutely loved the movie. It was in turn funny and sad, not to mention extremely inspiring. But I think the story behind it is even more fascinating than the movie. Nelson Mandela must be the most extraordinary person I've heard of in a long time. He spent twenty-seven years in prison before becoming the president of South Africa, and he did not use his power to attack those who had put him behind bars. If I were him, that would have been the first thing I did! Talk about amazing forgiveness.
The other thing I really enjoyed about it was the actual poem itself, written by William Ernest Henley. It must be the English major in me, but I really like when movies have a strong literary tie-in. Here is the full text of the poem, titled "Invictus":
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
I just love inspiring literature, and I'm grateful for it. If literature didn't stir something inside someone somewhere, then it wouldn't have much purpose, really.
This has just been a weekend for inspiration. First the marathon yesterday, now the movie tonight. I made my usual Sunday trip to my aunt and uncle's house tonight, where we enjoyed the cinematic genius that is the movie Invictus.
I wanted to see the movie when it came out, but being the poor college student that I am (and getting poorer by the minute, it feels like) I didn't. By the time I remembered that I could see it with good conscience at the dollar theater, it had already left the dollar theater. Luckily for me, however, my aunt and uncle own the movie, and decided that tonight would be a good night to watch it, which I wholeheartedly agreed to, and not just because Matt Damon is one of the main characters.
I absolutely loved the movie. It was in turn funny and sad, not to mention extremely inspiring. But I think the story behind it is even more fascinating than the movie. Nelson Mandela must be the most extraordinary person I've heard of in a long time. He spent twenty-seven years in prison before becoming the president of South Africa, and he did not use his power to attack those who had put him behind bars. If I were him, that would have been the first thing I did! Talk about amazing forgiveness.
The other thing I really enjoyed about it was the actual poem itself, written by William Ernest Henley. It must be the English major in me, but I really like when movies have a strong literary tie-in. Here is the full text of the poem, titled "Invictus":
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
I just love inspiring literature, and I'm grateful for it. If literature didn't stir something inside someone somewhere, then it wouldn't have much purpose, really.
Marathons
Saturday, June 12, 2010
As previously stated, I am not a runner. I never have been; I think I hit my running peak during my freshman year of high school when my friend talked me into running on the track team. That was a brutal experience that I never repeated. I think I would like to be one; imagine how much more in shape I could be if I actually liked just aimlessly running around outside for a half hour or so each day. But alas, I still have no developed a taste for it. Hopefully some day. For now, I'll stick to sitting indoors and lamenting what I lack, because I find that much more satisfactory.
Just because I don't like running doesn't mean that I don't like to watch others run. Something about other runners inspires me to get up and go, though it mostly inspires my mind, and very rarely does my body follow. However, I still find it pretty cool to watch others do something so extraordinary, regardless of its tendency to leave me quite jealous. I was reminded of this strange mix of awe and envy this morning, and about seven in the morning, when I stood on the side of the road helping distribute Powerade to a bunch of runners.
See, Maren has developed this impressive ability to talk me into doing things. This morning, those things included waking up at five o'clock to be at an aid station by five-thirty to volunteer for the Provo Marathon until eleven-thirty. Oh, and did I mention it was raining for the first hour? And in the fifties for the rest of the morning? How Maren managed to talk me into it, I will never know. Maybe it was the free t-shirt that lured me; free clothing tends to have a very strong pull on me. Regardless, at six o'clock this morning, I was not a happy camper. I even texted a sleeping Skyler to vent my displeasure, knowing full well that he wouldn't reply until he woke up at a decent hour for a Saturday morning.
But, as generally happens when Maren talks me into things, the experience turned out to be extremely rewarding in the end. Once the rain stopped, the runners came through, and I'd become decent at filling the cups to a good level with Powerade, so that neither the runners nor the volunteers would end up with blue stains down their fronts, it became a much more pleasant experience. And a very inspiring one at that.
Some of those marathon runners are absolutely phenomenal; they cruised through the station (we were at mile twenty-four, meaning they had two miles till the finish, and they already run most of the race) like they'd just started the race, and I can guarantee they were running faster at mile twenty-four than I would be running at mile two. It was incredible. And there were some runners who I never would have pegged to run a marathon, but they were right up there with the front of the pack. And then there were the two barefoot runners, a guy and a girl, who came through wearing absolutely nothing on their feet and still going strong. Now that takes practice.
It didn't matter whether the runners were in first place or last - they were still an inspiration to a non-runner like me. Thank you all those runners for their inspiration. Some day I'm going to run a marathon too!
As previously stated, I am not a runner. I never have been; I think I hit my running peak during my freshman year of high school when my friend talked me into running on the track team. That was a brutal experience that I never repeated. I think I would like to be one; imagine how much more in shape I could be if I actually liked just aimlessly running around outside for a half hour or so each day. But alas, I still have no developed a taste for it. Hopefully some day. For now, I'll stick to sitting indoors and lamenting what I lack, because I find that much more satisfactory.
Just because I don't like running doesn't mean that I don't like to watch others run. Something about other runners inspires me to get up and go, though it mostly inspires my mind, and very rarely does my body follow. However, I still find it pretty cool to watch others do something so extraordinary, regardless of its tendency to leave me quite jealous. I was reminded of this strange mix of awe and envy this morning, and about seven in the morning, when I stood on the side of the road helping distribute Powerade to a bunch of runners.
See, Maren has developed this impressive ability to talk me into doing things. This morning, those things included waking up at five o'clock to be at an aid station by five-thirty to volunteer for the Provo Marathon until eleven-thirty. Oh, and did I mention it was raining for the first hour? And in the fifties for the rest of the morning? How Maren managed to talk me into it, I will never know. Maybe it was the free t-shirt that lured me; free clothing tends to have a very strong pull on me. Regardless, at six o'clock this morning, I was not a happy camper. I even texted a sleeping Skyler to vent my displeasure, knowing full well that he wouldn't reply until he woke up at a decent hour for a Saturday morning.
But, as generally happens when Maren talks me into things, the experience turned out to be extremely rewarding in the end. Once the rain stopped, the runners came through, and I'd become decent at filling the cups to a good level with Powerade, so that neither the runners nor the volunteers would end up with blue stains down their fronts, it became a much more pleasant experience. And a very inspiring one at that.
Some of those marathon runners are absolutely phenomenal; they cruised through the station (we were at mile twenty-four, meaning they had two miles till the finish, and they already run most of the race) like they'd just started the race, and I can guarantee they were running faster at mile twenty-four than I would be running at mile two. It was incredible. And there were some runners who I never would have pegged to run a marathon, but they were right up there with the front of the pack. And then there were the two barefoot runners, a guy and a girl, who came through wearing absolutely nothing on their feet and still going strong. Now that takes practice.
It didn't matter whether the runners were in first place or last - they were still an inspiration to a non-runner like me. Thank you all those runners for their inspiration. Some day I'm going to run a marathon too!
Extra Credit
Friday, June 11, 2010
I love extra credit. Chalk it up the over-achiever inside of me (which thankfully has been dwindling in recent years), but I've always loved the idea of doing a little extra work and getting a little extra padding for my grade. This is probably a result of my good-grade obsession, spurred both by my dominating perfectionism and my parents' astronomically high expectations, but thankfully this drive has also been decreasing lately. This is beside the point, because the cause doesn't really matter; the result is always the same: I love extra credit.
Today I had an opportunity for extra credit, which I'm sure you probably already deduced. Unfortunately, it wasn't the best opportunity. It was an extra credit test. Doubly unfortunately, I actually need the extra credit. My Spanish grade isn't as high as my parents would like it to be, though I consider it to be pretty satisfactory for a class of this caliber, and therefore I was forced to not really jump at the chance but rather grudgingly amble to the testing center for my second test of the week. Not a happy prospect, though I'm hoping my professor will be kind enough to at least give us points for taking it even if we bomb the test (which I have a sneaking suspicion I will).
However, just because this extra credit opportunity was a bit of a let-down, doesn't mean extra credit in general is to be frowned upon. In fact, I absolutely love it (in case you haven't already gathered that from the two other times I've used those words in this post). And, though I don't hold out much hope for the helpfulness of this particular test, I am still grateful for extra credit, and the wonders it works on my GPA.
I love extra credit. Chalk it up the over-achiever inside of me (which thankfully has been dwindling in recent years), but I've always loved the idea of doing a little extra work and getting a little extra padding for my grade. This is probably a result of my good-grade obsession, spurred both by my dominating perfectionism and my parents' astronomically high expectations, but thankfully this drive has also been decreasing lately. This is beside the point, because the cause doesn't really matter; the result is always the same: I love extra credit.
Today I had an opportunity for extra credit, which I'm sure you probably already deduced. Unfortunately, it wasn't the best opportunity. It was an extra credit test. Doubly unfortunately, I actually need the extra credit. My Spanish grade isn't as high as my parents would like it to be, though I consider it to be pretty satisfactory for a class of this caliber, and therefore I was forced to not really jump at the chance but rather grudgingly amble to the testing center for my second test of the week. Not a happy prospect, though I'm hoping my professor will be kind enough to at least give us points for taking it even if we bomb the test (which I have a sneaking suspicion I will).
However, just because this extra credit opportunity was a bit of a let-down, doesn't mean extra credit in general is to be frowned upon. In fact, I absolutely love it (in case you haven't already gathered that from the two other times I've used those words in this post). And, though I don't hold out much hope for the helpfulness of this particular test, I am still grateful for extra credit, and the wonders it works on my GPA.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Band-aid Tests
Thursday, June 10, 2010
As I stated in yesterday's post, I have thoroughly awful study habits. Whether that's entirely my fault or not . . . well that's still to-be-determined. Whether I'm doing anything to improve them or not . . . well that would be a definite no. Today's test experience just serves as further proof that I am absolutely getting no better.
I got out of class around 9:40 this morning; I studied until 11; I took my test. My comprehensive test that covered the grammar and vocabulary from the entire book. And I only studied for one hour and twenty minutes before taking it. Do you believe that I have bad study habits yet? This is pretty routine; it's how I deal with most tests, though occasionally I'll do a little studying the night before too if I think the test will be REALLY difficult.
Today was more of a 'hey, what the heck, I'm not going to study more so I might as well take it now!' test. This happens frequently in relation to Spanish class, and somehow I've still managed to pull out semi-decent grades in that subject. Anyways, I've come up with (what I think is) a clever name for my brand of test-taking: band-aid tests. I tend to believe that the sooner it's over, the better life will be, just like pulling off a band-aid. So that's the philosophy I subscribe to, and so far I'm thankful for it. It's made my test-taking college career much less stressful, though whether or not it actually is a good strategy is still TBD.
As I stated in yesterday's post, I have thoroughly awful study habits. Whether that's entirely my fault or not . . . well that's still to-be-determined. Whether I'm doing anything to improve them or not . . . well that would be a definite no. Today's test experience just serves as further proof that I am absolutely getting no better.
I got out of class around 9:40 this morning; I studied until 11; I took my test. My comprehensive test that covered the grammar and vocabulary from the entire book. And I only studied for one hour and twenty minutes before taking it. Do you believe that I have bad study habits yet? This is pretty routine; it's how I deal with most tests, though occasionally I'll do a little studying the night before too if I think the test will be REALLY difficult.
Today was more of a 'hey, what the heck, I'm not going to study more so I might as well take it now!' test. This happens frequently in relation to Spanish class, and somehow I've still managed to pull out semi-decent grades in that subject. Anyways, I've come up with (what I think is) a clever name for my brand of test-taking: band-aid tests. I tend to believe that the sooner it's over, the better life will be, just like pulling off a band-aid. So that's the philosophy I subscribe to, and so far I'm thankful for it. It's made my test-taking college career much less stressful, though whether or not it actually is a good strategy is still TBD.
Tests That Are Open For More Than One Day
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
I've found that one of the hardest things about college for me is studying for tests. I know that's a rather unfortunate thing to be hard, but at least I have a relatively good explanation to back myself up. I very rarely had to study hard for tests in high school. It's not that high school was easy, more that I retained the information better because we spent more time learning it, and teachers had study periods the preceding class rather than teaching new material up until the day before the test (like most of college professors do). Consequently, I have very poor study habits.
On top of these awful habits, most of my college tests are given during a certain period at the testing center, and are take-at-your-leisure, as long as you take it during the days it's available. Not having a set day and time to take my tests adds another wrench into my already problem-filled studying, because I've discovered that I'm relatively un-self-motivated. Without a set schedule, I procrastinate with the best of them until the last possible minute.
Having said all that, I'd like to go back on it all and say that, in this case, I'm grateful my Spanish test is open for two days. Because I am definitely not in the mood to take a comprehensive grammar test that will require hours of studying. In this case, I'd much rather procrastinate it until the last possible minute, and worry about improving my study habits at some date to-be-determined.
(Pardon the title; I couldn't think of a better - and more concise - way of phrasing that.)
I've found that one of the hardest things about college for me is studying for tests. I know that's a rather unfortunate thing to be hard, but at least I have a relatively good explanation to back myself up. I very rarely had to study hard for tests in high school. It's not that high school was easy, more that I retained the information better because we spent more time learning it, and teachers had study periods the preceding class rather than teaching new material up until the day before the test (like most of college professors do). Consequently, I have very poor study habits.
On top of these awful habits, most of my college tests are given during a certain period at the testing center, and are take-at-your-leisure, as long as you take it during the days it's available. Not having a set day and time to take my tests adds another wrench into my already problem-filled studying, because I've discovered that I'm relatively un-self-motivated. Without a set schedule, I procrastinate with the best of them until the last possible minute.
Having said all that, I'd like to go back on it all and say that, in this case, I'm grateful my Spanish test is open for two days. Because I am definitely not in the mood to take a comprehensive grammar test that will require hours of studying. In this case, I'd much rather procrastinate it until the last possible minute, and worry about improving my study habits at some date to-be-determined.
(Pardon the title; I couldn't think of a better - and more concise - way of phrasing that.)
The Cosby Show
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
I had very strange notions as a child of what my mother would and would not allow me to do. Though the notions themselves have changed in recent years, I'm still unable to accurately guess what my mother's reaction will be to certain situations. Why I'm so bad at reading her (why I'm so bad at reading people in general, really) I don't think I'll ever know. Bottom line is, I'm very bad at it.
When I was somewhere around eight years old, when cartoons were a staple on summer mornings and ice cream was only eaten with parental permission, I discovered The Cosby Show. From the first five minutes, I fell in love. Bill Cosby was the funny man from the Jello Jiggler commercials that surfaced at Christmas time, and the host of that TV show about kids and darndest things, both roles making him unquestionably lovable. This love, on top of my discovery of such an excellent sitcom as The Cosby Show, meant that Bill Cosby was cemented in my mind as a comedic genius to be revered. I had only one problem with my new-found love: my eight-year-old mind convinced itself that my mother would not allow me to watch it. I have no idea what my reasons for this were, but I must have had some, because I was absolutely convinced.
So what did I do, upstanding child that I was? I watched it in secret, of course. When my mother wasn't home, or was in the shower, or taking a nap, The Cosby Show came on. And the minute I heard her footsteps heading anywhere near the television, it turned off. I had my deception practically down to a science.
However, one day, I became so engrossed in the episode, and my mother managed to avoid all the creaky floorboards, that I didn't hear her enter the room. Her voice practically gave me a heart attack. And what did she say? "Oh, The Cosby Show. I love this show!" And what did she do? Sat down and watched it with me. I was astounded, and furious with myself that I hadn't known she would love the show. (My eight-year-old self was apparently not the smartest.)
Ever since then, I've watched The Cosby Show almost as often as it's on television, and for Christmas two years ago, I received the full box set of series DVDs, meaning I no longer have to wait for episodes to surface on those obscure TV channels that play old shows. It's been a fantastic present that I recently rediscovered during Spring term, when I've had very little else to do with my time but watch TV while doing Spanish homework. I can only stand crime shows for so long, but doing Spanish homework in silence leads to insanity, so I'm grateful for The Cosby Show, and it's role in preserving my mind. I don't believe I would have made it through this class otherwise.
I had very strange notions as a child of what my mother would and would not allow me to do. Though the notions themselves have changed in recent years, I'm still unable to accurately guess what my mother's reaction will be to certain situations. Why I'm so bad at reading her (why I'm so bad at reading people in general, really) I don't think I'll ever know. Bottom line is, I'm very bad at it.
When I was somewhere around eight years old, when cartoons were a staple on summer mornings and ice cream was only eaten with parental permission, I discovered The Cosby Show. From the first five minutes, I fell in love. Bill Cosby was the funny man from the Jello Jiggler commercials that surfaced at Christmas time, and the host of that TV show about kids and darndest things, both roles making him unquestionably lovable. This love, on top of my discovery of such an excellent sitcom as The Cosby Show, meant that Bill Cosby was cemented in my mind as a comedic genius to be revered. I had only one problem with my new-found love: my eight-year-old mind convinced itself that my mother would not allow me to watch it. I have no idea what my reasons for this were, but I must have had some, because I was absolutely convinced.
So what did I do, upstanding child that I was? I watched it in secret, of course. When my mother wasn't home, or was in the shower, or taking a nap, The Cosby Show came on. And the minute I heard her footsteps heading anywhere near the television, it turned off. I had my deception practically down to a science.
However, one day, I became so engrossed in the episode, and my mother managed to avoid all the creaky floorboards, that I didn't hear her enter the room. Her voice practically gave me a heart attack. And what did she say? "Oh, The Cosby Show. I love this show!" And what did she do? Sat down and watched it with me. I was astounded, and furious with myself that I hadn't known she would love the show. (My eight-year-old self was apparently not the smartest.)
Ever since then, I've watched The Cosby Show almost as often as it's on television, and for Christmas two years ago, I received the full box set of series DVDs, meaning I no longer have to wait for episodes to surface on those obscure TV channels that play old shows. It's been a fantastic present that I recently rediscovered during Spring term, when I've had very little else to do with my time but watch TV while doing Spanish homework. I can only stand crime shows for so long, but doing Spanish homework in silence leads to insanity, so I'm grateful for The Cosby Show, and it's role in preserving my mind. I don't believe I would have made it through this class otherwise.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
The Last Week of Classes
Monday, June 7, 2010
There's nothing more satisfying than knowing that you're almost done with something you wish had ended a long time ago, except when it actually ends. Since I still have six Spanish classes left, I only have the knowledge of the end at the moment. But that's a happy enough prospect for me!
It probably seems like I really hate Spanish, but I promise I'm not as negative as I seem. I really do like the fact that I am semi-fluent-ish (though I use that term loosely). I just don't particularly appreciate going to class to learn how to be semi-fluent-ish. After seven and a half years of going to Spanish class, I think it's understandable that I might be a little tired of it. Which is why I'm so grateful that's it's almost over! Once this term ends, I'll be forever done with Spanish class. So I'm sure you can imagine why I'm grateful for this, the last full week of classes. After this week, I have one more class, a few finals, and freedom! The prospect is extremely exciting.
There's nothing more satisfying than knowing that you're almost done with something you wish had ended a long time ago, except when it actually ends. Since I still have six Spanish classes left, I only have the knowledge of the end at the moment. But that's a happy enough prospect for me!
It probably seems like I really hate Spanish, but I promise I'm not as negative as I seem. I really do like the fact that I am semi-fluent-ish (though I use that term loosely). I just don't particularly appreciate going to class to learn how to be semi-fluent-ish. After seven and a half years of going to Spanish class, I think it's understandable that I might be a little tired of it. Which is why I'm so grateful that's it's almost over! Once this term ends, I'll be forever done with Spanish class. So I'm sure you can imagine why I'm grateful for this, the last full week of classes. After this week, I have one more class, a few finals, and freedom! The prospect is extremely exciting.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Flat Shoes
Sunday, June 6, 2010
It's quite an interesing experience to go to church alone, and something I hadn't experienced until this weekend (that I can remember). Sam and Jason were somewhere besides Provo, meaning I ended up making the trek to our old ward all by myself.
Luckily, I was smart enough to not wear heels. Since Sam and I are living in a married apartment, we decided not to move to the ward for the complex. How awkward would that be, two single girls going to a ward for newly-married couples or couples with kids. Instead we've continued to attend our old ward and try our hardest to avoid showing up on the radar.
The only consequence to these sneaky manuevers is a considerably longer walk to our meetings. The new apartment complex is right on the edge of campus, but it's on the same level as lower campus, and the ward meets practically smack in the middle of upper campus. This means that we have quite the hike to get to our ward now, the worst part being the more-than-just-a-few flights of stairs. Heels are practically impossible to wear in this situation, unless you like ending up with a mass of blisters istead of a foot by the end. Which is why I will be forever grateful for cute, flat shoes. They make situations like these much more bearable, and leave me with much happier feet, something I will never complain about.
It's quite an interesing experience to go to church alone, and something I hadn't experienced until this weekend (that I can remember). Sam and Jason were somewhere besides Provo, meaning I ended up making the trek to our old ward all by myself.
Luckily, I was smart enough to not wear heels. Since Sam and I are living in a married apartment, we decided not to move to the ward for the complex. How awkward would that be, two single girls going to a ward for newly-married couples or couples with kids. Instead we've continued to attend our old ward and try our hardest to avoid showing up on the radar.
The only consequence to these sneaky manuevers is a considerably longer walk to our meetings. The new apartment complex is right on the edge of campus, but it's on the same level as lower campus, and the ward meets practically smack in the middle of upper campus. This means that we have quite the hike to get to our ward now, the worst part being the more-than-just-a-few flights of stairs. Heels are practically impossible to wear in this situation, unless you like ending up with a mass of blisters istead of a foot by the end. Which is why I will be forever grateful for cute, flat shoes. They make situations like these much more bearable, and leave me with much happier feet, something I will never complain about.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Plan B Adventures
Saturday, June 5, 2010
When I look back at older posts, I cannot help but notice that many of them involve spontaneous adventures with various friends. And today's post is no different, because Maren and I had quite the adventure (another popular topic - anything involving Maren).
The weather today was absolutely gorgeous, one of those beautifully sunny days that has a few clouds and a bit of wind to take the edge off the heat. And what do college girls with mile-long to-do lists do on days such as these? Find a body of water and go swimming of couse! Which is exactly what we did.
This seems like a pretty-straight forward story, so why do I classify it as 'quite the adventure'? Well, let me tell you. It all began when plan A - the clear blue pool in the middle of my apartment complex - fell through, because the filter broke. On the first beautiful Saturday in weeks, of course something like that would happen. We had been so set on taking a dip in the pool that we hadn't dreamed up a plan B, and were now faced with the problem of creating one on the spot. Maren did a wonderful job of researching possible swimming spots online, and we relocated our plans to the Deer Creek Reservoir, which claimed to have boat docks, swimming spots, and a few beaches. Problem solved.
Well, not quite. We arrived at the Reservoir, paid the required entrance fee, and parked. We then proceeded to wander around the lake's edge looking for a good spot to wade in. But we didn't find one. Maren did have a rather muddy encounter with the shore when she ventured in at one point, and we decided that maybe we hadn't picked the best spot. As we trudged towards our car, we happened to find a map of the Reservoir, which informed us that we'd taken the wrong turn off to get the beach portion, and were instead in the area of the boat docks. So we relocated, did more exploring to find the perfect spot, and headed in.
The water was absolutely freezing. The rocks on the bottom were slimy. And there were nests of ants on the shore. But, did any of the matter to us? Nope! The adventure was fantastic regardless of the less-than-desirable aspects, and I'm very grateful the Deer Creek Reservoir exists so that Maren and I could have a plan B adventure
When I look back at older posts, I cannot help but notice that many of them involve spontaneous adventures with various friends. And today's post is no different, because Maren and I had quite the adventure (another popular topic - anything involving Maren).
The weather today was absolutely gorgeous, one of those beautifully sunny days that has a few clouds and a bit of wind to take the edge off the heat. And what do college girls with mile-long to-do lists do on days such as these? Find a body of water and go swimming of couse! Which is exactly what we did.
This seems like a pretty-straight forward story, so why do I classify it as 'quite the adventure'? Well, let me tell you. It all began when plan A - the clear blue pool in the middle of my apartment complex - fell through, because the filter broke. On the first beautiful Saturday in weeks, of course something like that would happen. We had been so set on taking a dip in the pool that we hadn't dreamed up a plan B, and were now faced with the problem of creating one on the spot. Maren did a wonderful job of researching possible swimming spots online, and we relocated our plans to the Deer Creek Reservoir, which claimed to have boat docks, swimming spots, and a few beaches. Problem solved.
Well, not quite. We arrived at the Reservoir, paid the required entrance fee, and parked. We then proceeded to wander around the lake's edge looking for a good spot to wade in. But we didn't find one. Maren did have a rather muddy encounter with the shore when she ventured in at one point, and we decided that maybe we hadn't picked the best spot. As we trudged towards our car, we happened to find a map of the Reservoir, which informed us that we'd taken the wrong turn off to get the beach portion, and were instead in the area of the boat docks. So we relocated, did more exploring to find the perfect spot, and headed in.
The water was absolutely freezing. The rocks on the bottom were slimy. And there were nests of ants on the shore. But, did any of the matter to us? Nope! The adventure was fantastic regardless of the less-than-desirable aspects, and I'm very grateful the Deer Creek Reservoir exists so that Maren and I could have a plan B adventure
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Concerned Friends
Friday, June 4, 2010
I don't think I've ever been more homesick in my life than I have been this past week. Why, I have no idea. Nothing specific has happened to make me homesick, except maybe seeing my brother last weekend. And nothing specific is happening next week that would cause this feeling. And yet here I am, extremely grouchy and wanting nothing more than to curl up with my elephant on my bed all night.
Luckily, I have a concerned friend named Maren, who very nicely puts up with my bleak mood. I mean, she actually wanted to hang out with me tonight, though that could have been because I made Dad's Favorite Dessert. Between the two of us, I think we managed to polish off at least a fourth of it. Which I feel completely justified about because it contains chocolate, and today is one of those days that just needs a good dose of chocolate.
I think it must have been more than the dessert though, because Maren even willing watched a movie with me. She's such a good friend. I'm grateful that I have concerned friends like her, who at least pretend to enjoy my company even though they run the risk of having their heads bitten off. It's such a comfort to know that people will risk death for the sake of my sanity.
I don't think I've ever been more homesick in my life than I have been this past week. Why, I have no idea. Nothing specific has happened to make me homesick, except maybe seeing my brother last weekend. And nothing specific is happening next week that would cause this feeling. And yet here I am, extremely grouchy and wanting nothing more than to curl up with my elephant on my bed all night.
Luckily, I have a concerned friend named Maren, who very nicely puts up with my bleak mood. I mean, she actually wanted to hang out with me tonight, though that could have been because I made Dad's Favorite Dessert. Between the two of us, I think we managed to polish off at least a fourth of it. Which I feel completely justified about because it contains chocolate, and today is one of those days that just needs a good dose of chocolate.
I think it must have been more than the dessert though, because Maren even willing watched a movie with me. She's such a good friend. I'm grateful that I have concerned friends like her, who at least pretend to enjoy my company even though they run the risk of having their heads bitten off. It's such a comfort to know that people will risk death for the sake of my sanity.
Health
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Going to the Jerusalem Center requires quite a lot of paperwork and phone calls and money, as I'm sure could be expected for such a trip. One required form was (rather unfortunately) a health release so that I will be allowed to use the gymnasium at the Center. Why I need a doctor to sign off that I can use a treadmill or run around a track, I have no idea. But it was required, and therefore had to be taken care of.
Since I'm not currently in Maryland, where my normal doctor resides, I had to make other arrangements. This meant an appointment with the BYU Student Health Center, and consequently required a physical. Gag me. I've had a variety of experiences with physicals, and I can't remember a single one that has been positive. The doctor most often had the very stereotypical freezing cold hands, and call me crazy but sitting around in a paper bathrobe that you accidentally tore the wrong way is not my idea of a good time. Then there was the year that the doctor did nothing but grill me about my non-active sex life and non-existent alcohol addiction. It was practically a zoo-ful of awkwardness.
Needless to say, there was nothing about this doctor visit that I was looking forward to, because I'm much too old to get a sticker or lollipop, and those are the only good things about a pediatrician's physical. However, I was (semi) pleasantly surprised. The physical involved no paper bathrobes or gowns of any sort, and the worst part was the urine test, which arguably is pretty bad, but still. Much better than it could have been. Beyond that, I did nothing more uncomfortable than bend over so the doctor could inform me that I had curvature in my spine.
It was possibly the least awkward physical ever. Well, and possibly the least accurate. The nurse told me I was five foot two and half, which is a blatant untruth, and that I'm fourteen pounds heavier than I was six months ago, which makes no sense since all my clothes still fit. These measurements were taken with shoes and clothes on, and yet were expected to be accurate. How that works, I'm not sure. But I don't believe them. And I'm slightly offended that she measured me so short. Oh well. At least I know the truth.
And I came away from my physical very grateful that I'm healthy, and that I don't have to spend any more time in the hospital than it takes to get a simple physical. Hopefully I can keep this up until I'm ninety-seven at least. But I'll try not to shoot that high. Maybe eighty-three is a more realistic goal.
Going to the Jerusalem Center requires quite a lot of paperwork and phone calls and money, as I'm sure could be expected for such a trip. One required form was (rather unfortunately) a health release so that I will be allowed to use the gymnasium at the Center. Why I need a doctor to sign off that I can use a treadmill or run around a track, I have no idea. But it was required, and therefore had to be taken care of.
Since I'm not currently in Maryland, where my normal doctor resides, I had to make other arrangements. This meant an appointment with the BYU Student Health Center, and consequently required a physical. Gag me. I've had a variety of experiences with physicals, and I can't remember a single one that has been positive. The doctor most often had the very stereotypical freezing cold hands, and call me crazy but sitting around in a paper bathrobe that you accidentally tore the wrong way is not my idea of a good time. Then there was the year that the doctor did nothing but grill me about my non-active sex life and non-existent alcohol addiction. It was practically a zoo-ful of awkwardness.
Needless to say, there was nothing about this doctor visit that I was looking forward to, because I'm much too old to get a sticker or lollipop, and those are the only good things about a pediatrician's physical. However, I was (semi) pleasantly surprised. The physical involved no paper bathrobes or gowns of any sort, and the worst part was the urine test, which arguably is pretty bad, but still. Much better than it could have been. Beyond that, I did nothing more uncomfortable than bend over so the doctor could inform me that I had curvature in my spine.
It was possibly the least awkward physical ever. Well, and possibly the least accurate. The nurse told me I was five foot two and half, which is a blatant untruth, and that I'm fourteen pounds heavier than I was six months ago, which makes no sense since all my clothes still fit. These measurements were taken with shoes and clothes on, and yet were expected to be accurate. How that works, I'm not sure. But I don't believe them. And I'm slightly offended that she measured me so short. Oh well. At least I know the truth.
And I came away from my physical very grateful that I'm healthy, and that I don't have to spend any more time in the hospital than it takes to get a simple physical. Hopefully I can keep this up until I'm ninety-seven at least. But I'll try not to shoot that high. Maybe eighty-three is a more realistic goal.
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