Sanity Restored

Originally uploaded by rollabarnessa

Member how I said that I was going to go crazy and lose my mind? Well I was taken on a trip to Charleston, and it turned out to do a lot more good than harm. All is well in rollaworld.

Dear Kroger's Shredded Wheat

Dear Kroger's Shredded Wheat,

I really appreciate your efforts towards being better then Post's Shredded Wheat, howeva, you have utterly failed.

You are the cheaper choice, and I appreciate that in this economy. I also like the look of your box better than I do Post’s. Lastly, you usually do a great job of boosting the frequency of my BMs. But, regrettably, your flaws outweigh your sensibility factor, and I can no longer pretend that there is not a problem.

You are a wee bit smaller, which would be good except that your smallness gives the illusion that I'm taking a smaller bite than I actually am. This leads to some inopportune and frequent choking, and that's just not what I’m looking for at 6:55 AM. Also, you are a smidge on the bland side, even for me. You are utterly tasteless in every regard of the definition. I enjoy, at the very least, the tiniest hint of sweetness, and I’m tired of having to get out the honey and Splenda to tolerate your nothingness.

For all these aforementioned reasons and some that I have reserved for my own personal festering, I delight in telling you that after this box, I am done with you and will happily never give you another thought.

Best of luck with other customers,

-Boobookittyfuck

Blanking Tuesdays

First off, I'd like to commission whoever is in charge of naming days of the week. There are too many that begin with T. I wish badly that there was a day of the week that rhymed with Rant, piss n moan, or bitch. Hell, I’d even settle for alliteration of any of the three at this point. So, then, with no day of the week to poetically and cleverly deem suitable for such brocades; it is henceforth Tuesday s for me. I’d also like to say that I am an expert in nothing and my opinion on anything is just that, an opinion. It is based on nothing more than my own relatively selfish interactions with the term in question.

Can I burn my bra for a minute or two?? What was that? ... Did you just say, “Yes please do, we haven’t had our daily dose of feminism yet.” Well, in that case… I don’t mind if I dooooo.

Am I the only one who feel s like I have to open up the goddamn handbook on relationships every month?? I mean… the way that it is supposed to work is:

1.sig other does something you don’t like

2. you bring it up

3. you have words about the issue with sig other

4.sig other realizes said action led to the WORDS about it.

5. sig other does not DO said action unless they are looking to have WORDS about it

But, the way that it actually works is that significant other forgets sometimes has the ‘relationship’ function in his brain TURNED TO ‘GOLDFISH’ So that he effectively adds another bullet to the list which is:

6. Promptly forget 1 through FUCKING 5.

And, yes, I did say “HIS” above because we all know that unless you’re a special breed of female… you do not forget a fight. Well, perhaps the fight, but not the principle that was created through the fight.

But really, do these things NOT stick in someone’s’ head? Na, na na. Seriously. Let’s write with rationale here. For example, if I had a friend who hated... air conditioning… after enough times of them getting into my car saying…. “Ahem… would you mind turning that off… please?” I would learn to save a step in the scheme of things, and turn it off right before they got into the car. It’s called a memory; I make them when events happen. Then I store them away for later use… I learn from the past, to not create tension in the future. But, it seems that said GOLDFISH has no room for this concept IN HIS HEAD. So, back to the handbook; I have to reopen this sucker about once a goddamn month and point out that it really is best in the long run of a relationship to be unselfish, un-lazy, and above all things to REMEMBER.

Ok, bra is going back on my chest now. Pity, it was a nice bra that now smells like burnt hair.

On to the second topic at hand. I need to tell you a story so that I can tell you the pertinent story. I was sitting at a double light this morning. Thus… in order to get through the intersection, I must pass under two lights. Both of these lights turn green at the same time… it’s just a matter of getting over some railroad tracks. No big deal, lights turn green, everyone goes underneath both of them. WELL NOT THIS MORNING. Pertinent story; I sat through TWO round s of this light, and there were only five cars in front of me!! The car immediately in front of me had decided that the best way to handle the intersection was only to lift their foot off the brake and inch forward. LIKE THERE WASN’T 75 YARDS of NOTHING in front of them. It is one thing to sit through a couple of lights when there are 40 cars in front of you… reaction times and acceleration differences of the people in front of you, but this… this was a whole other ballgame.

Ok… I must admit at this point that I’m not the most patient person when it comes to driving. I’m actually only patient when dealing with myself, but, another time for that. So I’m not patient at all, but I tried the “put yourself in someone else’s shoes” method this morning, and IT DID NOT WORK. I used my grandmother, Eva, because I can’t ever remember her losing her temper at anyone. But I could just hear he little agitated euphemisms, “oh my achin back” or “god bless them, this is silly” or “good gracious.” So, if even an event like this would get your GRANDMA riled up… what do you do?? How should this be handled? (well you could vent in your blog) Clever idea, subconscious, I knew there was a reason that I wanted TUESDAYS to be Rant days. :)

But wait, I’m not finished. What is WITH the mindless babble on TV?? The Kardashians, NYC prep, Dance Your Ass Off.. etc.etc. I thought that those shows were supposed to draw viewers IN… keep them entertained. They have taken the stupidity to such an embarrassing level that even if I’m watching those shows, I have to turn the channel when embarrassing or idiotic portions come up. I just can’t handle it. Their new technique has had quite the opposite effect on me. The only thing I really like to watch on TV now is The Soup, which thankfully has the same opinion on most TV shows as I do. Contrastingly, when I’m watching some program that I find intelligent, like the History Channel, or How things are Made, (which might be on the History Channel), or Nova, or Draining the Oceans, or ANYTHING that is not drooling babble, inevitably, someone walks in and is staggered that I could even sit through such a thing! It is not some superhuman feat that I can hone my attention intelligently for at least half an hour and learn a thing or two from TV. It is astonishingly inhuman that THEY can’t.

And with that I say, each day, learn something new, retain it, and for GODS sake apply it to real life.

that’s it. I’m done.

2nd Rough Draft

I am that spark that you’re looking for. I am that bubbly presence that makes the room come alive. I am full of energy, essence, and enthusiasm. My trials and tribulations created my spark and gave me drive, determination and focus.

I’ve had many opportunities to be overcome my situations and become less than I am right now, but I chose the high road in every instance. I overcame my obstacles through sheer will, and sometimes, back-breaking work. From an early age, I overcame and disproved a chauvinistic father. I was constantly led to believe that there was no way I could ever be good enough, no matter how good the grade was, or how well the game went. My father had never gone to college, so his attitude seemed hypocritical to me. His hypocrisy set a drive within me on full-tilt. I decided that not only was I going to graduate from college, but I would become a professional.

My parents divorce had both negative and positive contributions to my journey through higher education. For example, it taught me to deal with certain kinds of oppression. I understand that being a white female from a middle-class family gave me certain privileges. However, given the total population of doctors, only a small percentage of them are surgeons, and of them an even smaller percentage are female. I believe that having had to deal with a constant bombardment of unfounded blatant male chauvinism from my father will help me persist in the medical world. I’ve developed a tough shell. Furthermore, my father’s attitude gave me a skewed perception of men, and perhaps instilled in me the cockiness with which he carried himself. Cockiness and misperception, will do you only a small amount of good in this world. So it has been to my advantage, despite the hypocrisy and oppression to see and strive for the lighter side of things.

I have also overcome physical obstacles. Since I was eleven, I’ve had asthma. I have not let it stop me from competing in challenging sports. In high school I ran track and competed in varsity soccer from my freshman year on. During the seasons, I always trained harder than the other girls to overcome the effects that asthma had on my lungs. Then, leading up to college, I began competing in club soccer. Club soccer is elite; I tried out and beat other girls make my team. I played for four years in St. Louis, Mo which was physically taxing. This is where I was recruited to play Division II college soccer. In college I was known as the girl who worked hard. I may not have been the best technical player but I ran further, faster, and harder than anyone else. I started every single game, save one due to injury, all four years. My asthma was never a burden on me, and I have never used it as an excuse. I treated my asthma the same way I treated my father’s chauvinism, as an accelerant to drive me forward. I believe that the physical strength I accumulated through overcoming my problems with asthma gives me an indelible presence in a room or in a crowd. For that, I am proud.

My aforementioned weaknesses had just as much influence in creating my spark as my strengths, but, I tend to favor my strengths. My strengths developed through the actions of my mother and my grandmother. They were my foundations. Both took such pride in my achievements that it was worth it to me to go that extra mile, if only just for them. My mother has sacrificed a lot in her life to give me what I need. As I said, I was a rather athletically talented teen, and I developed a passion for soccer. However, there was no soccer program in the small town where I grew up in Missouri, so my mother signed me up to play competitively in St. Louis. She spent countless hours on the road driving me to practices, and spent hundreds of dollars in new uniforms, cleats, gas, and food. My playing was a financial burden on the family. I knew she was fighting my father’s wishes to keep me in the league but she did all of this because she thought it might help me pay my way through college. As it turns out, I was recruited to play soccer at Newberry College. During my stay in South Carolina, my grandmother, who still supported me by writing me one letter a week with a little money inside, was diagnosed with ALS. Over the course of the next three years, her penmanship worsened, and her voice became so breathless that I could not hear her over the phone, but she absolutely insisted that I stay in class. Not only did I have to stay in school; I must also turn in every single homework assignment, and pass every quiz or test. She would not let of me leave classes to come see her, she also would not let me feel sorry for her. I was to do my duty in college and get that degree. My grandmother used to tell me that it would be a waste of good brain for me to not become a doctor. She didn’t know it, but she was teaching me how to perform under heavy emotional stress. I was torn between school and home and the only place I wanted to be was back there with her. In the end, I took one Friday off from class to attend her funeral up in Missouri. This was one month before I graduated with two degrees in Biology and Chemistry. With these unselfish actions, my grandma taught me to separate emotion and work. I miss her encouragement and her loving reinforcement of my finer qualities; mostly I just miss her. It is therefore easy to see that not only was I birthed and raised by these wonderful women, but I owe them my education and my will power, and therefore my spark. The day I walk across the medical school graduation stage, and see my mother’s smile, will be a grand day indeed.

My perseverance has already been challenged, here in the application process. I have not been accepted a couple of years now, and it is getting mentally, emotionally and financially exhausting. For any one of a number of reasons, acts of God, man, and naivety got in the way of me being the best potential candidate that I could be. But, I have made up my mind that enough is enough and I am no longer shooting for just ‘getting in.’ I am competitive. I am the person that you want in your school. I am the student that you will enjoy teaching in class. My determination to be accepted has brought me back time and time again. I have spent thousands of dollars teaching myself the correct way to master MCATS. I have sacrificed countless job offers from various companies because I don’t want to work at a job that will not help me become a doctor. Anything less than what I know is my best will not do for me. I know that everything else that came before this application round is not fruitless, because it is merely one more obstacle that, like the others, I will overcome. I believe that I can and will push through anything with vigor, pressure and perseverance.

Upon graduating cum laude from college, I received a rather prestigious award. The W.L. Laval award is presented to one graduating female and male a year. Its winners are senior student athletes who are judged to be outstanding in athletics, scholarship, character, and leadership. This was the cherry on top of the proverbial ice cream for me. It let me know that all of my efforts were worth something; that all of my mother’s and grandmother’s encouragement finally paid off. The award was merely a reminder of how much work it takes to win something so prestigious.

Medical school will be the springboard to my professional career as a surgeon. I believe that my strong upbringing that led to my awesome education has prepared me for the trials that could keep me from achieving my career goal of become a successful surgeon. I want my peers to respect my thoroughness and professionalism; and I want my patients to have confidence in my procedures and my quality of work. One day, with much hard work, I will be the model female surgeon in a largely male-dominated profession. Hopefully my persevering, bright personality will push me to achieve that goal.

I will push on past this current obstacle, like those before it and get into medical school. So I ask you, will you let me work hard for you? Will you give me the chance to shine; to use my vigor for good? Could this incoming class use an extra catalyst? I am that spark, that catalyst, and I will not disappoint. Thank you for your time.

----so now I have to edit about 1,000 characters without losing steam. wish me luck, artsy farts...:D

Rough Draft

I am that spark that you’re looking for. I am that bubbly presence that makes the room come alive. I am full of energy, essence, and enthusiasm. It was my trials and tribulations that created my spark. It’s hard to say exactly what my spark can do for me in the future, but what can be said about that spark is that it makes for great determination within my personality.

I’ve had many opportunities to commiserate my situations and become less than I am right now, but I chose the high road in every instance. I overcame my obstacles not through sheer will, or the most back breaking work imaginable, but just by being me. From an early age, I overcame and disproved a male chauvinistic father. I was constantly led to believe that there was no way I could ever be good enough. Looking back I realized that my father was too hard on me because no matter how good the grade was, or how well the game went, I had never done enough. This, coming from a man who had never graduated college, became hypocrisy in my mind. That hypocrisy set a drive within me on full-tilt. I knew that not only was I going to graduate college, but I was going on to become a professional. The concluding divorce have had both negative and positive contributions to my journey through higher education. Firstly, and on the positive side of things, it taught me to deal with certain kinds of oppression. I understand that I am already a privileged person being that I’m a white female in a middleclass family. But I am a female, and my dream is to become a surgeon. Given the total population, only a small percentage of them are surgeons, and of them an even smaller percentage are female. I believe that having had to deal with a constant bombardment of unfounded blatant male chauvinism will help me persist in the medical world. I’ve developed a tough shell. However, there is a dark side to this tale of triumph, and it brings me to my second point about my chauvinistic father. He gave me a skewed perception of men, and perhaps instilled in me the cockiness which he carried himself. These two things, cockiness and misperception, will do you only a small amount of good in this world. So it has been to my advantage, despite the hypocrisy and abuse to see and strive for the lighter side of things.

I have also overcome physical obstacles. Since I was eleven, I’ve had asthma. I have not let it stop me from competing in challenging sports. In high school I ran track and competed in varsity soccer from my freshman year on. I did so well I held records in track. During the seasons, I always trained harder than the other girls to overcome the effects that asthma had on my lungs. Then, leading up to college, I began competing in club soccer. Club soccer is select; I tried out and beat other girls make my team. I played for four years in St. Louis which was taxing. This is where I was recruited to play Division II college soccer. In college I was known as the girl who worked hard. I may not have been the best technical player but I ran further, faster, and harder than anyone else. I started every single game, save one to injury, all four years. My asthma was never a burden on me per say, and I have never held it as an excuse. I treated my asthma the same way I teated my father’s chauvinism, as an accelerant to drive me forward. I believe that the physical strength I accumulated through overcoming my problems with asthma is indelible to my presence in a room or in a crowd. For that, I am proud.

My aforementioned weaknesses had just as much influence in creating my spark as my strengths; but, I tend to respect, favor, and cater to my strengths. My strengths came about through the actions of my mother and my grandmother. They were my foundations; both took such pride in my achievements that it was worth it to me to go that extra mile, if only just for them. My mother has sacrificed a lot in her life to give me what I need. As I said, I was a rather athletically talented teen, and I developed a passion for soccer. However, there was no soccer program in the small town where I grew up in Missouri, so my mother signed me up to play competitively in St. Louis. She spent countless hours on the road driving me to practices, and spent hundreds of dollars in new uniforms, gas, and food. My playing was a financial burden on the family; I knew she was fighting my father’s wishes to keep me in the league. But she did all of this because she thought it might help me pay my way through college. As it turns out, I was recruited to play soccer at Newberry College. During my stay in South Carolina, my grandmother, who still supported me by writing me one letter a week with a little money inside, was diagnosed with ALS. Over the course of the next three years, her penmanship worsened, and her voice became so breathy that I could not hear it over the phone. But she absolutely insisted that I stay in class; not only did I have to stay in school; I must also turn in every single homework assignment. She would not hear of me leaving classes to come see her, she also would not hear of me feeling sorry for her. I was to do my duty in college and get that degree; she used to tell me that it would be a waste of good brain for me to not become a doctor. She didn’t know it, but she was actively teaching me to perform under heavy emotional stress. I was torn between school and home and the only place I wanted to be was back there with her. In the end, I took one Friday off from class to attend her funeral up in Missouri. This was one month before I graduated with a degree in Biology and Chemistry. With these unselfish actions, my grandma taught me to separate emotion and work. I miss her encouragement and her loving reinforcement of my finer qualities; mostly I just miss her. It is therefore easy to see that not only was I birthed and raised by these wonderful women, but I owe them my education and my will power, and therefore my spark. The day I walk across the medical school graduation stage, and see my mother’s smile, will be a grand day indeed.

My perseverance has already been challenged, here in the application process. I have not been accepted a number of years now, and it is getting both mentally and financially exhausting. For any one of a number of reasons, acts of god, man, and naivety got in the way of me being the best potential candidate that I could be. But, I have made up my mind that enough is enough and I am no longer shooting for just ‘getting in’ I am competitive. I am the person that you want in your school. I am the student that you will enjoy teaching in class. I want to be accepted bad enough that I have come back time and time again. I have spent thousands of dollars teaching myself the correct way to master MCATS. I have sacrificed countless job offers from various companies because I don’t want to work if it is not as a doctor. Anything less than what I know is my best will not do for me. I know that everything else that came before this application round is not fruitless, because it is merely one more obstacle that, like the others, I will overcome. I believe that I can and will push through anything with my vigor and background experience with pressure and perseverance.

Medical school will be the springboard to my professional career. I’m working to one day become a surgeon. I believe that my strong upbringing that led to my awesome education has prepared me for the trials that could keep me from achieving my career goal of become a successful surgeon. I want my peers to respect my thoroughness and professionalism; and I want my patients to have confidence in my procedures and my work. One day, with much hard work, I will be the model female surgeon in a largely male-dominated profession. Hopefully my persevering, bright personality will push me to achieve that goal.

Upon graduation from college, not only did I graduate cum laude, but I received a rather prestigious award. The W.L. Laval award is presented to one graduating female and male a year. Its winners are senior student athletes who are judged to be outstanding in athletics, scholarship, character, and leadership. This was the cherry on top of the proverbial ice cream for me. It let me know that all of my efforts were worth something; that all of my mothers and grandmothers encouragement finally paid off. But I will not stop at this, the award was merely a reminder at how much work it takes to win something so prestigious. I will push on, I will persevere, and I will get into medical school. So I ask you, will you let me work hard for you? Will you give me the chance to shine; to use my vigor for good? Could this incoming class use an extra catalyst? I am that spark, that catalyst and I will not disappoint. Thank you for your time.

Artsy Fartsy I am not.

SO, I’m trying to write my personal statement for medical applications. And I’ve been forced to admit, that despite years of effort; I am not, in the least bit artsy fartsy. Now, there are some of you who may like to take offense to that word and to you I say, hold your horses. Because this is a discourse in how I wish I were artsy fartsy, not how geeky I think you artsy farts are.

The term artsy fartsy I’m sure did not originate in my family. But, my grandmother and my mother used the term loosely because that was the time of non-political correctness, ( you know, the good ole 90’s)Probably because it sounded funny; my mom will say anything if it sounds the least bit fun on the other side of her lips. To further this little digression, I’d like to say that I wish I had even a person in my family that played AN INSTRUMENT. I kid you not there is not a person in my immediate or extended family that has one art-ish bone in their body. There are only two things that come even remotely close, and after you read them I guarantee the first thing you’ll think is “Well that was quite a stretch”

Firstly, my grandmother, Eva, god rest her awesome soul, could sing. I mean she could belt it. She sang in our church choir for the longest time. After her choral career ended, I remember sitting next to her in the congregation on Sunday wishing I could even get ON KEY. The second is that my boyfriend’s uncle can tickle a set of guitar strings such that your arm hair perks up and asks what’s going on. Srsly, he’s that good. Thing is I’ve known the man for five years, and I didn’t know until LAST MONTH that he could strum.

See? So, even though I adore my grandmother and admire her to nth degree, singing doesn’t really count.. Because even I can do it, in the right chord. And hell, my boyfriends uncle is not even a valid in-law yet. So unless someone in my family has been holding on to some right brained charisma… I’m telling you the truth about my total lack of artsy fart genes. But I digress…

Here’s the connection. Art, media, sculpture, songs, instruments, dance, poetry, fiction… all artsy fartsy stuff. Where does a personal statement fit into that? Well, yes, that’s right… somewhere between poetry and fiction. And as I have sufficiently proven above.. I have neither. So after all these years of starting little projects with yarn and hemp and trying my hand at poetry in high school and adventurously trying to re-learn how to crochet… I’ve willfully and honesty thrown in the damn towel after attempting to weave a good tale about myself. I cannot. It’s either some sob tale or too boasty. But, see my biggest problem in the whole shebang is that because I’m not artsy fartsy… I’m the worlds best analytical critique. Which really makes matters worse. Oh to be able to sketch a little doodle of me multi-tasking in a white coat whilst sick patients spin around me on gurneys in need of my immediate help. I’m sure that if that did not catch the eye of the admission committee that it would at least give me some kind of writers’ ambition!

But seriously tho! It's not fucking fair. If there was one thing that I wish I'd gotten around to doing when I was younger it would be to learn something artsy; i.e. piano, sculpture, coal sketching... really just anything. I dunno what I was thinking, but I do know that things like this cannot be re-gotten just like that. poof I can sew. NO, not so much really, and it's a pity. Imagine all the pent up expression in thousands of people's minds that never learned an expressive outlet.. tisktisktisk, god. You couldn't have found it necessary to hard wire us a little less tight?

So in light of all my toils and trials. I salute you, artsy farts, for being able to dream up the abstracts and translate them into media.

Pressure's a bitch

Pressure.

It comes in many forms; peer, atmospheric, water. And yeah, all those forms are necessary for the world to turn around, but mostly, pressure sucks. Figuratively; because obviously, pressure blows in ‘literal’ world.

But srsly, this would and could and should turn into a giant rant about how terrible the pressures of life are, however, this will not help me. I’m trumping a soapbox for an outlet.

Sue me

Pressure, for me, is something that all of a sudden overwhelms me till I can’t breathe again. It’s a creeper-pouncer. One dish here, one there, one far, one near, and then all of a sudden I’m like, Geezus Christ, do we even have a dishwasher?!

Bills are another creeper-pouncer thing… you have them under control, due on the 2^nd, the 6^th, the 15^th and the 27, and then poof, it’s the 23^rd, and you’ve not got any goddamn checkmarks on your monthly bills list.

The reason that all these things escape me is that I have no sense of the short term. I walk through one room and see a dish, I walk into the next room and see a dish, but I think, (one room one dish) X2. NOT there are two dishes astray from the kitchen vicinity. The thought never occurs to me until it’s too late. The same goes for bills. I’m never looking at that little checklist of things I have to pay.. I’m looking at the bank account amount subtracting all those bills in my head making sure that there is enough money in there to send away the check. God bless if I don’t just then forget to send the check…

But I have more to throw onto pressure subject. I’m studying for a major professional standardized test. My little life is ok right now shitty as kitty diarrhea right now. And I KNOW I’m not alone, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t feel like it. Member that little spiel I had above about not remembering things well? It’s kinda gotten in the way of …uh… REMEMEBERING THINGS…strange how that works, huh? It seems that the more that I have to worry about outside of the subject matter at hand, the harder it makes remembering anything at all. But, that’s logical, right? Sure it is.

But just like with the dishes and with the bills, I can feel the pressure building within me. And I actually am trying to see into the short term. I KNOW that it’s on its way, and I’m TRYING to stick my head in that book, and I’m TRYING to work all those tedious problems, I’m trying to use those equations in everyday public to stick them in my brain. I am actively trying to pick up any proverbial dishes that I see to keep them from building up and surprising me in the end, but I cannot. I can’t seem to put my mind where it needs to be, and the pressure due to both the test and my apparent #fail at studying is making me forget EVRYTHING.

By EVERYTHING, I mean, like how I normally act; what kind of a person I am. I know that two months ago I wouldn’t have a passive aggressive response to every-single-fucking-thing-I-heard, but now I do. In my head, the most hateful unruly things are twisting about. I suppose because choppy, pitiful, insult riddled sentences are about as dumb as anyone can sound.. my brain is trying to give me some sort of intellectual break. But, between that, and me forgetting literal objects in the tangible world, I’m one pissed kitty right now, and it’s all because of pressure.

Triaging

To triage.
This has about 5 different meanings in my life right now, none of which are good. Duh. if you have to triage, you’re already in a sticky situation. Here’s how all the triaging is going.

1. Kaplan. WOW. actually where I learned this word in the first place. I’m studying for the most horrible terrible fuck-u-in-the-pooper test. The MCAT. So during all of this, I need to study. I need to study well. I need to be able to think and learn! So when do I study? Do I wake up early? Do i stay up late? Do I put study over sleep? How long will it last if I do? What about exercising?? I used to be at the gym about 15-20 hrs a week. PFfttttt. yeah right. In order to DO the amount of studying that need to get done, here is my triage. COFFEE, study, work, sleep. YES, i do realize that I both work and study more than I sleep. And I’ll be damned if i don’t spend most of my daily time gulping down cup after cup of lukewarm coffee.

2. I just moved apartments, nothing major, just a move from the back of the complex third floor to the front of the complex first floor, makes life a little easier. So, in a move, all the stuff is packed up, and promptly forgotten about. No matter how you label the boxes, how many or how few boxes you have; shit is lost, misplaced, forgotten, or thrown out. So the triage in this situation is what do I look for first, second third…? Which is more important, wearing underwear to work tomorrow, or brushing my teeth tonight. After a day and some change of moving, you start to smell a little and your hair looks like a nest, and the clothes you have on are really only appropriate to be worn in front of your garden plants. So in comes the hierarchy of needs… you know.. food and water first, then shelter, then clothing after that.. etc. etc. As i’ve just told you, I’m trying to choose between underwear and clean teeth.. you can deduct that I look like shit. Which makes me feel like shit. So the triage there was…find soap, shower, sleep, go to work, brush teeth, find underwear box. IN THAT ORDER. does that seem nornal, I think not.

3. this is the most complicated of the two of them. I’m doing 1 & 2 AT THE SAME TIME. fugetaboutit. fml, lets move on

4. on an unrelated note of triage, my little blurb is triaged as well. Kaplan takes priority over moving, which takes priority over trying to do them both at once.

Things that are good about the aforementioned:

I now feel like I am some kind of smart superhero. I have a sense of purpose and I feel like I’m gettin shit done, not floating aimlessly through work and fitness routines. go me.

Things that are bad about the afroementioned:

I'm going to to go batshit crazy in nine or ten days