Monday Regurgitation
I laughed my way carelessly through Desperate Housewives last night and then thought I might faint, so I decided I'd make an appointment today. Dr. Archer doesn't know what's wrong with me, either, but all the evidence points to a hormone imbalance and he proposed I try to replicate my lifestyle back in August, when things were smooth sailing, including switching back to my original generic. I didn't expect an instant reprieve. The pain seems to be easing this afternoon, and I slept like a rock last night despite it all, for the first time in weeks. I am not one to go to the doctor unless I'm fountaining blood or growing scales, but persistent pain makes Mom nervous.
CAKE is going to be at the Depot in SLC Saturday, and I haven't been this close to where they are since San Diego. I have to work Sunday because Jeff is roping in Rock Springs (he has to take time off or lose it, the freak), and the show doesn't start until 10:00 at night, but what the heck- I'm young and strong, right? Right?
The application for my Level II test is due by April so Molly and Kim can schedule the tests for the first part of May. I downloaded the study guide and pulled out the big guns, the three-inch-thick Ken Kerry correspondence courses from UC Sacramento. I started in on cross-connections this morning, worked through backflow prevention devices and read some worst-case scenarios, like the time at a mortuary where loss of pressure in a line caused blood from a body in the embalming room to be backsiphoned into the potable water line through a hose that was attached to a faucet. Or the time that a man jumped into the shower only to find that the water bubbled on his burning skin like Alka-Seltzer; sodium hydroxide from a chemical delivery truck had been sucked into the water line due to a break in the main two blocks down, where the water registered an alkalinity of thirteen. A Bible-study group with toxic Kool-Aid, a whole city block with flourescent pesticides coming out the tap, the water on two floors of a hospital (where the dialysis machines were located) contaminated by antifreeze from an unused boiler system. Cross-connections are a dangerous thing, my dears.
Today is the anniversary of my first day at the plant. It's been a whole year and I still love it. I'll always be restless, I suppose, ready and waiting for whatever's next, but in 365 days there has never been a single morning when I woke up not wanting to go to work (at least not because of work). The awkward stage when the conversations were like Greek to me has passed, and the time of standing uselessly by and watching while everybody else worked is long gone, too. It's a fulfilling realization, and I am grateful to the three men who were so patient with me, especially Jeff. Besides, I've found my niche. I'm the only one brave enough to reboot a computer.
I'm still enjoying being a blonde. Morgan tried to describe the color to Kelly and came up with "Winnie the Pooh." Jo said, "Well, hey, floozy" and Lenny said, "You look like Madonna." (Twenty years ago, though, right?) Mr. Goodwrench got pensive and finally admitted, "it's gonna take some getting used to," but I think he likes it.
Jeff and I went to City Hall today to pick up the PowerPoint projector for my trip Wednesday to see Mrs. Welling's 3rd grade class. Jo said Don is bored stiff, but walking and talking normally. He's read everything in the house and gotten frustrated with the internet already, so I plan to take him some C.J. Box books and introduce him to ESPN.com and Google. Susan's Chevy Malibu got brutalized by a deer who flew off a ten-foot snowbank in Logan Canyon and landed on her hood. Jeff and I tried out the new John Deere mini-snowplow when we thought no one was looking, and Martha told us we could take it. She doesn't like it and it tried to kill Frankie. He had the blade down so far that the front tires were lifted eight inches off the ground, and when he hit a joint in the pavement it threw him into the windshield. Lucky for him he has that metal plate in his head.
I'm halfway through John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, and already I can tell I'm going to have to reread it. I get distracted by the fire and brimstone of Judgment Day and lose track of poor Christian's adventures. "Judgment" is a word that gets misspelled terribly often, isn't it?
This post is yet more proof that ibuprofen makes me babble.
CAKE is going to be at the Depot in SLC Saturday, and I haven't been this close to where they are since San Diego. I have to work Sunday because Jeff is roping in Rock Springs (he has to take time off or lose it, the freak), and the show doesn't start until 10:00 at night, but what the heck- I'm young and strong, right? Right?
The application for my Level II test is due by April so Molly and Kim can schedule the tests for the first part of May. I downloaded the study guide and pulled out the big guns, the three-inch-thick Ken Kerry correspondence courses from UC Sacramento. I started in on cross-connections this morning, worked through backflow prevention devices and read some worst-case scenarios, like the time at a mortuary where loss of pressure in a line caused blood from a body in the embalming room to be backsiphoned into the potable water line through a hose that was attached to a faucet. Or the time that a man jumped into the shower only to find that the water bubbled on his burning skin like Alka-Seltzer; sodium hydroxide from a chemical delivery truck had been sucked into the water line due to a break in the main two blocks down, where the water registered an alkalinity of thirteen. A Bible-study group with toxic Kool-Aid, a whole city block with flourescent pesticides coming out the tap, the water on two floors of a hospital (where the dialysis machines were located) contaminated by antifreeze from an unused boiler system. Cross-connections are a dangerous thing, my dears.
Today is the anniversary of my first day at the plant. It's been a whole year and I still love it. I'll always be restless, I suppose, ready and waiting for whatever's next, but in 365 days there has never been a single morning when I woke up not wanting to go to work (at least not because of work). The awkward stage when the conversations were like Greek to me has passed, and the time of standing uselessly by and watching while everybody else worked is long gone, too. It's a fulfilling realization, and I am grateful to the three men who were so patient with me, especially Jeff. Besides, I've found my niche. I'm the only one brave enough to reboot a computer.
I'm still enjoying being a blonde. Morgan tried to describe the color to Kelly and came up with "Winnie the Pooh." Jo said, "Well, hey, floozy" and Lenny said, "You look like Madonna." (Twenty years ago, though, right?) Mr. Goodwrench got pensive and finally admitted, "it's gonna take some getting used to," but I think he likes it.
Jeff and I went to City Hall today to pick up the PowerPoint projector for my trip Wednesday to see Mrs. Welling's 3rd grade class. Jo said Don is bored stiff, but walking and talking normally. He's read everything in the house and gotten frustrated with the internet already, so I plan to take him some C.J. Box books and introduce him to ESPN.com and Google. Susan's Chevy Malibu got brutalized by a deer who flew off a ten-foot snowbank in Logan Canyon and landed on her hood. Jeff and I tried out the new John Deere mini-snowplow when we thought no one was looking, and Martha told us we could take it. She doesn't like it and it tried to kill Frankie. He had the blade down so far that the front tires were lifted eight inches off the ground, and when he hit a joint in the pavement it threw him into the windshield. Lucky for him he has that metal plate in his head.
I'm halfway through John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, and already I can tell I'm going to have to reread it. I get distracted by the fire and brimstone of Judgment Day and lose track of poor Christian's adventures. "Judgment" is a word that gets misspelled terribly often, isn't it?
This post is yet more proof that ibuprofen makes me babble.
posted by A at
4:12 PM
2 Comments:
Yes, you are young and strong, and I was about to make a crack about how you have a moral obligation to rock out on behalf of all of us who don't find our cities on Cake's tour schedule, only to learn that they are playing the Uptown freaking Theater here tomorrow freaking night. Now I may be attending as a matter of solidarity, whether or not I can locate a fellow concertgoer at this late juncture.
I was going to point that out to you.
An available compadre is turning out to be my problem, too. Darn you for choosing the comforts of home, family and familiarity over the extreme diversity and LDS bigotry that rule Salt Lake City, as if it were ever an option.
How's the hamstring?
(Word verification: "uiaua." Huh.)
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