Sunday, July 19, 2009


I know that people run, I know that some people (for reasons that I can't fathom) even like to run. But what I really can't understand is why people insist on running on the road, when there is a perfectly safe bike path and sidewalks along the road to run on. I mean really, there's this one guy in particular who runs, and I'm using that term loosely, down major roads. Busy, major roads, with lots of traffic. And he doesn't run so much as do a spot on imitation of Burt (of Sesame Street fame) doing the . . . pigeon.

It doesn't seem safe, or smart. And really, if you run you probably do it for your health so I'd think you'd be concerned with getting hit by a car. I'm just saying...

Thursday, July 16, 2009

It's the pits

(WARNING: This is kind of gross, sorry)

One of the many glamorous things about having RA is that my immune system isn't quite up to snuff. You see having RA means that my immune system thinks that the fluid surrounding my joints is evil and attacks it causing swelling, pain, and super sexy claws where my hands should be. Clearly my immune system takes the short bus to work. Now, because it's my immune system that is the problem the medications I take suppress my immune system so it can't attack my joints. I'm all about the medication because it's one of the reasons why I am now able to do things like dress myself (I'm a big kid now), but having a immune system that doesn't fire at 100% means that infections are a real concern.

Keeping this in mind I became concerned when I noticed a large, red, warm lump under my arm (I'm to dignified to say armpit). A major infection could easily land me in the ER which I have tried to avoid since my senior year at Witt when I broke a finger by falling off my porch, sober. After several days I did what most people do, I told my mommy who made me call the doctor, who made me come in to the office. So I found myself on the exam table about to get Harold (as I like to call the lump) lanced. I admit I was pretty excited about this because, well I'm weird and I wanted to see what was going to come out of Harold. I was fully numbed before the scalpel came out so I didn't actually feel anything, but I could hear the scalpel and ahhh, like nails on a chalkboard. Not even the crap coming out of Harold could make up for that noise. Also, because Harold is the gift that keeps on giving, I've been having to apply and reapply bandages to the area ever since then. Do you know how much it hurts to remove medical tape from your armpit (guess I'm not that dignified after all)? Especially when there is an incision there? And it bruised from trying to squeeze Harold to death? It hurts. Yesterday I actually used this sentence in conversation "I couldn't get on the treadmill today because my armpit hurt". For real people do you know how often your armpit moves during the day? A LOT! But still as the saying goes "better out than in" and I'm frankly ready for Harold to move on, and take his crap with him (even if it is kind of cool, in a gross way).

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

I am not a Writer...

I am a person who writes. If you don't understand the difference then you've never been an English Major, or a Writer, or a Person who Writes.

See here's the difference, I like to write and I write when I feel like it. I blog, or journal, or type things into files that will never see the light of day. I start stories, and more stories, and write scenes, and make plans that I never follow through on. Some months I'll write a lot, some months I won't write at all. I use entirely to many italics (and parentheses).

But a Writer, well a writer writes everyday. They write even when the words won't come, they write when they feel like it and when they don't. They put pen to paper just to put pen to paper. They are much, much more disciplined than I. They have the skill and ability to take words and thoughts and dreams and ideas and turn them into the stories that we read.

And here's my secret (shh) I've always wanted to be a Writer. To be able to take the scenes and stories that run rampant through my brain and put them on the page and make them as real as they are in my head. I want to be able to influence, and inspire, to make people laugh or cry based on my words. I want to be a writer, but I may have to settle on just being a person who writes.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Seriously funny reading recommendation

As you know I read a LOT! I read books of all kinds; fiction, nonfiction, memoirs, biographies, classic literature, historical fiction, travel narratives, plays, short stories, young adult books, and chick lit. It would be impossible for me to pick out my favorite genre because I love them all. I think books are like music in that you need to have plenty around for all of your moods. There are certain books I can only read when I'm feeling serious, silly, sad, etc. Two of my very favorite books to read when I'm in the mood for a good laugh are "How I Paid for College: A Novel of Sex, Theft, Friendship, and Musical Theater" and "Attack of the Theater People" both my Marc Acito. If you haven't read these you absolutely must they could be the funniest things I've ever read. They are laugh-out-loud-pee-your-pants funny. I have the added bonus of having the main character remind me of someone I went to college with which makes it extra hilarious for me. These books are for anyone who has ever been in a play, watched a play, or tried out for a play. It's for all of us who know all the lyrics to all of the musicals. It's for people who never had the guts to be in a play, but still dream about how awesome it would be. It's for anyone who feels nostalgic for the 80's. It's for anyone who has ever had to worry about how to pay for (or pay back) their college tuition. Seriously, go read them, I guarantee you'll love them.

Sunday, July 5, 2009


Last week I drove to Gray to visited the BFF and my drive takes me right through a college town that reminds me a lot of Wittenberg. There are kids wandering campus in their Greek gear, lounging in the grass studying and playing Frisbee. It makes me feel nostalgic, it makes me feel sad, it makes me want to break into song (as most things do). I make this drive a lot, and every time, every single time, I start to sing "I Wish I Could Go Back To College" from Avenue Q (don't judge me). But like the song says; "If I were to go back to college, think what a loser I'd be. I'd sit in the quad, and think oh my god, these kids are so much younger than me."

When exactly did that happen? When did I get old? When did I stop being able to stay up all night and still function the next day? When did a half of beer start being enough to make me tipsy? When did I become someone who worries about paying the mortgage? I could swear to you that Wittenberg seems a like a lifetime ago, and that it just happened.

But like with all things I do have some regrets about college, I know I should have studied more, I should have had more confidence in myself, I should have studied abroad, I should have had the guts to confess my crush on you know you who. Still, despite those regrets, college was fun. Really, really, really fun. And I have friends from college who I still talk to. And I recently discovered that even after 9 years you can reconnect and have fun with old college friends. I'd love to go back, but only to visit. I'm not sure I could make that daily trudge up the hill from the KD house to...well any building on campus. I'm fairly certain that I wouldn't be able to cart heavy books around the bookstore, and I know I couldn't drink as much. But it sure would be fun to wake up in the cold dorm on a snow day and spend the morning watching the Price is Right waiting for Joann to tell us that lunch was ready, and then spending the afternoon in the Commons reading and writing and "studying" and gossiping about what had happened the night before...