Friday, June 29, 2007
Last summer I read many books. This summer I have finished none. I began Thucydides' History of the Peleponnesian War and The Search For The Perfect Language by Umberto Eco both several months ago. At the beginning of the summer I pulled the Penguin Classics version of Ovid's Ars Amatoria and James Joyce's Dubliners from the shelf, in anticipation of reading them after I had finished Thucydides. Both currently repose upon my Cat in the Hat pillow, untouched.
Lauree cannot concentrate.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:46 PM]
And Everyone's Very Friendly
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Last night Kiepke and I looked at graduate schools. We laughed at their websites. Nevertheless, many of those schools frighten me, for I have not a stellar command of Greek or Latin. I might be better prepared than some people, but I am anal enough that I must be the best. Many schools diagnose and negotiate the issue, but there are still a couple of programs I might prefer but could not hope to get into. Oh, well.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 9:00 PM]
Horton Hears A...
Friday, June 22, 2007
This afternoon I went to the mall for earrings. I came out feeling dirty and having bought one pair of underwear, four pairs of socks, one pair of homeboy jeans, one pair of cargo pants, and nineteen pairs of earrings. I did well.
Upon returning from the mall, I called a couple of relatives, to be assured they were still alive and to assure them that I am still alive, despite some savage spider's ambition to assassinate me. My aunt (my father's sister) reminded me that today is his fiftieth birthday, and she suggested I call him. I considered it, but I have little to say, other than
I'm glad you've made it to fifty. I'm sorry you've made it to fifty without learning how to be a mature, responsible adult. Maybe by the time I'm fifty, you'll be a grown-up, too.My aunt asked me to explain precisely what my father did to make me refuse to speak to him anymore. I could not very well enumerate everything over the phone, but I made known to her, among other things, the fact that he told me he drove me to Tech and left me in Lubbock because he wanted to get rid of me. That the spring semester prior, I had been taking nineteen hours of classes with a 4.0 GPA, I worked thirty-six hours or more per week, I never received any money or help from him, and I had no idea what more he could possibly want from me. He used my refusal to consider his new wife as an authority figure as an excuse to stop co-signing on the loans to get me through school.
The man has always made me feel guilty for existing, and he essentially tried to ruin my life (which is something I am perfectly capable of doing on my own, without his help). He abandoned me, knowing full well I made below the national poverty level, because he feared he would not be able to get his new wife a minivan. He has reached the age of fifty, and still feels some need to prioritize the people in his life around each other. My aunt claims my father misses me, but if he does, he ought to figure out a way to make room for me in that Brady Bunch From Hell family of his. I suspect I'm a "Jan".
No more ranting. Time to snuggle Kermie.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:56 PM]
The Grinch Carved The Roast Beast
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Tomorrow I am to meet with a realtor to finalize my application for an apartment lease and pay the deposit. I will live one street down from school, thus making snow day walks less cumbersome. The apartment rests as an upstairs loft above an efficiency, the entire unit being behind a regular house.
The section to the right houses the bedroom and the kitchen, with a bathroom and entryway under the slanted roof. I could sleep under the roof and use the bedroom as a study/living area. Immediate purchase necesseties include shelving (for over two hundred books: ich lese gern), a desk, and some sort of couch/loveseat.
The last occupant placed ultra-thick padding underneath the carpet- bueno. The last occupant placed tiger-skin carpet on top of that padding- no bueno. Funds permitting, I should journey to Home Depot for some thin, but not so hideous, carpet. I would tolerate pink flamingoes permanently embedded in my lawn, but I draw a line at animal prints.
Currently the walls are white, but if the owner permits me, and if funds permit me, I would like to colour everything, to possibly involve stripes in some manner. But I probably won't repaint anything at all, unless I can get it done quickly.
Move-in: July 15th.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:17 PM]
Driving Miss Daisy
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
I have gone on a Facebook application-adding binge over the past couple of days. I added the movie application this afternoon, and am particularly pleased with the cursory review I composed for "The Brave Little Toaster":
I loved this movie as a kid, even though nearly every appliance in it frightened me. I feel that kids should piss themselves in fear much more often. When a plugged-in toaster falls into a tub of water, he gets fried. C'est la vie.Since I had to drop my classes this semester, I broke my usual routine of studying or reading at the coffee shop every afternoon or evening. I made some room to spend time with friends who do not share my usual academic interests. The past two evenings I have eaten dinner and had engaging but non-Classics-related conversations with an engineering student. We discussed our theories about education and read web comics.
I realize I need a huge break from the monotony of my "Lubbock period". A guest lecturer, encouraging me to stay at Tech for the MA, once suggested I move to the other side of town. Moving to any "other side" of Lubbock to experience significant change makes about as much sense as moving from one side of nowhere to the other. Life for me is still a daymare.
Cuddling Kermie makes me feel better.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 10:12 PM]
Sticky Buns
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Monday afternoon I checked into the hospital to receive IV antibiotics for a few days, because the abscess had spread to near-life-threatening point. The drippy stuff has chased down and throttled the evil bacteria in my leg, so now I just have to keep visiting the doctor to have the wound packed, until it heals.
Unfortunately, I must drop the classes I enrolled for, since I missed too many days. The situation could be worse, though; as it is, I have room to take those classes later and still graduate on time.
This should give me time to find a house and a car.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:30 PM]
I Am The Police Of Your Soul
Sunday, June 10, 2007
The hydrocodone prevents me from feeling the pain associated with the incision to the back of my leg, but it also, I have come to suspect, prevents my mood from rising above the level of indifference. Of course, as I mentioned to Chris this morning at work, most persons probably cannot discern the distinction between "medicated Lauree" and "just Lauree". My thoughts still race ahead of themselves.
But for the past two days, my thoughts have centered upon the alarming swelling to both my legs. I still know not where my ankles scurried off to. I ought to read the chapters for the exams I missed in both classes this past week, due to having a doctor's appointment every day. Despite the preeminence these courses occupy for my summer, I remain unmotivated to study for them.
I like drugs.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:08 AM]
A Terrible, Horrible, No-Good Very Bad Day
Saturday, June 09, 2007
I am serving an office shift at the moment. Spread across the desk are a Schlotzky's Deli napkin (besmeared with lip gloss and chocolate milk), a clear, plastic container of Cocoa Pebbles (one-third full), a bowl and spoon, and three pill containers for the drugs the doctor prescribed for my cellulitis. I am taking two (2) antibiotics each twice (2x) daily- amoxicillin & clavulanate potassium and sulfamethoxazole. Every four to six hours, I pop two tablets of hydrocodone for the pain. The painkillers make me drowsy, moody, and disoriented: loopy, in a word.
Thursday, after determining an abscess had formed on the back of my right thigh, Dr. McDonald injected the infected area to numb it, sliced me open, and swirled things around inside with a Q-tip. Then he hosed the bacteria out with saline solution, which was very cold. Next, he explained that he was going to pack me. I did not inquire what with- cotton candy, I presumed. Possibly hay. I did not scream the entire time, and the nurse-lady even commented on how good I was. I asked, over my shoulder, if I could have a lollipop. She and the doctor laughed, but they forgot to give me a lollipop later.
Dr. McDonald insists we continue packing, every day, until the wound he created closes entirely. Yesterday he shoved something else into the gaping hole in my leg, slapped some gauze on it, and sent me to hobble across campus to my political science class, where I became extremely drowsy. Walking back to the dorm room, I clasped my hands together under my chin and had to take baby steps the entire route, which meandered a bit due to my disoriented state of being.
The drugs have made me gain weight, experience nausea, and swell tremendously, especially in my right leg. I cannot feel where my ankles should be; when I press above that locale, the skin sinks inward under my thumb and stays, like unto playdough.
Drugs also make Laurees suffer severe mood swings. After class yesterday I entered my room, stared at an old photograph of myself, got depressed, and suddenly burst into tears. I crawled into bed, snuggling Kermie, cocooned in a blankie until my older sister called to update me on her pregnancy. I felt much better afterward, in reflecting that at least I am not pregnant.
Dr. McDonald recommended I visit the minor care emergency clinic over the weekend, since the student health center closes Saturdays and Sundays. This afternoon I called Jared to drive me; we arrived a little after three. The operation takes between three and five minutes, so I had allotted plenty of time between waiting and receiving treatment to be back on campus in time for work at five.
Jared and I sat around for about half an hour until I was summoned for an assessment. He opted to remain in the waiting room after I clarified that he would have to view icky things if he followed me further. About an hour later, after I had changed into a gown and been evaluated by a few different people, I called Jared's cell phone to send him home, for I still had not been packed. I also called the young man working the office shift before me, to warn him I might be late.
I did not receive treatment until shortly after five. As predicted, it took the med student perhaps three minutes to shovel coal into the back of my thigh and to cover the area with gauze. After he left, I dressed and waited around for a few minutes. I finally opened the door and stepped out, bethinking I needed to check myself out, and happened to be stopped by the female med student who had taken my urine sample. "Oh, I'll be right back with your paperwork," she said, and indicated that I should remain where I was. I stood outside the door to the room for about twenty minutes, waiting, watching medical technicians and janitors go by.
The med student who had packed me perchanced by, stopped, mumbled some apology about the long wait, and all but shoved me back in the room. I felt depressed and unloved, and by that time was very tired and a little hungry. I sank dejectedly onto the bed and stayed there for over an hour. During this time, one of the doctors I had seen in the hall knocked on the door, came in, took something out of a drawer, and left. Sometime later she returned, wheeling some equipment. She saw me, still lying there (only now I was bleary-eyed from crying) and said, "Oh, you are the patient!" She then proceeded to set up shop, and came at me with something to wrap around my upper arm, but I sat up and hobbled off the other side: "No, no, I'm not!" I cried, in a pitiful, despairing wail (I didn't want to wake up with anything amputated).
It by now having dawned on her what had occurred, she asked who my doctor was (tearfully, I replied that I had no idea who had seen me) and then she promised to find out and come back. With no confidence, I sat down again on the bed to continue waiting, certain that I would not be getting a lollipop, if ever I made it out of that desolate little room. A few minutes later, the girl who had taken my urine sample came in with my paperwork and explained that I didn't have anything to do, that I could walk right out (avoiding eye contact most of the time). I believe the hydrocodone prevented me from developing any sense of rage or indignance; when she apologized (quickly, ushering me out the door), I was simply too tired and dejected to acknowledge her with any reply.
I was still crying as I shuffled out the front doors, and fully ready for a pity party. When I finally got to the office, three hours late, I ate two bowls of Cocoa Pebbles.
I have not yet returned to my stress equilibrium, but at least I have had chocolate.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:35 PM]
Pitch In!
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
I have visited the campus clinic five or six times within the past year, in every instance to be prescribed antibiotics for some infection. I checked in this morning for massive, painful swelling on the back of my right thigh. On Friday I had noticed a little bump, but presuming I had an ingrown hair, I left it alone. By Monday this bump had swelled, and the skin all around and up the back of my thigh had enflamed. The doctor informed me I have cellulitis, probably from a spider/insect/bug bite. He gave me pain killers and an antibiotic to prevent an abscess from forming.
I am full of pus and vitriole.
Over the summer, I need to conduct serious grammar reviews in Greek, Latin, and German, but have not yet coordinated a plan of attack for dividing the labor of this mission. It would be wholly impractical to expect to study all three in one day, every day, but continuous immersion and recall is of utmost importance. I mentioned my dilemma to Kiepke this afternoon, and he thoughtfully suggested we meet together during the week for Latin and Greek reviews. I am thoroughly relieved, now, because having structured study dates with Kiepke will restore my stress equilibrium, insofar as the matter of keeping up with my comprehension of Latin and Greek is concerned. After we come up with a schedule, I shall endeavour to find a German study group.
I love order. And I also love day planners.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:08 PM]
I Like Living In An Institution
Friday, June 01, 2007
Today I played hooky from my introductory American government class (yesterday she spent one hour on half a slide's worth of notes...) in order to organize a summer schedule and to complete two or three from the myriad of tasks and errands I must address over the next few days. In an entirely unrelated digression, I re-read blog entries from June I had composed a few years ago. Below I have copied two, the first from 2004, the second from 2006.
Background: My father met Terri after I graduated high school in 2003 and had moved out of the house to live with an aunt in St. Louis. They married during spring break of 2004, and moved in together (to Terri's house), combining families which consisted of her two sons and my three younger siblings. For the summer, I had intended to stay at my best friend's house before attending college in Texas somewhere, but my father and Terri insisted I stay with them, even though they had no room, so that we could all be a "family". I wrote the following entry after I had been living with them for less than two weeks. This was also my first extensive exposure to Terri.
Upon my return from present-shopping with Lindsay I went into my bedroom [Kailey's bedroom, really- I'm just sleeping there on an air mattress for two months, but for brevity I shall reference it as "my bedroom"] for a nap around three o'clock. During my slumber The Father's Wife cleaned around the house (vacuuming, dusting, bathrooms), and by the time I woke up, she had pretty much finished. I came out and asked if she had anything she wanted me to do, but she smiled sweetly and said she did not. As a semi-apology, I told her she could have gotten me up to help her, and as she walked up the stairs, she growled something to the extent of, "That's all right, but you know, I shouldn't have to tell y'all when the bathroom needs cleaning. I've waited and waited, but no one bothered to do it..."Background: Last summer I set a goal to read as many books as possible between classes, since during the academic year I had had absolutely no time to read random literature. A friend from work, Jenni, had suckered me into swimming at the Rec center pool with her several times a week. I continue to swim, but now I am all by my lonesome, since no one can replace Jenni.
For one thing, it's been less than a week since the kids' bathroom was cleaned (by Terri, I'll admit). It wasn't even dirty today, except for a stray hair or two lying around the sink- literally, two or three hairs. But fine- this is her house, and she can be as anal about it as she wants; I would be, too. However, I take umbrage with her insinuation that I must not do any housework, ever. I try to do the dishes after dinner, for instance, but she won't let me. I've kept out of trying to do chores because The Father informed me they had some magical system by which each kid (including Terri's) performs certain chores each week on a cyclical basis. I've just been waiting for them to tell me what I'm supposed to be doing.
And besides, this isn't my house, so I don't know where the cleaning stuff is. That's excuse enough to avoid doing anything!
Anyhow, The Father just walked in the door as I wrote this post, so I gave him a little sob episode, telling him that they'd better make up their goddamn minds about what they want me doing, chore-wise. I also took The Mongoloid aside (he is The Mess-Leaving Culprit) and threatened a whooping-upon if I caught him leaving Doritos on the floor, washcloths in the bathroom, et cetera.
Sigh... well, Lindsay returns in about half an hour to whisk me away for fun and games celebrating the birth of Donna. The festivities will provide an escape from The Brady Bunch From Hell with which I find myself contending.
The Father getting remarried was all cute and fascinating until he made me live with them. Now I just want to retch.
Yesterday I sternly forced myself to remain upstairs in the foreign language building from three until six, reading through most of the book about Greek vases (which I finished later in the evening). I had developed a headache around lunchtime and consequently found it possible to concentrate on the text only by lying on the floor, arms straight in the air, with the book hovering directly over my face. Observing this, the departmental secretary remarked, as she left, that she expected to one day find me nailed to the floor. I see no remote possibility in me ever being "nailed", in any manner, to any thing, but then, I suppose Ms. Hildebrand had an entirely different meaning in mind.This summer Lauree needs to do many things. I need to secure a lease on a house or apartment (preferably a house) through next summer. I would like to finally finish Stephen King's Dark Tower series, but since I read the fifth book two years ago, I am compelled to start from the beginning again. I have to find out over the weekend where and when I am to take a placement test for college algebra next semester. I should study for the GRE, take it at the end of the summer, and subsequently begin applying to graduate schools.
Donning my purple-and-black swimming suit on these afternoon sessions with Jenni does much to reinforce the above notion. In further reflection I over-exaggerate, though, for there do exist this summer a goodly number of less-attractive pool-frequenters. "I can always lose the weight..."
The past few Saturday evenings I have spent movie-watching with Sharada, Jennifer, and Adrian, with (thus far) either Sharada or Adrian providing foodage. For this evening Adrian promised to provide a sort of chicken "surprise", about which I expressed some apprehension. Adrian allayed my fears with the assurance this dish contains cream cheese and a possibility for pasta. We are to watch Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead and perhaps one other selection.
I volunteered to cook dinner for next week's gathering, but am currently at a loss for a viable subject. I considered incorporating tuna in some manner, but later reneged, as the other three people eating probably would not appreciate it as uniquely as I do. Tuna as an option with a side dish of spinach-leaf salad is plausible.
Ich liebe den Thunfisch.
Last summer, with swimming and rock climbing I managed to lose about ten pounds, which I regained over the past year. This summer I hope to lose fifteen. For all three languages (Greek, Latin, and German) I should continue reading and reviewing grammar.
I should go to bed.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 12:38 PM]