Personality Doppelganger

After watching an episode of MASH last night, Gina asked which dog would be which MASH character if we were to rename the dogs (which we definitely are not doing). Here is what we came up with...

The first, and most obvious, comparison is between Fondue and Hawkeye Pierce. Hawkeye is a show-off and a womanizer. He is surly and doesn't mind making himself look good at the expense of others. Fondue would definitely be Hawkeye.

Meshach would have to be Radar O'Reilly. The most obvious reason is that Radar was able to identify when choppers were coming, even when no one else heard anything. Meesh seems to have an uncanny knack for knowing when a squirrel is in the yard, even when everyone else
is oblivious.

Denim was another obvious choice. He would have to be BJ Honeycutt. He is fun, easy going, good friends with Hawkeye, kind to Radar, and a little sneaky from time to time.

He's little, but he's in charge. He loves all of his men and knows how to handle any situation. He is good at ignoring the antics of the troublemakers but coming down on them if necessary. Tucker is clearly, Sherman T. Potter.

Bed, Bark, Boredom

I will have been on summer break for a week the day after tomorrow. Everyone asks the same old question, "Are you enjoying your summer break?" I answer "Yes! Of course!" I'm pretty sure the how-are-you-oh-I'm-fine-how-are-you rule applies to the summer break question. Nobody wants to hear that you are not really enjoying your summer break. I know that I'm supposed to skip from the classroom with the same vigor as my students, but I just don't. It's not that I want to be trapped in a hot, smelly classroom all summer, it's just that I need some sort of distraction. So far, I have slept in, listened to Fondue bark, and then sit in complete and total boredom.

Bed

Let's address issue number one. I would probably be enjoying my summer more if I showed some initiative. I could get up at a decent time and have a shower and breakfast. The problem here is that sleeping in during the school year is impossible and I really do enjoy waking up on my own without the need to jump straight into the shower followed by a quick breakfast in my car.

Bark

Issue number two. Fondue. Please see exhibit A:

Exhibit A

He looks sweet and snuggly. He looks like he would just sit around all day. This is a lie. It is a front. This is a ploy. Do not be fooled. Please see Exhibit B for his true nature.

Exhibit B

Exhibit B shows the true Fondue. I know this isn't the best picture. It is circumstantial evidence at best. I am aware of this. You are just going to have to take my word on this one. He barks his head off (hardly breathing) while Meesh, Exhibit C, tries his darndest to ignore him

Exhibit C

Again, circumstantial. In truth, he usually has his eyes squeezed shut, feigning bark-induced migraine. He is a very sweet boy. Every now and again he has enough, though. When Meesh finally has enough it results in Exhibit D.

Exhibit D

This happened during Christmas break of 2010. Meesh finally had enough and scalped Fondue. A few stitches, the Cone of Shame, and $120 later and Fondue still has not learned his lesson. This vicious cycle has become a constant in my life.

Boredom

And finally, issue number three. I AM SO FREAKING BORED. Don't worry. It's a curable condition. I can do so many things. I could visit with my 13-year-old best friends, play hopscotch, draw beautiful chalk creations on my driveway, jump on a trampoline, work on curriculum planning, walk my crazy dogs, write blog posts, play solitaire, go to Barnes and Noble, chat with friends, work in my garden, and so much more. But...are you ready for this? It's a pretty major road block. I just can't seem to convince myself to actually get up and do any of those things.

So there it is. That's my summer break. I am thankful that I get a summer vacation. This one just isn't anything to write home about. At least not yet.

The Happiness Theory

So, I have this theory. What if I make it my goal to make each day better than the day before? Before you roll your eyes or click off of this page, let me assure you that I am so far from an eternal optimist. In fact, I tend to be on the cynical side. This is going to sound ridiculously trite, but I watched this movie last night called Happythankyoumoreplease.

It is about a fabulous group of people. I was so inspired. Each character was my favorite character. I think what I loved about it the most is that it is simply a happy story. This brings me to my happiness theory. My theory is that it is possible to simply have a happy story. Why not? I know - I know...bad things happen. I get that. What if we take those bad things and decide to turn them into an opportunity to make tomorrow better? I think the best line from this move was:

"Go get yourself loved."





I know that it's hard, but what if we all decided to let ourselves be loved. I'm always so focused on what other people think of me or how I'm presenting myself. What if a simple, happy story is just about loving and being loved? Can it be that simple? I am willing to find out.

A Morning Call

My first memory of my Granny Joan is of her sizing me up in her living room. She was lying on her couch in a house dress and I was standing in the middle of the room, my dad perched on a recliner but not reclining in the least. Granny Joan’s eyes were slits and her nose was sneered like she just bit into the sourest Granny Smith apple ever plucked from the branch. I’ll admit I wasn’t much to look at. I had long knotted hair and hand-me-down clothes that didn’t fit the way store bought clothes usually did. I had that outdoor smell. The one children get when they’ve been sweating in the sun all day and then drip dried as the air cooled in the evening. I was relieved when she turned her glare to my dad. He rarely sat down, it was custom on the Kimmel side of the family to stand. It was nothing personal. It didn’t mean that we weren’t going to stay for a few hours and visit. Kimmels were just like that. It was odd seeing him sit, his back straight as a preacher. He seemed different, smaller somehow. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was a test. My dad needed someone to watch me in the evenings and she was the last resort. This visit was scheduled for her to determine if she had time to watch me or if she didn’t. Had I known what I was in for, I probably would have found some way to convince my dad that I was old enough to take care of myself.

Granny Joan was from the strictly Irish side of the family. There was a very solid sense of pride in her. I’m not sure if it was her pride or if it was pure meanness that made her the way she was. It was a rare occurrence for her to give a kind word. It was even rarer for any kindness not to be followed by downright nastiness. I sometimes think that she agreed to watch me only to see me fail at the tasks she would give me. I was horrible at making instant coffee; it was never right. I couldn’t do laundry the way it was meant to be done. I made stupid mistakes. She had some sort of disorder that made her bleed. One of my tasks was to walk behind her if she got up to use the bathroom or go in the kitchen and clean up the trail of blood she left behind. It’s hard to mess up something like that. It was the one job I was good at, so while I was repulsed by it, I relished in the fact that I wasn’t screwing up. I distinctly remember her saying that all of her grandchildren were just fine, except for me. She never really explained why. I think it was just the nastiest comment should could think of at the time.

Granny Joan recently came up in conversation in a morning phone call from my dad. I’m not sure how we wound up on her; she just sort of popped up. My dad told me about when his dad left. He was the oldest and got the brunt of his mama’s meanness. He guessed it was because he reminded her of his dad. She lit into him like nothing else until one day when he told her that if she whooped on him again, he would whoop her right back. He was never good enough for her and he said he reckoned that’s why I wasn’t good enough either. When we hung up, I had a new appreciation for my dad. I understood why he looked so small when we went for that first visit. You can only be beaten down and ripped apart so many times until you are just a shred of who you should be. I was also able to understand where some of his anger and nastiness came from and I found myself wishing that he would have shared that part of his life with me a long time ago.

SNOW!

Snow days are a beautiful thing. I remember being in elementary school and rejoicing when the announcer on the radio listed my school. Snow days mean so much more as a teacher than they did as a student. I appreciate them on an entirely new level. Just last week I was able to celebrate two whole snow days! We had an estimated 20 inches of snow. The best part of being off was playing with my dogs in the snow. They had a blast.

Denim probably enjoyed the snow the most. He is a husky/shepherd. Snow is his favorite part of the entire year.

Proof that Den is in love with the snow. He just dives right in.

When he is tired, he burrows in and relaxes. I think he likes to pretend he is in Alaska.

Meesh is also a pretty big fan of the snow. He likes to dive right in. He has a bit of a Santa beard going on here.

PTSD 11 - Levaquin with a side of PTSD

Last week was filled with Share Joys! I tried to bring Share Joys, a fundraiser from my high school, to Beecher. Whether or not this was a mistake is yet to be determined. Seriously, though, I think that it served its purpose and some families are able to afford a little bit of Christmas, so this year was not a mistake. I don't know if I will do it again. That is up to my principal. Anyway, I spent the past several weeks preparing for this festive exhibition of holiday joy. It was a literal headache. I didn't feel good but chalked it up to the stress of fundraising and the holiday season. As the actual Share Joys week approached, I felt worse. I assumed it was stress mixed with nerves and maybe the weather.

On Tuesday (day two of Share Joys) I woke up to the most intense pain I've had in a while on the left side of my face. I convinced myself that it was nothing and got ready anyway. It wasn't until later that I realized my left earn canal was swollen shut. Nice, right? Luckily, I still had some kick ass ear drops left over from a previous ear infection. I put some of those in and went to work. The day went by with the typical stress of a fundraiser. My head and my ear hurt, but I figured it was just another ear infection and I would keep up with the drops.

The rest of the week went by so fast. The kids had final exams and all I had to do was make sure they didn't cheat and then grade the exams. No biggie. By Friday (the last day of exams), I thought I was going to pass out at work. I google-chatted Gina and asked her to call my doctor for me. Awesomely, they were able to fit me in that afternoon. I finished the school day in my principal's office, trying to figure out where all of the Share Joys money should go. Actually, he and one of my co-workers who also worked on Share Joys figured out where the money should go while I sat in a chair and tried to breathe. I added my thoughts here and there, but mostly I just sat there blowing my nose and then trying to catch my breath.

After work I went home and was going to waste some time on facebook before my appointment. Meesh, my lab/bloodhound, rang the bell to go outside. Fondue, my Jack Russell, decided that would be the best possible time to pick a fight. I went to let Meesh out and Fondue bit at his ankles (this is a normal occurrence). Meesh decided this was the last time. He turned around, picked Fondue up by the head, slammed him on the ground, and trotted outside. Fondue wandered around dazed and then went outside, too. I let Fondue back in and noticed that I had a clear view of his eyebrow muscles. I called Brooke and Randy, they came upstairs and looked, I called the vet, and off we went. We dropped Fondue off for a few stitches and I left for my own appointment.

I was surprised that I was seen so quickly at the doctor's office. I thought I would be waiting for ages since my appointment was so last minute. To cut this part short (who really needs a play-by-play of a doctor visit?) I left with a prescription for Levaquin. I was told that I had bronchitis, an ear infection (duh), a sinus infection, and folliculitis (my hair follicles had an infection, too). My doctor gave me Levaquin because he said that it was really strong and should wipe out all of my infections. I left, dropped off the prescription, picked up Fondue (complete with The Cone of Shame), and went home.

Day one of Levaquin came complete with stomach pain. Side effect number one? Check! The afternoon of day one came with more side effects. When I woke up on Sunday, I had forehead acne like a freshly pubescent teenage boy! Yes, another side effect of Levaquin. No big deal, I thought, this is going to wipe out any sign of infection and I am going to be good to go when January 3rd hits. The stomach pains and the acne continued, but I only had to take Levaquin for seven days, so it would all pass in time.

Because it is break, I also had my yearly appointment. After some interesting conversation in the waiting room, and some pretty intriguing Lego talk with my doctor, I found out that I have a cyst that causes ovarian torsion. Basically this cyst weighs down my ovary and it twists like a flower that is too heavy for it's stem...that sounds way nicer than I think it actually is. So, that explained a little about the abdominal pain I'd been having.

This was really no big deal. I've had a cyst on the same ovary. I had it removed a couple of years ago. No big deal. Little did I know, the best side effect of Levaquin was yet to come. I started to notice that I was feeling a little anxious in the afternoons and the evenings. I thought maybe it was just holiday stuff or something. After an evening in tears I realized this was more than just holiday stuff. I was sinking into something very familiar and yucky. It was like my unfortunate period of darkness was oozing its way back in to my life. After a little digging I realized that yet another side effect of Levaquin was increased anxiety. What really seemed to be happening was Levaquin was nullifying my anti-depressant. Of course, right?

It's been an interesting trip so far. Please do not think of this post as some sort of complaint. The only bad thing that really happened was the Levaquin/anti-depressant issue. I am glad to say that I really do not think my UPD has returned. It seems to be a side effect of the Levaquin. For the record, I am stopping that medication as of TODAY. I have two days left, but there is no way in hell that I am taking another UPD reminder pill! This is also a reminder for me that God is so good. Everything could be so much worse, but it isn't. Even if it was, God is right there. So really, no biggie, right?

PTSD 10 - Giving Thanks and All of That

Thanksgiving is over! Okay, so that’s old news, but it’s still big for me. Thanksgiving is a really big bump in my road. It’s funny because I’m supposed to be all thankful and reverent, but I’m always too busy freaking out. I know, I’m supposed to be beyond the freaking out stage of PTSD, but I don’t know that the freaking out stage ever totally goes away. I seriously considered calling my therapist on Thanksgiving Day and leaving a voice mail to schedule an appointment. She would have been totally okay with that, I mean it’s just voice mail, right? It’s not like I would be calling as she sits down to dinner expecting her to pick up the phone. I didn’t call. I kept telling myself that I would get through it. I would get through Thanksgiving and the memories and the anxious feelings. It would be over and I would be back to my normal self. Want to know the crazy part? It sort of worked out that way. Once Thanksgiving was over, I started to feel a little better; like I had accomplished something by existing through a holiday. It’s all about the small victories, I guess.

It has been about a year and two months since the inception of my Unfortunate Period of Darkness. This past week was spirit week at Beecher High School. At work other teachers mentioned stuff about last year’s spirit events and I was left wondering why I didn’t remember that. At one point I said, “Geeze, I don’t remember doing any of that.” A co-worker said, “Yeah, you were” [awkward pause] “sick last year.” I said, “Oh yeah! Duh! My Unfortunate Period of Darkness!” She gave me a sympathetic look and changed the subject. Last year during this time I was pretty much at home in bed or suction cupped to Gina’s ass. PTSD had such a strong grip on me just a year ago. Sometimes it seems like that time was ages ago and sometimes it feels like it was all last week. I don’t really like the fact that PTSD has etched a permanent mark in my life, but I don’t really hate it either. Don’t get me wrong. I’d rather have the flu, ya know, the really bad kind where you have to sit on the toilet and have a bucket in your lap? I’d rather have that kind of flu for 30 consecutive days than deal with PTSD for just one day. Ya know what though? I’m glad I know that. I’m glad I know what it all feels like. I’m glad I know.