Catch is Caught (The Unfiltered Ramblings of Catch)

Just a reminder...since I posted and it got lost. I'm no longer here. Seriously this time. Find me over here:

http://catchiscaught.typepad.com/catch_is_caught/

Peaceout.

Catch

Because this is too ridiculous to post on typepad. I'm just bored. (Thanks for this, Beth.)


WHICH ONE?
1. pierce your nose or tongue?: nose. i’ve been meaning to get around to that.
2. be serious or be funny?: depends on the situation. Everyone needs a mix of both.
3. drink whole or skim milk?: I don’t drink milk. (Hear that sound? That’s the sound of my bones disintegrating). If I have cereal, I only use skim.
4. simple or complicated?: it feels complicated, but it’s really always simple.

DO YOU PREFER
1. flowers or angels?: flowers
2. gray or black?: black
3. Color or black? color
4. lust or love?: love
5. sunrise or sunset?: sunrise
6. M&Ms or Skittles?: neither, though peanut m&ms are occasionally ok.
7. rap or rock?: rock
8. staying up late or waking up early?: both. Sleep is for the weak.

ANSWER TRUTHFULLY
1. do you like anyone?: vaguely
2. do they know it?: no

DO YOU PREFER
1. being hot or cold?: cold. Especially at night – gimme lots of blankets and turn the thermostat waaay down.
2. sun or moon?: moon
3. Winter or Fall?: Fall
4. left or right?: if we’re talking about politics, then left. If we’re talking about handedness, right.
5. having 10 acquaintances or 2 best friends: 2 best friends.
6. sun or rain?: entirely dependent on my mood. Everyone needs a good thunderstorm now and then.
7. vanilla ice cream or chocolate ice cream?: vanilla. Definitely.
8. boys or girls?: both.
9. vodka or jack?: vodka, preferably watermelon flavored.

ABOUT YOU
Name?: Catch
Nicknames: Catch

WHAT DO YOU WANT
Where do you want to live?: after college, boston or NYC. Then, Africa.
How many kids do you want?: none. There’s too much else I want to do with my life.
What kind of job do you want?: One that involves bringing medical care to remote and dangerous areas of Africa.
Do you want to get married?: not particularly. Yes, if it doesn’t get in the way of what I want to do with my life, and I find the right person.


UNIQUE
1. Nervous habits? Running my hands through my hair
2. Are you double jointed?: in some places
3. Can you roll your tongue?: yes
4. Can you raise one eyebrow?: never tried…hold on…no. definitely not.
5. Can you cross your eyes?: yes
6. Do you make your bed daily?: yes
7. Do you think you are unique? Occasionally. I just try to be myself, unique or not.

CLOTHES, ETC
1. Which shoe do you put on first? I’ve honestly never thought about it.
2. Speaking of shoes, how many do you have?: 10ish. I really only wear three pairs though.
3. On thought, how much money do you carry in your wallet? Usually, not much. A $20, at the most.
4. What jewelry do you wear?: My SaveDarfur wristband, my Matthew Shepard Organization wristband, my watch, and Jess’s ring (usually on a chain around my neck) absolutely never come off. I usually have my Santa Fe ring on too.

GROOMING
1. How often do you brush your teeth?: 3 times a day, sometimes more.
2. Hair drying method?: usually just throw it up in a ponytail. Sometimes I’ll straighten it.
3. Have you ever dyed/highlighted your hair?: only with kool-aid

MANNERS
1. Do you swear?: Of course. I’m from NY.
2. Do you ever spit?: only when I’m running.
3. You cook your own food?: um…does easymac count?
4. You do your own chores?: yep

DO/DID YOU?
5. You got laid today?: no
6. You like beef jerky?: i don’t eat meat
7. You like pepsi or coke?: I don’t like soda.
8. You plan on going to college?: There now … Georgetown University
9. You're happy with your hair?: kinda. I’m in the process of growing it out so I can donate again, and it’s in a weird in-between stage.
10. You own a dog?: yes, three, though they stay at my parents house.
11. You spend your money wisely?: I save wisely. Half of every paycheck into a savings account. However, I don’t spend that other half wisely. At all. I buy DVDs like it’s my job.
12. You're always making new friends?: Pretty much. I love meeting new people. I’m incredibly awkward, but it’s ok. I own that aspect of my personality.
13. You like to swim?: yeah, kinda. I have a fear of drains, so I tend to avoid the deep ends of pools. I’m not kidding. Deathly afraid of those things.
14. You got bored so you call a friend?: yeah…that’s what friends are for ;o)
15. You're patient?: no, unfortunately. I’m working on it.
16. You like this survey?: I’m doing it, aren’t I? (Mostly because I’m bored)

IN THE LAST MONTH HAVE YOU
1. Had sex?: no.
2. Bought something?: of course.
3. Gotten sick?: oh, yes. Very very sick.
4. Been hugged?: yes
5. Been kissed?: no
6. Kicked a redneck?: um, no?
7. Felt stupid?: naturally
8. Talked to an ex?: yes
9. Missed someone?: yes
10. Got drunk?: yes
12. Danced crazy? no
13. Gotten your hair cut?: yes, trimmed.
14. Watched cartoons?: No. I don’t know why, but I really hate most cartoons.
15. Lied?: yes

HAVE YOU EVER
1. Said "I Love You" and meant it?: yes
2. Got in a fight with pet: oh yeah.
3. Been to Australia: no
4. Been to Mexico: no…want to go though
5. Been to China: no, but I really wanna go. I’ve been to Japan though.
6. Been to Canada: yes
7. Been to Europe: France, northern italy
8. Been to Africa: Tanzania
9. Wished you were the opposite sex: no
10. Snuck out of your house?: yes, in high school
11. Given money to a homeless person: yes
12. Surfed: nope

Ladies and gentleman, I have moved to typepad! Sorry, I just couldn't take Livejournal anymore.

Here's the new address:
http://catchiscaught.typepad.com/catch_is_caught/

Peace,
C

...pretty much sucked.

too busy right now (and drugged up) to give details, but it involved a high fever, the emergency room, a friggin SPINAL TAP, and now, LOTS of vicodin.

more details to come. including a new addition to my top ten "inappropriate times to laugh" list - when a doctor is sticking a needle in your spine and needs you to be still...

peace,
Catch

Dear Georgetown University GoCard,
    Where have you gone so suddenly? I thought things were going well between us.  I need you back in my life.  I just don't work without you.  I promise, I won't ever take you for granted again.
Please come back. 
Love,
Catch

Sorry it's so late...been really busy over here.  Anyway, here's my 12 of 12 for February.  And you can't hold me accountable for the boring-ness that is my life.  Especially on the day before an exam.

Anyway, go here: http://community.webshots.com/user/CatchL and click on the album that says February 12 of 12. :o)

Then click on "view slideshow".

Peace,
Catch

*A note: I have no idea why, but for some reason webshots has tagged on like four extra pictures of people i've never seen before in my life to the end of my Feb 12 of 12 album. My pictures stop after 12. :oP

 So, one of my clinicals this semester is pediatrics.  I have never approached a clinical with more dread or apprehension - I assumed that I would be horrible at it, because kids tend to scare the crap out of me.  You cannot rationalize with them; you cannot appeal to their common sense.  I've always kinda assumed that kids would hate me.

That being said.

     It's a month into this semester's clinicals, and I've realized that my pediatrics rotation has been my favorite one thus far, of all of my clinicals for the past three years.  I'm loving it, and what's more, I'm good at it.  I don't know why, or how, and it caught me totally off guard.  I would have never expected to be able to stand this clinical, much less love it.  It can, however, be emotionally quite tough.  I want to tell the story of one of my patients.  I'll call her Jane for the purpose of confidentiality, obviously.  And I'll try to make this not filled with medical jargon.

     Jane is an 8 year old girl with severe mental retardation as a consequence of her cerebral palsy (CP).  She also has a history of seizure disorder and respiratory issues.  When she was my patient on the medical care unit, she had already been hospitalized in the PICU for a month.  Anytime her respiratory problems are aggrevated, her seizure disorder flares up too.  She was having seizures on a daily basis, sometimes multiple times a day.  When I saw her, she was barely able to open her eyes to verbal or tactile stimuli.  She cannot communicate verbally.  She also gets some really bad (non-seizure) tremors, as a kind of lasting reminder of her CP and seizure disorder. She's only eight years old, and her body is fighting her.  To make matters worse, she's essentially been abandoned by her parents.  They take no active role in her care.  When I was there to hold her and stroke her and talk to her gently while she had her tremors, she was immediately calmed.  She can't talk to you, but you can see her heart rate and respiratory rate drop on her monitor.  The tremors don't last as long.  And it's heartbreaking to know that if she just had someone who cared a little bit more by her bedside, to hold her when she was going through this, her life would be so much better.
     All week, all I could think about was this little girl, all alone in her bed in the hospital.  It's not that the staff aren't caring people, because they are.  They're extraordinary people.  But they have jobs to do, and they're busy.  But as a student, I have a lot more time to just spend being with patients.  When I went back the next week, I was ecstatic to see that her eyes were open.  When I was talking to her, she was able to smile at me a few times, and even hold my hand.  I've never felt such emotion as when she smiled up at me for the first time.  It was like, "There you are...I knew you were in there! "  I spent a couple of hours at her bedside, just telling her stories and being with her. 
      No matter what unit you work on, there are always patients that stick with you, ones that you cannot forget.  And for me, this little girl is one of them.  Sometimes I feel so powerless, and it only makes me want to work harder, be better.

Peace,
Catch

Stolen from Chad Darnell...

AN OPEN LETTER TO FRED PHELPS:

Dear Fred:

I just heard that you were planning to picket the funeral of civil rights activist and Coretta Scott King.  I just wanted to drop you a note and tell you, I don't think this is a very good idea.

I have to say, in reading up on you, I'm really looking forward to one day writing a bio-pic on your life.  You are truly fascinating.

Not many people know that you published a book in the 1980's called "The Conspiracy" in which you had proof that AIDS was spontaneously generated in Africa and that Truman Capote contracted the virus while having an orgy with African tribesmen.  (I missed that part in the movie... I must have been in the bathroom.)  Capote then gave the disease to John F Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe while playing football and the CIA assassinated all three of them to stop the spread of the disease.

Unprotected sex... shared needles... football.  Got it. 

And what film wouldn't be complete without a montage of child beatings.  It's very well documented (and even better, you and your family admit) to the beatings so bad that school nurses were concerned.   And you even have the Bible verse to back it up.  Proverbs, 13:24: "He that spareth his rod, hateth his son. But he that loveth him, chasteneth him betimes."  Loves it.

But you truly rose to fame with the murder of Matthew Shepard.  Who can forget the people of Laramie in their white angel robes, surrounding the courthouse in order to block your ranting of hate?  You and your church picket the play "The Laramie Project" every time it is performed, which of course, only drive ticket sales.  You're like the best thing to happen to community theatre.  Someone should consider giving you a volunteer award at some point.

Of course, you think the play portrays you in an unfair light.  You've said that you didn't say those things, but Fred, the text is taken directly from court trans scripts.  Besides, we get it:  God hates fags.  That's pretty much all you said.  That's even the name of your website.

And you had all those huge plans to erect a monument, in which you would proclaim the day "Matthew Shepard Entered Hell."  Sorry that didn't work out for you.

But you also picket the funerals of the mining disaster and soldiers killed in Iraq.  You claimed 9/11 and Katrina were God's way of getting revenge.  You admire Saddam Hussein.

So you've attacked just about everyone.

But in Atlanta, they will cap your ass.

Clearly, you have not thought this out very well.  Yes, it would completely contradict Dr. King's teachings of tolerance and peace, but all it takes is one crazy person, with one bullet, to send you to the heavy-side layer.  And trust me, I spent an entire day around crazy people this week and they are EVERYWHERE. 

In a crowd that size, they may never determine whether it was one of our African American brothers and sisters angry that you are ruining the remembrance of a legendary civil rights leader, a pissed off gay person, a disgruntled soldier, or simply a Lithonia resident out for some target practice.  In Kennesaw, it is a LAW that each household have AT LEAST one gun.  Those are very good odds for you.  Not very good odds at all.

There are three things we take very seriously in Atlanta:  The Braves, Coca-Cola, and funerals.

And the new slogan for Atlanta is:  "Everyday is opening day." 

States like Kentucky are working fast to stop people like you.  They are preparing laws that would keep you 300 feet from a cemetery or church.  To me, that's still too close.

IF you and your "church" decide to go ahead and protest, ignoring my heed, I would suggest that you not wear your signature cowboy hat and boots.  The cowboy look is very "in" right now... unfortunately for you... for all the wrong reasons.

I wish you would quit you.

Love,
Chad

_________________

but here I am standing strong and I am free
and didn't we share the same sunrise and sleep in the same moonlight
isn't the blood in my veins the same blood you bleed, so...

when I die
and they lay my body down
the peace that I will find is the peace that brings you all around
doesn't my mother cry like everyone
my father grieve for his lonely son
isn't my rainbow a little brighter because...

so who cares whose arms I'm all wrapped up in
who cares whose eyes I see myself in
who cares who I dream of
no it doesn't matter who I dream of
'cause in the end it only matters that I was loved
and I am loved...

love has no face.

A little background…. So, in case you didn’t know, I work on campus as a “student guard.”  Which means I basically get paid to sit and occasionally ask people “Can I see your ID?”.  And, once a semester, I have to sit through a mandatory three hour “training session”.

 

 _________________________

 

 

Saturday.  January 21.  8 am. 

 

I am sitting in a classroom with about 30 other students who missed the “original training session”.  I’ve had no coffee, no red bull, and I’ve been up since 7am ON A SATURDAY.  The one day that I can sleep in until 9.  I’m not in a good mood.

            At about 8:20, they actually start the damn thing. The first thing he says? “When people come into the dormitories, you must ask them to show and swipe their ID.”  Now I know that I’m in trouble, because this session is three hours long and he’s just summed up the entirety of my job in one sentence.  I have NO idea what he’s gonna talk about for the rest of the time.

We then move on to…Uniforms.  This guy goes on for about ten minutes about the importance of wearing uniforms.  “You must must must wear your uniform.  Otherwise, people will be confused about who you are. Blah blah blah.” Now the entire time that this guy is going on about uniforms, I’m thinking to myself, “What the hell is he talking about? We don’t have uniforms. If we did, you can bet I would have never taken the job.”  In my head I’m picturing full-out policeman garb, complete with polyester pants and a complementary doughnut.  No one checked in with me before implementing this policy.  I’m outta here. I start wondering if I can just leave the training session, since there’s no way in hell I’m getting dressed up for my student guard shifts. I decide to stick it out for a few minutes.  No need to quit my job until I’m sure that I won’t like the uniform.  Ten minutes later, he goes, “Okay, so here’s your uniform”.  I hold my breath.  And he holds up a lanyard keychain.  A keychain.  Are you getting this?  There was a ten minute speech about the importance of bringing a keychain to work with you every shift.  Dear.  God.  

He then moves on to what clothing is appropriate.  First thing: “Girls MUST wear shirts during their shift.” Really? Because I was confused about the appropriateness of being on duty in only my bra.  ::Head meets desk::           

            After uniforms and dress code, we move on to emergencies.  “Finally,” I thought, “something that at least is relevant.”  Um, no.  He opens up the topic with a question.  “If there’s a fire in the building, do you think that you have the right to leave your post?”  No answer from the half-asleep students, so he clarifies, “You do.  In the event of a fire, you may abandon your post.”  Thanks for clearing that up for me, buddy.  In the event of a fire, I was just gonna sit there and burn.  Because I always thought that I looked best well-done.  Excuse me while I carve out my eye with this pencil on my desk.  It makes more sense than listening to this speech. 

            Some other points that *obviously* needed to be clarified:

 “We don’t allow you to be watching or reading pornography while on the job.” Damn! Now what will I read at work??

“We don’t allow sleeping on the job.” Wow, thanks for clearing that up.  I was wondering about that.  

“You’re not allowed to show up, sign in, and then leave.” Yeah, that was necessary to say.  Cuz I thought we were.

 

Now, the training session sucked.  But I my guess is that they are obligated to hold one every semester, blah blah blah.  They’re probably even required to say all that stupid shit too.  So, I won’t hold them responsible for their idiocy.  (Except really, yes, I will.) But what I don’t understand are the people who ask questions.  You’d think on a Saturday morning, they’d be few and far between.  Not so.  Every ten minutes, someone else had a question.  It’s not even 9am. For those burning questions that you just HAVE to know the answer to, you have a 30 page training manual in front of you.  These are the same people who ask elaborate questions 3 minutes before a class is supposed to end.  If it’s really that important to you, talk to the professor after class.  Otherwise, SHUT UP.  Some of us want to get out of here.

 

            All in all, it was perhaps the biggest waste of three hours of my life. But hey, at least I now have a free, ugly lanyard keychain that says “DPS Student Guard”.

You know what sucks?
                ... a three hour lecture on a monday morning.

You know what sucks even more?
               ... showing up an hour earlier than you need to for said lecture.

     That's right.  Of course, today is the one day where the undergraduate students in the lecture didn't have to show up until nine.  Of course, I was here at eight.  I really missed that memo.  Oy. 
     So, I broke my foot.  I have a stress fracture in my right foot from running on it, which really kinda sucks.  However, Caro and I have changed our morning running sessions to morning workout sessions at Yates (campus gym).  My doctor okayed me to use the bike, so that's what I've been doing.  So I've been up since 5:30 this morning, and now I'm really cranky. 

    Alright, well I'm gonna go be productive during this hour of lecture that I do not need to be present for.  ggrrrrrooooaaaaannn.

I have a lot to say about my recent "Student Guard Training Session".  That'll be up soon.

Peace,
:o) Catch

So,

Chad Darnell, a wonderfully funny man and awesome writer, came up with this 12 of 12 idea - basically a 12 picture photo diary of people's lives.  My life is horrifically boring at the moment, but I did it anyway.  I actually found myself enjoying it - it made everyday things more amusing.  And I look horrible in the pictures, don't judge.  There was no primping for these.  The link should take you right to it, but if it doesn't, click on the album called "A Day in 12 Parts". 

http://community.webshots.com/album/542773757ozOwyL

Peace,
Catch

http://www.beawitness.org/video

-C

Okay. So.

Because I didn't going running at Caumsette Park with my aunt today, I decided to go for a quick run on my treadmill tonight (yes, at midnight nonetheless). Anyway, it was all well and good until I got back upstairs, took off my sweatpants, and saw my knee (the one that I had surgery on). I swear, it's the size of a balloon. It hasn't been this swollen since I was dancing on it six days a week, which was almost three years ago. The strange thing is, it's sore, but no more than usual. It doesn't really hurt ... it's just HUGE. Oh well, guess we'll wait and see how it's doin' tomorrow. Hopefully it's just being weird and it'll feel fine when I wake up.

Okay, well seeing as I'm siting here in a towel (just got out of the shower), I'm gonna go get into PJs and get some sleep. Busy day tomorrow, starting at 7am. Blah. Isn't it supposed to be like ... winter vacation?

Peace,
:o) Catch

PS - SO excite to go back to DC, despite my moaning and groaning about having to get up before 8am. 6 days.

More specifically, preparing for Christmas.

 

Things not to do:

 

1) Don’t…buy the wrapping paper that’s on sale.  Seriously. I thought that this year, I’d try being “independent” and “an adult” and buy my own wrapping paper instead of mooching off my mother, as per usual.  I went into Eckerd and bought the cheapest wrapping paper I could find.  I felt proud and accomplished as I walked out of the store.  “Look at me!!! I’m so old that I’m buying my own wrapping paper!  I don’t need my parents!!”  That warm, fuzzy, feeling of independence lasted for oh, about a day.  The night of the 23^rd found me in my room, cursing at my diagonal cutting skills and the thinness of the paper.  Cutting this stuff was nearly impossible. Usually when I wrap, I do that super-cool “swoosh” thing with the scissors – you know, where you don’t actually move the scissors up and down, but rather just kinda glide them along.  Well apparently, when you buy cheap wrapping paper, that’s just not appropriate.  Anytime I’d head in for a nice swoosh, it’d sound something like this: “Swwwooooo---rrrriiiiiiiiiiiip.”  There was no swooshing to be done.  The paper was so thin that it’d just tear.  After trying that about ten times (I have a very shallow learning curve), I moved on to cutting the normal way.  Apparently, I’m challenged in that area as well.  As my older sister so kindly pointed out, I was really good at cutting rhombuses and triangles.  Not so much with the rectangles and squares.  And because it was the “on sale” wrapping paper, there weren’t any of those grid lines on the back of the paper to help guide you as you cut.  And while I’ve made fun of the aforementioned lines in the past, (“Are there actually people so challenged that they can’t cut in a straight line?!?”), apparently I really need them.  So, what did I learn from all of this?  For at least the next 10, maybe 15 years, I will continue to mooch off my mother’s wrapping paper. 

 

2) Don’t…Leave tissue paper on polished wood floors.  It’s um, a little bit “slippery”. Especially if you leave it right by where you step to get out of bed.  And what’s worse than the fact that I have a bruise on my ass from slipping and falling on it, is that I knew it was there.  I had slipped on it earlier, but caught myself before actually falling.  Instead of doing the intelligent thing and removing the paper, I left it there.  And I’ve got the bruise to prove it.

 

3) Don’t… Forget to pay attention to what you’re buying.  I was so proud of myself for remembering to buy labels (you know, the “To/From” ones), that I just picked up the first package that I saw.  I guess because I had always stolen labels from my parents, I assumed that all labels are self-adhesive.  Wrong.  I had to go through one-by-one and tape all of my stupid labels to my presents this year.  Moral of the story? Again, for the next 10 to 15 years, I will be stealing labels from my parents. 

 

____________

 

Peace,

Catch

Just saw Rent, again.  Lots to say on it, but that's for another entry.

Just wanted to do a quick update.  ATI exams, finals, and clinical skills practical exams are coming up. Anu and I are also running all the STAND High School Outreach Initiative stuff, which is incredibly worthwhile, but also incredibly time consuming. With all this going on, I hardly have time to eat, sleep, breathe.  I saw Rent tonight because I was going crazy, working too hard.  I needed a night off.  It was so worth it, even if I do have to catch up tomorrow. 

Housing stuff tomorrow - yuck.  We got a really shitty lottery draw.  We're gonna pick a place to live, but keep looking off campus anyway, since most likely we're not gonna get anything good. 

In other, stranger and more unexpected news, I'm running a relay leg of the Burlington Marathon.  We're doing it as a "family thing".  We have two teams, made up of all the cousins/aunts/uncles, and we're running two at a time till the end of the marathon.  Now, I know what you're thinking.  Catch? Run?? In a marathon?!?!?! What the...??? Yes, I'm thinking that too.  I just might die.  I don't "do" running.  I tend to a) Have an asthma attack, b)Go in atrial tachycardia and pass out, c) Get shooting pains in the knee that I had surgery on, d)get grumpy, or e) all of the above.  But I figure, I can "train" to run my very short leg of the relay.  And hopefully, I'll be okay.  It should be fun with all of us going up to Vermont (one set of my cousins live up there) and running together.  If we don't kill each other. Ah, who knows.  We'll see. I already signed on for this, so I don't really have a choice. It'll be good for me.  If it doesn't kill me, that is. (Um, that was hyperbole.  I think.)

Maybe it's because I saw Rent tonight, but I'm feeling incredibly overwhelmed at the moment.  I just keep on thinking about the children being starved to death and the women and girls being systematically raped in Darfur, those who are without a home in Zimbabwe because the government knocked down their homes, the AIDS problem in Tanzania and the rest of sub-Saharan Africa that I can't fix, the homeless people we pass by on the streets and don't even think twice about... I don't know how to fix any of it.  I'm trying so hard and it feels sometimes like it just will never make a difference.  Its...incredibly frustrating.  I guess though, it doesn't matter. I won't stop trying.  Will you?

Peace,
Catch

Will I lose my dignity?
Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow
From this nightmare...

Every time I hear that song, all I can think about is my patients who suffered from AIDS dementia, from when I worked in the nursing home last year.  They didn't know who they were, where they were, and they had no one by their bedside except us.  They were dying without dignity, without the love of family and friends, and without even knowing who they were.  It broke my heart. 

That time period in my life when I slept for more than an hour a night.

So. anyway. 

I'm sitting in my "Research in Healthcare" class, entirely bored out of my mind.  I figured since I haven't updated in a very long while, this would be the perfect time to do so.  (Enter the standard apology: Sorry mom.)

SO much has happened since I last updated, but don't worry, I won't bore you with all of it, save for two notable events.

 . . . . . . . . . . . .

Alex came to visit in the beginning of November, for a few days.  It was wonderful.  She came right at the time when I was ready to drop out of school and call it quits.  Really, it's amazing how much one person can just make everything better.  (OK, wow, that got really sappy.  Sorry. Won't happen again.  Hopefully.) But really.  I didn't realize how much I missed her until she was here, and then in was like OH! YEAH. I remember this.  It's called laughter, right? 
Ok, so really, my life isn't that bad. At all.  From the picture I just painted, it sounds like I'm miserable, which I actually really am not.  I have some absolutely amazing friends who are actually ON campus this semester.  However, there's something to be said about the unique friendship that Alex and I have.  It's the kind of friendship that's absolutely content spending a Friday night in, watching old Buffy episodes and fighting about who gets to prostrate on the futon and who has to sit on the uncomfortable university-provided couch.  The kind of friendship that claims that it's ok to not to plan something exciting for every minute, or ever feel the need to "entertain".  It's got the unique ability to switch - at the drop of a hat - from serious discussions about the meaning of life to discussions about who is sexier, Angel or Spike.   And I miss it.  A lot. 

Second important/notable event of November?  Kinda harder to explain.

My school has a Take Back the Night Chapter, which I actually have wanted to get involved with, but between STAND and clinicals and work and classes and studying, I don't even have time to eat or sleep... so yeah, no time for that. But anyway-  They just had their "Take Back the Night" Week on campus.  One of the events they setup and ran was an open-mic night at Uncommon Grounds, a wonderful student-run coffee shop on campus.  The idea was simple - anyone can get up and say anything.  Poetry, spoken word, prose, random ramblings, anything, provided that it has something to do with gender equality or lack thereof, crimes against women, etc.  Hemly told me about it, and she decided that I was going.  (Yes, she decided.) She suggested that I read something I wrote.  I thought about it.  Thought and thought and thought about it.  I mean, I'd never read anything I wrote about myself and what happened in public before.  I've never been forced to put my face with my story publicly.  Shrinks and close friends aside, I've never stood up and told my story.  Honestly, that would be because it scares the crap out of me. 
- However - 
I felt ready.  And by "ready", what I really mean is "scared out of my mind".  But in a good way I think. I don't know if I actually thought I would read or not, but I had a spoken word piece that I decided to bring with me, just in case.  Beforehand, I read it outloud, for the first time, to Molly. And when I got there and the moment was right, I stood up and read my spoken word piece.  Got thru it without crying and without panicking.  Sat down afterwards and couldn't stop the tears, but by that point it was over and actually, it felt good.  I had friends who were there to hug me and stand with me, and I felt safe.  I spoke.  I. Spoke. And I was heard.  People actually understood me.  For what felt like the first time.  Now, keep in mind that it's spoken word and it doesn't really translate as well on paper. But, ( I spoke and they listened.  )

________

It was a big deal for me.  A huge deal, actually. And I had some awesome friends with me, who were there for me so I didn't have to go through it alone. 

It really has been an absolutely crazy November.  Talk about mood swings.

Maybe I should pay attention now.  I think this sounds like it might be important. 

Peace,
:o) Catch

_________________________

New to the "List of Things I Learned About Myself in College"
With enough Red Bull, I can go 40 hours without sleeping before I feel tired.

Dear Georgetown University's SNHS Administration,

     Stop beating the life out of your students.  We can't take it anymore.  You are about to graduate 0% of your class, because at this pace by graduation we will all be dead.  Seriously.  Just a thought from a half-dead junior.
                                         Sincerely,
                                                Catch

. . .


So, it's about 2:40 am. I have 5 (yes 5) papers due tomorrow. I've done 3. And now I've finally made the decision - I am dropping out of college. I'm done. I'm gonna get a job and maybe come back to school later. I hate this shit.






... Just kidding. (sorry mom, that probably wasn't funny for you.)

But seriously, this sucks. Isn't college supposed to be fun? I haven't had "fun" in weeks. Probably months. I'm getting really frustrated and tired. I feel like I'm running a mental marathon, and I'm seriously getting to the point of collapsing. And it doesn't ever get any easier. 5 papers due tomorrow, one of them a nice 10-pager. A 20-pager and a 3-pager due on Thursday that I haven't even started. Labwork due tomorrow that I haven't started, and I pray that I get out of my psych clinical early enough to finish it before my med-surg lab. I have a midterm evaluation supposedly due tomorrow in psych clinical as well, but it's supposed to be posted online and I can't find it. I had a midterm today in my research class that I spent too much time studying for (it's a two credit class - I shouldv'e been doing these papers). I haven't slept in days.

And I really need a hug.


I wonder how much longer I'm going to last before I have a complete breakdown. I feel it coming on.

-Catch

I've got pictures, for all who might be interested in what I've been doing with my life!

http://community.webshots.com/user/CatchL

Peace,
Catch

I'm sitting in my research class at the moment, bored out of my mind.  I'm exhausted and all I want to do is take a nap.  We just finished our first exam.  I'm contemplating just getting up and leaving.

Of late, I've become re-obsesesed with Stephen Dunn.  I've been reading him in my spare time (of which I actually have none...it's more that I read it instead of studying). Frequently I don't agree with what he's saying, but I love the way he says it.  Sometimes his stuff really does hit home though, and the current poem that I'm enjoying is "Round Trip" - especially sections 3, 5, and 6.  Enjoy. 

 

Round Trip

 

1.

I watched the prairie repeat itself

   until it got beautiful, the geometry

            of farms, the flatness

 

that made interesting the slightest

   undulation.  Never had the sky

            touched so far down.

 

Then, because mood invents landscape,

    the flatness turned irredeemable,

            I felt it go on and on –

 

something lush and vacant in me

    wished for an edge again,

            a city, an ocean.

 

I returned east, began to revise

    my childhood, wanted woman

            with sharp tongues,

 

my evening walks shadowy and open

   to possibility. And because the mind

            gets what it wants

 

but rarely the way it wants it,

    I got mugged on a street corner,

            fear brought home in a real cold sweat

 

on a real November evening,

   and city life began to insist –

            like jazz, like dream –

 

it would be nothing but what it was.

    In a rented cabin up north,

            Christmas vacation,

 

I closed the door and gave whatever in me

    wanted to be alone and pitied

            its hard uncomfortable chair.

 

But after a while the light

    I didn’t believe in

            shone in anyway through the windows,

the walls I had pulled in

   closer and closer

            returned to their proper places.

 

One day I opened the door

    and it wasn’t quite overcast,

            little pieces of sun

 

reached the tip of my shoe,

    and it was as if I’d touched a breast

            for the first time

 

and touched it and touched it

   until, having touched it enough,

            I finally saw the blue veins . . .

 

2.

Ever since, I’ve been trying to build

    a house of cards amid a house

            of people, hard edges and angles,

 

each one overlapping.  From the beginning

    I’ve been careful of the one

            that would be too many.

 

I’ve kept out of drafts, house-winds.

     The unexpected opening

            of a door, an indelicate voice,

 

these are the hazards of building

    among people, amid their enthusiasms

            and secret needs

 

to destroy.  One should be alone

    to build a house of cards.

            One should have a hardwood table,

 

perfectly flat. One should have none

    of the clutter that comes

            from living a life.

 

That’s why, though, I’ve been trying

    to build a house of cards

            in a house of people –

 

to do what’s difficult to do

    and so be pleased

            with each card I add,

 

each moment short of collapse. 

 

3.

There’s been a cricket in the livingroom,

    a male because only the male

            is built to sing

 

or to produce what passes for song.

    It’s a mating call, that high sound

            that comes from rubbing

 

forewing against forewing, plaintive,

    like someone scared blowing

            a little whistle in the dark.

 

Day and night it’s been making that sound

    from somewhere in the room.

            I’ve opened drawers,

 

I’ve pulled chairs away from the wall,

    ready with two paper cups

            to catch it

 

and take it outside.  It came in, I suppose

   in a confusion of warmth

            doomed to sing

 

its song to those who wouldn’t understand.

    Now the song grows

            more faint –

 

why care? it’s the end of summer

     and crickets die and come back

            in great, anonymous force.

 

I’m pulling back the rug, listening

    for what it withholds

            when anyone gets too close.

 

4. 

Where does the dark come from?

- The dark comes from the weakness of the infinity of numbers.

                                                -Andrea Dunn, age 10

 

How to leave a come back – the school bus

    instructs my daughter it’s easy

            and that for now is good.

 

She’s off again into numbers, words,

    all the necessary confusions.

            History, she believes,

 

is what happens to others.  Biology is what

    she lives with, but hasn’t had. 

            I’m watching from the window,

 

the father who knows education

     is all about departures, who knows

            when things are right

 

nobody comes home the same.  The school

    has left a hole in the landscape.

            Air fills it now, the low sky

 

we don’t call sky for some reason.

    How to paint a landscape where children

            once played? Swirls and smudges?

 

My daughter knows where dark comes from

     and I believe her.  She’s growing breasts.

            She closes the door to her room.

 

I’d paint the trees blue because the low sky

    is in them.  I’d paint the whole area white

            where she once did a cartwheel,

 

maybe with a hint of yellow in it

    for the school bus.  Off to the side

            lots of red seemingly out of control

 

yet orderly, like wildflowers.

 

5.

Nothing’s happening but the wind,

   the ferry rocking its way

            toward Delaware, and Delaware Bay

 

full of big tankers

    at anchor, seemingly poised.

            It’s two hours across,

 

a talk to give, one night

    away, then two hours back,

            the kind of minor traveling

 

which tests nothing at home, nothing in self.

     “Travel is the saddest pleasure,”

            a friend once said.  He meant

 

all those hours that exist

    outside of work and play and love.

            The boredom of sailors

 

must be enormous, as great as the boredom

    of those on land who hope for weather

            to change their lives.

 

We’re bored too, the few of us

     making this trip, off-season, the specter

            of necessity

 

evident in how we sit and stare.

     Later, I’m thinking, each of us

            will have a story to tell

 

about the bay and the ships. 

     We’ll leave out all we can,

            and that is a traveler’s life.

 

or a sailor’s life.  We’ll make our friends

     wish they were us, we’ll replace experience

            with what we say.

 

6.

This is one of those stories,

     Minnesota to New Jersey,

            a return home

 

in search of home, regular departures

    to find the limits

            of home –

 

impulses finding reasons, words.

 

The great decisions that change

    a life – hardly decisions

            at all; a wild hunch

 

or avoidance, the unknown agent x

    coursing through the body

            like a bastard gene.

 

I’m only sure that collapse

     waits just beyond

standing still,

 

the next complacency.  Even now,

    my day off, I’m thinking

            I’ll get in my car,

 

get out of here, no rhyme except

     internal rhyme, the clicks

            and bells that go off

 

when the body has heard itself

    and acted.  I know where

            I’ll go –

 

ball field, casino, deserted beach –

    some not-home place

            where I can pivot

 

at supper time, make my way back

     as if I’d made a choice. 

 

7. 

Last week at this time

    Canada geese flapping overhead,

            heading south:

 

impossible to warn them of hunters

    up since dawn.  A few hours later

            three separate phone calls

 

told me the same person was dead.

    By the third my voice

            had nothing in it;

 

it was days before the letting go.

     I watched the jays in the yard

            chasing smaller birds,

 

taking all the seed for themselves.  That’s where

     the dark comes from, I thought,

            some weakness in the motive

 

or of the heart, a bunch of jays

    exercising their muscle, and poof,

            nothing’s left but jays. 

 

I should have called the dead man’s wife.

     I should have reread his poems,

            made him a good ghost

 

and myself sorrow’s perfectly correct man.

     I put on my running shoes,

            ran the full circle

 

of the park, showered, turned on the

     important game.  The whole season

            was on the line,

 

the announcer said, and it was.

     In a nearby room the noise of others –

            a child’s whine, my wife saying No –

 

mixed with my noise to form

     the familiar.  For a while

            nothing tumbled down.