Catch is Caught (The Unfiltered Ramblings of Catch)

Reminder

Mon, 13 Mar 2006 14:14:22 GMT

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

Oy

Sun, 12 Mar 2006 17:20:44 GMT

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

I've moved!

Sun, 12 Mar 2006 01:33:32 GMT

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

This weekend...

Mon, 27 Feb 2006 04:54:27 GMT

...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

Fri, 17 Feb 2006 03:14:50 GMT

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

12 of 12

Tue, 14 Feb 2006 05:56:52 GMT

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

Things I can't get out of my head

Sat, 11 Feb 2006 19:52:43 GMT

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

Love has no face.

Sun, 05 Feb 2006 16:37:38 GMT

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.

Let's Discuss: Student Guard Training

Fri, 03 Feb 2006 19:47:23 GMT

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”.

Oy vey.

Mon, 30 Jan 2006 13:38:01 GMT

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

A Day in 12 Parts

Fri, 13 Jan 2006 23:33:53 GMT

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

Genocide.

Mon, 09 Jan 2006 16:37:31 GMT

http://www.beawitness.org/video

-C

Running

Wed, 04 Jan 2006 06:13:45 GMT

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.

Let's Discuss ... Christmas

Mon, 26 Dec 2005 19:54:48 GMT

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

Lots going on...but a short entry.

Sat, 03 Dec 2005 08:20:46 GMT

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.

You know what I really miss?

Tue, 22 Nov 2005 19:02:51 GMT

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,

The Reincarnation of a Rape Victim

A poem in 5 parts

By Catch Laverriere

Part 1. The things you tell your shrink so you don’t have to tell yourself

i told my shrink today

that i was a 16 year old sober virgin,

awakened in the middle of the night

from a deep sleep

by the thrusting of a man

and he has been inside me metaphorically every day

since the night he was inside of me literally

and i carry

that other women might be hurt

because it was two years before i could finally stand up and say

that.

asshole.

raped.

me.

and my word and my broken soul aren't enough -

are not deemed worthy enough -

to take him off the streets

and i asked my shrink to imagine

how it feels

when his face floats in front of me

every night in my nightmares,

but yet when i awake, i see nothing;

i cannot remember the curve of his mouth

or the arch of his nose

or the color of his eyes

so every man i meet,

every stranger that passes me by,

might

just
be

him.

i smiled to myself when my shrink

could not keep eye contact with me while i told her

that i have not laid with another man since

and the thought of having sex with a man -

of letting someone touch me with affection and love -

makes me sick to my stomach,

and

that most days i honestly believe

that no good man or woman would want

such a damaged girl.

Part 2. You

and then i left the room,

the couch and the chair and the judgment of a woman

who’s only claim to understanding me

is a framed degree from some state university

hung proudly on her wall,

I left to tell you the rest of my story,

I left to tell you

that just because i carry all this,

doesn’t mean it's who i am.

To tell you that i am not rape personified

To tell you that i am not a metaphor for the damage

that this violation causes

and i promise you tomorrow i will laugh and i will smile

and it will be real

and i will be real

and i also promise that tomorrow

i will stare at all this baggage i carry

and contemplate shipping it away,

but continue emptying the suitcases,

one by one,

anyway.

Part 3. Him

and then i walked away from you,

and i went and wrote this down,

and addressed it “to Him”

from me

because I want to tell him this,

that I am giving him back,

the shattered pieces of my life

The bits and pieces that he

Caused to break

The memories that I can’t erase and

The moments when I became less than myself.

I am giving it back and

I becoming whole again.

I am giving him back his words.

His words:

How do you like it, bitch

Shutup, bitch

Try and move and I’ll kill you, bitch

I am giving him back time,

For all those years when I didn’t know what to say

As my girlfriends giggled and laughed over their “first time”

and I remained silent,

enduring that endless silence while their gazes turned to me,

waiting for an anecdote

that i would never share.

I am giving him back the uncertainty he thrust upon me,

Of not knowing whether or not I was a virgin

Of not knowing what to say when my friends would ask,

Have you had sex yet?

And the only answer i knew for sure was

I don’t know.

i thought about him today

i thought about how he will never be forgiven

and how i will never forgive myself

and i asked him

do you ever think of me?

did you feel powerful while you were on top of me?

did you feel more like a man?

And I decided,

Finally,

Because he is less of a man

And I am no less of a woman,

That I will forgive myself,

and in doing so,

I am giving him back the ending of this poem

tonight, here,

now.

it’s about a girl I know…

Part 4. Her

i know a girl i’ve never met.

a girl i’ve thought about

over and over

and over again;

a girl who perhaps

doesn’t even know that i exist

she

is his next victim

his next sober virgin

awakened while he violated her and

ripped away her dignity

and i am glad she does not know me

i am glad she cannot see my face

i am ashamed of how my silence has wronged her.

Sometimes i wonder

if that same god i can’t believe in

would forgive my silence and my fear

and my rape of her.

does she suspect that i exist?

does she know that had i spoken,

had i put aside my pride and my terror and my comfort

i could have saved her,

that she would still be intact and whole and

that he

would not be free.

Part 5. Reincarnation

when you finished

when you got up off my bed

when you tucked me back in

and smiled said

Nice Ride.

when you exited my room

when you left me alone

i knew

that i had died,

and i was in hell.

and no matter how many hours

i spent

trying to find my way back to the girl who i was

at noon the day before

she would never live again.

she was just one more casualty of rape

but it is four years later

and now I realize that i

have always been that girl

will always be that girl

and that you

will never be the man

that you think you are

and tonight,

that girl

who i thought was dead -

just another rape victim -

has been reincarnated

into a rape

survivor.

________

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 NHS

Thu, 03 Nov 2005 05:07:04 GMT

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

It's 2:37 am, and I quit.

Tue, 01 Nov 2005 07:48:46 GMT

. . .

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

Oh and ...

Mon, 31 Oct 2005 18:19:54 GMT

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

Stephen Dunn

Mon, 31 Oct 2005 18:13:58 GMT

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

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 . . .

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Sharing a tiny piece of me ...

Mon, 31 Oct 2005 07:10:51 GMT

So, I recently re-read some old journal entries of mine. Since I don't have time for a real update, I'm gonna give you a little excerpt from an entry. In this one, I was reflecting on my early childhood and growing up. Enjoy

I grew up on the north shore of Long Island, which, if you ever knew me even a little, would be your first sign that something that something is a little off. I’m not a north shore kind of girl. I’d take the real Atlantic, high waves and strong winds, over the Long Island Sound any day. Not that I didn’t appreciate growing up near water. I spent the middle of many nights of my adolescence sneaking out my window, running to the beach, lying on the sand, and staring up into the sky and stars as I questioned the validity of my existence. It was probably the only place that I ever felt truly comfortable with myself.

My life as a young child was horrifically normal. Catholic school, ballet, violin, and gymnastics lessons, fighting with my three siblings (I was second in line, behind Elizabeth but before Caroline who is before Greg). My family lived in the suburbs of New York City, on the white house on the corner of Homestead Path; the one with the ¼ of an acre of land that was beautifully landscaped. The over-abundance of flowers and design was complements of my corporate lawyer father, the man who worked over 40 hours a week in some fancy building in New York City. When he was home, however, flowers and gardening were clearly a better option than dealing with the indoors world of his family of six. To this day he still spends a considerably more time outside his home than inside it, and I really can’t say that I blame him.

In elementary school, I was a straight “E” student. Somewhere along the line, someone decided that St. Patrick’s School was too good for the normal grading system, and instead of being able to describe with pride my straight “A” average, I was forced to spend my youth describing to all those willing to listen just what numerical equivalent an “E” actually had. An “E” was a 96-100%, in case you were wondering. I don’t think that I even knew how to get anything below an “E”. I overly excelled in my English, Writing, and Language Arts classes, and luckily grade school math wasn’t difficult for me. This was not a trend, as my high school senior year Pre-calculus teacher was to see, that would continue.

Around the time I was in first grade, my parents decided we could handle getting gerbils for the three girls (Buttercup, Flower, and Hot Chocolate, respectively). My gerbil, Flower, was the fattest thing I had ever seen. It ate all the food, starved Hot Chocolate to death, and then proceeded to eat Hot Chocolate too. This subsequently killed the poor the glutton. By the time I was in the fourth grade, we had progressed to a small family dog named Chip. His full name, actually, was “Hello Mr. Chips”, a name clearly thought of by my mother. Us kids all wanted “Tuck”, but my mother, ever so smart, knew the first time Tuck peed in the house, chewed on the furniture, or barked too much, my father was going to change “Little Tuck” into “Little Fuck.” So, Chip it was. From about day 3, the poor dog was subjected to every sort of torture, from being used as a ball to play catch with (Caroline and Greg thought up that one), to being dressed up in American Girl Doll clothes (a favorite among the sisters), to being stuffed in the mailbox as a surprise for Mom (that one was all of us). He was even, at one point, married to my cousin Laura, in a ceremony conducted by my older sister Elizabeth. Still somehow, Chip has grown into a very old dog who wouldn’t harm a fly, and who loves his mother very much. He is convinced he is the fifth child, and spends his time sleeping on my mother’s bed when he cannot be sleeping in her arms with his head resting on her shoulder. Of course I think that he’s adorable and I love him like crazy, but along with my father and the rest of my siblings, I know that Chip truly is Mom’s favorite, and for that I will always be a little bit bitter.

Peace,

Catch

Lazy Saturday

Sat, 29 Oct 2005 17:29:15 GMT

So. Nothing too interesting going on over here. I've got this huge backlog of more interesting things to post that I just have to type up. Grr.

I (re)watched The Laramie Project for like the millionth time last night, and cried myself to sleep. I don't know what else to say about that. It hits hard every time.

I have this grand notion that I can change the world, but sometimes it's so easy to get caught up in the fact that we (those who would see the world for it's possibilities) are set up to fail.

Nevermind though. It won't stop me from trying.

I should go back to studying. (I'm sitting in the library, pretending to care about school.)

Peace,
Catch

PS - I still don't have internet in my apartment, which is why I haven't been replying to emails regularly. The internet-fixer-guy can't get to me to repair my connection line until Wednesday. pttthht.

For all you NHSers out there ...

Wed, 26 Oct 2005 02:05:46 GMT

So, this isn't gonna be a real entry (sorry, so so busy)...

However, I figured that all of my International Health/Nursing buddies are probably at the same point in the semester that I am - the point in which you're thinking Wow, my life sucks. What did I get myself into?? Why couldn't I have just been an English major? Anyway, here's something to cheer you up. I've been jotting these down since freshmen year, and will continue to do so until graduation (provided I graduate. just kidding. sorta. )Here's the list so far:

You know that you’re a nursing major (class of 2007) at Georgetown University when:

1) You think that TLC means total lung capacity, or triple lumen catheter.

2) You are upset but not surprised when you have so much work that you have to spend both Friday and Saturday nights in the library studying

3) When taking notes in classes other than nursing, you abbreviate the word history as “Hx”. In fact, if a non-NHS person wants to copy your notes, you need to spend a few minutes translating all the abbreviations for them.

4) You get really excited when picking out the color of your stethoscope. Almost as excited as the day it arrives in the mail.

5) The “Walk of Shame” for you is the walk across campus in your nursing uniform.

6) You graduate and actually have a job

7) Your friends are always coming up to you and asking for medical advice, regardless of how much clinical experience you actually have (or don’t have).

8) Your can finish this sentence “Oh oh oh to touch and feel . . .” without much thought, but you only vaguely remember what each word stands for.

9) You make an explicit point to have friends outside of the Nursing School, so that you can at least claim you have some semblance of a social life.

10) You’ve pulled an all-nighter to study either on a Friday or Saturday night. If you haven’t, you either wish that you had (after receiving a test grade – probably patho), or understand that eventually you will.

11) You can actually say that you took a class where you learned how to give enemas and bathe people.

12) As much as you try to deny it, you actually love reading Bio/Patho/Pharm/Micro. The human body is just SO cool.

13) When you think about old people “masticating” and “having trouble masticating”, it doesn’t sound really vile and dirty to you. And it’s really, really far from sexy.

14) You know that Jason Murray knows everything.

15) You think that all core requirement classes are a waste of time and just serve to make your already hectic and intense schedule worse, filling it with busy work that won’t help you “in the field”.

16) For like the first week of freshmen year, you think that having Angerio as a teacher is a “kinda cool” rite of passage. You go into that class thinking, “Hey, I took AP Bio and got a 5, this shouldn’t be that bad.” As a sophomore, you go into his class praying that you’ll pass. You pity the freshmen.

17) You do, however, feel kinda cool when freshmen come up to you and ask about Angerio and if his tests are really all that bad. You speak about Bio/Patho/Micro with an all-knowing half grin/half grimace on your face. You leave the conversation glad that you now know the correct way to take notes for his class. (i.e., actually taking them instead of doodling/falling asleep/doing other homework)

18) Your first nursing class was really nothing more than a class where they taught you how to love people. You questioned your career choice.

19) You coordinated your Health Assessment I Final Practical Exam with your partner so that you couldn’t get anything wrong. You still managed to get a few points off.

20) Your non-NHS friends have huge amounts of respect for you and the work you put in, but at the same time really pity you and wouldn’t want to trade places with you.

21) You’ve heard all the Angerio rumors. Your favorite one is that he injects himself with formaldehyde and that’s how he stays looking so good. Actually, it’s a tie between that one and the one that says he uses a secret tunnel to go between St. Mary’s and MedDent.

22) You’re a little worried because the pictures in the front of your Pathophysiology book still gross you out. You question your ability to be a good nurse because of this.

23) Angerio really is your homeboy. Unless you have an exam of his coming up.

24) When people say “fall ball” you hear “open bar”.

25) If anyone uses the words “care” and “plan” in the same sentence, your knee-jerk reaction is to go running in the opposite direction.

26) Watching “ER” is basically like studying for you. And your non-NHS friends won’t watch it with you, because you’re always pointing out flaws in the way things are done for TV, or you start giving them more details than they want about why Dr. Carter is doing what he’s doing.

27) You know that St. Mary’s is the best building on campus. Period.

28) Unlike your friends in the college, you actually know your advisors and deans.

29) You know that you don’t want to get your sophomore year spring semester clinical placement at Potomac Care Center. Ever.

30) You believe that Dr. Mallinson had a past life in which he was the bad guy in the movie Air Bud.

31) You say things like “meds”, not “medications” and “scrip” not “prescription”.

32) Doing labs with GUS is scarier than it should be, considering that he’s not actually alive.

33) You’ve killed GUS and felt horrible about it. Multiple times.

34) You’ve finished clinical by the time your roommate is just waking up.

35) You’ve showed up for – and slept through - nursing grand rounds.

36) You’ve fallen asleep on the couches in the lounge, more than once. Probably on purpose.

37) You have a “study group” of other nursing students, but you can’t actually study with them because you’ve all become too good of friends and can get no work done when put in a room together.

38) You probably don’t actually want to be an RN for the rest of your life. Or, ever.

39) You’ve spent over $700 on books in one semester, and used only half of them.

40) You never bring your Med-Surg textbook anywhere, because it weighs more than you do.

41) Who the hell is Dr. Ballard, and where did she come from? More importantly, who thought it was a good idea for her to teach a 3-hour, 8am lecture class???

42) You know the name of every student in your major.

43) You work hard, but you party just as hard.

44) You’ve wanted to strangle a second-degree student (more than once) when, with 2 minutes left in the class, he/she starts telling their life story/asks a question.

45) You or your friend has fallen asleep in Dr. Lachat’s class, and been called out on it by her.

46) You get excited when you have 8am class because it means that you can sleep in.

47) You’ve gone up to the second floor of St. Mary’s just to get candy from Jean Farley’s door.

48) You get protective of St. Mary’s when you see a non-NHS friend wandering the halls.
49) You haven’t worn your lab coat since freshmen year, but yet you have it with you each semester.

50) You’ve lost your nametag multiple times.

51) By the time you hit mid-sophomore year, you were no longer ashamed of your nursing uniform. (Perhaps because you’ve bought cooler scrubs elsewhere, and you don’t bother tucking your shirt in or wearing your lab coat). You know that your uniform is a sign to the rest of campus that a) you work harder than them, and b) you’re gonna have a definite, well-paying job after you graduate

52) You can joke about colostomy bags, bed baths, and incontinence over lunch.

53) You've witnessed Dr. Angerio take that brave, bare-handed plunge into the open and dissected abdomen of a dead cat. You wish you hadn't.

Not Dead.

Fri, 21 Oct 2005 17:00:34 GMT

Hi.

No, I'm not dead, contrary to popular belief. Though I am close to it. My life has been absolutely insanely crazy. Much to tell. Unfortunately, I do not have a computer (using my sister's at the moment), because my laptop decided to spontaneously combust while simultaneously imploding on itself. And you didn't that was possible. Ha.

So, the dell dude is supposed to come sometime next week. After that, I will be able to rejoin the world. (And, not have to go to the library to check my email/write a 20 page paper. In case you were wondering, those library chairs get REALLY uncomfortable after about the 3rd hour.)

Will update soon. Thanks to all those who sent emails/messages asking if I was okay.

:o) Catch

Fall is here! (and so are the assholes)

Fri, 30 Sep 2005 23:37:28 GMT

Fall is finally here. It was cool-ish all day today; I absolutely loved it.

Oh, and we have a new asshole of the month. Today, I was tabling in red square for STAND. We had the usual stuff out - pledges for DarfurFast, T-shirts, informative papers, an email list, etc. We also had some baked goods that we were selling for 50 cents (ps, why is there no "cents" symbol on the keyboard??). Anyway, this guy and his friend come up to the table, and the guy and says, "Hi, I just have a question for you. I bought some cookies from you this morning, so tell me, have you ended the genocide yet?" He follows that with an arrogant look and a shout to his friend,(who had wandered off, probably in embarrassment), saying something along the lines of "i told you cookies wouldn't stop genocide". What a fucking asshole. If you don't want to take part in STAND or saving the lives of Darfuris, fine. That is your prerogative. But how dare you mock those who would appreciate every little step, every tiny donation, as a step towards achieving a greater goal. How dare he undermine the constant struggle of the people of Darfur, especially when 50 cents is enough to feed someone for a day. How dare he make a joke at the expense of the people of Darfur? Arrogance combined with naivety and selfishness makes me incredibly angry.

In more uplifting news, I finally made my goal for AIDS Walk (and not a day too soon)!!! Thank you so SO much to everyone who sponsored me. And we signed a bunch more people up for DarfurFast today, so that's very cool too. This is gonna be one busy weekend - I have the AIDS Walk tomorrow morning/daytime, and then we (me and several other members of STAND) are going to NYC for the Sudan Mobilization Conference at Columbia University. Saturday night we're staying with Patrick's family; Sunday night everyone else is heading back to DC, but I'm staying with my parent's for a night. I'll get back to DC Monday morning. So, I'll be busy, but I'll be having a good time.

Well, it's time for me to go hunt around the apartment for something resembling a decent dinner. I haven't had the time to eat yet today, so I'm extremely hungry.

Peace,

:o) Catch