Days of the Week…Sticky Notes

Being still is not my forte – physically, mentally, emotionally, I’m always moving.  (Granted, it may just be wiggling my foot or something, but that’s the real reason I didn’t take the nude modeling job at UCD when I was unemployed: my max time of sitting still was about 38 seconds).  Over the years I’ve taken different approaches to tackling my prayer life, but I came up with a new plan today.

On the right edge of my computer monitor are five sticky notes with five themes of prayer: Healing, Peace, Provision, Discernment, and Babies (got a lotta preggo friends at the moment!).  On those sticky notes are written the names of friends and family who have particular needs in those areas.  Each work day corresponds to one of the themes; my hope is that the visual representation and at-hand organization will add a little structure to my prayer life.  When I’m distracted, in need of a break, or happen to glance over, I’ll be reminded of those people and their struggles, transitions, brokenness and joy.  And in a season in my life that is filled with difficulties, I want to remember that God is Sovereign not only over my life, but over the lives of dear ones, near and far.

(The other option here would have been prayer-themed days-of-the-week underwear; while I have definitely prayed on the toilet, I don’t feel comfortable with the implications of that fashion choice.) 

Let me know if you want to be added to one of those themes (I bet I can make your prayer request fit under one of those umbrellas!) – you might already be there ;)

there's an attention-grabbing slogan for you...

I have no background in plant sciences or pathology.  The other morning, I did find a worm on my baby bok choy plants, but my solution was to take the worm outside, not conduct a research study.  As such, I often understand very little of what the Researcher is actually proposing to do with his or her funding, and it's really not necessary for my job.  But sometimes, I see something interesting when reading through those lengthy Scopes of Work:

This is one of the slogans for the Don't Move Firewood campaign, which teaches of the ecological dangers of chopping firewood in one location and taking it to another.  When you move firewood more than a mile or two from its point of origin, you risk introducing harmful pests and diseases into the new environment.  The problem is especially acute in campgrounds, when nature-lovers bring their own wood for fuel.

Go ahead, count how many "that's what she said" references are in this post...

Veterans Day

Yes, I'm happy to have the day off.  In fact, I think we should have Thursday off every week.  But I'm also thinking about the veterans I know, past, present, and future. 

My grandpas and one grandma served in World War II, one as a Civil Engineer leading an African American unit, one as a scout in enemy territory, and the other as a nurse tending wounded soldiers.  My dad's father came home severely affected by post-traumatic stress disorder, to the point where he spent most of the rest of his life in a VA hospital.  All of them risked their lives for what they believed in.

I have friends today who are doing the same thing.  They're sacrificing a comfortable life and putting themselves in harm's way to make the world a better place.  Some are in the military, and others are in the Peace Corps, working for nonprofit organizations and as civil servants, or as a part of Christian community development movements in slum neighborhoods.  They're fighting for human rights, clean water, freedom to walk the streets unafraid, enough food to keep bodies healthy, jobs to break out of poverty, education so girls can go to school instead of brothels.  And I celebrate all of you today.  Thank you for your service.

Perhaps a Little Perspective is in Order

While waiting for my lunch to heat up in the break room today, I overheard some coworkers lamenting how tired they were.  One of the IT guys, normally quiet and a fairly positive gentleman, piped up:

"I didn't want to get up this morning.  I felt like I was going to jail."

There you have it.  Some days, working in our office feels like being in jail.  Maybe a visit from Prison Mike will help us remember how good we have it.  Sure, we are confined to tiny gray cubicles, and we don't get outdoors time, and the circulation is bad (permanently winter, no matter the weather), and we get yelled at by guards - er, professors - all day, but we do get to wear whatever we want.  And I look terrible in orange.

Side Effects May Include...

I contributed to Fibromyalgia research today!  At least, that's how I'm going to look at it.  Without sharing revealing information about an ongoing trial, I was (until 4pm yesterday) part of a study that was looking at how therapeutic doses of a hormone supplement could help with symptoms of fibromyalgia.  I experience such weird symptoms on a regular basis that I didn't think much of my increased heart rate that would onset at odd times, as it usually resolved itself fairly quickly, but it got particularly bad on Friday as I was enjoying a bagel at my desk.  And worse when I walked to the break room to call the doctor.  By my calculation, I was at 150 bpm from walking 25 feet.  While waiting for a callback, I started getting woozy, experiencing numbness in my feet, feeling nauseous, and generally about to pass out.

Albert decided to take me to the ER, where I had a very redeeming hospital experience (because believe-you-me, I have some pretty bad medical treatment stories!).  I was admitted right away, and taken care of by this great nurse who was amused by how fascinated Albert and I were by everything.  It was pretty dramatic - I had an EKG, was taken via gurney to the X-Ray lab, had lots of blood taken for a full workup, had a really hard time balancing well enough to pee in a cup but managed okay, and even had oxygen tubes up my nose.   Albert snapped a picture.

On a side note, can anyone explain to me how oxygen bars are fun?  I'm sure that it helps when the tubes aren't rubbing against your already allergy-irritated nostrils, and you're not in the ER, but still...

So three-and-a-half hours later (which is pretty fast for all the tests they did, and felt much faster to me since I was so out of it), I was released on the condition that I would get further testing from my regular doctor.  I'm not allowed to drive or have caffeine for a while, but have pretty much been sleeping and staring anyway.  I should mention that Albert is, as always, basically the best boyfriend in the world.  He hung out with me in the ER, sitting on my feet to warm them (which, at his weight, is not a problem, except for the lack of cushion in the flat area between his back and legs), and bought me supplies to last through the weekend, as he had to go home.

It's kinda cool to know that I will be the asterisk in this study in a few months/years, and I truly hope that I am one of those rare cases with side effects.  This study team is doing such great work to find out more about Fibromyalgia, and it's encouraging to know that in the coming years and decades, it won't be such a mystery disease anymore.  They've been so affirming, too, of what I'm going through physically, and even said that my positive attitude was helpful to them.  These are the things that keep you going.

My Lovely Lady Lumps

Not what they were singing about. And yes, it's a little awkward for me to write about, but if I really want to go into maternal and child health, I need to start overcoming the stigma.

Ovaries.

I thought maybe my appendix was about to blow on Friday. Severe pain radiating to my belly button, nausea, slight fever - all signs point toward yes. Albert the amazing drove me through rush-hour, 4th-of-July weekend traffic to make it to UCDMC for an ultrasound before the weekend hit, while I downed a giant glass of iced tea to fill my bladder (needs to be transparent so they can better see your organs when they jam the probe up your - well, you get the idea). The sexist technician on duty said, "well, you better pee before you leave here, or you'll make your boyfriend pull over, and demand that he find a CLEAN gas station for you to go at."

"Actually," (and mind you, this is small talk during while a metal probe is taking images of my lower abdominal region), "I spent two summers working in the slums of Calcutta, so I can go pretty much anywhere."

"Oh. Wow."

Sometimes, you need those small victories in the midst of such indignity imposed by being sick for a long, long time.

I was told I'd have to wait a couple of days for results, but if the pain got worse, I could always go spend a couple thousand dollars at the emergency room. I decided that with the help of WebMD, I could do just as good a job at diagnosing myself, especially with the helpful little symptom checker. It's like playing with a paper doll, except that instead of dressing it up in different clothes, you get to assign different diseases to Jane or John Doe.


Ok, the abdominal pain was the most important part. You get to pick the quality you want to assign to your pain - dull, achy, sharp, tingly, feels like fireworks are igniting from a vital organ. But my left big toe had also started hurting quite suddenly along with my left hip, with no apparent external damage. And I had a throbbing headache. And my teeth were itchy. So I plugged all of these symptoms into WebMD, and it gave me the diagnosis: hypochondriac.

Anyway, my appendix is fine, but they found a giant hemorrhagic cyst - in the test results, the doctor wrote that it had basically taken over my right ovary (???). So the right ovary is something like six times bigger than the left and filled with blood. That image creeps me out, especially since I can feel the warmth radiating from the small protrusion from my right side, which did I also mention hurts A LOT? Still waiting to hear what this means, but cysts are a pretty common painful-but-benign ailment.

Why did I decide to tell you all (assuming someone reads this entry) this?

1. If we had talked about hanging out, or if I haven't responded to a message, this is probably why. I'm still trying to make it through the full work day since I am way out of sick leave, and that's about all I have energy for. Thank you for understanding that I still love you!

2. This makes me think: if ovarian cysts are so common and not generally caused by diet, environment, etc, how do women in the community I worked in handle this type of pain without any kind of drugs or the ability to take a break from working so that their kids might be able to have a meal that day?

3. With all of the health issues that have come together for me this year, it can be cathartic to share as an (un)health humorist. Laughing at the ridiculosity of a situation is powerful AND fun, as is making up words.

this is what happens when you analyze contracts for a living

I’ve always had an active imagination. There are scores of embarrassing stories and pictures to document this fact. I was raised in a family that values kids playing outdoors and in dress-ups, so in my life I’ve swam with the mermaids, joined Belle in a small French village, hosted my own decorating show, delighted the masses with my tasty culinary creations, written novels out of the tiny broom-closet turned office, been several nationalities outside my own, and served as queen over an entire empire known as Secret City, among other things. It follows me in my sleep as I have flown above the fields, traveled to countries I’ve never seen, and saved the world many times over.

But this imagination also has a darker side. I’ve dreamt up murder mysteries, been chased far too many times by a variety of villains, and been party to the worst-case scenario. This, too, has followed me into my everyday life.

For example, this morning. The microwave in our office, seeming so cheery in its red shell, was counting down toward zero. I pressed every button on the screen to turn the timer off, but to no avail. As I waited for my tea to brew, I became more and more anxious as I waited for the microwave-turned-bomb to ignite and destroy our entire office. Heroine that I am, I lunged to unplug the evil machine as was mildly electrocuted in the process. When I go to file for worker’s comp, I will bravely explain, “I was afraid the microwave was actually a bomb, you see. You’re welcome.”

Dear Customers, I am not your biotch...

Amber messaged me this morning and said, where’s your snarky gmail status?

I responded, just wait.

It took until 10:30, which might be a new record.

Our office was reorganized about 10 months ago, and it was decided that our number one priority was customer service – customers being department administrators, professors, and sponsors. The world of contracts and grants administration is pretty convoluted, so even the veteran researchers have questions at times regarding agreements, forms that have to be filled out, etc.

I understand that. But if you would read my carefully crafted email, you would see that I’ve already anticipated all of your needs, concerns, and questions, and made you feel like the most important customer in the world. If only you would read it.

So often , I get responses back that essentially tell me that I’m stupid. I already sent you that, why do you need to know this, the University doesn’t care about this detail. Thank you so much, I write back with teeth clenched into a forced grin (employee handbook page 425), I so appreciate you sending me these documents. Please note below that I actually asked you a completely different question, and it is the law, and has been for some time, that you need to fill out this very complicated form that consists of six whole check boxes.

Sometimes I get a sheepish email response. Oh. And begrudgingly they answer my question, or say they’ll send the form. They never apologize for not reading my email, or admit that it was there fault. The most I get is, I’m sorry for the confusion.

But you see, my friend, there was no confusion. You’re simply a dumbass.

Thank goodness for my fifteen minute break to share this with you all. Please comment with kindness.

Laundry Day

I saved up a month’s worth of laundry for Sunday. I don’t have 30 pairs of underwear, but I am grateful that my mom got me in the habit of hand washing my delicates at a young age. Wouldn’t you know, it would be so windy that small branches and leaves are whipping around the lawn in front of our apartment complex, wafting the smoke fumes from our neighbors' directly into our open screen door. As the Laundromat is right across the street, I don’t feel justified driving just a few feet. However, the look I receive from the driver of a car waiting patiently as I navigate the crosswalk, checking back to see if I have (once again) dropped my underwear in a public place, perhaps I should have driven after all.

I made it right before the Sunday afternoon rush. The next two hours prove to me that I don’t have to move far out of Davis to find America in all of its diversity and adversity.

As I walk in, two women are scolding a young boy in Spanish, as he turns out to be as rambunctious as he is darling. One of them is extremely pregnant, and I marvel at how her protruding belly does nothing to slow her deft motions as she folds the family laundry. Soon, a very tall white man walks in with a woman who appear to be his mother trailing behind, looking pained as she pushes her walker toward the industrial machines. They both look like they’ve lived a hard life, and they have little patience for the boy who is pushing the cart around and around and around with accompanying screeching. A young African American couple occupies the machines next to them, going in and out of the Dollar Store a few storefronts down as they wait for their laundry. They’re pretty cute together, both tall, and it’s clear who wears the pants in the relationship (she does). A woman walks in from the International Market next door with her two daughters in tow; all three wear colorful salwar kameez, and memories of streetside curry swarm around me as I smile at them. The younger girl is shy, but I catch her looking at me later when she’s not flirting with the little boy. A Chinese-American woman who appears about my age politely asks if she can borrow my cart to transfer her laundry (yes – if you give me that adorable sundress in exchange). Another man enters and circles the machines; I wonder if he was looking for the navy sock I found in my own laundry pile a few minutes later.

And all of us are carefully counting quarters as we look to make it through another week.

5 Things You Should Never Be Without

duct tape
can hold just about anything. And now, you don’t have to choose between function and flare – you can have both! My current favorite is the groovy tie-dye pattern. You can even use it in place of a bra for tricky wardrobe situations

a sharpie
It just makes you feel powerful. Useful for sending a message and filling in the scrape on your heels, as well as, you know, general writing.

peanut butter
goes with everything and is a delicious form of veggie protein. Also good for removing gum or using as an adhesive.

febreeze
Makes you smell good without drawing attention to your perfume. Useful for freshening hair, clothing, work station, car…so I don’t usually wear deodorant since I don’t really produce sweat or odor in that particular body area, but I wasn’t thinking when I put on my dress shirt this morning – it doesn’t really breathe. I’m very into hygiene, so even the slightest scent bugs me. But then I remembered HEY, there’s febreeze in the bathroom! Two squirts and the day was saved. Do they make travel sizes?

chapstick
helpful in multiple hydration locations. Also, you can eat it if desperate. Or if you're five years old and allured by the magical cherry scent of Bonnie Bell lip smackers.

Basically, thinking about these things is how I entertain myself during work hours.

My Needy Friend

Fibromyalgia has been a needy friend to me. Sometimes, I just have to give in to it (I haven’t decided yet whether or not it’s male or female, so it’s an androgynous entity for now). I gotta let it have its way, and get back in to bed and cuddle with it, place a heating pad on its aching joints and muscles, and devote all of my attention to it. No other friends or responsibilities may take precedent when Fibromyalgia is at its neediest. But most of the time, I just have to show it some tough love. Kick its butt outta the house even when it just wants to stay in and rest its weary bones. Remind it that others have it much worse, and that it’s not the only thing in my life – just one friend who’s seemed to latch on a little tighter than the rest.

floozy

I've co-opted this word for my own use. It happened like this:

I had a bit of a reaction to my last flu shot, dizzy, slow-minded, nauseous...

I decided that I felt floozy. Not in the urban dictionary definition of the word, but in that I felt like the word sounds. Floooooozy. Say it slowly and roll your eyes around a little to get the dizzying effect.

Diary of a Temp

6:45 am: Alarm goes off. I hit the snooze and open the door for Linus to come in and snuggle (he likes to be the little spoon).

6:55 am: Roll out of bed and lean in toward the shower. Getting some momentum going really helps.

7:05 am: commence the hair drying, makeup application, and dressing processes. When you go to work, it turns out, you have to match.

7:25 am: attempt to put in new contacts.

7:30 am: &*%$ing contacts!!

7:40 am: caffeinate and wait for the truck to defrost

7:59 am: breathe one last breath of fresh air before heading to the gray cubicle, far, far from sunlight.

8:00 am: get to desk, find massive pile of new, continuing, subcontracted, subawarded, incremental, grants to be processed.

Ok, so you’re wondering what exactly I do at this “job.” Sometimes, so do I. Basically, I do a lot of data entry and correspondence on grant applications and awards for the University. Often times I still have no idea what the project is about after reading the title, but that doesn't matter. I just have to figure out where the money is coming from and where it goes, using this scary tracking system with NO undo button and a binder of procedures heavy enough to defend against an attacker (ok, maybe only if the attacker was me, but that’s my frame of reference so give me a break). One of my gray cubicle walls is decorated with procedures, percentages, and formulas for the different types of research projects depending on who funds them and where they take place. I get to do MATH at my job, though I can’t quite figure out all the functions on the very old calculator at my desk. And did I mention that there are a LOT of acronyms at this job??

10:00 am: step away from computer screen. I have to set reminders to get more tea or go to the bathroom; otherwise, I forget. (“Um, guys, the temp peed on the carpet…”)

11:59 am: is it too early to leave for lunch?

12:00 pm: LUNCH TIME!

Because this office is so understaffed, everyone is overworked and hardly anyone takes lunch. I felt super awkward my first day, but have since embraced the chance for a quick nap in the space behind the seats of my truck. Nobody can see in unless they press their faces up against the glass, which is creepy anyway. This weekend I’m gonna add in some cushions and a pillow. Sometimes Albert comes to eat with me, too (giggle).

1:00 pm: return to a new massive pile of grants to be processed. OH WAIT, I never finished the first pile…

Thank goodness for Pandora. I’ve created a number of stations while working at different offices, but the one currently getting the most play is mainly comprised of musical numbers. I won’t disclose all of the titles, but there is quite a bit of Glee, Hairspray, and Lea Salonga. Pandora seems to think that my love of Glee indicates similar positive feelings toward Miley Cyrus and Hilary Duff, both of whom I’ve had to ban from being played ever again.

2:00 pm: cookie break.

2:05 pm: realized that the red sprinkles on the cookies turn my fingertips and lips pink.

2:10 pm: check clock and am a little dejected to see that it’s only been five minutes since the last time I checked what time it was.

3:47 pm: wonder when the last time I talked to a person was?

4:30 pm: One of the advantages of being a temp over an intern is that nobody expects me to stay late. Having been an intern on so many occasions and having natural workaholic tendencies, I’m accustomed to staying late to finish projects. But wait, I’m a temp! In 30 minutes, I am Out. The. Door.

4:58 pm: Some days I’m still chugging away on a project, which keeps things moving fast and works well with my ADD – so many things to check and process. Other days, when I’ve managed to finish what projects I have, I stare at the computer screen and let me eyes go unfocused until the big

5:00 pm

flashes across my screen.

5:10 pm: I forgot what it feels like to work 8 hours. I’ve also never worked a job that was required such little human interaction. I have to admit that the work I’m doing is actually pretty challenging, and requires keen attention to detail. I actually have the power to mess up contracts and setting mankind back thousands of dollars. (Ok, I don’t really have that much power, but the point is that these documents are important.) I'm lucky if I can put a sentence together after 5:15, and one night, I considered just eating a head of raw bok choy over the prospect of having to cook dinner. Speaking of which, I'm getting hungry...

Stick It To The Man

Being from a small town, our newspaper is often supplemented by this national publication called American Profile. Generally, it features fluff pieces like "Celebrities - where are they now?" and other feel-good bathroom-reading material.

There's also this financial column. I usually skip financial advice since I don't have a job or 401K options, but this article was brought to my attention by my mom.

http://www.americanprofile.com/article/37864.html

Dear Dave,

My wife and I make contributions to a company to help support children in Third World countries. This company has a plan where they make microloans to young entrepreneurs. It seems good in a way, because it makes them feel less like it's a handout. Still, I have a problem with the debt aspect. What's your opinion?

—Taylor in Little Rock, Ark.

Dave Says: Well, I'm certainly not mad at anyone who wants to help people in Third World countries. I think there's one big question you have to ask yourself: If you truly believe that debt is a bad idea, then why would it be an acceptable or good thing in a poverty-stricken society?

If it were me, I'd love to help people get entrepreneurial projects off the ground in a way that's a "hand up" instead of a handout. Teach them good business and marketing skills, too, and turn it into an educational situation where they can really pay it forward. I think most people who are decent and have good hearts turn into big givers when they become successful. And really, this kind of scenario is about the only way the microloan will work, anyway.

Everyone seems to think these kinds of loans are some kind of great, altruistic thing. But to me they sound a lot like miniature credit cards, and that's the part that scares me!

Oh no. No no no no no no. Oh HECK TO THE NO.

This guy gets paid to write articles on finances, and he's screwing over poor people by writing ignorant responses. I'll save you my wrath and instead post the more mature, but my-pen-is-my-knife response on the discussion forum. Here goes:

Dear Dave,

As a matter of fact, the best microfinance institutions have long incorporated business, marketing, and financial skills training as an important component of microcredit loans to very poor women and communities. Rather than place the onus of trying to secure a loan at prohibitively high interest rates from a traditional banking institution, microfinance organizations may instead offer a loan to a group of women who use a portion of the total sum to start their own business efforts, and are responsible for repaying a certain amount each month just as in any other lending scenario. In my experience doing international development work, even the poorest of the poor do not wish to be the objects of Western pity, and are eager to work hard to make a better life for their family.

Microcredit loans differ greatly from the voyeuristic credit card industry in America. We need to be wise consumers when we donate our money, and do the necessary research to ensure that our dollars are reaching the right people. I appreciate that the reader from Arkansas is being responsible in making a wise donation that is, in fact, an investment in women and youth in developing countries. Your response, however, clearly lacked the level of research a person in your position should give in response. I am extremely disappointed that a well-respected financial expert would share such an ignorant, uninformed opinion in a national publication and on the World Wide Web. THIS is how we continue to hurt families living in poverty across the world.

Taylor, Freedom from Hunger, based in Davis, California, developed the “Credit with Education” model that is now considered best practice in the field of microfinance. The organization recently launched an initiative aimed at providing youth with the resources and skills necessary to run a successful microenterprise. Please see their website, http://www.freedomfromhunger.org/, for more information.

...

...

I love sticking it to the man.