Life is what you bake of it

So its been a while- but I guess it has also been a while since my last bout of midterms. But here I sit just starting to pour that midnight oil into its well warn lamp. Echoing through the air vent is the sound of Andy's acoustic guitar- the notes like an un even seam (sometimes the kind of seam you make when you turn up the speed on your sewing machine and run your thumb straight through breaking off the needle that pierced directly through the nail bed... but that is another story)
And I cant help but to think how nice it is here. I love my yellow south facing room that fills with sun through the three french curtians and the lovely balcony that makes me feel like I have the princess bedroom way up in a fairytale tower in the hills of the sandia mountains. The two pursian mutts I mean cats roaming the house with their naked skin like little fairytale mutants.
Zoey hated school- but she is part native american- she could have gotten in anywhere. I love school. I really do. isnt that rediculous. I guess after 18 years in school, its all I know how to do....
I dont understand how Andy could hate Albuquerque- I mean you got to admire him for getting the hell out of dodge each weekend to explore the enchanting parts of this land- but there is something really captivating about this ranshacked little crumy town. Like the way the sandias glow pink for just 7 minutes each night- 7 minutes I try to fully embrace on a jog each night. And the Los Altos pool, with its big wood beamed ceilings and red rod iron supports, filled with senior citizens, high school lifegaurds and me each morning at 6. I love the beautiful little cafes claiming "life is what you bake of it" and even the miles of strip malls reaking of depressing shanty life. I love the way everyone thinks I will get shot in walmart, and the goat head filled bike paths and the bearded toothless hag at Java Joe's that wrote a song for our bike group that stops there every sunday morning on the way home.
Albuquerque. it's only what you bake of it.

May everyday be a story

Phew. final update. So I believe my last point of contact was from the evaporating shade of an engorged palm tree in Balboa park. There on my Mexican blanket I polished off the last of my sparklettes water. I had good intentions to playing soccer, but opening the hatch on old whitey ford I threw that mexican blanket and empty water bottle atop the sand encrusted seamed ball and grabbed my blades instead. From there I headed down sixth, which to my good fortune, had been closed for construction. Intrepidly I bolted through the detour signs, swiftly straddling an orange cone (as not to catch my crotch- ahem..) And ended up at one of the most blessed places of all of Hillcrest. Biff's Killer Cookies. I swooped out 13 dimes from my pocket (not just by good fortune, I had already raided the coin compartment with these devious self indulging intentions). Without performing the common courtesy of counting out each silver coin I piled all thirteen dimes on the counter in exchange for thirteen delicious morsels embedded in a sweet soft buttery dough. Yes I do recognize that this will indeed kill me one day (hence the name). I get back to whitey ford and cruz (as in Santa or Penelope) the rest of the way down park to city college. I have a midterm. And nooo scantron. Scant on trons. Dont worry I bought one, but it was at this point that I opted to ignore your first effort to make actual radio contact verses the cryptic digital signals I had sent allll ddaaaayyy loooonnnggg. which it was... long. You then made a second attempt to call me just as I had mounted the stairs to room C 208 and was entering my classroom - which I am very thankful you did because it was a nice little reminder to turn off my phone before the test. Test went fine. I finished 25 minutes before lab started. what does anyone doooo with 25 minutes. I headed to the library where I read over the lab and caught the last of the sun as it set over Coronado bridge, that beautiful piece of structural genius (uhhh- well maybe the library is- the library really is a good one if you are ever in the area, worth your minute to tour!!) anyway lab-ed. and now I am back home. alone. with my sanity. My computer. and a movie. I read through sommore "winning personal statements" there all shit if you ask me. If you want me to tell you I want to be a Nurse practitioner because my mom was a nurse and nursed my little sister back from the grave and I am just so inspired and have all this research and understanding of the feild and love of helping others help themselves. I dont want to write that shit. Can't I just send my word vomit, crass and honest? I asked Norman, the sweetest older hispanic man, if he thought I would make a good nurse, he said I would because I am good at remembering names and have a big enough smile to share. Imagine if that was it. Three really solid patients today, between the geologist who gave me a lecture on bioremediation, norman who makes fun of my spanish and calls me "my friend" as in "whats next my friend ? and thank you my friend" and a city works manager back in school during his workers comp time to be able to become a marine warden (even if he has to start out "in the desert dealing with rabbits and birds and shit") so he can get a job on the docks. The sparklettes guy was fun too. ok I guess I was being melodramatic- I wasn't overwhelmed by the usual run around with counter full of charts- but today's single tasking wasn't so bad. I'm just sure glad I have someone to write these emails to- without filter or expectation, no judgement or acceptance on the line. I just want to write. and ride my bike across the country. and hike PCT. and read stories. and learn about food. and learn spanish. and live abroad. and work as a cleaning lady. and make it rain. and run really far. and start collecting things for a real home. but dont tell grad schools that. May everyday be a story. (thank god the first half was abridged by virtue of 100 character cap on text messages huh!) Amelia Pennington (good pen name huh? way better than 'bic' although Elisa'bic' is also a good pen name)

Christmas miracle

I need a miracle. Its more than physical- what I need. Its mental. At 6 am this morning I despirately needed something to get me through my fearsome hangover- the kind of hangover you get not from any physical drug, but rather from a bang up, jam out with your clam out kind of adventuresome weekend chased with a 4 hour midnight study session burnout. So swept my hair behind a red satin headband, pulled on my jackie'O velvet button up and a pair of mary janes and packed a candy cane for lunch- I was hoping for the only thing that would get me through the day- a Christmas Miracle.



I mean don't get me wrong. I am a professional. Th.is is the stuff I live for. After 18 years of schooling I feel ultimately prepared for nothing more than taking classes- so that is what I am doing. Taking classes so that I can apply to programs to take more classes- and maybe someday all critics aside I could teach classes. And I did fine. everythings fine. "Totally fine" moto of my fucking college carriers.

Right what am I even saying here.



so what I am tryyyyying to say is what a day. Not even though- right. It was pretty much the same as everyday- and in a way that miracle must have pulled through for me, because today? today was relatively painless.



Starting with a roommate who slept in my bed which domino effect lead to me sleeping on a cloud. With such strong convictions and such little sleep I sold my christmas miracle shit to ria who needless to say was in full support and I am not just talking about a full coverage over the shoulder boulder holder here- I mean she as per usual was a strong proponant of my cockaminie plan to pass my microbio test (pending my ability to make it through a 10 hour work day prior). Not a bad cast at work today. No shane this week meaning a little less cock and bullshit and also one third less patients. Chu-ching!



Ate frozen yogurt with blackberries for lunch. Sponsored the rest of the day with manager's special green seedless grapes, diet coke and sugar.

I let it rain- I clear it out.

I had a wodnerful weekend. I really did. I like to share and give in all meaning and senses of the words. I like to fuel adventures and make things happen.

Week of Wild Wonders

So I have been to probably half a dozen or more air shows, but man- they really never get old. Those blue angels... really....

Huh.

I know you want to hear the story from the ran shack clinics I volunteered in, how I helped a women whose genitals had been blistered by the boiling water her husband poured on her in order to sterilize her because she had HIV, the women secretly bringing her baby into the clinic to get tested because she had breast fed him, despite having AIDS, so others in the community wouldn't be suspicious of her. But I can't tell those stories, because I only heard them myself from the hardworking doctors and nurses with the skills and certifications to treat these people. My story is one of shear frustration. Medication can make a huge difference. The advancement of medicine and the efforts of talented medical professionals is undermined by the social underwritings that take five steps back for every two steps forward. I spent just under six months in South Africa, and during my time there I worked with other university students as an HIV/AIDS educator doing outreach in the university itself amongst the affluent upper class, in denial of the prescence of HIV and AIDS with in the classrooms and lecture halls, and worked in the impoverished townships surrounding the western Cape.
But I lacked the skills to help the individuals with specific clinical needs. I was not in those operating rooms. I was outside, kicking the soccer ball with children that could sing to me in three different languages. And as their mothers and aunts and friends went into the clinic I wondered how many of these children would end up with aids, how many of them already had aids because they had been breast fed or worse raped. And as we handed out pamphlets and information on sex and HIV and AIDS, the kids taking the condoms to make water balloons, I wondered how many of them would grow up with the same misconstrued interpretations of sex, nasty misconceptions and social intolerance of HIV/AIDS.

Eye of The

Another, more compact, but just as comprehensive finales stand but 18 hours in front of me. Coffee, in its frozen sugared and creamed form comprises the majority of my caloric intake and i feel the insatiable need to write. There comes a point in every finals week when the realization that the depth and breadth of the information is just flat out too much- it becomes too overwhelming to really take on at all- the eye of the storm if you will. Because the initial energy was used up and as you study you realize just how much you don't know, sinking deeper into a little bit of despair you walk away, and wait for the finish line adrenaline to kick in so you can pull together what you can. In the eye of the Tiger.

big bang theory

As unbelievable as it it when stars just align, when things beyond all reasonable doubt some how fall in to place, its hard for me to believe it isnt equally as unbelievable to some how get every star misaligned- right? like usually some align and some arent- but to hit those extremes- complete and perfect order verses complete and utter chaos.

well shit. so today I hit the later of the two extremes as my cycling class spun out of control.
Like you would think between an ipod, cds, two computers and two stereo systems, and a year's worth of classes under my belt, I shouldnt even blink an eye at one 45 minutes class- well shit, my peepers are still twitching.

I dont know what to say. I cant even clearly articulate this.

no wait let me just try...

It all begins with a tub of starbucks ice cream. which I decided to make my primary source of caloric intake. for the past three days. I finished it the smorn'n for brunch after having it three hours prior for breakfast... its coffee ice cream, people have coffee all the time in the morn'n- I love being an adult.

Great. yeah that sits well. dont worry I hurled it at the top of the hill.

fucked around with my computer trying to make a new spin cd. not even worth describing.
and all just to have a sound system in the spin room that doesnt work- some rat fuck chewed through the wire. frayed. fried. thats a lie but it is better than me just not being able to figure it out. I did figure it out though, half way through the class, at which point it blasted out of the speakers at mach 7. sonic boom. big bang theory. misalign those stars.

You know what makes this the best- is the fact that 2 of my professors past haunted me in that very room. spandex sheaths and all.



well

Gambling

Despite my complete lack of human interaction that precurses this week driven by sheer will power and mind power, there is no drought of incidences.

The two red beds have been reestablished in there home in orange county were at some point an erickson or like will find themselves nestled in for what is guaranteed to be a very comfortable slumber. Basically they are gone, the squeeky little fuckers.

I mean I knew it was coming, more importantly Ria knew it was coming and put herself on this unassigned mission to find me a bed. Submerged herself fully in her "craigslist free" addiction to salvage a perfectly good bed for not even a penny. Over the past month the story has been sent via email or phone message that currently I have no bed and been making due with a pool floatie, I mean it has a cup holder, but I am in the market for a little less luxury, and other such stories to entice the seller. Sell to the seller if you will. She had some fond, but unfortunate nos.

Still, relentlessly she searched, hoping to catch the seller within seconds of their post, its all part of the game, we both new it. I told her it was fine, I had this bed wild card, that is I had a family of seemingly high standard, bed snobs, coming to visit who would surely buy me a bed. Granted it would probably have been a double, twin extra long if they could get it to ensure the bed would fit only me, playing it off as it would fit the sheets I already have. suckers.

I wake up this morning to Ria's alarm, and then to it again 15 minutes later, and one last time at 7:30 when she leaps out of bed and into the hallway. She returns 1 and a half minutes later.
Preemptive note- Her
Intrigued look- Me
There was no US open traffic she remarks. I guess my plan to wear a "ride a bike" tshirt up the hill past all the traffic was foiled.
And I might have a queen size bed tonight!
Ahhh! I scream and reach to give her a hug as I am still laying in her bed... coincidence that I am in her bed when she finds me a bed? Yes. actually.

She darts into the shower, and only once naked and completely soaked in water does her phone ring- naturally or should I say O'naturally I had it to her. talky talky talky- cut to the chase ria- will there be 2 queen beds in our room?? will the ratio of floor space to mattress space lean overly on the side of mattress space?? Yes. Pending Brant's compliance it will.

ITs like gambling ria says. I said yes but nothing lost- well for me maybe as ria states the obvious hours of studying that didnt happen as a result. I still dont see what is lost.
BUt we just won the jackpot. A bed. A big bed.

We negotiate what we can, as Ria makes the bold attempt to pound fiber cereal "its like a brick she says, JUST LIKE MY STOOL suckas" suckers we are. she makes her best effort to get out the door but first has to pop in the only socially conscious hip hop real MC music la jolla Borders had to offer, and then pops it out again and jets out the door a half an hour late to work. Its fine. its finals week.

tromp

Jaded. There was a man setting up a bed on my driveway as I tried to pull in to my home tonight. He seems harmless enough, there beneath the over hang of the tree that canopies our driveway. Little did he know that the blankets he was taking so much car to unfold and lay out would be covered in tree bits and sap by the morning, that is if I hadnt called the cops on him.

It easy to justify right. "Its private property" "I was home alone" "I have had someone try to break into my home before" all true. But I still feel awful. way to stick it to the man elisabeth, the homeless man... really...I mean he cant even sleep on public benches anymore without a
hand rail wedged in his back, courtousy of La Jolla's finest.

But we dont know. and unfortunately I assumed the worst. I told the police he didnt seem harmful, and if they could just ask him to relocate no real "enforcement" necessary. I even left my car in the driveway as if to signal some kind of "hey, its fine" but I refused him a sandwich, and now a space.

Locking the door behind me and stumbling my way through skattered helmets and bike shoes I made my way to my room in the dark, not even letting the refridgerater ligt illuminate the kitchen as i slide my limade onto the overstuffed shelf- his sandwich.

I called katie. and ria. and doris. no reply. I called nick he said to just call the non emergancy number. Then he called back and said I could even call the emergancy number if I wanted to. He said to think about it as a guy sleeping on your front porch- that would be weird right? He called back again for the final report. and told me which room the spanish final was in.

I can hear them right now, the police, they just came. I slipped away to observe the action of the men- he had already fallen asleep, I feel terrible, it would have been fine. There asking him for ID and all these things, he just wants a space. a space. what did I do.

Now I can hear him from my room. louder voices. I might have caused something out of what would have been nothing. He has nothing to show for who he is, his own self the only proof of his validity.

I continue to justify it in my mind- any of the neighbors could have called. how many times has this happened before to him. Where does he usually spend his nights. he would have been coated in tree crap. Ria will be home late and need to park in the driveway. I have finals.

And thats it- thats the best I got. I have finals. The ultimate tromp card. Rock Paper Scissors. FINALS I win. I cant.

Nick called back again for the final report. He told me to think about it as if he were sleeping on the front porch of my house, that would be weird right? Yes I said. and then I asked were our spanish final was.

Finals. tromp.