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.

Gray Matter

I guess all I want to say is throw me a pastel and a smearing paper. In defense of the blurred line:

Its like being vegetarian. All the sudden you can never eat meat again, there becomes this definitive border probably laid down by the creator and guarded by minute men so the white chalk line doesnt get blurred by the surrounding dirt as I try to trample over it. I still consider myself a vegetarian despite my occasional ham and cheese sammie with tomytoe soup. chew on that hide.

and then there is this hole doctor bisnast. I mean this is where the gray matter really comes into play right- as in the grey matter up there... your noodle... your brains? I mean your a doctor or your not. Its like you were smart enough played your cards right and won the game. Doctor. or your every other position in the health field. they all blend together PT PA NP RN. PNTR you might as well call it. PaiNTeR. thats what I want. to paint.

Disheartening really.

I mean its fine to be in the gray- you just spend your life explaining or defending yourself- like when I made A team as a freshman for Ultimate. You play frisbee? Like on the beach? Wait I thought you were vegetarian? PA what -thats like a nurse?

ugh.

I help in the production of filtration sea water used as an international standard for equipment equilibrium. ..

I wash bottles.

Self preservation.

Growing up my family would pack up my dads old red patrol car with grapes and graham crackers, coloring books and raffe tapes and drive from minnesota to New York- despite all this my brother would get extremely bored and condition himself to sleep the entirety of the trip. Self preservation.

And as i sit here after a long night of paper writing and wayyy to much time at school and meetings... I rented 3 discs of the office, made up a tray of nachos-a-la-liz, blogin... self preservation.

The thing is sort of though right- I mean I hoped on my bike and 'Trek'ed it over to the blockbuster in la jolla up torrey pines (true confession? with my signature red vest on in case I passed my boyfriend on his way home while I was riding over so he would recognize me as I zoom past him) not only did I not see him blockbuster's stock of office episodes had been rented out! Blast!

So then I stash treky on the side of my apartment building- too much in a urgent rampage for office to actually open my door to safely store the little jem. jump in old pheb's and bump shakira as I finally go and grab three discs at the blockbuster down at good old ralph's college central. check!

Now I sit her tuck-the-fuckered-out. planning on spending the next six hours with TV nutrition assignment, spanish HW and making up a core plan. yup that was worth writing about... not.

phenom.

So like no really. Lets talk about this whole crying phenom. and not phenom in the sense of phenomenal- but just phenomenon or even phenyl. cause frankly it reaks.

I mean there's always going to be the breakdown into tears, granted. Like that night that you stayed up all night writing your mmw paper but then the screen blanked and you had to ctrl+alt+delete your way out of followed by the loud roommate so you cant concentrate and you stain your favorite sweat shirt with the coffee you are drinking and then your pant pocket gets hooked on the door latch and you lent out your favorite pen and didnt get it back finally as you are scribing along with a crappy mechanical pencil you run out of led and reach for that last scoop of ice cream you had been saving just to find out your roommate's friend ate it while they were drunk and you begin to cry. you just stand there 2am in your stained sweat shirt and ripped jeans, freezer door open in the middle of the kitchen with an empty carton of cherry garcia and tears just start to stream down your face and drop to the linoleum floor. Breaking point.

But since when has my threshold decreased? I mean really. Since when have I lost the ability to reason my way out of tears and submitted to the pout? Its rather embarrassing- even just the let down- the slow down - that simple breath after a long day has brought me to tears over small frustrations that I should not logically affect me so much- do. It needs to stop. and that's just it right? Blame game is great right- "o your just stressed sweet heart"- "o its just birth control or hormones in general" but at a certain point I had to come to the realization that its not- everybody deals with stress and practically half the population is on hormones- so what it comes down to is sucking it up and getting over it. done.

At the same time sometimes when your in target with your boyfriend and you have to buy the cheap blender instead of the quality full power blender right next to it because neither of you have any money you just stop and cry right there in aisle 5 amongst the kitchen appliances.
Sometimes someone just keeps picking on you about your shoes and you want to take it lightly but it just hits your breaking point and you burst into tears and just wish they would stop picking on your god damn shoes.
I mean shoot, these are the stories of the two girls who inspire me most- and sometimes crying doesn't need to be justified. Tricky. I'd rather just not.

Pseudosophy

on a larger scale its all about 2 things endurance which bleeds to durability. Understanding which inherently requires the ability to laugh things off. sometimes really hard. but just like Duh.


You know?



I mean I'm no karl Marx or even Arctander O'Brian- no Anne Landers I'm not even a mom- I have no reasonable basis for philosophy or advise- more like pseudosophy. My credibility stems primarily from the chalk board outside the Pannikin in Leucadia that I read as I lock my bike up to the iron cast wagon post.



shits tough. I mean really- here we all are taken on the world- each from our own little battle stations- personally I have quite a few pilot stations, local branches if you will. where do you go for group study (that you can laugh about TCA= The Citric Acid cycle- uhh not BML I can tell you that much) or computer work or the perfect latte and scone with cinnamin crumples that swirl in the latte foam after you dunk it and leave sweet scone dregs at the bottom of the glass? ANd then there are all the other players- We try to team up with others- my enemy's enemy is my friend kinda deal- I mean there's love and fun involved to...sometimes... but like really- you team up with people cause you need different players with different weapons to win the game you know? like lab partners who suck it up and put on an orange hat and a green duct tape label. Or they have secret weapons, for example we have this one family friend who will chase a lazy waitress with the bill so we can all leave- right? you want to leave but you dont want to be the one that stands up with two little plastic cards half way sandwiched into a little leather portfolio with a little paper recipt flapping out of the other end in your hand. Then you have your resources- bike guy who swaps out your tire because you were practically siblings in high school, computer guys who save your ass with a titanium think pad, car guys who tell you not to drive like my brother!, hook up at the golden spoon to give you that extra swirl of blueberry. I mean really- a friend once said that the world is out to get you and you need someone on your side. maybe. I mean basically I just want to win. I hear if you wash you win!

Basically we got shit to do. and we do it. thats kinda like what life is.

In the words of Winston Churchill- Keep on Buggering on. Durability. Loose some battles. Win the war. Pull an Apolno- take a beating and come back for more.


heheh. pack it up.

Apolno.

I must have a lot of work to do- because I feel a sweeping desire to carve out my observances in mega potentailly gigabites.

SOo I have this computer. Named Apollo- I like to name things after greek gods- like my computer, and bike... which is also named apollo- so scratch that I like to name things after Apollo.

Anyway it's busted so might as well just call it Apol-no.

I get that it has a busted hinge and a duct taped power cord to hold the little fibers in place- really its just like a neuron that I have done the work of myelinating it so it has a more effective transmission. But the things a fucking trooper.

Durability. Number one requirement. for life. Its been implied that I'm not the best about "taking care of things" no. your right I dont pamper things. Anything that sticks around takes a beating and comes back for more. Apolno being a prime example. Last night it played this little pity game of flickering its lights and turning off. In a panic I call brother and father and tell them the situation- considering my history the shock value is non-existant. Plan- titanium case IBM thinkpad. To compliment my titanium double thick leather encased cell phone and steal bicycle.

ANyway - the word Karma is ringing in my ear as I trudge over to ACS to see if they can salvage my research paper or nutrition assignment. The girl at the computer instructs me to pull out my computer and turn it on- not bothering to remove her eyes from the screen infront of her or refraining from the relentless click of her pointer finger against the one buttoned mouse. Low and behold, my computer turns on like normal the little lights in the corner flickering on - winking at me as if it had worked the entire time but had just refused to do so last night in spite- to teach me some kind of lesson for treating it so bad. Fool.

So here I am open computer in one hand- maxtor external harddrive in the other- transfering my life- bracing the hinge to avoid any connection malfunction- walking briskly to the closest library to plug the dang thing in before the 7 minute battery life runs out.

Well I made it and so did my computer as I sit here blogging instead of studying for my midterm in T-2 hours. classic.

But what next right? do I shut my computer and risk it not turning back on? Or do I go to my mifterm with an open computer in front of me- I hear thats fine.