A Red-Letter Day

HOME
Today was our home inspection. We met the inspector at the house and really had no idea what we were in for. Obviously we wanted him to be both thorough and to tell us that the house was perfect--two possibly incongruous desires, but we hoped for the best. As it was, it went swimmingly. The inspector found nothing in the way of serious issues with the house, and gave it a "clean bill of health," so to speak. There are a few minor things, nothing hazardous to our health, that we're going to ask the sellers to fix up before we make the final exchange of keys.

It felt great being in that house, knowing that it was, for all intents and purposes, mine. I stood in the master bedroom taking pictures, and felt a tingle of warmth and excitement. This is my room! I can decorate it, fill it with treasures, make it my own, and stay in it for a long, long time. And the best part is, my nagging need to avoid stagnation allows me to re-decorate, re-fill, totally change things around whenever I want.

I'm trying to decide (with some help and input from Ryan, of course) how we're going to set things up. We have two bedrooms besides the master--one is fairly small and is currently used as a nursery by the present owners, but the other one is good-sized, and there is a sizable area in the basement too. We'd like to have a guest room, an office, and a future kids' room, but I also want an area to set aside for my yoga practice and meditation. Some place that's just mine. I wonder where I'm going to carve that space out...

SUCKING ME DRY, or, PUTTING ON MY BIG GIRL PANTIES
Today was also a very important day on two other levels, one of which being the fact that today marks the fourth blood donation I've made in a 12-month period. Anyone who knows me well (or even in passing) knows that I have what I affectionately refer to as a "problem" with needles. To call it a problem is to call the fighting in the Middle East a "spat." I first discovered this problem about 8 years ago when I had to have some bloodwork done--they were going to test my thyroid for some reason or other, and I literally freaked out. Not in an exaggerated way. I sobbed, I pulled at my hair, I threatened nurses....it took all of three hours to get a single vial of blood from me. The order called for two, but the nurse said one would have to do, because clearly they weren't going to get another one from me in the state I was in.

Since that day, we've speculated on what has shorted in my wiring, so to speak. There are theories involving repressed memories of my ear piercing (which was, in fact, traumatic), having a mean pedatrician (also true), and so on and so forth. What really matters is that, in the past year or so, I've decided I really don't want to be this way anymore. It's embarrassing, honestly. To have a total meltdown in front of perfect strangers over something that is, to most people, a minor discomfort--and that is really the worst part of it--people's reactions. A year ago (February 13, 2007--the date is etched into my memory) I decided to put an end to my own suffering, or at least try. After all, there are things in life ahead that are just going to require needles--childbirth, my kids' immunizations, checking cholesterol, all the things that are part of leading a healthy life. And I'd like to get through them with my dignity intact, if possible. So I went to the Michigan Community Blood Center in Grand Rapids and they facilitated my first ever voluntary poke. I figured that if I was going to do it, I might as well put myself in a position to help others.

Since that date, and the subsequent freak-out that the staff kindly endured, I have given blood twice more. I had signed a card saying I would give four times in 12 months. If I made that goal, a gift would be given to a hospitalized child in my honor. I also have gotten to the point where I really don't get too crazy--I might shed a tear or two, or be really tense, but no more hyperventilating, no more onslaught of tears. The staff at the MCBC is phenomenal--exceedingly kind and compassionate, skilled, and they double well as therapists too. *smile*

Today I was faced with a choice. The weather in Michigan is atrocious right now, and we were beginning to be hit by yet another storm. Since my 1-year deadline is coming up, and my chances to go to GR were limited, I thought I might take advantage of the Red Cross blood drive being held at school today. I figured, since every time recently that I've planned to go, the weather has sabotaged me, I had every reason to believe it would again when I tried to go tomorrow. So why not do it now, while I had the chance?

I was nervous because I don't do blood drives, as a rule. Part of getting through the experience gracefully is my knowledge that no one is sitting around gaping at me or judging me, and blood drives by definition mean lots of people with not much else to do than sit around and look at other people. Not my idea of a good time. And especially at work--I didn't want my students to see me fall apart. But since the weather was bad and not many people were around, I thought I might be able to handle it.

So, accomplishment #1: I did, in fact, give blood today for the fourth time, as pledged. Go me! I would say I'm still not "better"--I may never be "better" in the way that I don't care at all about needles, but at least I can get through it without breaking down. That may be the best I can hope for, and it's good enough.

Accomplishment #2 was dealing with a nurse today that would have formerly had me crumple into a spineless heap on the floor. I hate dealing with callous people. I really do. No matter what the situation is, I am just horrible at standing up for myself when someone is rude or mean or insensitive. I don't know why....but I really want to get better at it. So when I encountered a nurse at the blood drive (the ONLY one there, I will add, who was like this....everyone else was very kind), I did manage to stand up for myself. She was in charge of doing the initial screenings and registration, and when I told her I might cry during the finger prick and then, obviously, the donation itself, she said, "well, we can't proceed if you're crying."

*blink*

I really thought she was joking at first. Who ever heard of such a thing? But she was very serious. And then she continued to stare at me like I was a sideshow attraction at a circus as I tried to explain about my "problem." She literally could not believe someone might be anxious about needles. Let alone that they might cry about it. And so, without returning her meanness, I gathered my things back up and said, "maybe today is not the day for it. Thank you anyway." And I left!

What I really wish I'd said would be something like, "Is there someone else I could work with? I have very specific needs and I would love to have your most patient nurse help me." Because I really did want to give blood, and leaving would mean I might not make my goal of the fourth donation by next Wednesday. But even so--not accepting her attitude was a huge step for me in Project Put-On-Your-Big-Girl-Panties, in which I learn to be the fabulous woman I am and not let anyone dim my radiance with their uncompassionate, impatient, rude, and insensitive ways.

This is not to say that I don't understand the idea of someone having a bad day, and you catch them at a bad moment and they act out. That I totally understand (even though I maintain we always have a choice in how we interact, and it's our responsibility not to displace negative feelings onto undeserving victims). This was different. This was clearly a personality issue, and I was having none of it. Booya!

...Still, the way out of the building led me back into the room where the other, nicer nurses were--the one's I'd chatted with earlier--and they were expecting me to come back registered and ready to donate. When I explained what happened, they rushed to my side and said, "don't you listen, we'll check you in ourselves, you don't have to work with anyone else." And so we got through it. I'm glad they did that. I'm really proud of myself for giving a fourth time.

Next stop: volunteering at the MCBC? Possibly....

Slack Attack

Ha! It's been awhile. Things have been very busy, indeed. I have four classes this term, and a grand total of probably about 70 students (I lost a few along the way, as usual; the original count was 75+). So that means a lot of grading and planning for me, which means, in proportion, not a lot of time to blog. But things, they are a-changing!

HOME
Biggest news yet: we are buying a house! I would post a picture here, but the listing has been taken offline (obviously, since it's no longer on the market). Tomorrow, we're going to have the home inspection done, and I plan on taking a camera so I can provide pics to the masses.

Anyway, it's the same house we almost bought last year. We came so close--even had the offer written up--but chickened out at the last minute when we did a closer examination of our finances. We decided to wait and use my new income to pay down debt. We did just that (and pretty successfully, too) and then came to find out the house was still available! So we went to see it and fell in love with it all over again. We're in a much better place now to afford it, so we're going for it. It's about time! I'm so tired of renting. At this point, we're looking to move the first weekend of April. We take possession of it earlier that week, so we'll be spending evenings after work that week painting and cleaning and otherwise getting it ready for our stuff.

We're taking time now to go through our things and really pare down our clutter. Actually, it's not really clutter--not in the debilitating sense of the word--we just own a LOT. And I have no idea how that happened. On some level, it's clear, because obviously we each lived alone for a few years before we got married, so we had two households' worth of living supplies, plus we got a whole load of wedding gifts. Somehow we ended up with 2-3 blenders. ??? Thankfully I've pared some of it down over the years....a girlfriend had a house fire and needed new kitchen things, which I was happy to donate....and so on. But there's still a lot.

I know that a lot of my packrat ways are due to the fact that I'm very sentimental. But I'm the worst kind of sentimentalist, because I also have a memory like an elephant. Other people save some cute little souvenir and later forget where they got it or why, or who got it for them. I remember. But the best part of the de-cluttering has been actually realizing that I don't remember everything anymore. In going through a box of knickknack-y things that I never got around to unpacking in the 3, almost 4 years that I've lived in this place, I found two little Hot Wheels cars modeled after the new Volkswagen Beetle. I think they came from Happy Meals or something, and I hung on to them for at least 2 moves. Now I can't remember where I got them, or why I thought they were so cool. And I was so proud of myself for forgetting! And also proud for throwing them away, instead of telling myself I would give them to my nephew (because I doubt I'll see him between now and the move, and then the cars would just get packed away and forgotten about again).

THEATER
Actually, it feels redundant to write under this category, because I really have nothing to report other than I've opted not to participate in any theater until the summer. Partly this is because of my work schedule (it's been made clear to me that I may not have any more subs for classes), and then of course the move. There's just too much going on.

I did get an invitation to audition for Hollywood Arms, but the timing is just horrible. It coincides directly with our move and pre-moving (painting, etc.). I would really love to be a part of that show, because Carol Burnett is one of my favorite comediennes of all time, but it's just not going to work. Ryan would kill me dead!

POETRY
Seems like sometimes everything comes together....sometimes not. I really haven't felt terribly inspired lately. What I have tried to do is be kind to myself, not strain against myself, and allow any creative longings to take flight. What I mean by that is, okay--last November, I wrote a NaNo novel. I finished it! It was a huge accomplishment for me, and I have to say, not all of it was crap. I mean, there's potential there for it to be something. And lately, I have found myself more inclined to work on that than on poetry. Part of me wants to slap my own wrist--"bad girl! You're a poet, not a novelist!"--but then I tell myself, no. You are a writer. You are an artist. And whatever feels right, right now, is what you should pursue. Poetry will come in unbidden hours, a dripping tap that suddenly comes on full force.

I'm also getting started on a new essay for Alehouse; I'm thinking I'll focus on Ruth Ellen Kocher's writing and how it has informed my own. Ross Gay introduced me to her writing during my last semester at NEC, and then I had the privilege of meeting her later on. She's one of those poets who you read and it has a profound effect on you. Some poets you admire, but others you read and think, "that's it. That's the direction I want to go." Not something idolizing as "I want to be her," but that feeling of kindred-ness, of recognizing a shred of yourself in someone else's writing that perhaps you'd neglected, but suddenly realized was still there waiting for you to remember.

Speaking of which, I'd better shoot her an email! Gotta get this thing on the road! :)