Life

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Graceful As A Water Buffalo

Published December 1, 2013 by Malia

I have this special talent. I can be walking down a completely empty corridor, and I’ll still manage to find something to run into. When I’m somewhere where there are multiple things to run into, I always manage to run into the most pain-causing thing available. Take last night, for example.

I was walking around a bed, which sits up on a platform made of wood. I’m not sure how, but I managed to ram the outside edge of my right knee into the extremely pointed corner, and then I just kind of howled in pain for a few minutes. It turned into a lovely, swollen, bruised goose-egg, and because that’s not fun enough, my whole knee area has been quite irritate since I did this. You would think I learned my lesson, but no, tonight I managed to run back into the same corner in the same spot on my leg. Go me.

The thing is, I know 29 isn’t old. I actually feel sixteen. However, my body doesn’t seem to get the message. When I was sixteen, I was about as graceful as I am now, and when I ran into things I pretty much forgot I had done so within a minute of doing so. There was no nonsense of it still hurting hours or even days later. Plus, I rarely bruised. Nowadays, I run into stuff all the time, and I seem to bruise more and more easily. This is the only thing I’m really dreading about the whole aging thing (apart from the whole family members dying thing). I don’t mind getting older, but I really dislike how my lack of gracefulness seems to have a direct link to the part of my brain that realizes I’m not sixteen and am getting older.

I’m Grateful and Rageful

Published November 28, 2013 by Malia

I’ll get to the rage in a moment. First, what I’m thankful for.

1. Family. Good times or bad, I love that I have a close family that is very supportive of each other.

2. My excellent friends. I’ve been very blessed with five wonderful women that I consider to be very dear friends. Each one knows me, faults and all, and still lets me be part of their lives.

3. My job. A year ago, I never would have guessed that I was just weeks away from starting a job I truly love. A job that I gladly go to, and that I truly enjoy. Also, I have a really fantastic supervisor, and I’d be really lost without her.

4. My love of reading, and the easy access to an almost unlimited supply of books that there is.

5. The roof over my head.

6. A working vehicle.

7. Snapple. Silly, I know, but it’s quite yummy.

8. Doctor Who. I love this “kid’s” show. It’s smart, funny, and is something I can share with my family and friends.

9. I’m generally healthy, and have much to live for and look forward to in this life.

Okay, so, it’s not so much rage as irritation. Tomorrow is Black Friday. I understand the theory behind the day. It makes sense that businesses want to try to get in the black before the year ends. However, and yes I know I’m not the only one saying this, it has gone from out of control to complete absurdity. It used to be just one psycho day, but now it’s almost a full week. How is this okay? Plus, it seems that there’s at least one death every year in connection with Black Friday shopping. People’s lives should be of more value. What does that say about this culture when possessions are held in higher esteem than a human being? Don’t misunderstand me, I’m as greedy as the next person, but even I have my limits.

So, if you’re going to take part in the madness, remember that your fellow shoppers are human beings. Remember that the people working in the stores aren’t making very much, aren’t getting to spend time with their loved ones (and have likely missed most and/or all of Thanksgiving), and being rude to them isn’t going to make things go any better for you.

It’s the big 2-9

Published November 24, 2013 by Malia

This is it. As of 2:35 this morning, I entered my last year of my twenties.

Praise God.

Seriously.

It seems like the majority of people dread the end of their twenties. Thirty seems to be a death sentence. I, however, don’t see it that way. My twenties sucked. There were definite positive moments, and I’ve made some incredible friends; but overall the whole twenties thing was less than impressive.

So, since it is the end of a decade, it seems like I should put some actual work into becoming the woman I want to be, and not just keep thinking, “Yeah, I’ll do it later.” Here are a few things I intend to work on this coming year:

1. Exercise consistently. I’m really bad at this. I’ll do a few weeks faithfully, and then a month will go by before I exercise again. Not a solid life plan.

2. Eat healthier. This one should be simpler than it is. Mostly, I’m very rebellious, and I don’t really want to eat right, even though it’s what’s best for me.

3. Update my blog more frequently. I have this, I really should use it more than once every month and a half.

4. Read more new material. Raise your hand if you’ve read Lord of the Rings more than ten times…twenty times..thirty times…Wait, am I the only one with my hand still up? How many times have I read it, you may ask? Well, the truth is, I know it’s more than thirty, but I really don’t know. I was super obsessed for many years. I need to force myself to get some fresh material in the mix. Suggestions welcome.

5. At least make an attempt to show people I care about what’s going on in their life. I really struggle to let people know I care. My heart will be breaking on the inside, but on the outside, I’m usually a jerk. It’s not intentional, I just have some lousy social skills.

6. Clean my room and unpack. This is more than a little embarrassing. I’ve never really unpacked from moving home. I have lots of boxes that I’ve been refusing to deal with.

7. Work on looking more feminine. Something else I really struggle with. Looking attractive terrifies me. I’m sure that seems silly, but it really does freak me out.

Overwhelmed

Published November 9, 2013 by Malia

(What follows is my own need to do some venting. Read at your own risk.)

Lately, things have been feeling overwhelming. I’m not really sure why, either. I just know that in the last few months, even the small parts of life feel like they’re these giant mountains that I have no way of dealing with. Most days, I just don’t even have the motivation or energy to care about trying to deal with them.

I’m pretty sure I’m dealing with depression. This certainly isn’t the first time I’ve been down this road. Depression is scary. It’s so, overwhelmingly terrifying. My brain is constantly yelling horrible things at me. It’s a constant litany of all my faults, all the things I have failed at. When I was in counseling last year, the counselor asked me to list out things I liked about myself, and all I could come up with was that I’m not just punctual, I’m consistently early (true story, I’m a bit obsessive about being on time). However, when she asked me to list out what I disliked about myself, it was like I developed diarrhea of the mouth. The list was unending. I’m hyper aware of my faults and screw-ups and complete failures. A year later, my answers are still the same to both questions.

Some days, like today, just feel so dark. All I want to do is curl up and be sad.

The worst part is, I have absolutely no reason to be feeling like this. I have a good life. I have fantastic friends, an amazing job, a loving family, a home, a roof over my head, a vehicle that works. I’m able to pay my bills, buy my nerdy stuff, fill my Christmas child boxes. This is just a small smattering of the good things God has blessed me with.

I haven’t experienced terrible things. My life has been pretty good. I have no excuse for this. There’s no reason for it. I don’t feel like life is pointless or that there’s no reason to go on. I’m thankful for my life, I see there is purpose. I just wish the sadness wasn’t so suffocating.

I’m An Ergonomic Disaster

Published September 11, 2013 by Malia

Sooooooo…..I’m kind of short. I’m not full-on munchkin, but I am just barely 5’0″. (I claim I’m this, but in reality, I’m more like 4’11”.) Being short typically doesn’t bother me. It’s just one of those things. I’ve learned how to deal with it. Over the years I’ve become an expert at hopping onto counters and climbing all over them so I can access things that are well out of reach. I’ve come to accept that my feet are just not going to touch the floor when sitting in a normal-sized person chair.

At work, they’re finally training me in my new position. I get a permanent work area, my own drawer (you have no idea how much having my own drawer means to me), and I’m allowed to be as obsessively accurate as I want (not full/true OCD, but somewhere near the border of it). It’s great. I love it. Well, I love almost all of it. See, part of my new position involves putting things to be sent out to other labs into bins that are about two feet above my head. I can barely reach them and successfully complete this task when I stand on my tippy-toes. However, if these bins aren’t pulled all the way to the very edge of the shelf they sit on, I can’t reach them at all. Last week, one of my trainers noticed that I have this small problem, and told me she would talk with my supervisors about it to see if they could come up with a solution.

So far, I’ve made two suggestions (because they haven’t come up with any). A. Move the bins to a lower shelf, and B. Just let me use a step-stool. Well, suggestion A would work, except they’re not sure what shelf to move them to. This left suggestion B. To me the step-stool is logical, and it seems smarter than having me play the tippy-toe dance several times every single day. However, the step-stool isn’t going to become a reality. Why? Oh, this is good…

I can’t use a step stool, because it wouldn’t be ergonomic.

Yup, just let that sink in.

Personally, I find it hard to believe that a step-stool is less ergonomic than me stretching my body out to uncomfortable lengths every single time I need to access these bins. True the stretching is great for my calf muscles, but it still hurts. All I can do is hope that the stretching will encourage my body to add a few inches in length.

Clothe thyself, I beseech thee.

Published August 28, 2013 by Malia

Okay, I’ll be honest, I had to Google the spelling of the word “thyself” because I wasn’t sure if it was considered one word or two, and then I had to look up the phrase, “I beseech thee,” and within seconds I wrote the title to this. I’m aware I probably completely misused those words, but it’s after midnight, so I lack the ability to care that much. Also, heads up, I’m about to go on a bit of a rant.

Can I ask an honest question? Is basic modesty such a bad thing? I’m not talking about, “Oh hey, I won this award, I won’t shove it in everyone’s face.” I’m talking about, “Oh hey, this outfit leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, maybe I should supplement it with a bra or something,” or, “Oh hey, maybe I should think twice before doing this dance that looks like I’m acting out sex positions on national television.”

I’m old school, I admit it. I don’t think we all need to be running around in nun’s habits, but I do wish there would be a bit of a return to wearing clothing that doesn’t spell out every single bump, wrinkle, bit of flab, and nipple for everyone to see. Yes, no matter what we female folks wear, guys are going to get ideas; but is it really necessary to add to what they’re already imagining. Sure, we’re not responsible for the thoughts that pop into their heads, but I think we do have a smidge of responsibility to not add to what’s already in their head. The sluttier a girl dresses, the more permission she’s giving to a guy to come and have a look. Guys’ brains are naturally wired to automatically see things that turn them on so that they can go off and perform the act that creates more guys whose brains are wired that way. It’s part of nature. If it wasn’t, they would advertise ladies’ underwear the same way Fruit of the Loom advertises guy underwear (this isn’t an original thought, I saw a picture on Pinterest depicting this). We girls don’t need to see some hot chick in underwear to want to buy it (ok, well maybe some girls do). No, that advertising is used so that girl’s have a clue about what makes a guy tick. (And since most of us don’t look like or have a body like Heidi Klum, that advertising does nothing but make us girls feel insecure and inadequate). So yes, guys are responsible for their thoughts and the choices they make as to what they continue to think on, but for those guys who are trying to think pure thoughts about us ladies, let’s not add to their difficulty.

Y’know, it’s completely possible to dress classy, without looking like you should be standing on a street corner selling yourself. Even if you’re a bit on the hefty side (like me), more and more styles are cropping up that allow us to look lovely without looking skanky (or like we’ve been poured into the outfit). Plus, if you don’t mind waiting until the end of the season, you can hit pretty fantastic sales on stuff that would otherwise break the bank.

Also, I’ve been thinking. These girls that get their start doing Disney channel stuff probably are making at least a little money off the programs, and if the program is over, there are probably some royalties involved. Now, I understand that most of these girls want to move on with their careers and not forever be associated with those “good girl” roles they had. However, they’re still will to accept the money from the royalties of those “good girl” roles. Here’s an idea, there should be something in their contract that states that it’s fine if they decide to break free of that “good girl, role model” role; but if they do, all future royalty payments and any money from any merchandise, that continues to be made, will be donated to charities that support young men and women making wise life choices and working to succeed at making something of themselves. It’s only fair.

Rant over.

10 Years?

Published August 25, 2013 by Malia

This weekend was my 10 year high school class reunion. I didn’t go. Not for lack of wanting to visit with my classmates; I just had too much else going on. Plus, it’s a couple hour drive to my old high school. Didn’t really want to spend the money on gas and food and such. Still, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about the last ten years. Mostly, the last several years have been a true nightmare that I hope never to have to repeat. Plus, my life is absolutely nothing like what I expected it would be when I was 18 and super naive. Back then, I really believed that by now I would be a teacher, a wife, a mother, and a published author. Out of those things, I’m only close to being a published author. So, I’m not going to make any guesses about where I’ll be 10 years from now. I hope that I’ll still be at my job and still be happy there. I hope that my parent’s health holds and I’ll still have them.

It was mentioned to me today that I haven’t been blogging that much lately. That’s true. It’s not that I lack for things to talk about, it’s just that most of the things I have to talk about run along the theme of “Why do people struggle so much to correctly screw the top onto a pee cup.” I’ve found most people don’t handle that sort of conversation topic terribly well.

I am writing. As of tonight I’ve reached 30 full pages of single spaced writing on the draft of my novel. I’m quite pleased. I’m really struggling as I write, because the subject matter is incredibly dark and messed up. I’m finding that it really wears on me and tends to make my mood loads darker than it might be. However, I must finish this, mostly because I need to prove to myself that I can finish something of value.

I’m still collecting geeky t-shirts (a TARDIS blankie and Companion Cube lunch tote have also been collected). I’ve reached that point where I just don’t really give a flying flip about what anyone thinks about me and what I like. Is that a sign of maturity?

I’ve also set up what is possibly one of the most boring websites ever. Check it out at maliareads.com. It’s something I’ve been brooding on all summer, and I finally decided to just go for it. The worst that could happen is that it will be an epic failure.

That’s about all the news that is news as of right now. I start training for a new position at work tomorrow, so that’ll probably provide plenty for me to write about.

Long Lost Summer

Published August 7, 2013 by Malia

If there’s one word I could use to describe this summer, it would be “lost.” I’m not really sure where the summer went, and honestly I kind of feel numb about most of this summer.

My cat died, and it hit me really hard. I’m not sure why, either. Usually when I’ve had pets pass on, it’s been sad, but not so overwhelming. So, yeah, that threw me into a tailspin where I stopped caring about eating right and exercising, but enough is enough. I started back to exercising today, and I’m also back to measuring and monitoring what I’m eating. It’s soooooo super exciting.

One positive thing I did this summer was to write the first draft of what I hope will turn into my first real book. I started working on the second draft this week, and am doing my best to not get all perfectionist about it.

And that’s how I lost my summer.

I Can Be Your Herooooooooo

Published June 1, 2013 by Malia

Today as I was driving to work, I realized that I have not updated this blog in nearly a month. I had a few posts I started writing, but it was all awkward and slightly disjointed. Mostly, I just haven’t felt like I’ve had much to write about. Lately, my days consist of getting up, exercising, going to work, coming home, exercising, and going to bed. My weekends replace going to work with puppet rehearsal and errands. Oh, yeah, I’ve also been having mini-panic attacks. I guess I’m becoming a grown-up.

Y’know, part of being a grown up is dealing with things. Things like failures and screw-ups. The counselor I saw last fall told me I have an adjustment disorder. In case you’re wondering, that’s fancy talk for “doesn’t like change or accept it gracefully, if at all.” It’s pretty much true. Weirdly, I remember a time when I really enjoyed change. Every time my family would move, I’d be excited (unlike normal kids who pitch a fit about their lives being ruined). I was convinced that each move was just another adventure. I loved adventures. I loved seeing new things, and meeting new people (I still love seeing new things, but not so much the whole meeting new people). I’m not sure when this optimism melted into terror. I just know that somewhere in the last ten years, I began to fear change. Change was never good, nothing good could come of it.

I’m a vet tech. I’ve even got a license from the state of Nebraska to prove this. This means that I clawed my way through an associate’s program. Sure, I attended a for-profit school. I know a lot of people look down their noses at this. However, I wasn’t just handed a degree. I had to learn and prove I could do things like run anesthesia on a living animal (and successfully keep it alive during surgery), take radiographs, pill a cat, draw blood from a horse, assist in surgery, perform manual CBC’s, memorize more parasite’s than House ever mentioned, and a pile of other things that involved a lot more poop, pee, and blood and a lot less playing with the cute kitties and doggies. On top of that I had to take classes. And pass tests. And do a 56 hour ward care week every 10 weeks (this was frequently included holidays, and I couldn’t always get the week off from my job). Not only did I do all this, but once I did finally graduate (test anxiety helped push my 18 month plan out to being almost 3 years), I had to face the board exam. The board exam was 225 questions covering all aspects of being a veterinary technician. 200 of the questions were scored, and 25 were thrown out, and of course we weren’t told which were the magic questions that were getting tossed. I passed it.

The job I mentioned above? I hated it. I really, really hated it. (However, I met some amazing people, and met some pets that will forever have my heart). Not at first. At first I loved it. I was working in a vet clinic, and that was fantastic. I started as a receptionist, with the understanding that I would gradually be worked into a tech position as I got further in my education. At least, that’s what I thought. There were a lot of things that went wrong (and most I can’t talk about, because the clinic would probably hunt me down and send dementors to suck my soul out). I can say that the little confidence I had was destroyed by that place. In the early days, when I was actually enthusiastic about learning to be a tech, the doctor blew me off more than once when it came to helping. She regularly chose to have anyone but me lend a hand. I know I wasn’t the best tech (but believe me, I’ve seen worse). I struggled. Lack of feeling in my fingers made blood draws next to impossible. Emergencies made my mind go blank. Asking people for money while they were saying good-bye to their best friend set off nuclear explosions in my heart, and by the time I left I was completely heartless. There was just a void. (And yes, I know that medicine is all about the money. Believe me there is nothing like having to ask someone in the throes of grief and waiting for the euthanasia med to be administered, for over $100. And when you get someone who explodes and tears you apart for something that’s killing you inside, it’s too much. I especially hated how everyone around me acted like I was being too melodramatic. “Sure, we hate it too.” They’d say, as I’d get ushered in to do the unpleasantness.)

I kept telling myself that I couldn’t quit. I needed the money. I had to pay my bills. I think God knew I’d stay there until I had a stroke. The job came to a painful end, but it was truly for the best. I’ve never regretted my decision to leave.

I spent the next year looking for a job. Most jobs that I applied to, I got replies like this:

Thanks for your time last week. I have hired an extern instead of a full-time tech for now. If things don’t work out, I will keep your resume. Again, thank you for your time and good luck. (Yeah, because a ungraduated, unlicensed, unexperienced tech is always the better option. I translated this e-mail to mean: We don’t have to pay them, and we’d have to pay you.)

And then there’s this little gem:

After evaluating all candidates for this position we have determined that another candidate more closely fits the requirements set forth for this position. Accordingly, you will not be considered further for this particular opportunity.

Anyway, this has been a long meandering route to get to the heart of what I wanted to talk about. Basically, the nearly 5 years of constant rejection did quite a number on me. I’m not proud of this. I should be made of tougher stuff, but I’m not. Following leaving the clinic, I really struggled with the idea of ever working in animal healthcare again.

Today, I was at work, doing my usual thing, and as I worked, my brain started thinking about things. Things I didn’t necessarily want to think about. I founds myself wondering if I could ever do anything good in animal healthcare. Then, something wonderful happened. I got a phone call. Well, not me personally, but I’m the person who happened to answer the phone. On the other end of the line was a vet tech who was absolutely frantic. (And this is about where I have to skip over a pile of details, because I’m not wanting to step on HIPAA’s toes). Long, long story short, she had a problem, and I was able to fix it. It was positive for her, her clinic, and the animal.

Now, no one at work got why I was excited about fixing the problem. I had done good in animal healthcare for the first time in forever! I got to be the hero of the story.

That takes a special kind of stupid…

Published May 5, 2013 by Malia

This morning I awoke bright and early to the fact that the smoke detector was going off in the condo across the hall from ours. Normally, one would assume that the neighbors had burned toast, or something like that. However, our neighbors don’t currently live in their condo. They’ve been trying to sell it for a couple of years now, and our building has been put through quite the “fun” experience of people they’ve rented the unit to. So, anyway, currently there are no renters and the owners aren’t living there so the unit is empty.

Well, earlier this week, I noticed that the owners must have been in because they had left all the condo lights on and a fan running in one of the rooms (they had the blinds open, and those windows face the parking lot, kind of hard not to notice when you’re walking into the building). Never saw any evidence that the owners had returned, but every night when I got home from work the lights were still on and the fan was still running. Personally, I found it to be a rude waste of electricity, but some people just don’t care.

Anyway, the smoke alarm was going off, and even though the door and wall weren’t hot, there was a strong smell of smoke. We couldn’t decide if this was the smell of cigarette smoke or of fire smoke. So, after consulting with one of the head honchos of the condo association, dad called 9-1-1. He told the fire department what was going on, and told them that we really weren’t certain if there was a fire or not, but we had no way to get in and find out. The fire department said they’d send someone over.

Not only did they send one truck, but because the condo is on the 3rd floor, they sent the ladder truck as well.

It was quite thrilling, but wait, the thrills had only just started.

I had actually retreated to my room, working under the theory that mom would come get me if we were all going to die (I’d thrown on actual clothes by this point, if I was going to die a fiery death, I wasn’t going to do it in my jammies). The migraine from last night was still causing pain, and I just wanted to sleep. A few minutes passed and then I heard:

THUD

The only thing missing was Sheldon saying, “Penny?” in between each “Thud.” It was quite impressive; each thud actually resounded throughout the condo. Only afterwards did I learn that one of the firemen had actually kicked part of the door in. I’m quite disappointed that I missed seeing that. However, I did manage to get a photo of the aftermath:

In case you’re wondering, here’s how the door would look (minus the decorations) had it not been kicked in:

Anyway, it turned out there was no fire. Best that the firefighters could figure, apparently our neighbors were in painting and the pain fumes built up inside the closed unit and set off the smoke detector. I guess that’s why they left the fan running. No clue why they left the lights on, other than simple irresponsibility and stupidity.

Moral of the story: apparently paint fumes will set off your smoke detector.

2nd Moral of the story: If you abuse your electricity usage, your door will get kicked apart by awesome firemen!

Also, I can’t help but have today’s events remind me of one of the greatest movie speeches ever:

Any Second Now...

This will all make sense?