On the Planet... Still

I'm still here. Thought I may need to state that for reasons relating to the last sentence of my previous post.

I was simply too exhausted when I rolled in from work Saturday morning around 10am to do anything other than doff my watch, keys, phone, and clothes and climb into bed.

It had gotten quite unseasonably cool (though there is nothing to this global climate change myth) overnight last Friday. Down to around 51. I had worn jeans to work and taken a light jacket to wear as well. Still, I was chilled in spite of baking in the sun for a several minutes before I made the trip home. I even put on the heat in the van during the ride. I still shivered under a cotton thermal and a vellux blanket for more than an hour before I could get warm enough to fall asleep.

I awoke around 5, having missed the birthday party for the two older grandchildren and was bitched at by my daughter. I don't know why it didn't occur to her to open my front door and call for me. It isn't as if she doesn't live right next door. My phone only rings aloud if I plug it into the charger and living in an urban environment has pretty much made me able to sleep through anything other than my phone or someone calling my name.

Having slept away my only day-off on Saturday, I was up all night, finally got to sleep somewhere after 6:30am in order to get up (finally at 9:50am) and be at work at 10:45.

I made it at 10:50, strolling in in flip flops (fashionable metallic ones mind you) and with wet hair. Hey, at least I was showered and smelling nice. Brian was already in our office and, being the boss, had to do the boss thing of asking if I was supposed to be wearing those shoes at work. I responded no, and that I had figured that Eugene managed to mangle my ankles with the footrests on his wheelchair in spite of whatever kind of shoes I wore so it really didn't matter much. He laughed, having had his own ankles mangled by Eugene's footrests in his years of working the floor.

I found the clean coffee pot that I had stashed last Sunday, started my Starbucks, and took the nasty coffee pots from the coffee room out to the apartments to toss in the dishwasher, as has become my Sunday morning ritual. Hindolo wasted no time in coming to help me, and I'll give him credit for observance (or for having a thing for feet), noticed that my ankles were no longer swollen and deformed looking. "Your feet are regular?" he queried as he bent down and began to poke at my non-swollen and non-deformed-looking feet and ankles. I explained that, yes, my feet and ankles are not deformed. It is the rheumatoid flaring that makes me look club-footed.

I told him that the coffee should be done by now, and he grabbed his cup and followed me across to the admin building. I told him I was now off to put on some makeup and make myself beautiful or, at least, cover some of the ugly. He didn't comment but flashed me that smile that I'm coming to like a lot.

Of course, I ran my ass off on Sunday. I generally run my ass off every day, but with everyone being in and out on Sunday, it means a few more trips in and out of the apartments than usual.

The way skinny sister of one of our gals was in to visit on Sunday. She's a wonderful person and very concerned about her sister. We talked at length about the recent medication change, her disdain for the psychiatrist who would not even look her in the eye when he responded to her concerns at her sister's last psych appointment, and what may be a good course of action to try next for her sister's increasing wandering and increase in obsessive-type fixations that leave her dangerously un-redirectable.

I was at the foot of the sidewalk talking with a couple of my guys as skinny sis was leaving. My patients remarked as to how skinny she was. I told them that, in my pre-steroid days, I was that skinny was determined to be that skinny again. My guys were not happy about that. Hindolo was sitting on the front porch and didn't say anything but shook his head. His co-worker, who had stuck his head out the front door and had heard the exchange between me and the guys, remarked something along the lines of thank God for steroids as he ducked back inside the door. As he has been known to say, "Bones are for dogs. Men need meat."

For my bone structure and body type, I am about 5 pounds over the upper limits of my normal weight range. Yet, still I feel I am grossly over weight. In having a weight and body image discussion last week involving different cultural perceptions with one of my African staff who is currently in nursing school, he was quite surprised to learn that I view myself as being "fat." He commented that it's quite interesting to have these types of discussions regarding differences in cultural perceptions with the American women in his class because our views have become so distorted from the way most of the rest of the world thinks. We talked about how American women see our significant other looking at other women as damaging to our self-image; how if our man is looking at another woman, it is because there is something wrong with how we look. He commented that when he is out with his own wife, if he looks at another woman and calls his wife's attention to her hair or her pants, it isn't because he finds that woman more attractive, it's because he thinks that hairstyle or style of clothing might look really nice on his wife, and that she is not offended by his looking and his comments. One of the male African nurses laughed and commented when I told him about this conversation, "African men love to look. We like big women with big butts! A woman will be walking down the street and the men will be watching going... ~ bobs head back and forth~ ... in time with the way her butt is moving. It's very different in Africa." His comment regarding my statement that diseases like bulimia and anorexia are mainly unique to the US... "Oh, we have anorexia in Africa..." the two of us in unison, ...."it's called famine."

As further conversation with one of my newer women African staff proved as well. She had commented last week about having a c-section when she had her daughter. I asked her how old her daughter is now. She replied that her daughter is nearly four and that it's so funny getting her ready to go to day care because her daughter insists that her clothes match. "In Africa, you wear what your mother gives you."

I enjoy having these conversations with my coworkers. I find it very interesting to learn their perspectives and views. I wish more of my American coworkers would take the time to have these types of discussions and learn some things about and from the people we work with. I have talked about everything from health care to stealing to education with many of the Africans. I have learned much.

Most of the Africans that I work with are from West Africa - Gambia, Nigeria, Sierra Leone, Ghana, Cameroon. That is not a listing of all the countries in West Africa, just the ones that we have represented on our job. We have a few from East Africa - Kenya, Tanzania, Ethiopia. The over-all demeanor between West and East is very different, as the Africans themselves are quick to point out.

The majority of the Africans are from Sierra Leone. Most of them fled very quickly at the end of the decade-long civil war. I cannot blame them. During those years, the people of Sierra Leone were the most impoverished population on the planet. I still have not explored the brutality inflicted on the people during the war. That is a subject that is still too real and too painful for many of them to delve into at length. Hindolo is from Sierra Leone and lost both of his parents during the war. I do not know if he was forcibly conscripted at gunpoint into service as many teenagers were. I haven't asked. Being that he's 30 and has his masters degree from Notre Dame and went back to Sierra Leone at the end of the war while working for the UN, I would hope that he was able to come to the US early on in the war. From comments he has made, I do know that he was there for at least part of the war.

In some ways, his quiet demeanor and continued belief in God though he has abandoned religious dogma at this point, give me a feeling of petty selfishness for my own motivation and reasonings for abandoning belief in a deity. He is understanding and respectful of my sentiment of, "I can do badly on my own so why do I need a god?" Though in our talks about religion, I found his admission that he was thinking of becoming a Jehovah's Witness as disturbing as some of my friends have found my decision to be atheist. Thankfully, my knowledge of theology surpasses that of our workplace's resident JW so that temptation has been removed from his mind. He laughed when I told him that the other nurses get a kick out of it when I do finally breakdown and enter into the theological debate with our JW nurse because I'm the only one with enough theological study and training to be able to refute argument and correct bad translation and improper and inconsistent application. Though, in his quiet and direct way, his question to me of, "You have so much knowledge. How can you say that you will walk away from God?" hit directly on the mark he was seeking to hit.

It's a shame that he didn't like political science (As he said, it really is a science when you think about and apply it.) enough to pursue his doctorate once his project with the UN was completed. He is quite adept at choosing to say the right things at the right time in seeking to accomplish his point to completion. Is it OK to admit that I both hate and respect that about him? LOL In coming to know him better, those few and rare moments of conversation that are just between the two of us are appreciated more and more.

I eschewed the company of my three usual smoking partners last Sunday evening at quitting time for the midshift and went off to sit and smoke by myself on the bench next to the planter at the north parking lot. Hindolo came around the corner and smiled widely when he saw me there. He dropped off his bag to his car and returned to find I'd been joined by a couple of other exiting mid-shifters. He excused himself to go talk to another of those leaving and returned when the crowd began to dissipate. hmmmm... He knows me well enough to have discerned my intention with that particular ploy. Maybe that's a good thing. Also, it doesn't do to appear too obvious at work. We have an effective grapevine, and for what it may lack in accuracy, it more than makes up for in content and creativity.

Those few minutes of conversation there in the fleeting twilight, made me question more things than they answered. I came away feeling like that line from Shrek - Ogres are like onions; we have layers. He had an early class and more reading to do for it, and I had more work in the office to finish. It was only with selfish regret that I let him be on his way. We could very well have talked for hours.

He fails to understand my passion to be a working artist rather than finish my BSN and find an admin position or take my daughter's suggestion and pursue a degree in finance or even return to computer science. I'm left wondering what it was about teaching that he disliked so much and why the study of microbiology is what intrigues him at this point. Ground for further conversation and more than enough interest to keep me hanging around until I can get in to see my doctor and get my medication adjusted and get some therapy to combat the suicidal ideation.

Here we go!

Well, the crunch is on. I have 35 minutes to blog before jumping in the shower and racing off to work 12 rather than 4 hours. Oy! So, I suppose it's a good thing I was a slug and decided to sleep today. That would have made or an overnight shift for which even Starbucks had no cure! lol

I'm frantically looking for the rest of the meds that I want to take before dashing off to work. I really need to find a better system for organizing the 3 to 4 dozen bottles of prescriptions, vitamins, and other assorted OTC meds that I take.

The week has proved to be long. I am quite depressed. Clinically depressed, not just feeling miserable type of depressed. Plenty of the feeling miserable is included, but it's not the root cause of the suicidal ideations; just adds to them, unfortunately.

Guess it's time for some medication adjustment and some therapy. (Mike Muir begins to sing inside my head. Google Infectious Grooves if you don't get that reference.)

At least, the additional hours will go on next week's paycheck. That's a plus. The thought of that 40-hour check was beginning to cause some serious anxiety which doesn't help my current mental status at all. I can't even think about income and bills right now. It has gotten that bad. Oh fuck, I hate being at the mercy of the rheumatoid that precipitates the manifestation of most of this shit that stresses me out to this point. I can't sleep for days at a time, even with medication, so why bother to take the drugs that serve to do nothing (at that point) other than make me sluggish and constipated. So, I'll live on nicotine and caffeine until I'm at the point of exhaustion, take a couple of melatonin and a Flexeril, and sleep for the better part of a day. That was my bedtime regimen at 3am this morning. I can't eat. Actually, I don't even think to eat. Two or three days pass, and it will occur to me that I haven't eaten. I've managed to lose 5 of the pounds that the last round of steroids packed on my ass within the last week though, so it isn't all bad.

And, those who know me find themselves wondering why I've chosen to go back to being atheist at this point. My response of, I can do badly on my own so why am I in need of a god to help? does seem to communicate to them where I'm standing at this point.

Hindolo has probably been the most supportive and willing to give me plenty of room and not press the issue at this point. Losing both of his parents in the civil war in Sierra Leone when he was so young has given him both perspective and position to understand what I'm going through. (Though honestly, I cannot begin to fathom what he has been through, and I feel my own crises to pale in comparison to what he has survived.) Val, who lived thorough World War 2 in Italy as a young woman and who also has rheumatoid arthritis, has pretty much taken up position beside him. So, I'm not without a support system, which is good because I am still convicted that I owe a serious and heart-felt apology to anyone that I've told to trust in and rely on God over the years of my being Christian. And, then there's Al, my fellow former cult victim, who let the argument drop with.... though he slay me, yet will I praise him. Val gave him kudos for that one. (Just so you know, Al, because I know you read this mess! lol)

Time to jump and run. More in the morning if I don't decide to crash the car on the way home.

... to Hell in a Handbasket - Part Two

When last we left our sultry (snickers, ok ROFLMTCFAO - There, I hope you're happy now.) heroine, she (that would be me, for y'all whose family tree is missing the requisite number of forks) was pondering love - one of those concepts best left to the realm of the poets and the dreamers. In any case, left to someone far less cynical and jaded than myself.

So, I suppose we shall segue at this point to concepts more suited to my nature... apathy, rejection, disdain, incredulousness, the search for the perfect margarita, shoe shopping, algorithms. Maybe I am in need of a margarita and shoe shopping algorithm for all to be made right within my world?

I cyber schlepped over to Yahoo 360 at some point within the last couple of days. I don't like the Yahoo 360 team nearly as well as I like Tom from MySpace. I could delete Tom from my friends list. I'm stuck with the blather from the 360 folks. (Reason number #78 for bailing from Yahell.) Their last two blog topics appeared on the home page. Most recently, what was your last "major purchase." Setting the benchmark for a "major purchase" as $20 or more. Twenty dollars?? Is this 1966 or are they writing for eight year olds? The previous post was how your online persona differed from your 3D (real life) persona. I had to think about that one for a minute. In my cyber reality, I am not a dentist from Pacoima (nod to my 3D friend Steve for that one, LOL). I happen to be pretty much the same in both realities. The main differences I can think of are that I'm not allowed to legally sign my name as Karma Dogma in the 3D reality and my avatars change hair color and hair styles a bit more frequently than I do in real life.

It's nearly 3:40am EDT, and I have to work in the morning.

I suppose I'll close here for now & see what Part Three of this installment holds come tomorrow.

Hey, It's Awfully Hot In Here & Whoa, What Am I Doing In This Handbasket? Part One

Yes, I am well aware that I am an ass. You must remember, I am the woman who has written in red Sharpie marker on the back of my credit card "You actually checked. Wow!"


I used to make it a point to learn the names of all the new staff during their orientation week. I wrote that off as an exercise in futility. We lose about one half of them during orientation. Of the remaining staff, half of them will leave during their training week or during the first week that they are scheduled to work in an apartment. It was at this point, that my revised time frame for learning their names was put into place. Again, an exercise in futility as half of the ones remaining would not make it through their initial 90 days. From an orientation class of 15 or so, we generally end up with one or two staff that stay. As far as learning names, if I see someone around for a while, I'll eventually get around to asking who that person is. Unless of course, the person has made an impression on me by their actions - good or bad. Good will have me asking coverage the next time I see them, and a bad impression will generally have me taking some sort of immediate action.


Where to next? The latest tainted Chinese import? The impending possibility of the bird flu pandemic? Community acquired MRSA? Yes, those lovely antibiotic resistant, hospital-bred super bugs have escaped into the general population. Nice, eh? MRSA, by the way, stands for Methicillin Resistant Staph Aureus. That's why we call it MRSA... lol The medical community loves acronyms.


It's a little after 3am. I can't sleep. I quit smoking, so my body is doing all sorts of funky things. Waking up from a sound sleep for no apparent reason at all has to be among the worst. It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to work later today & tomorrow as well.


I have been brooding over this entry for several days now. I'd pull it from the list of saved drafts, stare at it for varying periods of time, alter it sometimes, and eventually save it back to draft. I thought of relegating it to that nether region where I save such things that suck. For some reason, it seemed to not belong there. This entry had a purpose, a message which had not yet become apparent or relevant to my brain.


There have been several things which have come to my mind over the last few weeks that I wanted to explore or to which I wanted to give voice. I just couldn't seem to come to a place where these thoughts and ideas would congeal into cohesive expression.



I do not know if I have arrived at that point yet. I do know that I have arrived at a "checkpoint" or two along the way. No earth-shattering revelations merely a couple of cynical observations.

On this whole scenario of the "social blogging networks"... People are perfectly willing to post someone else's content without even so much as a nod to the originator of the work. I attempt to give full credit to the source(s) from which I will occasionally lift material. My friend, Al, referenced this phenomena (It is quite plural.) the other day. I told him of the sentiments that one young man had stated on his SU profile; he would give a "thumbs down" to any site that had posted content from the original source when the original source still had the data available and/or had not been properly credited. I suppose people feel they must post that "cutting edge" (wtf ever that's supposed to mean in the first place) content in order to be seen as being truly in touch with whatever happens to be going on. Not that whatever happens to be going on may be the slightest bit noteworthy or significant in the first place. It would be akin to me giving a rat's ass about the next pop culture, mass media feeding frenzy. I will confess though, the comic strip panel about the iphone being able to live up to the hype.... you know the one, it had that button on the iphone that stated something about blocking out anything about Paris Hilton.... I'd post it here, but damn it, I can't find where my computer put it when Al sent it to me the other day, and I'm too much of a slacker to open another tab and go Google. OK, yeah, it also had buttons for strategy on exiting Iraq and a couple of pertinent social things.... but, omg, to have a reality where, at the push of a button, Paris Hilton ceases to exist?!?!

Just FYI, for you dumb-asses out there who haven't figured it out yet, we already have that button. It's right there on your TV remote. It's labelled "off."

On love. Me getting a revelation on love may be sort of like... well... hmmmmmm... I don't really know what would be a perfect analogy for that one. I believe in love. I can't say that I've been completely successful when it comes to the practice of love, but I still think it's a pretty cool concept.