Hello, my name is

When I went to class this morning, it was sprinkling. When I left class an hour later to go deliver our grant, it was in the middle of a downpour. Dripping, I stepped into an elevator with another woman. "Was it supposed to do this today?" I asked her. "Jeanne," she said. I had a flash of panic, Oh great, here's this woman who I was just making friendly small talk with, and it turns out she's all overly proper, pissed that I would start talking and not say hello first, and she's trying to introduce herself to me. What do I say now? 'Nice to meet you, I'm Jen'?? "Hurricane Jeanne bearing down on us," the woman continued. I breathed a sigh of relief.

'Cause not everything is gonna be the way you think it oughta be

AKA, The picnic that was not to be

Glen and I tried to have a picnic this weekend. I thought it would be nice and romantic, a celebration of and remembering of the two years worth of relationship we've had, since one of our first dates was a picnic in this same park. We got sushi and R.W. Knudsen spritzers from Bread & Circus (Whole Foods, whatever they call themselves), as well as cookies, and set out to walk to the park. Glen couldn't find the picnic cloth he usually keeps in his car, so he grabbed his spare rain jacket instead. We got the park, spread the jacket out, and I sat down, putting my hand squarely into dog poop. Disgusted and stinky, I called and started walking towards Glen's old apartment to see if his ex-apartment-mates would let me go there to wash. No one answered. Debating what to do, I walked back to Glen who suggested I call Michael who also lives nearby. I called Michael and he answered on the first ring. "Rather strange question," I told him, "But I'd really appreciate it if you'd let me come wash my hands at your house. I'll spare you the details." He said that was fine so I walked there, let myself in, and scrubbed vigorously in the bathroom. "Did you cut yourself?" he asked. "Worse," I said, and told him what happened. Fresh and soap-scented, I headed back to the park. Glen had moved the jacket and I sat down next to him, leaning on him as we opened edamame and the sushi. All was good for about five minutes until we saw a yellow lab barreling towards us. Try as we might, we couldn't keep the dog off us, and it easily overwhelmed our efforts to push it away, gobbling up the last half my sushi pieces. Calling it (to no avail), the owner came over and apologized, saying, "She's just really friendly." Obviously, this wasn't the problem. The problem was that sushi is awfully expensive food for one who is just as happy sniffing butts and rolling in decaying roadkill. The problem was that the dog obviously suffered from ADD. She'd be playing, playing, playing, and then suddenly would be bolting across the field to "be friendly" to a sunbather. Or us again. Or a girl, trying to read. Glen offered me his last piece of salmon nigiri which he had somehow miraculously saved from the dog's attack. "I don't think I could do it," he said to me, inclining his head toward the dog who was now running full speed circles around a couple park benches and a tree, while two other dogs looked on, puzzled. "I just don't think I could run in a circle more than once without becoming totally bored." We ate one cookie each in silence, then stood up, shook out the jacket, and went home.

That's no moon...

Weird dream last night:

I was at my parent's house, and saw reflected in our breakfront cabinet a huge grey-ish moon. I turned to look out the window, and saw it hovering in the sky, much larger and lower than I'd ever seen before. Closer inspection found that it was much more like a soccer ball, grey and metallic, than a moon. I cracked a joke about it being the Death Star, but I knew it was a ship. Suddenly, a beam of light shot out of it, and everyone in the room (there were other people about) were drawn to it except me because I knew it dangerous. Someone got caught up in the beam and within a few seconds disappeared. (We knew they had been transported up to the ship.) Much of the rest of the dream was spent trying to convince people to hide whenever the beam appeared.

In a few scenes, we were outside, in (what I thought in the dream was) the yard next to my parent's house. There was a very skinny tree and some flowers planted, as well as a fence. Although I would yell to people to make them run and hide from the beam, no one really was paying much attention to what I said, so finally I started to try to talk to them about it, to see if I could convince them they really didn't want to be taken up to the ship. Unfortunately, they seemed mostly apathetic.

In a later scene, we were hiding from the ship in a run-down shack in the woods, and it was dusk. Instead of just a bright beam of light coming from the ship, this time it was accompanied by automatic weapons' fire. I tried to crouch down behind the shut door which had a smeared and dirty window in it; Imotioned for everyone else to get down to avoid the gunfire, too, but as the bullets came through the old door, I was shot twice, once in the knee and once in the ribs. Then, hazily, I saw a man coming towards me, silhouetted by the light. He was from the ship, and I knew he was coming for me. I couldn't run because I'd been shot, and I was rapidly succumbing to the futility of the situation. He picked me up and carried me toward the light.

I "woke up" on the ship. He'd placed me on a table, and was setting about to remove the bullets from my leg and side. I asked him why he was going to save me; he asked why I'd tried to avoid coming on board the ship. I was feeling rather heavy and sluggish, even though everything was very bright, but blurred. I realized I was probably drugged, and rationalized that I had been sedated so as not to be afraid, not to fight, and not to be in pain. I asked if removing the bullets was going to hurt, and the guy mostly said well, yes, they were bullets, afterall. I gritted my teeth and tensed my muscles, holding my breath, as he took the one out of my knee, but there didn't seem to be any pain. The one he removed from my side was actually a pellet on several inches of barbed wire. It felt strange although not painful as he removed it because I could feel each barb catch on my ribs. I don't remember how the dream ended.

I certainly don't consider this a happy dream, and would probably rank it in the "bad dream" category. But the emotional non-continuity is interesting. I wasn't scared during the dream; just knew the whole time in the one scene in the woods that they were coming for me, and once I was aboard the ship, knew that the whole previous sequences had played out so I would be taken onto the ship and realize that it wasn't a bad thing.

Okay you dream experts. Interpret away...

Welcome to my head

One of the interesting things about being me is that simply by reading, hearing, or smelling something that I last read/heard/smelled during a time of an intense emotional event, I can recall the identical feelings to that event. I don't know if this happens to anyone else, but no one's ever told me about it, so I'm stuck thinking I'm the only one. (Granted, this is the opposite of what I used to think which was, if no one said anything about it, it must be true for everyone. But still...) This happens to me frequently, almost daily. Yesterday, I re-read my Australian travelogue, but only the day where I visited the Reef. (That would be Wednesday, 13 November 2002, for those of you keeping score at home.) Just in reading it and looking at the pictures, I can remember exactly the agenda for the day, what the boat looked like, the water, the fish, the anticipation and energy. I feel it deep inside me. The same depth of feeling happens for other things - when I see Erin, when I see a sign in clinic for the "shot/procedure box", my anxiety spikes, just like before. Despite the fact I'm a blood donor now. (Yes, really, I'm a blood donor.) It's weird, but it's exciting, though, and usually I think, "Wow. Hey. What was that?! That was cool. I wonder if I can do that again!" and try to set it off. So does that mean, since I'm trying to get it to repeat, that I'm not feeling anxiety, but something else? Or that I'm just nuts? Never works then, however. Only the first time each day. But repeatedly, cyclically.

Strange days

Leaving work yesterday, I saw a very odd sight:

A little old lady, driving a new sporty silver convertable, black top up, all windows down. Wrap-around sunglasses.

Dog days

Glen and I were looking at pictures of dogs that people had posted on a forum last night, and it caused me, in my exhaustion to have a dream about Altair, my family's dearly departed golden retriever. In my dream, Altie had gotten loose, and it was the fall, so there were people hunting in the woods. (In real life, we were always worried that the dog would get out and get himself shot because he looks like a deer, in coloring, running through the woods.) We were very concerned about him and tried desperately to bribe him back to us with cheese, his favorite people food. He wasn't coming, and finally my father and I took a train somewhere. Then, my mother reported that it was 97 degrees outside and the dog had been out for six hours, and was likely close to death if we didn't find him soon. My father and I took the train back through Brookline Village, and I hung strips of American cheese from my ears, so my hands would be free to crinkle the plastic wrap which I hoped would call the dog back. Finally he did come back, and I grabbed him by the back of the neck as he struggled to run off again. He whirled around and tried to bite me but I wouldn't let go. We brought him inside a store (there was a big copper vat), and tied a lace thing on his head, some combination of a hat, a leash, and reigns. That's all I remember of the dream. Weird.

np in my head: Some looping and sickening combination of single lines from Ani Difranco ("Names and Dates and Times" - see previous post), Elvis Costello ("New Amsterdam" - thanks to it playing in Starbucks this morning), and U2 ("Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me" - blaring from someone's car as I walked to work from class).

Something to remember me by, when I go

Steve gave me something for me to remember him by last night – a bruise and resulting limp. Once again, I have learned the lesson of why one shouldn’t kick upwards on a roundhouse: you hit their elbow. Every time I kick that way, I hit an elbow. In this case, I hit Steve’s elbow squarely in the middle of the top of my foot. It’s going to be a perfectly round bruise. It hurts to have shoes on, it hurts to walk. One would think, after injuring myself repeatedly this way, I would figure it out, and never do it again. I specifically teach people to NOT kick that way. But there’s nothing like being a little cocky, a little tired, and not altogether paying attention, a combination of showing off and trying not to be killed. I’m going to remember him for at least a week.

...or is it just me?

Either there was a sudden influx of attractive men to the Longwood area or Glen being away for the weekend got to me more than I realized. On Friday, I saw a guy who I know (in passing) who is gorgeous - turning heads from the far corner of the street. Then, today, I was standing waiting to cross the road and I heard a woman explaining various breakfast venues, "And there's this place called Dunkin' Donuts..." I turned to see who she was talking to who might not know about Dunkin' Donuts. It was this guy with curly hair, prematurely greying, and extraordinarily blue eyes. Strange, because I don't usually go for curly hair. He had just a hint of an accent as he explained that yes, he was familiar with Dunkin' Donuts, but perhaps that wasn't the healthiest thing for breakfast.

In the meantime, last night as I was falling asleep, I dreamt I was making a musical about my work life this coming week. I even managed to sing two or three of the songs from it before becoming completely unconscious. Unfortunately (fortunately?), I don't remember any of the words or melody other than at one point I was inordinately pleased to have rhymed "wrong" and "song".

Maybe it's the stress...

Pin cushion

I've been tossing this snippet of conversation around in my head for at least a week, and finally decided to write it down so I can start thinking about something else. Still, it has made me grin a few times just thinking about it:

I had said something to Jeremy about my needle desensitization and he grimmaced and said, "You mean you just stick someone with needles until they can't feel anything anymore?!" I explained that that was not the case, but it makes total sense out of context. How horrible!!

Nothing wrong with a little laurel resting

There's something particularly exciting about having taught a good karate class. However, I can't seem to write it up so it doesn't seem simultaneously lame and egotistical. (I've now tried and failed twice.) Maybe it's something that can only be shared with the right people at the right time. Sorry, everybody; you'll have to come back later. Or better yet, ask me about it in person sometime.

Meanwhile, I know it's only Tuesday, but already there have been bests and worsts for the week.

Worst: I got to work yesterday and something smelled a little funny. A couple hours later, I found the source - a dead, decaying, "juicy" (thanks Mom) mouse which had the misfortune to die on a laptop bag under my desk. I had to sacrifice the saturated bag for the good of humankind. EW ew ew ew ew. EW.

Best: Trips to Australia. I finally have my tickets set for my trip to Melbourne, Brisbane, and Wellington, New Zealand in November. And for much less than I'd been able to find myself on the travel websites, thanks to Peter at CWT/Stockade Travel. Hooray! Now to the planning of B&Bs.

Funniest Daily Show snippet from last night - "In these difficult times, do you really want a president who wasn't smart enough to get out of going to Vietnam?"

"Good news everyone!"

Eric likes my peanut butter cookies!

(Bonus points to anyone who can identify the source of the title of this post.)

Housekeeping

I've made some (very minor) changes to the blog template. Maybe you've noticed? Didn't think so. The most important thing to point out is the new addition, on the right sidebar, of a tally of my current available Gmail invites. If you are interested in acquiring one, please e-mail me or leave a comment and I will distribute the invites to the most deserving of you (or first come, first served).

P.S. Housekeeping was the work accomplishment of last week - we're actually getting our garbage emptied nightly now, and our bathroom cleaned! Hooray!

Today in god

More good things happened today and this week. Glen started classes and seems to be at least moderately enjoying the experience, or (WARNING: CYNICISM AHEAD) at least, the novelty of it. Either is fine for now. But I'm glad he's getting his feet under him in this new venture for the next couple years.

At work, logistical issues plaguing the move of three scientists from the Center into my back office are finally being resolved. My coup of the day was to get other people to move desktop computers from one of our offices to another, without my crew having to schlep them on carts ourselves. Brandy and Julie have labeled me a "techie whore", but hey, if it gets the job done...

Brandeis PE karate classes started last night, and I was excited to go and be there. Then, today, Jeremy, one of the co-presidents of the Brandeis club this year, IMed me for the first time ever, and we had a "nature of the universe" discussion, which is always good. I've only ever had a horrible falling out with two people with whom I had "nature of the universe" discussions. And they were both girls, so I think we're safe. Come to the dark side, Luke.... Heh. As I've told a few people before, something really weird happened when I got my sandan. Suddenly, karateka from Brandeis are talking to me. I'm not sure if it's a rank thing, or if I'm finally so old they think I have some sort of Yoda wisdom going on. I really do feel I'm a cross between Jesus and Yoda when I'm at Brandeis hanging out with the karate club. As long as it's alright with them, it's fine with me. I enjoy it. I think it's funny. And I like talking to people about martial arts in a really deep and meaningful way. I enjoy their discovery of it as much as I enjoy my journey in it. I have really been noticing how my interaction with these self-selected few, the ones who start "so I've been thinking..." conversations with me, parallel the conversations I used to have with Steve when I was two, three, four years into Uechi. I hope they get as much out of talking to me as I get from listening and thinking through things with them.

Gonna be some changes made

Today was a good day. Finally. This week has already been far too long for not starting until Tuesday, but it seems today that things are turning around. Far too much stuff has been up in the air this past week, and I was able to make decisions recently that really leave me feeling much more grounded, and not nearly as anxious as I've been. I rarely have anxiety dreams, and, as you know from my previous post, I've been having them by the bunches of late.

One huge weight off my shoulders is that I made up my mind about what I'm doing in regards to graduate coursework, GREs, and application for admission to Harvard School of Public Health for what should be an MPH, but what is going to be an MS. Gotta love Harvard. The original plan had been to take two courses this quarter, take the GREs in October, no courses next quarter (I'll be in Australia), apply for admission in December for enrollment September 2005, and then let the spring quarters of this year play out, taking one or two courses each term.

However, as the one guy said before the other guy had black goop drip out of his head in the Fifth Element, "I have a doubt". I was unsure I'd be able to handle classes, having not been in school for five years, I'm out of practice. Further, I knew I didn't want to study, didn't want to take tests, and didn't want to write papers that weren't going to "go anywhere". (I've become quite spoiled in my old age.) In fact, at times, it seemed the only people who were really enthused about my going for a higher degree were other people! I can't tell you how many of you have talked to me and said, "You know what? You should TOTALLY get a master's. Or a PhD. Think how cool that would be!" You were all right, of course. It would be cool. But if someone else could do the work and pay the money for it, that'd be great. Thanks.

Flashback: I found out about this "medical area affiliate" status that I have as a fulltime Children's Hospital Boston employee. It allows me to take up to 20 credits without being accepted to HSPH as a student. Better yet, the credits all transfer when and if I do become a student. And, Children's will reimburse me $3000 per calendar year. The master's program which most closely resembles an MPH is 40 credits. This means I could get it half done before even being accepted...because once you're accepted into the program for real, you have two years to finish before everything expires. Welcome to Harvard. Again. And I don't want to not be working fulltime during this process; I need the income. Welcome to living in Boston.

But two classes. Ouch. And the classes I'd be taking would cause me to have some class (or even two!) every day. And I was worried about getting the necessary signatures on my medical area affiliate form. One of the rewards for being an affiliate is you don't get to register for classes. You have to have a signature, and you can only get it if the class isn't full. So you really don't know until the first day of the class at the very least whether you're in it or not. And, for the privilege, you get to pay tuition by check. In full. Non-refundable.

On Friday, one of my main pillars of support was heartily shaken. In my uncertainty, what I needed was encouragement, reinforcement. What I got was doubt. I spent the weekend agonizing. Two classes? One class? GREs? When? How? Work stress for these next few weeks wasn't helping either.

I spent Tuesday and Wednesday working long hours and going to both classes. And by Wednesday night, I'd made my decision: this whole thing was stupid. Yes, a master's degree is a good thing. But to kill myself rushing back into school this quarter was ridiculous.

So here's the current plan: I will take ONE class this quarter. I will not take the GREs in October and I will let the December 15th HSPH admission deadline pass me by. I will take the GREs in December. Or January. I will take one or two courses, at my leisure each quarter for the next two years. I will apply for admission to HSPH for September 2006, two years from now, by which point, I will easily have chalked up 20 credits. And then I will have another two full years to complete the rest of my courses. I cannot describe to you how relieved I am to have made these decisions.

Fosse, Fosse, Fosse

Today was a combination of Robin Williams' Birdcage statement to one of his actors, "You do Fosse, Fosse, Fosse. You do Twy-la, Twy-la, Twy-la...but you keep it all inside," and the anonymous "This doesn't look like Kansas, and what the hell am I doing in this handbasket?"

I was, however, excruciatingly productive, and unceasingly multi-tasking. But then again, I had no choice.

Dreams recently have been a real trip. In the last week, I have had more anxiety dreams about my graduate classes beginning (they started today) than I can count, including dreaming TWICE last night that I'd missed my class today. Also last night, I dreamt that some "bad guy" had a white vertical briefcase, pretty much identical to the black one I'd been examining in my waking life with Glen at REI on Monday.

Over the weekend, I dreamt that I was in some sort of course where you had to work with a group in a swimming pool. There are two parts of it that I remember: the first was when we were being chastised about our awareness. The instructor was telling us that while we were all working on bailing out the blue dock, which was taking on water badly, had we simply looked around, we would have seen that the non-leaking white dock was right there, and that we needed to be more aware of our surroundings. It was at about this time that I saw Lopez walk by, in the hall, head ducked low, and holding a folder above him so as to hopefully not be noticed. The second part I recall comes from later on in the dream. By this point in the workshop, the goal was to remain oriented so that, after being swallowed by a whale and ejected via its blowhole, one would still know where one was. I'm still working out what all of this means to me in real life...

Lesson learned today: Don't wear button-fly pants on a day we have anything (grant, paper, abstract) due. Chances are I will have even less time to go to the bathroom than usual, and by the time I get around to it, I will REALLY have to go, and won't be able to get my pants off fast enough.

Eats kicks and studies abroad

Talk about distances...

Elvis has left the building and my two favorite martial artists have left the country. Nathalia is spending a semester in Spain, but I've known this was coming for six months. Then, I went to kung fu last week and discovered that Paul, the guy I always sort of saw as having a position analogous to the one I have in karate (highest ranking student, or thereabouts, pretty mostly an instructor), is headed to China this week. I hate it when people leave. Particularly people I like. Especially people with whom I work out and from whom I learn.

It was fantastic when Nathalia was in class because rank dictated that she stand right next to me and her intensity was contagious. Our timing in forms was scarily similar which was often distracting, but she performed every move with such authority, I couldn't help but admire her spirit. In partnered drills, we sought each other out, knowing that the other would give us a challenging but fun session. Dan kumite was by far my favorite drill with her, and the last time we were in class together, we made sure to pair up for it, doing the drill twice - once "half-assed" and once "for the kill". I nursed bruises for two weeks after that. It was great.

Paul has been a constant at kung fu. He is always there, and he is always teaching. What's great about Paul is that he never rolls his eyes when I ask him to teach me some form he's already taught me six times over the past year. I also like that he's got a little bit of a sense of humor, is always present in the moment, and smiles and quietly laughs easily. And, whenever I come back from inconsistant class attendance, his form has dramatically improved. His progress is amazing considering his high level of skill. He is also a task master when he's leading classes. If Paul leads, you can count on 20-30 minutes of foot- and stancework in an hour long class, as well as being sore for the next two days! And he's doing it all with the class. (One of my biggest pet peeves with instructors is when they ask the class to do something arduous while they stand there and just watch.) His form is impeccable. And he's not too bad to look at either!

Thankfully, both these guys are coming back eventually. Nathalia will be back in January, and Paul next August. Still, their presence will be missed.