Today was a good day for receiving mail that was not intended for me.

Joseph P. Woods, formally of Joseph P. Woods-your-poetry-has-been-rejected fame, is now Joseph P. Woods-have-people-told-your-book-should-be-a-movie?.

And for only $650 the Air Leaf company of Indiana will do just that apparently. (Cause when I think Hollywood opportunity I always start with Martinsville Indiana)

On a sadder note Jacob Nikrasch, dear taxpayer, the following amounts have been deducted from your Arizona income tax refund for the tax year 2006 to be applied to debt(s) for the listed agency(s) or court(s).

$83.00 Tucson City Court

Poor Jacob, perhaps this was for him too:




I think he could probably use a little guidance from this purple-sheeted mystery man.

Postsecret: I skimmed a half hour off the recommended time between my last dose and the most recent

So, being me right now is a little like being drunk, all the time. And addicted to crack… or pain killers (er…I don’t know these things, think pills and fixes). Anyway, when I left Tucson I had some kind of cold that has since turned into a pretty bad sinus infection (gross I know and I’m sorry, I really tried to tell this whole story without once using the word sinus(2)). So, I get on an airplane and we travel X-many hundreds of feet up and I’m doing fine. Then we start going down and suddenly everything from my shoulders up (including something very mysterious inside my neck) starts trying to disconnect itself from the thing next to it. There I am in my window seat writhing around doing everything in my power not to burst into tears while one row over some woman holds her 10 month old baby as he squeals in delight at every little bump and rumble of airplane turbulence. Hate.

When we finally do land nothing inside of me goes back to normal. This is where I am now, five days later:

I have a dull yet persistent headache, I can only breathe at half capacity which means I’m constantly out of breath, I’m popping Tylenol decongestant like they’re candy (seriously though, these things are sugar coated and come in different flavors, my drug of choice just happens to be cool burst mint). Because one of my ears is still doing that weird air pressure thing, I can’t hear anything properly. I spend every conversation leaning really close to the person talking to me and concentrating on each individual word rather than coming up with responses. By the end the best I can do is a little laugh or smile and a pathetic look of please-for-the-love-of-God-don’t-ask-me-any-follow-up-questions. I also can’t hear anything behind me which means every time I see something back there it’s a big fucking surprise and scares the shit out of me. It’s like having a hundred little heart attacks a day. I think the worst thing, though, is that because only one ear is weird, it’s messing with my balance. I can be standing perfectly still and suddenly I’m listing off to the side and scrambling to keep myself upright. So I have basically spent the first half of my spring break under this veil of pain, confusion, and unsteadiness.

I figure at this rate I’ll just tack on depression and be the most cost-efficient alcoholic ever.





These are sinuses. They have a gross name and are most likely unnecessary for life sustaining. And I hate them.

Dear White Blood Cells,

Where are you guys this week?






Save me Ms. Frizzle.

Raising Arizona

I've been feeling anxious lately. Impending uprootings have the tendency to do that to a person. So, naturally, in an effort to take a little pressure off myself I have been finding ways to manifest my own anxieties into other areas of my life. Kitty happens to be one of these areas.

I am going to be taking my cat and my car to Iowa at the same time. That, obviously, means a multi-day road trip for my (very firmly) homebound cat. Well, he did fly home once, but he was still a kitten then and you can basically do anything to a kitten and he's not really going to know what's going on. So, I've gotten into the habit of worrying about him and how he's going to react to the move. In the long process of worrying I actually come to some kind of a decision. I am going to acclimate Kitty to riding in the car. I am going to have a car buddy.

So the other day I am dicking around on the computer and Kitty is sound asleep next to me.

"Perfect," I think, "sleepy cats don't squirm much."

So I grab the cat and a film I need to take back to Casa and toss them both in the car. Kitty looks quite annoyed but that's about it. This is such a good idea.

So I start the car and suddenly his entire body goes jellibones. He turns into a soupy, shaky, orangy blob in the passenger seat of the car. Ok, so it's going to take a little getting used to. I pull out.

Kitty doesn't move besides the steady body quaking all the way to Casa. I am starting to feel a bit bad. We make it and I leave him in the car. He just needs to be alone with it for a while. He'll explore.

I get back to a kitty in the exact same state. I am a jerk.

We head home and about halfway there I take my hand off his back to shift after a stop light. Without looking up, Kitty moves one little paw over his eyes and actually starts to hyperventilate.


I AM A MONSTER.

All I want to do is pull the car over, scoop him into my arms right then and there and sob while I apologize profusely and promise him he'll never have to see the inside of a car again and we'll never have to leave Tucson ever ever. EVER.

But I keep driving and he keeps making that little huffing noise and when we get home it takes me five minutes to coax him out of the car and back onto the familiar gravel. He finally regains his footing and begins a hasty retreat in the direction of my neighbors open door while I began a pretty profound dread of preschool and Daisy Scouts.

Bert-day

I remember the first birthday I ever had that wasn’t held at a McDonalds Playplace. I was in Kindergarten and we had just moved back to Springfield after a year in Norfolk. I know I had a whole group of friends there, yet I cannot remember a single guest, hold Michael. He won the drawing contest that my sister judged even though his work was clearly the most underdeveloped. He was also the only boy invited.

In third grade I begged my mother for a sleepover. She was against the idea but told me I could either have a normal three-hour-day-party with as many guests as I wanted or I could have my sleepover and only invite one friend. I chose the sleepover because the present situation did not occur to me at the time. I would not have another birthday sleepover for a very long time.

In fourth grade I cried and told my mother it was all her fault. “You always make me cry at my birthday!” I can remember exactly where in the VA Beach house she and I were standing (on the little two step stairs between the kitchen and the family room, I was one step down into the other room and she was still in the kitchen), but cannot for the life of me remember what had started me crying.

In sixth grade I had a themed party: Garfield. I had a Garfield cake and wore a sweatshirt with a picture of the cat and his name embroidered on it. When I planned to have a Garfield themed party, however, I didn’t realized what a strong influence the theme would have on my guests. I still have an Odie t-shirt, countless Garfield comic books, a few action figures (go figure), and two of those plush Garfields that suction-cup to the side window of your car (unused please note).

Anyway, today is my Birthday.

Hindsight...

UAPD sent out an email today.

According to their new "Watch Your Car" Program "any person verified by a UAPD Officer as a victim of vehicle theft or attempted vehicle theft while on U of A property qualifies to receive a steering wheel lock courtesy of the Arizona Automobile Theft Authority (AATA) and the UAPD."

What a sad life I would have to be living for this

I just got an email from my cat's Virginia veterinarian. The subject line reads:

"Celebrate your pet's dental health with Burke Animal Clinic!"




Clearly there is not enough celebration going on as my life stands now.

It's raining in Tucson

which means it's going to be one of those nights

Y, C, C, Crab, Shark, 7, and a Broken Necklace... Go

I'm learning how to read tea leaves. No question will ever go unexplored in my life again.






I expect to be at peace within the week.

Utah,

I love you.

An interpretation

More film stuff

The Fox Theater is showing



with a live piano accompaniment on January 27th at 7:00pm. I say we should make a night of it.

Very exciting.

Film Stuff

A splash of red wine

Yesterday at the coffee shop somebody ordered a soy latte. I made it and took it over to the side where drinks are called.

"Soy latte!"

"Soy latte!"


Next to me one of the regulars started laughing. I looked at him.

"That is so funny now that I am a Spanish student."

My mother taught me to always carry an ID card in case of disfiguring accidents

I went to the dentist on Thursday. After looking at my chart the oral hygienist took me out to a big white machine, dressed me in a vest, and stuck a clear plastic stick into my mouth. The result was a 360 degree x-ray of the entire contents of my mouth.

She explained what she was looking for as she examined the picture. Cysts, cancers, dark and light spots, cracks. Everything looked fine.

But...

"OOH! Look at that. You have wiggly roots."

I ran my tongue along the base of my teeth. Suddenly my my mouth felt all wrong.

Later the dentist also looked.
"Everything looks good."

"That lady said I have wiggly roots."

He looked closer.

"Oh, you do..."

and he looked right at me when he said,

"YUCK."


Imagine if a doctor looked at the insides of you and all he could think to say is 'yuck.' Shouldn't there be training against that?

Broken?

I don't know why this thing always says I post at such unreasonable hours of the day.

Whatever happened to Santa Claus?

I'm feeling kind of stressed out. I'm only visiting Virginia for 10 days this winter break. It is extra tough because I work for two of those days and tomorrow I have to go to the dentist/take my computer for repairs. I have very little time for last minute Christmas shopping (read: ALL my Christmas shopping).

Last night my mother hands me some cash.

"Carina, I have a problem. Right now your sister has one more present than you do. I don't have time to go shopping so I need you to pick something up for yourself, wrap it up, and put it under the tree for Christmas morning."

And she is serious, because this kind of thing mattered ten years ago. And, more importantly, why would I argue? I'll just grab something while I'm shopping tomorrow. This is fine, I know me, I know what I like.

So here is what I do this morning: I wake up early and drive to Tysons. I shop for four hours, spend way a lot of money (I figure if somebody doesn't like what they get at least it will be expensive, thus I don't feel so bad), and take almost an hour getting home in pre-rush hour traffic.

What I don't do is remember to buy myself something. I lie, though, and tell my mom I didn't forget.

I fret, then decide I'll order shoes online tonight, print out a picture, and wrap it up in an old shoebox. My mom will be annoyed, but it will be cute ...and thinking about Tysons makes me feel sick.

Tonight I talk to my mother.

"Look, I bought a four dollar picture frame on clearance and put a picture of a cat in it."

"Don't talk to me right now."

So I don't. I sit awkwardly.

"Something is wrong. Carina, I forgot I gave Amy one of her presents early. She's been wearing it for weeks."

"..."

"You have an extra present."

Out comes the cash.

"I need you to go shopping tomorrow. Buy your sister something, then wrap it up, and put it under the tree."

!

(Goddamnit 10 year old me. This is your fault.)

Whatever happened to Santa Claus?

I'm feeling kind of stressed out. I'm only visiting Virginia for 10 days this winter break. It is extra tough because I work for two of those days and tomorrow I have to go to the dentist/take my computer for repairs. I have very little time for last minute Christmas shopping (read: ALL my Christmas shopping).

Last night my mother hands me some cash.

"Carina, I have a problem. Right now your sister has one more present than you do. I don't have time to go shopping so I need you to pick something up for yourself, wrap it up, and put it under the tree for Christmas morning."

And she is serious, because this kind of thing mattered ten years ago. And, more importantly, why would I argue? I'll just grab something while I'm shopping tomorrow. This is fine, I know me, I know what I like.

So here is what I do this morning: I wake up early and drive to Tysons. I shop for four hours, spend way a lot of money (I figure if somebody doesn't like what they get at least it will be expensive, thus I don't feel so bad), and take almost an hour getting home in pre-rush hour traffic.

What I don't do is remember to buy myself something. I lie, though, and tell my mom I didn't forget.

I fret, then decide I'll order shoes online tonight, print out a picture, and wrap it up in an old shoebox. My mom will be annoyed, but it will be cute ...and thinking about Tysons makes me feel sick.

Tonight I talk to my mother.

"Look, I bought a four dollar picture frame on clearance and put a picture of a cat in it."

"Don't talk to me right now."

So I don't. I sit awkwardly.

"Something is wrong. Carina, I forgot I gave Amy one of her presents early. She's been wearing it for weeks."

"..."

"You have an extra present."

Out comes the cash.

"I need you to go shopping tomorrow. Buy your sister something, then wrap it up, and put it under the tree."

!

(Goddamnit 10 year old me. This is your fault.)

I guess it's time to go

I went to the Media Arts department on Thursday looking for Vicky Westover so I could talk about grant money to attend a conference in February. Frustratingly she is holding limited office hours right now and was no where to be found, again. On the way out I decided to turn right instead of left and walk out towards the cafe, unusual, but I thought I deserved a coffee treat for my day’s misfortune.

As I walked toward the glass doors I noticed a boy standing at the bottom of the outdoor stairs. He didn’t notice me, however, because his eyes were closed. He was standing squarely, feet shoulder-width apart, holding his right middle finger up to the Marshal Building. His face pointed up, but he wasn’t looking at anyone or anything.

When I got through the doors I paused for a second at the top of the stairs in front of him. He didn’t move or look at me. I wished I had my camera on me (which I usually try to).

I couldn’t stand there for very long because three girls came out right behind me. They got very quiet when they saw him.

I wish I had a picture, though, of that boy taken from where I was standing, looking down at him from the perspective of the Marshal Building.