Two Hundred, Another List of Memories

• First season of Cylons with a friend
  
• Hearing the tuba again
  
• Spontaneous late-night table discussions with new people and old people
  
• Couch-crashing
  
• Baseball games
  
• Guacamole and taco salad
  
• Brownies
  
• Baking a cake
• Jesus loves this guy!
• A cave
  
• A museum and a shut-down factory
  
• Local eats
  
• Southern drawls
  
• A splinter in a little girl's hand
  
• Extremely thankful patients
  
• Gangrene
  
• Exploration of an old but new town
  
• One skittish dog
  
• One wonderful vegetarian restaurant
  
• Being reminded that time doesn't stop
• Writing that reminds me of my friend
  

One Hundred and Ninety-nine, 1812 Overture

I had a really bad weekend a long time ago.  September 7th - September 9th, 2001: I first got caught for going 30 over the speed limit in a residential zone--a mandatory court date--and then I proceeded to twist my ankle on a putt putt green.  Of course, in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't that big a deal with the following Tuesday to come but at that point in my life, it sucked.  My ankle healed well enough.  I learned that I really did NOT have the upper body strength to walk all the way across campus on crutches without stopping for a break every hundred feet.  But as the week wore on, I began building up some strength and I managed to go two hundred feet without stopping by the time I finished with them the following week.  The anxiety from the speeding ticket, however, did not cease.  The court date was set for Oct 22nd or 23rd--somewhere around there.  Court was in my hometown, school was over an hour away, I had no car.  Oh, and I never told my dad who pays my car insurance.  Yeah, I was freaking out.  I turned then to those who I go to when I'm in trouble--the Beatnik, Lord Chaos, and the Engineer.  They helped me crack a plan where Beatnik and Lord Chaos' older brother came down Sunday night, took Monday off to drive me to my hometown and court, and then return me to my schooltown later that day.  

The elder brother--Politico for short--and I really grew close that day.  He helped coach me on dress as well as making sure to show the proper respect to the judge.  On the way up north he had classical music playing to help relax me.  It didn't really work.  I was a nervous wreck all the way up.  Getting to the courthouse, we went in and sat down--us in our suits, everone else in their everyday clothing.  I might have been self-conscious about it except again, I was a nervous wreck.  Then he called me up...incorrectly saying my name.  My brain went into auto-pilot as I stood up and walked to the front; I corrected the judge on the pronunciation.  Part of me cringed as did Politico back in the benches (I learned that later).  He spoke the offenses then reduced them on the basis of it being my first one.  I believe I said guilty when he was done talking and he then told me I had the choice of points on my license or driving school to rescind them.  The rest is a blur in the courthouse except for the stop at the payment desk where I shelled out court costs of around $76 from my carefully collected rainy day fund.  Then Politico and I began our trip back to schooltown.

The Beatnik is the English major, but storytelling runs in their entire family.  For some reason, Politico began the story during the start of a Tchaikovsky piece.  Both the story and the music began softly enough up to the point of the cop pulling me over.  There a major musical announcement came forth.  Again the music quieted down and proceeded along with the story in much the same fashion that I simultaneously ignored the situation with moments of utter terror for the next month.  Then the planning stages of the court date were upon me.  Slowly all the pieces began fitting into place as odd as they might have seemed and the situation promised to move forward as smoothly as we could manage.  The drive up to the courthouse was a tense, advice-filled time and proceeded up to the entry into the courtroom.  Then the great battle (ok, this part was slightly off between the story and the music) during which the decisions for my mistakes were made.  Then, as we left, great relief!  Wave after Wave, Bombardment after Bombardment, everything was finishing up and the pounding noise massaged my relaxed self having survived the ordeal.  That song is now forever associated with that event and with the Politico in my mind.  In the grand scheme of things, not a big deal, but to me at the time, it was my world crashing down.

I realized then that if I ever got a chance to do something similar for someone else, I wouldn't hesitate.  The world gave me the company of people I needed at the time and I wouldn't hold myself back for my friends if such a time came for them.

Thank you my friends.

One Hundred and Ninety-eight, Son of God

Jesus loves me!

One Hundred and Ninety-seven, One Thousand Words

One Hundred and Ninety-six, Hiss

I stare out a window, old enough to warp the light coming in so the tree in the distance looks spooky in the gloaming.  The house across the way has some vines growing up the sides and I've never seen a light or person there.  Maybe it's abandoned.  People tonight are dyeing eggs and celebrating birthdays and eating good food.  I sit here in the dark listening to the gas from the heater behind me hissing out.  

One Hundred and Ninety-five, Whoa

I haven't read a blog or webcomic in three or four months...

The thought just floored me. It's not that it's freedom; it's not good or bad; it just is. I do realize I've missed reading some close friends' blogs which I would enjoy. But things are as they are right now and I won't fight it currently. Maybe upon residency and possibly moving to Land's End, USA, I might drag myself more to there to catch a glimpse of what my peeps are encountering and doing.

One Hundred and Ninety-four, Cardiac Arrest

I have been remiss from this forum for quite a while mainly because I did forget about it in the jumble known as life.  This entry doesn't herald my sudden return to all things blog but it is to point out a small event that occurred earlier today.

A patient in the hospital for whatever reason stopped breathing and pumping his own blood.  Doctors rushed in along with nurses, I stood outside the room with my three colleagues.  I hear different orders being shouted through the air, "Get the crash cart!" "You start compressions!" "I'll get the kit" "Push another atropine!" "Stop! Does he have a pulse?" "Rotate on compressions" "We have a pulse!" "Ok, he's stable" "I lost the pulse!" "Quick, start compressions again!" and on and on.

At one point, one of the residents turns to me, points, and beckons.  As I near him, he tells me to leave my white coat outside the room.  I hurriedly rush in sans white coat and grab the gloves he gives me.  

"You're going to relieve the guy giving compressions."

My mind's jaw drops.  My physical body continues as directed to the side of the room where the folks giving compressions are standing and doing their job.  As I stand behind the fellow whose shoulders are heaving as he pushes heavily onto the old gentleman's sternum, someone tells him to pause to check pulses.  They find one!  Everyone relaxes (again) as the people in the room prepare to move the bed to the ICU.  As the connections are dropped, they notice his pulse is gone again.  Matt, my resident, turns to me and points me in.  I step up, place my hands as taught and practiced on rubber dummies, and start counting while doing my job.  I count ~50 compressions when the lady next to me says, "I can feel your compressions, stop so I can see if he's beating on his own."  I halt.  She still has a pulse.  I step back after glancing at Matt as the bed is wheeled off.  As I exit slowly behind the bed and its horde of people, my two colleagues come up to me and congratulate me on saving a life.  I stutter like I always do when I get a compliment.  Jokes continue into the night about using the story to score chicks at the bar.  I'm just happy he lived.  And constantly reminding myself in my mind about how oddly the feel of the elderly gentleman's chest felt just like the mannequins we practice on.  The only odd part was the face staring up at me slowly turning first purple, then pink with compressions, and with a mouth slightly parted in the agony of the situation...

One Hundred and Ninety-three, Insurance

Ah vacation! Here I am in Texas with nine other people to celebrate the New Years! And I'm working on an overcharge problem with my health insurance company. Sometimes Life can be too much of a blur to see the little things piling up at your feet.

One Hundred and Ninety-two, Death of 'Ole Blue

Around eight years ago the four of them came into our lives as brothers of the same factory.  The gentle blue with a glowing insignia were soothing to our sense, the ergonomic shape eased into our palms.  We four had found our mice.  Lord Chaos, the Beatnik, the Engineer, and myself revelled in our gameplay for many years with these mice.  Switching to each other's computers was simple with the same peripherals.  Orcs, dwarves, trolls, gnomes, terrorists, scientists, Gordon Freemans, robots, Soviets, Allies, GDI, NOD, pyros, engineers, Psilons, Silicoids, roller coasters, trains, Civilization(s), Tribes vehicles, mutalisks, carriers, seige tanks, Jedi, Sith, smugglers, bounty hunters, augmented UNATCO operatives, Ylloj - my frost sorceress, a red Boba Fett-lokalike named Silencer, fantasy warriors, X-COM operatives, cities, evil minions and mistresses who you could slap, Kabuto, and Meccs are but a few of the creatures and races under the sway of our mice at one time or another.  

'Ole Blue has travelled a lot too between three different cities and almost 10 houses/apartments.  He provided my thumb a gentle gel-filled pad on which to rest.  He outlived two of his three brothers in regular usage.  One got lost to the annals of "old equipment" while another hemorrhaged out gel fluid.  One sibling remains who still feels the love of a human daily.  The Beatnik has just built himself a new computer and his mouse will hopefully get to experience it for many years to come.  Mine decided six months was what it could last on my new PC.  Today the years of rough use and the cord's weight to the ground finally pulled some connection loose inside the mouse.  I tried a splint with tape but it can't hold with the pressure needed.

Today I went out and found the great-great-great-great grandson of my Mouseman Wheel, the G5 Laser Mouse.  

It's been hard with it because it is unruly and different.  My thumb sits slightly differently, there are a few extra buttons, and the slide is smoother than I'm used to.  I'm sure I'll get used to it though.  Already today I've gotten to like the slide and messed around with the extra buttons.

But I'll still miss that blue glowing symbol on my first real mouse.

One Hundred and Ninety-one, The Lich King

Wrath of the Couch Potato