All My Gettings

I support nasal irrigation. Pretty much entirely. A few years ago, I was diagnosed with mastoiditis. This, naturally, led one doctor to ask me where in the third world I contracted it and several others to not really believe me when I told them. It's basically periodic sinus infections in the behind the ear cavities. Though, that doesn't really describe the pain brought on by it. It would sneak up on me, this pain. At its worst, I would be struck and be brought to tears. Tears! By a sinus infection.

Various remedies were undertaken to make me not burst into tears in the theatre while watching a romantic comedy (which really happened). I took large doses of antibiotics (and probably created some various super bugs of my own). I got my deviant septum repaired. I had CAT scans. I started taking absurd amounts of garlic and vitamin C at the slightest hint of infection (which was better than my previous approach, which basically consisted of moaning and cursing and hoping it'd pass soon*). None of these really worked. I mean, the antibiotics cured the infection, but after a couple of weeks. And the surgery, as far as I can tell, was sort of a wash.

But, the magic of squirting water and salt up your nose cannot be overestimated. It's great. Sort of weird at first, but the benefits (almost one-day turn-around on sinus infection), are great. There is one really unfortunate side effect, though. Turns out, the sinuses are sort of circuitous. And, they can hold water. So, after irrigating, the next two hours result in my turning my head one way and water gushing out my nostrils. And then, I bend over and more water. And not a little. I can't believe how much one cup turns out to be when it drips from your nose.

Fortunately, I do this at night. So nobody sees the Niagara that results. And, even with the awkward, unexpected drizzlings, I still get behind nasal irrigation. Everybody should do it. Everybody.


*Which is pretty much my approach to all personal problems.

I am not on the top of my game today. I left the house without my wallet. Which isn't too much of a problem, except I need it to clock in so that I get paid. Moderately important. Plus, what if I need food between school or lace or lace and home? or what if I get pulled over? and so on and so on.

But, the mere forgetting of my wallet isn't what suggested to me that today might need either a fast-forward or a do-over. I rushed home instead of going to my institute class in the one flexible hour I have. I pull into my driveway and, then start frantically looking for my keys. I unzip my bag. They're not there. I unzip the larger pouch. Also not their. I feel in my pockets. I start wondering where I could have possibly put them.

Then, I realize, uh, they're in the ignition. Yeah, that's right. I'm awesome sometimes. Good thing I'm not in charge of something important. Because I'm pretty sure I'd lose it or kill it. Or both.

I love being back in school. So much it takes my breath away. I mean, basically, I get to spend my days reading really cool things and then sitting around discussing them. Yes, I could do with fewer insufferable types in several of my classes (though, the line between insufferable and interesting is a hair's breadth of difference*). And yeah, I could live without the feeling that I'm a naughty ten year old which I daily experience in my Hebrew class. But overall, I can't get enough of it. I love learning that Ancient Greek lacked fricatives. Or that African-American churches were among the first to ordain females. Plus, I can't get enough of ridiculous things like hearing "that depends on your reading of both Bush and Aeneas" or "that is why you should never agree with anything".

The stories are great, but the actual content, that is what I'm learning, is much trickier. My friend Twirl asked after one of the first days of school what I learned that day. I was completely at a loss. It's not that I'm not learning anything, it's just...well, it's complicated. I mean, I could jump into a discussion of how Paul shows evidence of an afterlife where only the good survive. Or one about the nature of symbolic math. Or maybe about dageshing verbs because nuns want to disappear. The problem is that these conversations can't really just start and end like that. The things I am learning are not, sadly, sound bite worthy.

I imagine this is how all fields are when you get to near-graduation levels. But, other fields are more reality-based. That is, they map onto the world in a way that makes learning new things about them actually useful. Us humanities types, though, are ivory tower at its best. We talk about things seemingly for the mere reason of talking about them. We don't care if we can actually do anything, just that we can think about things. And, bonus points for the person who thinks the strangest.

It's nice being back in a place where my obdurate desire to find a context for every minority reading, my ability to soak up new vocabulary words like a sponge, and my skills in deconstructing are pretty much signs of absolute success. Sure, as my sister pointed out to me this weekend, I'll probably be in school until I'm in my mid-thirties, but really, why shouldn't I be? It's all I'm good at. I think I'll stick around as long as I can, thank you very much.

*and it's difficult to see a hair a midnight

Look, I get that road construction is a complicated matter. These roads need fixing. Any sort of work is going to impinge on traffic. I am not, at least yet, the center of the known universe. However, don't you think you could have planned slightly better? Timed your project a bit differently? Maybe over a semester break? Or during the summer? Or not at the same time that you, or a cooperative agency*, has made 13th East into a disaster? Because, I'm not sure if you know this, but there are a lot of people who daily make a trek to the University of Utah. Y'know, that big group of buildings sort of east of downtown? The place that employees more Utahns than all but three other entities? And has about 28,000 students?

I only ask these questions because you made me late to class this morning. It had absolutely nothing to do with my sleeping in slightly and then dragging my feet to get ready. Also, if you continue said project, I may have to switch buses on the day that I ride public transit. And the thought of having to get up at 6.45 in order to catch a 7.15 bus makes me want to cry a little bit. Plus, I need that extra sleep to adequately deal with the hour-long scolding that my Hebrew class turns into.

But, since we're in this mess, please hurry.

thanks!

alea





*Who actually is responsible for non-interstate road construction? Is it the city?

I'm not the kind of person who generally, as a rule, enjoys change. Usually, even something minor like my parents junking the car that I drove all through college or painting the walls of my childhood kitchen bright blue is enough to make me more than a touch despondent. These sorts of things bother me, the uneasiness and lack of consistency. If things change, it means they're not stable and, if these trivial things change so easily, what about the bigger things? I mean, it's ridiculous, obviously, to compare a hunk of metal or a design choice to anything major. I realize that, but still, there's a worry that sets up shop at the back of my head every time even a minor difference appears.

Which is why I'm even more disoriented by the last couple of months. I have undergone a dizzying number of alterations over that time period. Even the most dramatic-appearing ones (that of quitting my job or of going back to school) are just a part of what appears to be some sort of drastic life overhaul. Some things, naturally, aren't my choosing (not that I'm opposed to them, but more I didn't have the only say in the matters, if you will). But it's not the nature or even the number of changes that makes me feel uneasy this time. Rather, I'm out of sorts precisely because I'm not out of sorts. Quite the contrary: I'm remarkably happy.

I don't do content well. I do discontent and malcontent splendidly. I'm also pretty adept at unsatisfied and unfulfilled. And I can suck it up or grit my teeth with the best of them. But, to crib Michael Cunningham, against all odds and expectations life has burst open and given me pretty much everything. I should probably just, at least for this moment, allow myself to enjoy what's going on. To not fret about how it'll all fall apart, or worry about what will happen when suddenly a different set of changes sends me spiraling in a direction I never intended or even want.

I can't do that, though. I haven't the practice. And it disrupts my whole personal narrative. But, for the moment, I'm going to try. Really hard. And just accept that things can, in fact, work out for me beautifully.

My maternal grandfather used to give my brother a hard time pretty regularly about the number of credit hours he was taking at university. See, my grandfather was superhuman and once did something absurd like 24 quarter hours at one go. Ok, that statistic is actually a fabrication. I have no idea how many his record was. But it was high. And anything less was a shame worth poking fun at. It's a weird way of looking at education, not really caring about what the courses were, just the sheer volume. But it's also a beautiful way of framing it, too, as a quest for lots and lots of knowledge regardless of the content.

Gramps, the only grandparent I knew, passed away just before my senior year of high school. So, he wasn't able to give me a hard time about my enrollment. Not that he'd have much room to criticize me. The lightest semester I ever had was 13 credits. But that one doesn't really count, because that was 13 credits of independent study via correspondence course. My lightest load when actually in school was 18 hours. And my last semester of BYU, I took 21 credit hours, comprised of 8 different classes. And I don't remember being all that busy. Granted, four hours were religion courses (which, by the way, were not required, but seemed interesting) and four was ASL 101, the Platonic gut course. But, still, that's a lot of hours in a classroom.

I bring all this up mostly to make myself feel like the prospect of taking 20 hours this fall is not completely crazy. Because a. I've done it before, b. it'll make Gramps proud of me and c. it means I get to take a class combining math and literature. Math and literature? I'm squealing with excitement over the prospect. Plus, they're most humanities courses. Which, if you're quirky and can write half decent you can pass without even trying. [Dear people studying real things in school, like physics or engineering or even English, you're dumb. Don't you know they'll give out degrees for watching movies? I have one of them!]

Oh, but warning's fair for the people around me: when it turns out that jumping into third year Hebrew after five years of studying the language is really short-sighted or I discover that I've lost all my writing skillz or I want to kill myself that first week in December when I'll inevitably have to write something like 150 pages worth of papers in 10 days, you're going to hear me moan about it. When you do, just start asking me funny stories for my professors and I'll feel much better. Or, alternatively, give me a list of baked goods to produce. I'm never more productive in my life than when I'm totally snowed under with coursework. And, hey, if I fail at school this time, I can always go back to being an adult, right?

Things that I am generally good at:

• Fitting things I have recently read/heard into conversations
  
• Getting people to talk about themselves
  
• Flirting
  
• Selecting good presents
  

Things that I generally fail at

• Keeping myself productively occupied for 40 hours a week
  
• Relationships of all stripes
  
• Sticking with projects beyond my level of interest in them
  
• Being serious even when seriousness is required

Now, I don't really believe in reincarnation, but I'm pretty sure I was either meant to be, or already was, a courtesan in a royal court somewhere.

So, a couple of days ago, I had to call and talk to a financial aid person at the University of Utah. This conversation ensued:

financial aid guy: Have you filled out the FERPA release online?
me: No, I don't think I have.
fag: Alright, go ahead and log into your Campus Information System and you'll see a link in the middle of the screen that says FERPA. Let me know when you've found it.
me: Ok. [moments later] Found it.
fag: Great. Go ahead and enter a PIN there and then, if you want to list anyone else to give them access to your information you can. If you have, say, a parent or a wife you want to be able to call and get information.
me: That's awfully heteronormative of you. How do you know I don't have a husband?
fag: Oh, yeah, if you have a life partner, feel free to put them in there.

I proceeded to laugh and assure him that I was joking. But, I was impressed how quickly he could come up with "life partner". Though, I wonder, also, is life partner really equivalent to wife? I mean, marriage licenses aside, doesn't it seem like it would take longer for someone to become a life partner, perhaps years, rather than the minutes it takes to make someone your wife?

Also, a fair warning to all future customer service people: if you keep me waiting, I will try to make things slightly uncomfortable for you. I know, I know, it's not your fault, but it'll mostly be through jokes like this. So, really, no lasting damage.