Input Session

For this post, I would ask one thing of my few readers: please comment regarding how things make you feel, specifically recently. Italicized words may be interpreted as necessary to meet your requirements and soothe your whims.

The Master of Ceremonies Who Couldn't Shut Up

We had a little dealie at Open Door on Friday evening, where the youth group's worship band was to play a few songs (more specifically, six songs of our choosing). After we rehearsed the songs, we were informed that, in order to keep the event time to an hour--shouldn't be longer than that, or people would lose interest--we were to cut two of our songs.

That kind of thing happens all the time with musical performance, particularly if you're not the main act. Also, I discovered that the emcee was to pass the wireless mic to me after introducing the evening. He came over and said a lot of things, most of which I didn't quite understand because he just seemed to like talking for the sake of talking (which I should have taken for an omen, but didn't).

The thing I remember him saying to me, out of all of that, I only remember because it struck me as odd--he said he heard we were "dynamic" in our music. Not sure what he meant by that, but hey, I bet he didn't know either. Just seemed to be that type of person.

Well, he opened with a good deal of talking, plus a song of his own. Then passed the microphone my way. We did our newly reduced set and it went well enough. Really, it was extremely impressive, considering our drummer was dealing with a good bit of emotional turmoil, his grandfather having died that morning.

We left the stage, so back to the MC, lots of the MC, and mostly the MC. There were other performances throughout, and it would have been right around an hour if the MC hadn't decided to alter the order of things, invite people back up on stage after they were done, insert three more full-length songs of his own (plus a kids' church ditty he randomly remembered from when he was a young'un), and never stop jabbering about how great he thought he was--so very very great...because of Jesus, of course.

All in all, it was nigh on two hours of tedium and the cruel ministrations of Brother What's-His-Face. I don't remember his name, just that he referred to himself as brother so-and-so. A lot. Well, that's my story. Take it or leave it. I hope it wasn't such a tedious read as it was an experience.

Edit:

I was not the only person there to be the-whole-time thinking: we need a cast of British actors to yell "Get on with it." Scott told me at practice this evening that he'd been on precisely the same thought train.

A Relaxing Stay at Shawnee Mission Medical Spa...ahem...Center

(Ooo, another disclaimer--Disclaimer: this post was written primarily last Friday during my short breaks at work. So, the time frame references might seem a little off. You know, by a few days.)

Juliet and I took a little trip to the ER last night. I was about to leave to go to Conversations, for once. She hadn't been feeling well, and thought a nap would help. But she woke up just before I left, in time to tell me that the pain in her side was worse after sleeping instead of better. So, we decided to call Ask-A-Nurse. Which in itself took a little while, and ended with a recommendation to hop on in for a checkup, in case it was something serious (like appendicitis or pancreatitis, I think is what they meant).

So, we headed over the not-so-many mile stretch between our place and the hospital. It took a little while to get signed in, and there were some other people around there in the waiting rooms and whatnot--a girl who had apparently broken her wrist playing field hockey or some such, still in uniform; a girl who looked to be in extreme pain, but with no idea of what exactly was wrong, there with her boyfriend; a little boy who'd come in with his mother to get a suture removed, but he seemed like any distracted little kid, so I think the pain from whyever he had the suture in the first place was either gone or far enough forgotten to not be a problem; there was an elderly black woman in a wheelchair who didn't say a word to anyone, even her family members who had brought her; and a few sparse others.

It wasn't too long before the nurse had a few questions for Juliet (the same ones she'd answered on her sign-in forms, the same ones the ER nurse asked once we were in a room, the same ones the doctor asked when he got there, the same ones the lead nurse asked when she came in to put in the IV where the other nurse couldn't find a way into the vein, the same ones the scan operator asked as well...you'd think they might have talked to each other or read the sign-in papers somewhere along the way, but maybe that's not how things work in the ER).

The first nurse was a very happy man. He talked to us for a bit, jolly as could be. Then he proceeded to stick a needle into both of Juliet's arms, hoping to find a vein that wasn't in the hand (because "the hand is painful, and this shouldn't be," he claimed). As I've mentioned, he couldn't get the 22--smallest needle for this purpose, apparently--into the vein, so he called in their head ER nurse, who got it into a vein in Juliet's wrist a bit later, while Juliet was distracted by the scan operator asking her more of the same questions.

There was a TV in the room, but we didn't know it had a volume control (on the hospital bed remote) until after the Computerized Axial Tomography scan was completed. Now, if you hadn't noticed, this post is not set up in exactly chronological order. This is mostly due to me not remembering the exact order things happened in. I was tired.

There was a period of about 45 minutes to an hour during which Juliet had to drink their contrast formula, which she declared wasn't so bad as others had claimed--it just tasted a bit like plastic. They gave her a bit of morphine through the IV. And I'm pretty sure that's the only reason they even gave her an IV, which I find a little bizarre, since the pain from getting that stuck in her arms and wrist seemed significantly worse than the pain in her side, even after the stuff kicked in.

We watched a little TV before and after the scan (after too, because them MDs had to interpret the results), including an episode of Robot Chicken. The ER team seemed a little jovial, as I've said, and maybe even overly happy, which I guess they might need because of the sometimes serious and depressing nature of their job. But that mirth was a little odd, nonetheless.

The results came back inconclusive, meaning they didn't know what was causing the pain. They said it was likely something intestinal, because that kind of thing apparently doesn't show up on a CAT scan. But they did say it definitely wasn't appendicitis or anything in that genre of maladies. So that's good. My guess is that it was just a leftover muscle strain from Juliet being so ill on Monday.

All in all, we were there for nearly four hours, from a little after 7:30 p.m. until somewhere in the ballpark of 11:20. The only real word to describe the experience is probably relaxing. Because that's what it was. We just sat there for a few hours and waited for things to happen, and that's pretty much all we did.

After we left, both rather needing to eat because of not having eaten lunch since around noon, we stopped by a McDonald's, which was closed yet still had all its lights on, then proceeded to drive across the way (the way being Shawnee Mission Parkway) to Wendy's. Mmm, food when you're severely hungry. Unless it causes the hiccups (sorry Juliet...didn't mean to add hiccups to your erstwhile ailments). Then off to home, where we stayed awake a bit longer. Heck, it was already late, not like we'd be much more tired than usual on a Friday workday. I actually feel a little more awake today than normal. Didn't this morning, but I do now. Nice is what it is. Ayuh.

Later:

This being Monday evening:
Juliet is all better now. I think my diagnosis was correct. Didn't yet receive a hospital bill, so I don't know how that's going to go. Fortunately, we have our insurance, so it should at least be bearable. But the important thing is it wasn't so serious as it could have been, and the pain is pretty much gone. Which we prayed for on the way to the hospital. Hm...nifty.

Three Weeks

Anne, who until her recent hospital trip worked at the front desk where I work, died today. Three weeks ago, she was hospitalized (I believe it had something to do with an aggressive form of cancer she's been battling for I don't know how long).

I hadn't really noticed she was absent at all until they were sending around a get well card for us to sign. One that will never be sent. Not long after I signed the card, word began to spread that she had passed on. Bad news seeps quickly to every nook, it seems.

She was the main front desk person here. Others stepped in from time to time, but it was mostly her. She was the one who remembered my name after seeing me only once. She always seemed content, if a little concerned with something.

I don't know how many children she has, but her oldest is in high school--not sure what year. Please pray for their family. Thanks.

The Water Is Foul

Linguistically speaking, I feel that water is insulted. We should call it life-force liquid. No. Something more profound. There must be a better name for it than simply water or dihydrogen monoxide (DHMO).

Perhaps you have a suggestion for a better, more unique, more reasonable name for the fluid that keeps us alive as long as it does. Maybe the manufacturers of water purifiers themselves would like to chime in on this important issue.

What say you, Pur? Et tu, Brita? Aquasana? Everpure? Anyone?

Lungers

(By my title here, just to clarify, I mean that with the j sound for the g and not the ŋ sound that would denote something similar to a hawked wad of intermingled saliva and mucus. It's not referring to that type of lung-er. Not at all.)

Recently (and by that, I mean for the last couple months), I've noticed the occurrence of a rather bizarre trend out the window of my office at work. People, who (I assume) work in the building there, began to put on a show, of a sort. I don't know why, and I don't know where the idea came from, but they've started to do lunges across their parking lot. The take-a-step-too-big-for-you-and-then-squat-till-your-knee-touches-the-ground type.

It started out as just two or three people, lunging from near where their parking lot drops off into our unused (but well-manicured) lawn area some eight feet below their mostly unused lot to somewhere near the middle of said lot, where there is generally a 53' trailer parked, sometimes attached to a rig, more often not. Oh, but don't worry, there is a square-rod metal fence betwixt their lot and the drop to our grassbed.

But despite its meager beginnings, their lunging has, over the course of time, progressed to a daily routine--sometimes several times a day--where some person(s) from that building (still assuming that's where they're from) will lunge their way across the lot. No other form of exercise has ever been visible except the walking to and from their lunge area.

Sometimes it's been two or three people going at a time, but most often lately it's just been one. It's odd to me. I don't know why I find it so odd, but that is the case. I'm not going to postulate on their reasons for participating in this strange undertaking. I just thought it was unusual enough to write something about.

Question for you:

Why would you do lunges across half the parking lot of the company you work for, in clear view of the windows of employees from other surrounding businesses?

Internal Sabbatical

Oftener than I might warrant, my mind has made use of an internal switch that, until recently, I was in no wise aware of. This switch, which is flicked to ON more often than not while I am working--a bit of a misnomer for performing the functions of my position according the job description I am to follow as per my current place of employment. The switch, when it occurs, makes that term working even more of a misnomer.

It is a sort of short-circuit to my brain. My mind clicks off and I hum along (not the song though) in the silence, a boredom I cannot articulate passing by in a time frame I've lost track of exactly how to calculate. I suppose many would refer to this phenomenon simply as "zoning out", but I don't think that could be all it is, considering the consistency and oftenness with which it occurs.

It is a form of clearing out, really. My mind goes entirely blank for a space anywhere from a few seconds to ten or fifteen minutes. I don't usually know when it's happening until I start to come out of it. It is some form, I think, of a mental escape from my work. Work that I don't like because it feels unimportant and unimpactful.

I think that may be it more than anything else. I want the work that I do to be impactful to the world at large. Even to my own community. As it is, the work I do doesn't really impact anyone directly. Sure, it makes the brochures my fairly anonymous corporate training structure entity sends out look just very slightly better to their market, but I don't honestly care for the corporate market at all. It is important, yes, but not to me. Not directly. To me, people are of importance. Businesses are not even secondary, but somewhere much further down the order-of-importance list.

I would like to be writing for a living, and I just can't seem to finish my novel. There's always some time blockage in the way. For the most part, I can say for sure, that time blockage is caused by my current job. But I can't quit or I wouldn't have the money for rent. Oh, dilemma, why do you pester me so?

Rant Series: Episode Redacted

Well, apparently that wasn't very influential to my consistent writing on here. Let's try something different.

Your task:

On occasion, ask whether I've been writing--not necessarily on here, but in general. It will be helpful. Plus, you'll eventually get a pretty good story out of it.