Yesterday, I was hospitalized–tomorrow, I’m going to Ireland.

Kind of a tight fit, really.

It was Wednesday morning, and my brother’s birthday–not that it has anything to do with this. I woke up at around 4 a.m. and couldn’t get back to sleep because of an intense pain in my abdomen. Figuring it was my Crohn’s Disease acting up, I didn’t think too much of it and waited for the pain to go away, as it usually did. But this time, it didn’t. Around 1 p.m., I checked in to the Aspirus walk-in clinic (what a stupid name, right?) and had some really fun tests done, a.k.a. a CT scan! Yay barium! After that, I went back to talk to the doctor. It was getting late, and I was feeling a little better. All I really wanted was to go home.

“Aaron,” the doctor said, “you probably have what’s called an obstructed bowel and you might going to need surgery.”

“Problem!” my mother interjected. “We’re going to Ireland on Friday.”

“Yeah, about that…” And then I cried. A lot. Because you have to understand how much I’ve been looking forward to going to Ireland. I didn’t go on a real trip this summer, and I’ve never been to Europe and damn it, it’s all paid for already! So the walk-in doctor brought in a Gastroenterologist to talk to my parents and I.

“You have three options: we can check you into the hospital right now, you can talk to your regular GI doctor and go down to Marshfield, or we can let you go home with some oral steroids.”

We asked the doctor for a moment to discuss, and when he came back I told him, “I’ll take the oral steroids and go.”

“Well,” he began in his now standard ass-hole voice, “I don’t really feel comfortable giving those to you.”

Then why did you put it up as an option? Are you just trying to mess with me? Are you that much of an ass hole? You know I have somewhere to be, so you dangle this perfectly viable option in front of me like a tasy carrot and then when I reach for it, you yank it out of the way? Who are you, a really bad rabbit hunter?

I didn’t say any of that. What I did say was: “I want a second opinion.”

That was a true moment of pride for me. I’m usually a push over when it comes to doctors, but this guy was such a jerk that I really wanted to talk to someone else. And so I did.

And he said the same exact thing. So I went to the hospital, where I waited in the ER waiting room for fifteen minutes while they looked for the room that was already assigned to me. I’d been told that it was urgent that once I got to my room (around 7:00) that I be put on the corto-sterioid IV right away. It was important, or so I was told. I finally got the injection sometime after 11:00 p.m. That doesn’t make it look very urgent, does it?

By this time, I felt no pain. I wasn’t on any meds yet, and I felt fine. I felt fine all night, and the next morning and all of today. So why was I kept there? The possible surgery?

“We’re not going to operate,” the surgeon told me. And yet I sat there. All day.

Finally, I decided to take action once again and called my doctor, explaining the whole situation to him. He reluctantly agreed to let me go, if I followed a bunch of rules and took a bunch of medication with me. Yay. That was a sarcastic ‘yay’, but really, I’m going to Ireland, so I’ll follow a few rules.

I leave for Chicago at 6:55 a.m. and get on the plane at 3:45 p.m. Holy crap.

I’ve fallen off the horse, but I’ll get back on soon.

It’s my vacation. I just don’t have a scheduled life right now, so there isn’t a nice easy spot for me to squeeze this in. I will get back to it, but first I have to visit another country and such. Don’t worry, thought, because when I get back, it’ll be better than ever. Or something.

I’m Santa agnostic.

Yes, it’s implausible, but so was a lamp lasting eight days instead of one.

I’m done with presents, with shopping, and pretty much with wrapping, too. Now I just get to sort of sit and wait around until Christmas. I really need a project, and I’m sure I’ll find one, too, about three hours before I leave. Last year, I…well I don’t really remember. And the year before that, well…okay, I got nothing. But I did do something. Oh well. Until I find it, Sims 2 here I come.

The pain of asymmetry.

I enjoy a good balance, a good pair–two things that match, specifically. And when I am denied that peace of mind, I get angry. I get angrier when employees at a certain department store with a symbol including concentric red circles tells me that I can get the second one later, only to find out that it’s not true. So I have to go without that balance and hope for the best. I’m sure it will all work out in the end, right? I mean, it’s Christmas.

I’m home.

I’m done for the semester, and I don’t have to (get to?) go back until January 14th. But first I have to go to Ireland.

There are these ramp things, you see.

These ramps have to go together. They have to go together with glue. I have to glue them together. But first I have to line them up. They have to be lined up and going downwards–they have to descend. Then someone has to build the supports, and those have to be measured and cut and secured. Once there are supports that are in the right spot and cut and everything, then you can put the ramp in. You have to attach it, but not with glue. It won’t work. I have to use something else. There has to be something else. And it’s a turn, so it’s important. And once I’ve found the pieces and cut them and glued them and lined them up and built their supports and placed them and attached it all it’ll be done. Great? Great. What’s that? Oh, I have to paint them, too? Well, too bad. I won’t do it. I can only take so much, and painting it is just going too far and asking too much.

I’m okay. Really.

I’m writing very slowly because I almost cut my thumb off with a saw.

It was a miter saw, if you were wondering. I was trying to cut some PVC pipe, and it didn’t work, and it flew into my thumb and then across the room. Nothing really bad happened, except now my thumb really, really hurts and I think it’s still bleeding. That was a really good story, if only because it happened while I was working on Stagecraft! It is now physically, in addition to mentally, injuring me. I had to get out of there, afterwards, if only so I could fully comprehend how much I hate Stagecraft.

When I sleep, I dream about Rube Goldberg.

That’s right–more Stagecraft today. In fact, that’s about all I did. I managed to squeeze in some Theatre History study later on, but I’m hardly counting that. I do wish my two actual exams weren’t both on the same day, but it’s nice to get them out of the way. Wednesday is going to be a pretty pointless day, since I don’t have any exams. Perhaps that will be the day I finally go Christmas shopping. Yeah, that might be a good idea. Or I could pack. Or take a nap. Ooh, a nap sounds nice.

Don’t you love it when the sun is setting at three in the afternoon?

I feel like I’m always doing Stagecraft homework/projects. It’s been endless, all semester long. Assignment after assignment, project after group project. And that doesn’t even include the 26 lab hours needed in addition to a light hang and set strike. Three exams and an online discussion round out my lowest numbered course this semester–THEA 121! It’s the introductory course for the major and is the most work I’ve done for a course in a while. The 300-level Education Psychology course I took as a freshman was less work than this.

This is all to say I have already worked on Stagecraft things for four hours today, and I have three more tonight.

Classes are over and finals are upon me. I have four ‘finals’, including: a scene to perform, a project to present, a non-cumulative exam, and a cumulative exam. I’m a big fan of the non-cumulative final, but thankfully the cumulative one is in German, and I’m pretty good at German, I think. Yeah.

That’s right.

I didn’t post yesterday. And it wasn’t because I forgot*. It was because I needed to free myself from the strict confines of the unrealistic schedule I was trapped in. I wanted to experience a day without posting, a day without writing, a day without creativity. And it was good. It was really good. I liked it. And you know what? I might do it more often**. I might do it all the time.

*I forgot.
**I won’t do it again.

It’s still Wednesday.

I keep thinking it’s Friday, but it’s not. I need to remember that, otherwise I’ll miss class. And that’s bad. I have no writing skill right now. This is all just filler. It’s true.

When I look at Tetris, all I see is a hard drive defragmenting, which is to say this will be cryptic.

I know drama–I’m a theatre major, but today was just about the most dramatic and tense day of choir yet, and it wasn’t even that exciting sort of tension that television shows use to attract an audience. It was shock more than anything, and then a lot of “Oh, that’s what they were talking about,” as I reviewed the past weeks in my head. But in the end, the choir decided to be supportive and move on…except that we’re talking about it more tomorrow, well because it was so much fun the first time around.

And by the way: I’m going to Ireland in seventeen days. Wow.

It’s getting late.

Oh, Cabaret…how I love thee.

Tonight was “Show Your Stuff”, a night where the choirs come together to have a good time, learn a non-”Kiss ‘em Good Bye” finale, and watch other people make fools of themselves–err, dance–on stage. My group went last and I must say we did pretty well, besides all the parts we screwed up. Hell Week is looming in the distance beyond winter break, and it should be a most interesting time–dance for hours and hours, party, repeat. If only I could dance–I’ve got the other parts down.

I have to go do a ridiculously long assignment for German now, because I guess the key to reviewing the language is to rewrite the same sentences you’ve already written again and again…

Ich habe diese Saetze schon geshrieben.
Ich habe diese Saetze schon geshrieben.

The asleep-awake ratio is all off.

My weekend was not restful. In fact, it was probably more hectic than my week, if that’s possible. And now it’s the last week of class, if you can believe that, so it just gets even better. Paper, paper, review, review, project, scene, exam times two. I don’t want to think about it.

I know I’m forgetting something.

It’s the UW-Eau Claire Holiday concert this weekend, and I’ve completely forgotten something.

Right now, my head is completely dominated by Christmas carols and remembering to get ready in time and everything having to do with that, so something else is being neglected. An assignment, a project, a paper, a something isn’t getting done. You’d think that if it was so forgettable, it must not be that important–but I forget a lot of important things. I seem to have forgotten all applicable examples, but then that’s just my point, isn’t it? Isn’t it.

This weekend has been too good. Something, as usual, must go horribly, horribly wrong.

Somewhere there’s an evil bunny named Rufus.

The following took place sometime early this morning, between 2:00 and 3:00 a.m.

Loud screaming outside.
Me in bed: What? Huh?
More loud screaming. Pounding on walls.
Me in bed: Uhh…
Screaming. Banging on my door.
Me sitting straight up in bed: What’s going on?
Drunk guy outside my door: I think I’m gonna throw up.
Me getting out of bed: Oh no you’re not!
Guy and others leaving.
Me in the hall without pants on: What’s going on?
Confused, innocent bystandard: I don’t know.
Me in the hall without pants on: There was pounding and yelling.
Confused, innocent bystandard: Okay, sure…
Me in the hall without pants on: You must have missed it.
Me going back to bed: I’m not crazy.

What am I supposed to do with half of an eyebrow?

So over the past 24 hours, I’ve used about ten different template designs to try and find a good look for the Christmas season. This is as close as I’ve come, and as close as I’ll get cause I’m sick of trying. I like it.

The past tense.

I become invested in things all the time. I call it obsession, but it’s more like investment. I learn about something new, find as much information as possible until there’s nothing left, and then either move on and forget about it, or learn the ultimate truth of the matter. It’s because of my investment that things can have an effect on me for a while. I don’t let go easily because of all the time and effort I’ve put into whatever it was. I don’t want to be detached, either. I would rather get stuck on ten different things at once than not care at all.

If I were in a more satirical mood, I’d say that bad things happen to good people to keep life interesting, but right now it just sounds morbid and horrible. I’m not even sure why I’m writing any of this down at all, but here I am.

And even when my day is dark, and I feel like nothing is going as it should, I am rewarded in an ironically twisted way. And I’m happy. But if the choice were mine–and it’s not–I would rather things were reversed. So I have to accept that I am happy for a reason, and that it’s okay.

James Kim, 1971-2006.

There’s a cover letter I should be writing.

I hate applying for jobs. And it’s not because I dislike work. I loved having a job all summer, if only because it filled time and paid me. But I don’t like this whole process of applying for the job. I’m bad at it. I say the wrong things–mostly by telling the truth. I need to shut up. But then they ask if I have questions. Being a well informed applicant, I usually don’t, which I guess is a bad thing. I guess I’m supposed to ask about something, as if I wasn’t paying attention the whole time, even though I was. Perhaps I’m supposed to show more interest. Well, I am applying for the job, aren’t I?

I’ve got two prospects for next semester, otherwise I’m going to end up very, very poor.

I’m going to offend you and you’re going to like it.

It was one of those rare days today, because I actually paid attention in Theatre History. Don’t get me wrong–it’s a good class that interests me a lot. But by the time I get there, it’s my fourth class, and since it requires no interaction from me, I tend to sit there and zone out for fifty minutes. Today was different. I listened, if only because my professor said something he doesn’t usually say: “Or, if you’re a writer…”

It’s a beautiful phrase to a writer who feels like all he ever hears about is acting this and acting that. Acting is wonderful, I like actors–I like acting. But I’m a writer, and most of time I feel left out of the theatre party. Sure, sure, Playwriting is coming up for Fall ‘07, but it seems like long stretches of time pass between each mentioning of the word “writer”.

What my professor said was that you can’t second guess yourself out of offending someone, because there will always be someone out there to be offended by it no matter what you end up with. You shouldn’t stop yourself from writing what you want to please one group of people, because you’ll only end up upsetting someone else. It’s a vicious circle that might as well be avoided. And I forget that sometimes.

Sitting on the brink.

There are times when I think that I am so close to reaching something, I can’t wait to get it. And it’s a good feeling. It’s anticipatory. It’s moving forward, advancing. But I also feel like I never quite get there, and then I start over again. It could be switiching to four different majors, or transfering to three different schools, but I nonetheless feel it. I don’t know if I like it this way or not.

This is way too deep. I’m going to go sing some soul music now.

You can never have enough provolone.

It’s true.  It’s like you can never have enough money, or frequent flier miles.  Or cookies–actual cookies.  Peanut butter cookies.  Or oatmeal raisin…mmm, oatmeal raisin.

 Recently, I’ve been expanding my culinary horizons.  Last night, I had some strange cheeseburger with a special mayo that I cannot remember the name of.  Tonight it was a chicken sandwich–with bacon.  Who knew?  Well, I guess everyone knew cause everyone has it on their menu.  But it was news to me.  And it was good.

 Yay me.

Lufthansa is a god among airlines.

In this age of instant information, gratification, and adulation, it would be simple enough to pick seats for your flight online. And, for the most part, it is. They give you a cute little map of the airplane showing the seats that are available and the ones that aren’t. Nine times out of ten, I am greeted by a pleasing confirmation screen clearly stating that yes, indeed, I have reserved the seats in question. But for my upcoming trip to Ireland, it just wasn’t meant to be. Instead of being assigned the seats I requested, I was given a short, if not confusing message: seats will be assigned upon check-in. Sure, simple enough, I understand that. But then seats began to disappear, being taken by other future passengers. I was upset. After a call to Orbitz, I learned they had no clue what they were talking about. Lufthansa, on the other hand–just one example of many, many great German things–was able to handle the situation. United Airlines had mistakenly listed the flight as theirs, and also decided that customers could not reserve seats. But Lufthansa, the real flight operator, was of a different opinion. And so Lufthansa reaffirms its special place in my heart.

I have a window seat.