Me & Sisyphus

I pushed my rock over to the table this morning.

Bright and early tomorrow it goes onto my back. Where it will stay until May.

On Saturday Night ...

... she hangs out with her friends

TGIF, people!

Squishy Din Din!

It's not every day that I get the opportunity to introduce an esteemed foodie to a new (to her) restaurant.

But last night was one of those rare and beautiful times.

Sushi Den with Nat King Cole!!

Fantastic drinks and the best sushi (and miso soup) in Denver. (There are two more Japanese places I want to try - more on that eventually.) After the aquarium I ate in Japan last summer, it's miraculous that I ever started to crave sushi again. G will no longer even sit at the same table with the stuff, so I begged and cajoled until NKC found time in her schedule.

It was worth it.

A dear reader refers to sushi as "squishy" hence the post title. A rose by any other name and all that.

Last night was a much-needed break from grading. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "B! You're on spring break!" Yes, and I'm in the process of grading 50 papers, writing one, and prepping a philosophy presentation for next week. Colossal sigh.

Remember when I said I'm ready to graduate? I'm ready to not be a student anymore? Yeah.

Somebody keeps me company, though.

The Easter sheep is too much for her. We go through the same routine every morning. She plays with it until her teeth get the best of her and the chewing gets out of control. Then mama has to remove the temptation.

So sad and pitiful. Without her bought friend she resorts to chewing on the mortar. If I have to keep grading at this pace, I may chew on it, too.

My Last Spring Break

We all know that I have dragged out my Master's program beyond belief. The main reason for this is that it's not just a program to me. I'm not going to school just to get a degree; I'm going to integrate myself into a whole new career (or bits and pieces of several careers put together) and that takes more than two years. Plus, I'm getting a graduate certificate in Women's and Gender Studies in addition to my M.A. in Literature, so there's that.

As of this semester, I have been in grad school for three years. I have one more year to go, and will graduate next spring. That said, next fall will be my last tough semester: two back-to-back intense literature classes. By next spring, though, I will only (hahahahahaha) be working on my graduate portfolio and thesis. While that's not a cake walk, it won't involve going to multiple classes. I'll only be teaching and doing the writing consultant job; all the work I'll do for my portfolio will be on my own. I'll have many meetings with professors, and the semester will be full of deadlines, but by next spring break I will, for all intents and purposes, be done with my graduate work.

This time next year I will be free falling into graduation.

So, this is my last real spring break.

We took this pic after I found out I was accepted to the MA program. We were touring campus. That building behind us? I've taught in it for three years now. Little did I know at the time.

To make a long and bureaucratic story short, as a grad student, I am able to teach and do the writing consultant job. Once I graduate, I only get to do one or the other. So, when I say that I've stretched out my degree to accommodate for a new career, that's what I mean. It was never my intention to fly through a graduate degree. It was my intention to take advantage of the opportunity to gain experience teaching and consulting.

And I have!

I'm now a manager at the writing consultant job and have many semesters of experience teaching at the college level. By the time I graduate, I'll have even more and will look for teaching positions (classes here and there) at other colleges. I'll keep the consultant job at my current college. And I'm trying to build up freelance work to round it all out.

This was taken when we went to Red Cloud, Nebraska, to tour Willa Cather's home town.

And I'm ready to graduate. Like, mentally ready to move on to the next thing. The next thing being no homework and papers and constant reading. School is a lot of things, but it is not flexible. Not even close. Not that working in the real world, the 9-to-5 world, is a dream. After all, that's what I left because it was so stifling. It was crushing my soul.

School has allowed me, because I'm studying liberal arts, to experience a mixture of real life and the life of the mind. No one needs school to develop a life of the mind, of course, but I think I did. I needed the discipline of the mind, people pushing and pushing me to think more and better and then write about it and then try to pass a variety of skills on to other students as well. I needed to be immersed in it and to grow in a way that wasn't so skill-based, but that was thought-based, rooted in ideas and their history and the world of literature. It's like I got grounded again.

Presenting at a conference in SLC last year.

So, here's to spring break!

I'm one day in and have read a book for fun, watched an entire Netflix show (try The OA!), started a new book, graded four papers, and started a work project.

I'm also looking for more Netflix rec's. Send them my way!

Dem Bones, Dem Bones

Remember when I said that we will not be discussing the tooth incident anymore?

Well, maybe just one more thing.

Today I went to the dentist for a check up and all is well. I'm healthy and no longer have any pain or swelling and I'm back to myself again. I don't have to see her again until the summer, so that she can start the process of putting a tooth back in.

She says, until then, let's let the cadaver bone do its work.

I was like, um, sorry? What was that? Come again?

When she removed the tooth and had to remove my bone, SHE FILLED THE SPACE WITH GROUND UP CADAVER BONE. As a kind of "filler" to help my jaw bone regenerate.

I HAVE A DEAD PERSON'S GROUND UP BONE IN MY MOUTH.

That is all.

A Whirlwind Weekend, In Pics

Birthday Bash

Guess who had a birthday recently?

We flew in and had an actual, real birthday party for her. When I ordered the cake (a few weeks ago I called from Denver), the woman kept repeating, "OK, Happy Birthday G-A-M-A?" I was like YES. Today when I picked it up, the girl at the counter whipped open the box and said, "Happybirthday G---, gh---, gamma?"

When Gama looked at the picture (above), she goes, I don't look that old, do I? I was like, me too, sister. Me, too.

Now that I'm toothless, I fit right in! <<-- And that's the last time I'm talking about my &%#@ dental issues (which have cleared up but have also scarred me for life).

More of her church friends, and our family, showed up than we were even expecting. The ones who couldn't make it sent cards for me to give her. It was a big day. Well worth the harried trip.

In every spare moment I have (hahahahahaha) I'm frantically working on a Milton paper that is due Monday. Of course we lose an hour tonight. MASSIVE EYE ROLL. It's OK though because every time G gets snarky with me, I hold up all the DIVORCE materials I'm reading right now. Did you know that in the 1650's, Milton was a proponent of Christians getting divorces? My paper is about a few flaws in his logic. It's kind of a ballsy move, but you only live once and all that.

OK, loves. This introvert is exhausted. The divorce reading will soon lull me into sweet slumber. Then I'll be up well before the crack of dawn to drive forever in order to meet Gama for breakfast.

It's crazy times in Arkansas!! Night night!

TGIF, people!

I'll Eat My Way Through It

In celebration of being able to eat solid foods again, I joined the Russkie for brunch at Syrup. Um, how did I not know about this place? They have a few locations and we met at Cherry Creek North. Isn't it so cute?

To say I'm "eating solid foods" is to say that I have developed a productive and adorable system of half gnawing, half gumming my food while tilting my head 45 degrees to the left. This allows me to eat real food and avoid the Grand Canyon that is now in my mouth. The gaping cavity. The Void.

But don't you worry about me. I pulled through my first real meal like a champ.

I mushed my way through the Maryland Benedict: crab cakes, poached eggs, and Hollandaise served on top of crushed tater tots. Arugula salad as an after thought. I mean, on the side.

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm back in business.

Silver Lining: Wild Card

If there were a silver lining in the midst of sickness and surgery, it would be this: pain is the ultimate wild card. You can use it at any time, to win any round.

If G and I disagree about which TV show to watch first? I win; I just had dental surgery.

If I need mac and cheese, then G must stop whatever he's doing and make it; I'm practically an amputee.

How would you treat a war vet right after he got home from Iraq? Considering PTSD and how hard he fought for our country? Then that is how I, too, need to be treated. We are basically, exactly the same.

There is simply no way to argue with pain and suffering.

As I went upstairs to nap yesterday, I took a pic of the table because I thought it pretty much sums up our weekend:

When I came downstairs a few hours later, the table looked like this:

I stared at it forever. All I could think was, (1) Why did G go to the store? and (2) WHY DIDN'T HE PUT UP THE GROCERIES?! As I reached for the divorce papers, he told me that we got a home delivery from King Soopers!

A-peep had ordered a care package and had it delivered to us! Did you know stores did this?

So I've been slurping and mushing my way through mac & cheese, water, and chocolate eggs ever since.

A wounded war vet amputee PTSD-suffering patriot must do what she can, you know.

No Longer Attached

For perspective, this is the spirit in which I'm writing this blog post.*

I had a tooth pulled yesterday. I can tell you in all honesty that it was my worst nightmare come true. Well, one of them. Had the surgery taken place on a crashing plane, that would have pretty much covered the gamut.

If you told me that you were having a tooth pulled, I wouldn't think anything of it. I would suggest a couple of days of oatmeal and codeine, and I would look for a hilarious card to send you to brighten your day.

When I was told that pulling a tooth was my best option, I cried for three hours. Like ugly cried. Like mascara lines down my face and some drool mixed in and slurring my words like a drunk person, cried. I cried in the dentist's office. I called G and bawled on my way to the pharmacy. I skulked around the King Soopers pharmacy like a deranged person, head down, sobbing into my jacket until they called my name. 

Everyone in my entire genetic background all the way back to Adam and Eve has horrific dental problems. So, in a sense, there was no escaping this. But boy did I try. Man I gave it my best shot. I would not say that I am obsessed with my teeth, but I would concede that I care a whole lot about keeping them and making sure they sort of look nice. I have had a lot of problems with them, and have spent more money on them than the rest of my entire body combined (if you don't count covering the grey - that is becoming economic priority #1 now), getting spacers, braces, wisdom teeth removed, retainers, permanent retainers, mouth guards, cleanings, special gum cleanings, root canals, crowns...Just about everything one can do to teeth, I have done. No reservations.

But it turns out there really are no guarantees. And it turns out that you can have very solid plans about how you want things to go, and in the end, you don't actually get a vote.

As a Christian, this should come as no surprise to me. This thing that I have decided to attach enormous value to, matters very little in the end. Turns out I don't need it. Turns out I'll be healthier and happier without it. Who knew?

All I'm sayin is thank God it was a molar. One of those way in the back. Or I would be singin' a different tune right now.

If you're queasy, skip this paragraph:
Long story short I was in a lot of pain and that's because an infection had formed at the root of one of my molars. The thing is, it formed in the root of a tooth that was already dead (root canal, years ago) and the infection was spreading to the bone and the sinus cavity. The dentist said she would refer me to a specialist who could try to save the tooth, but that now this area - for whatever reason - is prone to infections, and the only way to permanently cure it would be to remove the tooth, remove the infection, and eventually - like in 8 or 9 months!!!! - replace the tooth.

Long story short, when she removed the tooth yesterday, the infection had spread to the bone and they had to remove part of it, too. And then scrape part of the remaining bone.

Ok, no more gory deets:
Suffice it to say that, despite being numbed from shots and being extremely high on laughing gas, there was a moment during the surgery in which I was either on Jesus' lap or he was on mine. The details are fuzzy, but I screamed, hit someone, knocked my mask off, and I remember the doctor saying, "Yes, B---------, I know. I know."

It's not even 24 hours later and I feel about 1,200,456 times better than I have in a week. I thought that I would spend this weekend drugged out of my mind, swollen, and sort of psychically floating above it all, and then I would mourn my tooth next week, and then I would spend the rest of my life trying not to identify with some meth head from a West Virginia trailer park.

But no pain meds necessary! Don't get me wrong: antibiotics and ibuprofen are my absolute best friends right now and I love them more than anything else, G and Lucy included. But! The pain is gone! And now that it's gone, I can tell how much pain I've really been in, which was remarkable.

Lord help me if I ever have to pull any more teeth. But Lord forgive me for putting so much of my identity into a few small pieces of enamel.

Are champagne smoothies a thing??



*This is a first world problem. No one is battling a terminal illness or losing a child or living in a war zone. And yet in one little sense, the worst has happened.