Friday, June 26, 2015

It Got Easier

The Internet is exploding with two things:  Joy, and Outrage.

Personally, I don't feel one way or the other about gay marriages being legalized across the US.  

1)  Obviously, I'm not gay.  And if y'all didn't know that...well, now you know.

2) What other people do is none of my damn business.

Well, I am glad it's over now, let's put it this way.  Can we focus on the next problem on the list now?

I've been meaning to write this post for a while, and the day's events kind of paved the way for it.

The beautiful thing about giving up Christianity is that I don't feel the need to judge people.  I don't have to care about their religion, their sexuality, their home life, their job, or whatever.

It doesn't matter.  It doesn't make them less of a person if they're not like me.  It doesn't mean they aren't worthy of love or that they don't deserve to be happy.  They're people.  Living, breathing people with feelings and thoughts and dreams and wishes.

The funny thing about that is, even Christians shouldn't care.  If a gay comes up to you and needs food, would you let him go hungry because he doesn't fit a certain mold?

Honestly, I thought the Church had bigger problems.  Aren't there hungry people in the world?  Hurting people who need healing?  Global warming (if it's real, man)?  I used to be super against environmentalism, but I'm not anymore.  This is the world we live in.  Perhaps we should take care of it, at least a little.

But it's so difficult to love.  And so easy to judge.

Riping about homosexuality should never take the place of loving someone who obviously needs it.  Someone's sin is between them and God.  Not between them and you.  I promise, they're not hurting you, they don't want to hurt you.  Do not hurt them.

And again, it's none of your damn business.  Christianity doesn't allow gays.   Okay, Christians aren't allowed to be gay anymore than Muslims are allowed to drink.  Fine.  But not everyone follows that, and you can't expect someone to live up to expectations that aren't theirs.

If I don't see the End of Days (it's a crapshoot), and it happens after I've grown old and died (if it's really going to happen), I don't want to be remembered as someone who was so religious, who stayed in my ivory tower, and you couldn't come to me.  I want to be remembered as someone who, yes, I'm an asshole, but people never doubted that I loved them.  I actually gave a damn.  I didn't judge, and I didn't ripe about someone's choices.

I don't believe in getting stressed over things I have no control over.

I don't have to like the world I live in.  It sucks.  But I do have to live in it until a better one comes along.

Thursday, May 7, 2015

Approach Me, Please

So, it doesn’t look like I’ll be moving to Columbus after all.  Ah well.
The problem, however, is that I’ve already turned in my notice at work, that I’ve already said time and again how I don’t want to work in retail anymore, and that I was leaving…
Story.  Of.  My.  Life.
So, I’m looking at the Gulf Coast.  I like the Coast.  It’s a nice place, for Mississippi.
I looked for library jobs, and filled out, and then printed an application out, and brought it to one of the Harrison County libraries.
Now, I am probably overblowing this, but when I approached the desk, she…kind of glared at me.  Like, I’m a big, important librarian, and what do you want, mortal?  I, very meekly, asked if I could give her an application.  While she was taking it to the back room, I hightailed it out of there.  Well, I thought I wanted to work in a library, but if this is how you would treat someone you should’ve assumed was a patron and probably needed help or a library card, how would you treat an assistant?  Yes, it would be nice to work in a library, but I’m not sure if I want to work at that one.
Remind me again why I want to move up north, when it’s a well-established fact “damn Yankees” are not as nice as Southern folk when I react when a librarian doesn’t smile in greeting.
You know, as much as I can’t stand people, as much as I say I hate them, that they suck, I’m pretty good to customers.  I get compliments on how nice I am.  I’m smiling and cheery and bright and polite.  Most people don’t get that in other places.
Yes, yes, you know I’m an asshole.  However, I have most of the people that patronize the Wiggins’ Fred’s fooled.  They all think I’m nice.  If I can be nice and greet people with a smile, what is your excuse?
I don’t want to be like that.  I want to have a warm smile and a warmer heart.  I don’t want people to walk away feeling the way I did today.  Holy cow, that broad was scary.  Matter of fact, I don’t want people to feel like I do most of the time.  Because most of the time I feel like crap, that I’m too different for this world, lonely, unwanted, and unappreciated.
I complain about people a lot.  Which, they do suck.  In general.  But there are a lot of regulars that I simply adore.  They make my day when they come in.  But at the same time, I don’t know these people all that well.  I don’t want them leaving the store thinking that the cashier was too rude or too whatever to simply be nice to them.
I want to be approachable.  I want to be the Healer INFP that I’m so often typed as.  Even though I’m not good with physical affection, I don’t want people scared to hug me.  I want to love people.  Well, individuals.  I don’t want to judge.  I don’t want to be mean and unapproachable.

Sunday, April 12, 2015

My Little Grief

I'm moving in with Lacey after I finish this trimester. I've turned in a quasi-notice at work, not written, but verbal, and got some cigarette boxes, and will be getting more, to move my books in.

I left my internship site a little early Friday, because nothing was really happening. I derped around for a few hours, and then I picked up and left for her town.

It was a nice visit, and we got the apartment semi-ready for my moving in. I wasn't terribly impressed with Columbus, but I really have my eye on Tupelo anyway. Columbus, living with my BFF, is just a temporary thing. I love her, she's my sister from another mister, but she's used to having her own place-and-space, and I want my own place-and-space.

All the same, she's looking forward to me living with her, and so am I.


I got back home at 6 last evening. As I was laying in bed, it occurred to me that soon this wouldn't be my home anymore. I've lived in this house 16 years, most of my short life, and soon it wouldn't be my home anymore and I would be all the way up in Columbus, MS, and this wouldn't be my home anymore...

I didn't cry. I don't cry. But damn if I didn't feel like it.

It's the next stage in my life, moving out of my parents' house, getting a full time job that's NOT retail, and making my own home, and hopefully looking for a boyfriend...

New beginnings mean there's an ending to get through. I'm a sucker for a happy ending, and if I've learned nothing else from book series, it's that endings hurt a little. You're happy for the happily ever afters, but it took a lot of pain to get there. Also, the endings are always a little sad. There's a new normal to adjust to.

It's not too late to back out, but I said I'd go, and I'm going. I'm cutting the apron strings.

And hope I don't scream for my momma when all my shit's up there and the moving truck leaves.

Friday, April 3, 2015

Pretty Words 2: The Reverse Testimony

I would like to apologize in advance for what will be the Easter post this year.

I grew up in church.  I can't tell you the first time I prayed a sinner's prayer.  My parents were not and are not exactly legalistic, but strict.  I wasn't allowed to read Harry Potter.  We didn't celebrate Halloween in any shape or form.  No parades.  My earliest years of church, I was not allowed to wear pants.  I always had to wear a dress or skirt.

I grew up attending church off and on.  Sometimes we never missed.  Sometimes we didn't attend for weeks.

I liked to read fantasy--still do, but when I first started reading, it was always fantasy books, dragon books, books with magic and daring.

In the Christian vernacular, dragons and magic = Satan, therefore not good, and this caused many arguments between me and my mom.

Although, I will say as an aside, Skin Game sent me back to my Bible when many of Christian books did not.  Just sayin'.

I grew up.  Sort of.  I still feel 17 sometimes.  And then I remember I'm graduating with a bachelor's in May and moving out shortly after, and then I feel like the slow-developing young lady I am.  Because I do everything late.  Better late than never, though.

I liked to write about the Ragamuffins, about Rich Mullins, and Brennan Manning, and all that stuff.  Y'all know.  Many of those posts are here.

And then I began reading The Signature of Jesus by none other than Brennan Manning.  I didn't get very far, because it made me cry because what little I had read, was nothing I had ever experienced.  I'd heard of such things, but it had never been a personal experience.

Nothing had ever been personal.  I never felt led.  I never felt the all encompassing love of God.  At least, I couldn't recall a time.

It was a lot of "This was simply not my experience."

That was when it started.  It made me question a lot of things I'd heard.

It simply wasn't my experience.  It was just a lot of pretty words.  Pretty words, pretty words, pretty words.

I tended to stay away from "Christian-y" things after that.  I wasn't a Christian.  I wasn't good enough or wasn't far enough, or just simply wasn't enough.  Those were not my religion or spirituality.  Eventually, I wrote "Pretty Words."  I had a good day and I wrote "Holy Rollin'."

I can't believe that last one was four months ago.

It's difficult to sit in church and listen, when you're not sure you believe that God loves you.  On an intellectual level, I guess He does.  On an emotional level, on a spiritual level, I don't know if I believe it.  I probably don't.  This God hasn't bothered with me for a long time.

I was raised on Revelation sermons.  "If those bother you, it means you're not ready."

Dang right I'm not ready.  I wanted to grow up and get married and have kids and all that.  That kind of stuff doesn't happen in heaven, paradise it may be.  I wanted--still want--romantic love.  It almost felt as if we were taught we wouldn't see adulthood, or not much of it.

And here I am pushing 23, still afraid to have kids because I don't want to be one of those people, pity nursing mothers and those with young children...

That is no way to live.

Do I believe I'll see Revelation?

The more important question is, do I still even believe in Revelation?

Because let's face it, the things foretold is basically the history of the world events.  The world has always been imperfect since the Fall.

Because let's face it, the Bible isn't special in its teaching.  Most religions say some form of love your neighbor.  Most religions teach a flood.  Most religions say do good deeds.  I don't even think Christianity is special via, not your works but Jesus' work.  You are not saved based on your merits.  You are saved because of a savior, or for trying, or some such.  It's the heart.  Yes, actions help, faith without works is dead, but you're not saved based on your deeds.  You're saved because your heart belongs to Insert Savior Here.

And here I am, wanting to pray to a God I feel is very distant, and what am I supposed to believe?

Someone might say the Bible contradicts itself.  It might say one thing here, and another here.

And the Christian dutifully answers, Well, the Bible was written to different people, in different times.

So, if you admit different people wrote the Bible, and imperfect people wrote that Bible, how is it infallible?  And if it is all supposed to be Holy Spirit inspired, why were books taken out in the late 1800s?  Barely 200 years ago?  Who decided that?  How can you tell is something was Holy Spirit inspired?

One of the few things I am absolutely certain in regards to the Bible is that God is bigger than the Bible.

So, I have to sit in church feeling dead and hollow inside, because I don't think God cares about me, and He's not doing anything here, and I'm just sitting here because I'm forced...

So, I have to listen to others talk about what God is doing in their lives and maybe it would be nice to have that, but I can't say anything because then I would just get preached at, and that secondhand faith, secondhand religion is what I'm trying to get away from.

Your miracles strengthen your faith.  They don't do much for me.  Maybe I'm a bit of an empiricist and want to see things for myself.  Maybe I need to feel the wounds in His hands for myself.

Or maybe I should just thank God that the miracles required in my life were far and few between.

And then, I haven't touched my Bible lately, unless it was for church, or if I just was moving it from one place to another.

In one of my last written prayers, "I don't think I love You.  Well, I won't lie to You or to myself.  I don't. ....I don't have faith.  I have fear."  Whatever it is, it's not love.

I was raised to fear God, not adore Him for His mercy or grace.  Be saved or be thrown into hell.

That is no way to live.  Perfect love never cast out my fear.

This is nothing new.  I've expressed such concerns before over the years.  This isn't my first bout of what I term spiritual depression.  But it was never this bad.

I've been suffering in silence.  No more.

So there you have it.  How I went from growing up in church off and on, to rebelling because I like dragons, to questioning because I've noticed the similarities in Christianity and other religions are more striking than the differences, questioning the faith, questioning the Church, questioning the Bible. I do still believe in God, I just don't know if I believe in the Bible, or the God of the Bible.  A Creator, Great I Don't Know, yes.  Loving Jehovah, I don't know.

It hasn't been my experience.  And it breaks my heart to verbalize this.  But I can't keep doing this.  Eventually, this will all out.

It could end in tragedy or triumph.  Stay posted.

Monday, March 2, 2015

Jadi and the Diffuser, Part 1

My shiny new blow-dryer with diffuser came in through the UPS today.

I was so excited, I wanted to use it.  The heat-protectant I bought said to use on partially towel-dryed hair.

So, I got in the shower, did my usual routine, and then put the turban on for a couple minutes.

And when I took the towel off, my hair was partially dry, but not completely dry, so I put on the blow dryer with diffuser...

And I have no idea what I'm doing.  I realized that early on, and quit.

To Google!

We will try again tomorrow, after I've looked this stuff up.

Saturday, February 28, 2015

In Which Jadi Rants about Mississippi

My county has no bookstore.  Sometimes, I am utterly convinced half the county is illiterate.  I went to high school with people who could barely read.

It’s annoying to be in in tenth grade, listening to a classmate read, who doesn’t recognize words I would think should be relatively easy.

It’s downright depressing to be sitting in an upper level college literature class with the same problem.  Granted, not everyone in a college lit class is a guaranteed English major, but still…

So, I have to go 20-30 miles either north or south to get to the nearest bookstore.  We have some secondhand places, though. Only one of which has a good selection of books.  The WalMart book aisle is a joke.  Sometimes I find some gems at the Dollar General.  Rarely, but it has been known to happen.

Mississippi is the worst in everything.  Poorest, fattest, poorest healthcare, poorest, worst education, highest teen pregnancy and I think even the highest STD rate.  Worst education.  (yes, I am well aware I listed some twice)

They had common core.  Say what you will about it, but given that Mississippi cuts the education funding every time they have to cut somewhere, and common core would’ve meant more money for that, and Mississippi’s at the bottom of the totem pole in education…

Stupidity breeds stupidity.  And Mississippi is the worst in everything, or has the highest percentages of the bad things.

But this isn’t about how crappy my state is.  Well, I’m not technically from here.  I was born, and my family originates, in Louisiana.  And yes, it kind of is.  I'm aggravated tonight, and writing is kind of the only thing I feel like doing.

I was picked on for being smart.  For reading in middle and high school.

I would finish my work and want to pull out my book and read.  I had a teacher tell me he was sick of me not working ahead and made me write definitions on two separate occasions.  Same teacher took my book away once.  Bastard.  So I had a notebook and wrote after I was done.  If he didn’t see a book, just saw me writing, he left me alone.  I might have even kept my textbook out.

My best friend had similar experiences.  Not with that teacher, but with a substitute teacher.

No, no, reading isn’t important.  Like hell.

My little brother’s teacher encourages them to read and keep a journal.  I’m glad.  Maybe they’ll be kids who think.  Maybe they’ll get out of the county, or make the county a better place.

People need to read, even if it’s just a book or two a year.  Even if it takes the whole year to get through the damn book.  I can’t judge anyone who reads a book that slowly.  It took me all of last year to through The Hobbit.

More importantly, if someone wants to read, how dare any teacher discipline her for that?  I was done with my work.  I was already ahead of everyone, and he expected me to move even farther ahead?  Hell no.

I wasn’t talking.  I wasn’t disturbing the other students.  I was reading.

I’m really against dumb laws, but there should be something protecting smart students from the likes of teachers like that.

I should have told my mom.

Well, I should have told my mom when it happened.

My mom is scary, okay?  She would’ve never tolerated that if she’d known.  And she would’ve raised hell for it.

I have a good mom.

Getting back on topic, however, things need to change.  It’s like Ray Bradbury said, “You don’t need to burn books to destroy a culture.  You just have to get people to stop reading them.”

And sometimes I feel like there is absolutely no culture here.

Sunday, February 22, 2015

It's That Time of Year Again

I came into work today to find some of the Easter stuff out.  Christmas is over, Valentine's came and went, and now the next commercialized holiday on the docket is my personal favorite.  Yippee.

I have a lot of mixed feelings about this.  I've been having a lot of mixed feelings about God in general lately.  This has been going on for a while now.  Perhaps even for years.

This time, except for what I've said here, I haven't shared my thoughts or feelings on the matter.  I really don't like being preached to.  "Just a season.  You need to pray more."  I've heard it all.

I like studying every mythology but my own.  The thing about this, however, is that often I see connections and similarities between "theirs" and "ours."

"Something.  Happened."*  Over time, the stories changed and spread.  So now you have a bunch of world mythologies with similar stories.

What makes Christianity so special?  Because it says it is?

Because I can't just accept that.  It's Insurance Policy religion.  Christianity (and a lot of its denominations within) is one of the few to say it's the only way.  A lot of other religions don't care how you get there.

The Bible says don't know too much about the wickedness in the world.  Does that include other religions?  Is that so we don't see the similarities and begin this doubting I'm going through now?

I don't like that notion.  One of the historical eras we learned about, I don't remember which one, had a mindset that if God gave us a brain, the ability to reason, we should use it.

But then, wasn't that what got Eve?  The fruit was knowledge of good and evil.  Yeah, yeah, it was disobedience, but the fruit itself gives me pause.  He didn't want them to have knowledge.

Am I wrong to have questions?  Am I wrong to like learning, to like knowledge?  I think I'd rather a religion--better yet, a spirituality--that doesn't create a bunch of ignorant followers.

And we all know how Christians are at the bottom of the totem pole for intelligence.  Not all of them.  Plenty of great minds have been Christians or at least deists.  In the yesteryears.

You understand my confusion, don't you?  I don't know if there's anyone I can go to about it, because I'm always dismissed out of hand.  

I don't have a problem believing in God.  Perhaps I have a tough time believing in what the Bible says about God.

The Bible, inspired by God or not, was still written by people.  Fallible people.  But this book written by fallible people is still supposed to be infallible.

I've also read somewhere that God is bigger than the Bible.  Thank God.

I would like to think God's okay with someone who has questions, looks for answers, turns the idea over in her mind, and comes back to the mindset she had previously. Or comes to the answer she's looking for, whatever that might be.

But I've been wrong before.

I'm still looking forward to Easter.  I mean to get my chocolate bunnies and make my brother and godchildren their Easter baskets.  I'll probably have an Easter post, hopefully.  As I said last year, the show must go on.  It might not be the greatest, but it'll be honest.

*Why yes, I did take that from Stephen King's Revival.

Friday, February 20, 2015

Free of the Frames

I still try to push my glasses up my nose, even though I don't wear them anymore.

I can't blow my tea and watch them fog up anymore.

I still want to take them off at night, and reach for them when I wake up.

I don't recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror anymore.

I want to scratch under my eyes and still expect to meet plastic frames.

Yes, I wanted surgery.  No, I do not regret it.  I can see.  I can see in the freaking shower now.

But you have to understand something:  my glasses were as part of my identity as anything else.  I feel really weird now, though, because I love people with glasses, think guys with glasses are cute....

But I'm not wearing them anymore.  It's weird, and I feel kind of hypocritical.  If I liked them so much, why did I get rid of them?

They were a handicap.  Well, the glasses weren't my handicap.  My crappy vision was my handicap.  The glasses were just the crutch.

I had my first week post-op today.  Each eye on its own is about 20/25.  Together, they are about 20/20.  I'm certain there's some sensible explanation for that, but I can't tell you what it would be.  Stronger together than apart, I guess.  My eyes are still a little blurry when I wake up, and when I'm tired.  That, I think, is why I still reach for glasses or want to take them off.

It's weird.  I can see without glasses.  I don't need glasses.  I am free of the frames.

When I got my last set, the lady said they had someone get LASIK but she felt naked without them, so she had them make her a pair of falsies.

Honestly, my big thing, although this hasn't happened yet, is sunglasses.  I love big sunglasses.  I've never been able to wear them.  I want those big, diva-ish sunglasses that cover half my face.  And now I can finally get them.  I can go to the beach and not have to worry about my glasses or being able to swim.

That's my thing this summer.  I want to swim!  I can go to an amusement park and get on the roller coasters without worrying about my glasses falling off!

I'm thinking maybe I can start wearing make-up now.  At the same time, I'm like, why start now?  I mean, it would be kind of embarrassing to have crappy make-up at 22.  I mean, by this point, I'm supposed to have mastered this...  Or I could just keep my skin clear and grow my eyelashes the natural way.

I've always been a highly adaptable person.  Darwin's finest, I think.  I'm not particularly swift or strong, but I can adapt like nobody's business.  I think after a while, I'll be fine with this.  It's just this little transitionary period that I have to survive.

I am free of the glass windows that I've had to view the world in.

Saturday, February 14, 2015

The Valentine's Day Post: Cynical Rants and Romantic Dreams

I'm single on Valentine's Day.

I know, it's such a big shocker.

As someone who's been single, been ignored by the male of the species for most of my life, and really waved off by a lot of people, called weird, whatever, I'm kinda just like:

"Screw you!"

I haven't spent so much time alone to just want to spend time with just anyone.  Forget wanting a boyfriend, I don't even think I want any more friends if they're not readers or writers or someone I can talk about BBC shows with.

But, since this is Valentine's Day:

If I ask if he likes Stephen Lawhead, and he doesn't respond by quoting Taliesin, The Skin Map, or some other romantic passage from one of his books, I don't want to date him.

If he won't geek out over the Dresden Files (or any Jim Butcher book for that matter) with me, I don't want to date him.

If he won't cuddle on the couch and watch something with me--be it Doctor Who, Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit movies, or reruns of some show on Netflix--I don't want to date him.

If he doesn't show up at my door wearing a kilt just to make my day (because I am shamelessly obsessed with guys in kilts), I don't want to date him.

If he's going to call me weird, tell me I need help, call me crazy, or anything that I've had to hear before, I don't want to date him.  

(Note:  Those would be grounds for breaking up.  Those are grounds for freaking murder.  Call me crazy, you gon see crazy!)

I'm tired of hearing those things.  I hate being called weird.  I hate being told I'm not playing with a full deck.  I hate being called crazy.  I know people don't mean it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.  Quit talking to me like there's something wrong with me.

So, yeah, I can be lonely single, or I can be lonely with the wrong person.  If I'm lonely by myself, at least I can do whatever I want.

Yeah, yeah, I want a boyfriend and husband and all that.  But I also want to get out of Mississippi one day as well.  I mean, I really really really want out.  And so there's nothing holding me back, the less entanglements, the better.

That's another thing.  Given the amount of teen pregnancy in MS, I'm glad I never dated in high school.  I don't have to be a young single mother.  I'm just a young single.  I'm graduating in May with a bachelor's.  I'm getting an education.  I can get out of this little podunk town.

I mean, Stone County wasn't a bad place to grow up, but now that I am a 20-something,  and there is no liquor store because it's a dry county, no Sally's (and I have curly hair, so this is really inconvenient), no bookstore (and I'm convinced the whole freaking town is illiterate), barely any jobs (I know I have one, but I want a better one after graduation), I REALLY DON'T WANT TO STAY HERE!

And I don't have to.  I shouldn't have to.

And of course, this is my theme song.  Don't judge me.

Friday, February 13, 2015

Eyes, I's, and Me

So, I guess I can call the surgery a success.

There were two possible procedures for me.

The surgeon approved me for iLASIK, much to my relief, because I really didn't want to pop a lens out my glasses, even if I could get a falsey lens.

The iLASIK procedure uses two lasers, one to cut a flap, and the other to actually reshape the eye.  This is a laser only procedure.  In the LASIK without the i at the beginning, they used a tiny blade to make the flap.

I had two things wrong with my eyes

1 - I was--WAS!!!!! past tense!--extremely nearsighted.  I think my optometrist said I couldn't see past 6 inches without my glasses.

2 - I had astigmatism.  

The laser corrected both of them.

During my pre-op, I got to watch a little video that explained what both of those terms meant and what my eye looked like with those dysfunctions.

But despite the fact my eyes were formed wrong, they were actually pretty healthy.  I had to have so much retinal tissue and my corneas had to be curved curved.  Otherwise, I would have had to do PRK.  The result would have been the same, but the recovery time was longer.

The flaps that the laser made for my eyes are supposed to heal almost overnight.  I still gotta wear protective goggles to sleep.

Okay, so the day of the surgery:

They had me take a Valium about 30 minutes before the procedure.  I don't think it did anything for me.  I stayed relatively calm throughout the procedure, but once those drops were in my eyes and I was on the way home...

I was climbing the walls of car, almost.  I couldn't get comfortable.  My eyes were burning...

I was in severe discomfort.  My mom dropped me off, and I slept most of the afternoon.

See, the thing about wearing glasses, being dependent upon glasses for about 11 years, is that you can do some things with little to no vision.  I managed to reach up on my headboard, turn on my TV, DVD player thingy, and turn on the Netflix.  I watched/listened to/had white noise to Friends.  I dozed off and on all afternoon.  After the first time Mom came home, I moved to the living room and kinda watched Guardians of the Galaxy.  I fell asleep somewhere between Nowhere and about the Ravager ship.

I feel naked, and not because I'm not wearing glasses.  I still feel like I have them on.  But I don't.  No, I feel naked because all my hair's pulled back in a scrunchie-type hair band.  I'm so used to wearing my hair in my face, but I can't do that with my eyes still healing.  Because my wispy always goes over my right eye.  I try to keep it to the side, but depending on how my hair behaves that day, it can go either way.  So, between that and no glasses, I feel a little weird.

BUT I CAN SEE!!!  Tomorrow is my post-op.  I think I'll know my new vision then.

The surgeon told me they couldn't get my left eye to 20/20, but he would try to get it to 20/25.  Apparently, my right eye was more cooperative.

To get corrective surgery, your prescription has to be at least -4.  Mine was -8.  So, even 20/25 is better than being blind to the point of not being able to function without glasses.

I'm walking around without glasses.  I still see halos around stuff, but it's an improvement.  I haven't had any side effects that I wasn't warned about prior.

Overall, I'm happy.

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Some Updates

I got an iMac.

I don’t know what I was thinking other than, I’m not happy with any of these other computers that I’m seeing at Best Buy and if they can finance for me, well, I may as well get something I’ve been considering…

I’m also getting eye surgery.  Today was my pre-op.

My eye surgery can be one of two procedures.

PRK - which, I don’t remember what it stands for.  This is the procedure where they can’t do both eyes at the same time, and the down time between eyes is 3-5 days.  Anyway, this will not do any more damage to my retinas and corneas as opposed to

LASIK - which is a 4-minute procedure per eye, they do both eyes and it practically heals overnight.

The tech said I was on the hair trigger.  I could go either way.  The physician, not the surgeon, said my eyes were healthy.

Anyway, I find out tomorrow.

My eyes were dilated, but I had gotten my tax refund and I wanted a new computer because the Windows Vista I had gotten back in 2009 is driving me crazy.

So, I went into the Best Buy with my sunglasses on, because my eyes were dilated, and was approved for financing and I went home with an iMac.

Woo hoo, I’m in debt!  About to be in more debt!

Add that in to my student loans…

Considering I was okayed to graduate in May…

Life's been busy.

I did my first 90 hour internship stint with DHS.  I'm going to do my second stint elsewhere.


I need to still do 4 essays for my Monday night class 'cause Prof didn't assign them till the last weeks of class and they are not due till Friday.  Need to do that, need to do that.

In the immortal words of Harry Dresden, "My life, hell's bells."