Just Write: I’m Just Writing

This morning I forgot to take my medicines.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I took one thyroid medicine. And then I looked at my pill case and thought to myself, “Self, don’t forget to take these before you leave this bathroom.”

Surprise! “Self” as we’ll call her, forgot.

“Self” got about 3 minutes from work and went, “Oh crap! Self, you forgot your meds! This isn’t going to end well.”

And let me tell you. About 5 hours later, I felt like I was in a haze of hot, purple, smoky air with somebody pushing me a little to my right every time I stood up.

All that is probably just from the Lexapro, too. That doesn’t include the fact that I’ve been without – due to my own stupidity – my arthritis meds for a few days and can’t remember to refill it. (Spoiler: I refilled it)

Funny thing I haven’t shared. Recently I switched from Zoloft to Lexapro for anxiety I’ve suffered from since Charlie died. The switch took 9 weeks, but the first week? It was horrible.

There was a 15 to 30 minute time frame one of those where I could feel every single particle of air on my skin. You read that right. Every. Single. Particle.

It felt like millions of tiny needles with air blower thingies on the ends of them, whispering sharply across my skin. Every touch was felt. Every nerve ending was stimulated.

It was quite amazing. In those moments, I realized the power of that medicine. If it could do THAT, imagine what it was doing in my brain. Unfortunately, in those moments, I didn’t really care how it was working in my brain. I simply wanted it to NOT FEEL CRAZY WHEN AIR TOUCHED ME!

Today wasn’t like that. But it was close.

I promise not to forget my medicine tomorrow.

*This was part of Just Write, a free writing exercise hosted by the amazing Heather of The Extraordinary Ordinary.*

The Big Red Boat OF DOOM!

The Big Red Boat OF DOOM!

All the chatter about Carnival Cruise Line’s doomed cruises lately has reminded me of my family’s cruise history. I give you the story of doomed cruises, Herbert style…

big red boat

When I was young and my parents were still in the jewelry business, we bought from a company that gave cruises if you bought a certain amount of product from them over the course of a year.

We cruised the seas on the Premier Cruise Line (aka The Big Red Boat, aka Disney Cruise Line before DCL existed) and it was great fun.

A few years in, after cruising every year to Nassau, they switched it up and we went to The Abacos.

The trip was uneventful until the morning we were supposed to go through a small channel to enter The Abacos or some other nonsense. The weather was bad and we couldn’t get through.

Apparently this had never happened before. OF COURSE IT HADN’T.

We turned around or something and went over to Nassau. Again. (I know, rough life?)

Premier gave everyone 50% off cruises and we took them up on it.

The next year, we hopped the same boat with the same itinerary.

Guess what?

Yup. It had only happened once before and again, we found ourselves on the cruise that couldn’t thread through the teeny tiny channel.

Back to Nassau. More braids and haggling with people over $1.50 trinkets made of paper (or imported from Vietnam).

Oh well. 50% off another cruise for 4 people. We’ll take it.

Third cruise booked. This time with my Aunt, Uncle, and two cousins. It was great fun!

UNTIL WE COULDN’T GET THROUGH AGAIN!

According to the cruise line, this had only happened TWO other times in the history of navigating the miniscule channel that had been dug by hand by Oompaloompas apparently. And guess what? We were on all of them.

Free cruises for all! WHEEEEEE!!

We booked another cruise. Same ship. Same place. Because, well, obviously we’re insane.

When we boarded the ship, the Captain greeted us. We were “the family” that was doomed. I’m sure he wanted to kick us off so they would make it through the pin-head size lane to The Abacos.

But instead, he greeted us with open arms, a fruit and champagne basket in our room, and an invitation to breakfast in the steering room of the ship to watch him thread through the channel.

Even on vacation, we bounced out of bed at some ungodly hour and went down to the ship’s steering room. If it had been me NOW, I would have had my sister hold me while I hung off the front of the ship ala The Titanic, but alas, we just sat there and minded our manners while a (probably drunk) Captain steered us SUCCESSFULLY through the channel.

We were thrilled to finally see The Abacos. It was as gorgeous as reported in all the travel brochures.

The only part of that cruise that truly sucked, was the fact that it was the end of the line for free and discounted cruising for us.

Emergency on the Race Course

It was about mile 6 when I really had to go. The thought of stopping my clock and going into a port-a-potty on the side of Highland Avenue wasn’t my idea of a good time, but you know what they say?

When you gotta go, you gotta go.

And really, I HAD TO GO!

Easy enough, huh?

I walked right in, there was no line like at miles 2 and 4. Did my thing. Used the hand sanitizer.

Opened the door.

Opened the door.

Opened the…

OH MY GOD, THE DOOR WON’T OPEN!

OH MY GOD, WHAT HAPPENED?

OH MY GOD, THE LATCH ON THE OUTSIDE IS LOCKED.

WHOOOOOO LOCKED ME IN HERE?

WHY ME?

WHYYYYYYYY?

So I was able to push the door open just enough to see out.

I could see a cop directing traffic at the intersection. Only he was a good 50 yards away.

This is when I realized that apparently port-a-potties are freaking soundproof because I was yelling and screaming for somebody to LET ME OUT I’M STUCK IN A PORT-A-POTTY WITH OTHER PEOPLE’S SHIT FLOATING AROUND IN BLUE WATER.

Breathe, Jana.

Time’s ticking. My time was getting longer and longer each second.

I pushed the door open again, about 1/2 an inch.

Somebody’s coming.

OH MY GOD, SOMEBODY’S COMING.

CAN YOU HEAR ME?

HELLOOOOOOOOO

HELLLOOOOOOO

I’M IN HERE. LOOK OVER HERE. BEHIND YOU. I’M STUCK.

HELLLLLLLLLLP MEEEEEEE!

She looked towards the port-a-potty like there was somebody freaking out inside and for a split second I thought she wouldn’t let me out.

But she did.

I was freeeeeeeeee.

Fresh air. Breathe. I took a second to realize that I, in fact, was going to live.

My death certificate will not say (at least this time) “Death by asphyxiation in a port-a-potty.”

And then I went and finished running 9.3 miles.

Boom.

Elapsed time of freakout: Approximately 22 seconds, but felt like an eternity.

The One Where I Get A Finger Monkey

The One Where I Get A Finger Monkey

A few months back, I mentioned that I really wanted a finger monkey for my birthday.

A what?

A finger monkey. You know, one of these:

ISN’T IT THE MOST ADORABLE AND RIDICULOUS THING EVER?

Well, they can’t get me one because they’re probably illegal and hell, I don’t know if they even exist or not. They’re probably expensive, too. And likely would terrorize our dog and cat and kid.

So I figured I would opt for something else. Maybe a gift certificate for a facial or a tank of gas. Maybe I could sleep in until 7. Something practical.

I woke up this morning to being shuffled off to get a Starbucks Chai, a breakfast at Waffle House, and back home to this.

Look at that beautiful cake! It was tiramisu and to die for! But it didn’t kill me.

I didn’t die until I opened my gift and wondered why the HELL they bought me a monkey charm for my Pandora bracelet.

Then Henry said, “It’s because of your love of the finger monkey. And bananas for the monkey to eat.”

And THEN I DIED!

According to them, this is what went down in the Pandora store:

Pandora girl: Can I help you today?

Henry: Do you have a monkey?

Pandora girl: Sure. Why do you need a monkey?

Henry: Because my mom saw this picture on the internet and it had a pointy finger with a monkey on it. 

Pandora girl: OH! I WANT ONE OF THOSE FINGER MONKEYS!

Henry and Jason: ((dying laughing))

Henry: We’re going to need some bananas, too, because her name is Jana Banana and her finger monkey will get hungry.

After I gathered myself and stopped snorting while laughing, I quickly corrected them and let them know it wasn’t a finger monkey, it would really be a wrist monkey.

Stream of Consciousness Sunday: Career Choices

I spent Wednesday at Auburn, in the Horticulture department (yay, Ag School!) talking to students and interviewing a few. This was so exciting for me for many reasons… one is that it was Auburn, another is that I could go to the bookstore, and yet another is that I was going back to where it all started.

Funchess Hall: Where every day smells like formaldehyde and dirt. 

That brings me to our (optional) prompt for the day. As usual, PLEASE feel free to just free write for 5 minutes about your topic of choice. It’s your space and your time. Just write!

Today’s (optional) prompt: How did you settle on your major/career choice?

stream of consciousness sunday

I went to Auburn as an Exercise Science major. Then I put on my Freshman 15 (er, 20) and decided I didn’t like the word “exercise” so I left that major.

Accounting it was. Definitely accounting.

I was good at it, too. Only problem? I’m a little OCD with numbers and sometimes they give me nightmares. I remember them and count in my sleep and ohmygod why can’t i forget my ex-boyfriend’s phone number? The numbers were everywhere.

Did I mention I would have to dress up for work if I was an accountant? Yeah, that wouldn’t be fun. CPAs don’t wear jeans and t-shirts on a daily basis.

I set out to look at the course catalog. Surely there was something that wouldn’t require this girl to wear a suit to work daily.

A is for Agriculture.

Ooh, Horticulture looks good. Plants are pretty. Dirt’s not too scary. I can memorize latin names.

I think I’ll do THAT. Yeah. I’ll be a plant girl.

So I set out to do just that.

And now I wear jeans and t-shirts to work every day.

How did YOU choose your major or career path? 

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This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

  • Set a timer and write for 5 minutes.
  • Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
  • Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
  • Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post (in the sidebar). .
  • Link up your post below.
  • Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

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