It's Tuesday, And I Should Still Be Writing... Something Else

I'm still struggling to write and work on my dissertation proposal. There isn't one single reason why though. Part of it is the oppressive heat and humidity. Unless I'm doing something that gives me a joy that's filled with a sense of wonder, such as hiking (especially if there's a waterfall!), the heat is just too much.

I'm even willing to wake up early to avoid the worst of the heat and humidity of the day... which still means hiking when it's hot and humid. It's just not as bad as if we waited until the afternoon. Bonus: there are fewer people on the trails in the AM.

My depression and anxiety don't help the writing situation either. Some of that is my brain telling me I'm not that good at anything; some it is my brain telling me not to care about anything, even the things I legitimately care for quite a lot; and, although there's much more, some of it is my brain freaking out because there's so much information I can't figure out how to organize it so I can actually write. It doesn't help that when I feel super trapped by it all I can't enjoy stepping outside to look at my garden because it's so fucking hot and humid.

The latter two bits are why I'm REALLY having a hard time right now.

I've devised a few plans. Some I've had to throw out because I don't have a big enough table--just laying out all the books and articles on a giant table would be the best! But I can't. No table. I also have two cats that would sit on everything, mess it all up.

I've narrowed it down to two methods:

1. Use my various colorful flag Post-its to create a color coded system. Each color would point me to a specific area (in this case an area of critical pedagogy because that's the section I'm on).

2. Creating some columns, likely just handwritten, for each area. I'd then mark down which book or article and the page number of the information I need.

Although the second seems more tedious, I'm leaning towards it because sometimes you run out of Post-its, and I don't want to make things more confusing because I don't have anymore blue Post-it flags.

And, NO, I'm going out to buy more in this heat and humidity! Plus, that would just tempt me to stop and buy a fountain Mr. Pibb, and I've been doing so well at only drinking it if I'm at certain restaurants (Note: I drink soda during holidays like Christmas because it's often the only source of caffeine available to my body that doesn't make it hurt).
 

Working For The Weekend

I've always looked forward to the weekends. Who doesn't look forward to two days off in a row? Because of my career choices I've always still done a bit of work on the weekend--grading, reading, etc.--but because of Jeff's career choice I've always tried to savor it, make as much time as possible for us to hang out together. I still do this because that's what you have to if you're married to a journalist. It's what you really have to do if you're married to a journalist and also happen to have chosen an ambitious and strenuous yet rewarding career path for yourself.

But now I look forward to the weekend for an extra reason: I can *almost* forget about my hip problem. When Jeff is around it just hurts. It doesn't hurt so much that all I want to do is lay around, bemoan the grogginess caused by the meloxicam that helps me get a decent night's sleep but makes doing my work much more difficult. When Jeff is at home it's easier to not feel bad about the pile of work I need to do. It's not that I'm not doing my work. I think I've done more work this summer than I have since my summers of schlepping bags of mulch into customers' cars as they made rude comments about my being a woman. Apparently being a woman means I am exempt and/or incapable of loading bags of mulch into customer cars... oh, the stories I could tell about working at Lowe's. But I digress.

I'll I've done this summer is read, take notes, and occasionally engage in tasks and activities that are supposed to keep my stress levels in check. If one looks at my social media feed it appears as though I am doing far more of the latter.

 Farmer's Market!

 Good times at one of our favorite wineries in the area (photo credit-- Jeff).

 Hanging out with my crew.

Homemade pasta. 

 Look at how neat the watermelon looks. 

 Homemade ice cream!

Ruth, discussing the next Doctor with me. She's glad it's a woman but, like me, thinks after fifty plus years a white woman, as much as we love Jodie Whittaker, the BBC could have given us more than a change of gender.

But social media hides secrets. It doesn't tell the whole story. It even helps me fool myself for a fleeting moment. It hides my pain. It withholds the truth--sometimes Jeff has to help me out of bed, there are naps between afternoon outings and evenings of pasta, and Jeff, who never seems to want to take credit, often acts as sous chef. My Instagram feed looks like I'm non-stop, go, go, go. But I'm not. I have to pause for the pain. I have to ask for help. I know that social media allows people to craft their truths, make their lives look more interesting. I knew my posts often made it seem as if I wasn't doing any work. It often looks as though I'm just faffing about, drinking wine, and buying local produce out the ass. It wasn't until recently that I thought about how I might be using it to try to hide the truth from myself. I can't go hiking... so let's post this cute picture of the kitties... let's post this picture of that beef tongue taco I tried. My posts have become a shield from reality. I can't enjoy my favorite trails, visit the one or two left on list to see, or do many of the other items I'd planned to do. I can't do the things I was SO looking forward to this summer.

I can't hide from my reality during the work week. There's no glass of wine to be had on a balcony, no sous chef (P.S. Jeff usually cooks dinner during the school year-- he deserves credit)... there's no where to go really. All there is to do is read, take notes, cross my fingers that my hip doesn't hurt too much, and hope that at some point my body shakes off the heavy exhaustion weighing it down, physically and mentally, so I can finish writing a 200 word abstract. I can't hide from the fact that I'm still too groggy to edit this to the best of my ability... I'm too groggy to craft the perfect final sentence about how all of this sucks, I know life could be worse, and that I will get through this, succeed, etc., etc. I'm just too damn exhausted.

These Hips Don't Lie

I have so much to be thankful for in my life. In fact, today Jeff surprised me with coffee.

I'm also thankful for my mom-- I called her today, trying to hold back my tears. I was doing a decent job, but she knew something was wrong. All I said was "Hi." She responded, "What's wrong?" She's really good.

I have so many other things to be thankful for, but today the reality of the situation with my right hip set in.

Nearly three years ago I was scared. I had to have major surgery.

My surgeon performed a periacetabular osteotomy as well as an arthroscopic procedure to repair a torn labrum. My left hip was dysplastic, and the deformity tore my labrum, a ring of cartilage in the hip joint. After months of recovery I eventually got back to normal (a year later I had the screws removed). Jeff and I even went to Oregon and hiked some of the most amazing, difficult, and more gorgeous than words can describe trails I've hiked in my life.

Gorton Creek Falls. 

Oneonta Gorge Trail.

It requires climbing over a log jam, and hiking through a creek bed to get to the waterfall. The water in the creek bed can get chest high depending on the season. It was above my waist at certain points and very cold! But it was well worth it.  

 

Triple Falls... I don't know the name of this trail because it was not the trail we meant to hike that day. But we kept going and found what is called Triple Falls.

But everything changed this February.

I thought my life was "normal." I had plans--my PhD work, a conference later that spring, papers to publish, trails to hike in the summer, and books to read in preparation for comprehensive exams in the fall. But then I felt it. I was walking around Campus Lake with a professor--I took a readings course with her, and rather than sit in her office to discuss my readings we walked around the lake once a week. One moment I was telling her about Doctor Who and various theories. The next I was rambling on, trying to hide my pain, and thinking "Oh shit. Why is this pain in my right hip? Oh shit. This can't be happening."

But it was happening. I had to scale back my plans, focus on course work only. Between my assistantship and the daily grind of graduate school course work I knew I couldn't take on the extras I wanted to, needed to. I didn't have an official diagnosis--my surgeon is one of the few in the country that does certain procedures (such as the periacetabular osteotomy and the labral repair) so I had to wait more than a month to see him. But I knew the pain. I knew I'd torn my right labrum. After going through the non-surgical routes, getting an MRA to confirm what we all knew-- I'd torn my right labrum-- I was told surgery was the next option.

I need arthroscopic surgery to fix the torn labrum. My surgeon will also perform an osteoplastly-- essentially he'll shave my femur so it is shaped how it should actually be shaped. Part of my femur is too flat (the arrow... that part should look more like the circled part), and the deformation likely caused the labrum to tear. The deformation has fancy names, but its often times referred to as an impingement.

There's only an 80% chance I'll fully recover. I'm also at risk for osteoarthritis. I knew this as it's true for my other hip. I'm nearly certain my other surgery carried the same 80% chance of recovery. I just don't remember because it was nearly three years ago, it was completely successful other than it just feels weird to lay on it sometimes, and when I got the news I started balling so I didn't absorb the information fully. Although this procedure is less invasive, it still requires more recovery time than one might expect. But that isn't what hit me today. It was the 80% percent. Or maybe it was the 20%. Regardless, the notion that I might not fully recover... well, it sucks. I realize it could be worse, far worse. And yet...

Indeed it does suck. Will I be able to hike all the trails on my bucket list? Will I be able to find a new comfortable sleeping position? Will the NSAID Dr. Clohisy prescribed help me sleep well enough so I can get through comprehensive exams this fall? I already have depression, anxiety, and fibromyalgia. These are things almost no one talks about in academia. So what does it mean now that I am adding my mess of a right hip into the mix? I can't afford to not attend conferences for another year. If I were rich I'd consider taking a leave of absence. But I'm not rich. I'd also get really bored and my brain would end up torturing me. Boredom is not good for my brain. I already struggle with the lack of structure that summer brings. All of this and more has and continues to cross my mind. But I know I will persist. I will persevere. I don't have a choice. Plus, it's all I really know how to do. I haven't had a terrible life, but I've met my fair share of obstacles. Some I've conquered, and some I'm in the midst of conquering. What's one more?

Wisconsin Part 1

Spoiler Alert/Warning: I am going back to my old writing style which involves cursing. You are warned.

So Jeff and I took a trip to Wisconsin. It sounds totally lame, but it was far from lame. It's no Florida, but it was better than no vacation. Plus, I got this rockin' pillow!

You might think it's creepy, but I think it's awesome. It is a pillow and a Maggie look-alike all rolled into one.

Anywho. Maggie pillow aside, this trip contained too much awesomeness for one post. Today I'll cover the hiking... and some randomness. Part 2 will cover most of the beer. Yes, there was that much beer! Don't worry. It was a classy affair-- microbreweries and tastings. It's like the man's version of visiting a winery. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good beer, but I'm no connoisseur like Jeff. But I digress.

First of all, we found 39 states on our road trip. Yes. We played the license plate game. What of it? It was a road trip. Road trips are boring as fuck if you don't find something to do. Sure, I read a book, but my eyes get tired if I read for too long, and my brain wonders into dark and strange places if all I do is stare out the window. So we played the license plate game. Word of warning: it becomes more of a competition when you're in your late twenties. I thought I saw New Mexico at the rest stop so Jeff ran over to confirm. It was New Mexico. We high-fived. We also scoured our hotel parking lot... twice. Somehow this will have to be contained when have children, or they will turn into assholes.

After arriving in Wisconsin we hit up the Ale Asylum. We were mostly hungry, but we also wanted some local beer. Jeff got some avocado wrap thing. I went with the pulled pork sandwich... on a pretzel bun. I sent a picture to my parents, and my mom was all "I thought you didn't like pulled pork." I just like good pulled pork. Sorry mom. It's true. I'm a food snob. Accept when it comes to Cracker Barrel. That shit is good. As for the beer...

I tried out Unshadowed. Ale Asylum says "this classic German Hefe-Weizen is soft and uber refreshing. It is light golden in color, with a hazy appearance. It has a hint of bananas and cloves in the aroma, and a tantalizing sweetness in the finish. If a dewy Spring meadow had a flavor, Unshadowed would be that flavor." This description is spot on. I don't even like bananas! Also, now that I think about it, I don't know if I'd say this tasted like a dewy Spring meadow, but it was still delicious. Also, if you are a student, please note how I properly cited my source. It's really not that difficult. 

Jeff's beer was gross. But that's probably because I don't have a refined palate. I also don't like beer like he does. If it's a wheat ale, I'll probably dig it. If it's anything else, I won't like it unless it tastes like water. So I like wheat ales and shitty beer. But if you like beer, well good beer, you might like Jeff's choice, the Sticky McDoogle. It has the best name ever. You can kind of see it in the background of the above picture. According to Ale Asylum this "traditional Scotch ale is full-bodied with an earthy aroma. It has a smooth malt presence, with just the right touch of hops for a balanced, clean finish." Jeff isn't here so I don't know if he would say, "Yeah! Exactly." I do know he thought the Sticky McDoogle was tasty. Ha. That's funny. You know you're thinking what I'm thinking. Also, again, if you're a student... I totally credited my source again!

We pretty much fell asleep after this. Well, first we sat in the jacuzzi for a few minutes because the "heated" pool was fucking frigid. Then a little girl kept splashing me while I tried to dry off. Then I realized I was turning into my mother. I literally thought, "What the fuck? Why isn't her mom correcting her behavior? My mom would never let me splash like that, especially with people around. Seriously, why won't she stop splashing. This is so annoying. FUCK. I'm turning into my mother. She totally thought this about kids when I was a kid, except her thoughts weren't laced with F-bombs. I'm turning into a F-bomb dropping version of my mom. Fuck me."Then we went upstairs because Jeff could tell I was annoyed.  

We totally crashed. Really it was a good thing because I was not prepared for the next day's hike, even with a decent night's rest. Apparently my body is falling apart. I knew I had issues, but I never thought I'd be in the middle of the woods pointing to locations on my body while Jeff took pictures so I could show them to the doctor instead of trying to remember where it hurt and totally failing. 

At least the hike was pretty. If you have allergies, take some fucking Allegra before you go! These beautiful butterflies were all over the place, but where there are butterflies, there is pollen. Guess who forgot to take her Allegra? Me. 

It did not stop me though. You don't get between this girl and a trail with a bad ass waterfall. Not even you, pollen.

Especially when there's a teetering log involved. Please don't tell my doctor or physical therapist.

Next up: Beer! Beer! And more beer! There may also be a goat. See, now you're intrigued. Seriously, you better read Part 2. Whenever I get around to writing it.

What a Drought...

Jeff and I went hiking today... I had a blast even though Jeff whined, and the trail was a bit disappointing. Don't get me wrong, it was beautiful, but compared to my first visit it was dismal. It was a sad but a vivid illustration of just how bad the drought is right now.

Last year with my brother...

Today...

 

Despite the lack of water I still managed to have fun. It's hard to believe such places exist, especially so close to home. So far we've conquered two trails at Ferne Clyffe... only sixteen more to go. 

The Bold and the Naturally Beautiful

I did something bold. I mean, it was really bold--at least for me. I still can't believe I did it, but it was by far one of the most exhilarating yet peaceful experiences. It took a lot of courage, and maybe a bit of cajoling...

My big brother, of course, took the leap of faith and waded into the cool water. I was excited, but really scared--we were in the middle of no where, we had no towels, and my spare socks were more than an hour away.

But nature tends to bring out my adventuresome side (However, I still vow to never pee in the woods. I will only camp if their is a camper with a clean toilet and sink.). But I still can't believe I did this! I know, I know-- it's just water and a little bit of mud. But this was a big step for me-- I'm a bit of a germaphobe, and I hate wet socks. I'm glad I did it though. To be rather cliche, I was one with nature--except my brother snapped a few pictures, and naturally, I made awkward faces. But nonetheless, it was kind of zen.