Week 4: When The Rational Woman Dies

Let us be honest for once. Let us talk about what every guy already secretly knows, and what every girl uses all her energy trying to deny. Somewhere out there is a girl rule, which could either be unspoken or simply written on our DNA, that I am about to break by broaching this subject. Any girl who tells you that I am wrong, or exaggerating, or that it is just me, or just plain lying, you must understand that she is just keeping up the code.

Three weeks out of the month, I am a thoughtful, kind, honest, loving, caring, and rational human being. I go out of my way to do things for people, I find joy in caring for others, and try to always see the best in a situation. Then, during week four, something happens to me that I can only compare to what happens to Bruce Banner when someone runs over his foot. I become a complete and total beast. Unlike the Hulk though, my symptoms come on slowly and in fairly predictable pattern.

The first stage of week four's progression starts when I notice that I am impatient with things. Any other time, the two minutes it takes to warm up rice is just a good time to do a quick wipe down of the counters, traffic is good quality radio time, and the time it takes for the guy to make my sandwich at Port 'O Subs is just a window where I can chat him up about how his day has been. Not during the dreaded week four. When week four hits, I stand and glare at the microwave that it is purposefully trying to piss me off, just willing it to go faster, the lady driving 35 in a 45 mph should be summarily shot, and I start wondering how this guy at Port 'O Subs ever made it out of high school. The irritation phase, while annoying, is controllable with a little awareness. Knowing myself and my normal behavior, I try to push down my annoyance and fake how the normal, rational me would respond. I take a moment to rationally think about it, and it really helps to keep things in perspective. I try to realize that rice will always take 2 minutes no matter how long I wish it would take, there will always be slow drivers and there is nothing I can do about that, and I mean the guy works at Port 'O Subs, give him a break.

As time passes the impatient phase slowly morphs into the next stage, which is a bit more difficult to hide and even harder to control. This stage is where everything gets on my nerves. This phase, if not actively controlled, can make me appear like a whiner. Why is it so windy here? Why is there nobody at this stupid activity? Why did this stupid activity not start when it said it would? Why did I waste good make-up on this? I seriously cannot believe she is wearing that, what was she thinking? Why are all these girls hanging out in the bathroom, don't they know this is where you go to pee? Why would they ever play this horrible song, not a dance song people. Ugh, why am I still here? Knowing nobody likes a whiner, especially boys. So, I think all these horrible thoughts, but try my hardest to keep them to myself. This phase, and then next can be counterbalance somewhat by kindness from others. A friend calling to see if you are going to be at the activity, or someone calling you smart, or someone who you really hope to become friends with making a special point to talk just to you can quash all that negativity down like garbage in the bin. Making it so that I am still annoyed, but now there is space for other stuff too.

The third phase usually creeps up on me, but once it is there, there is no mistaking it. This is the phase that boys might start catching on that week four has arrived even though you have already been there for a couple of days. It is the self loathing / crying / please love me phase. I personally have a low tolerance for clingy, whiny, no self-esteem girls. I hate that we are even grouped in the same category together. There should be boys, girls, and then them. But somehow, every month, I am suddenly one of those girls. This is the phase where the rational woman begins to die. This day, for me, was yesterday. I felt fat (from the bloating) and ugly (from the crazy hormone), which I know both are not true but every time I looked in the mirror, there the feeling is again. Ugh, I hate my hair, this shirt makes me look like I have a pooch, I look like am an old lady with these bags under my eyes, I wish I had a butt, I bet guys would talk to me more if I had blue eyes. You get the point. After this feeling comes, I start to wonder why nobody loves me, why nobody cares, which is also completely not true. Once I feel fat, ugly, unloved and completely alone, I become ultra moody, sulky, and quiet. Last night, Ms. Justin caught on to this while we were on the dance floor. After telling her how nobody will ever marry me, how I feel fat and gross, and everybody hates me ... Geez, listen to me, I should dye my hair black and watch Twilight movies all day. Seriously, I was being ridiculous ... She made me feel better by telling me how pretty and special I was, and the rest of the night went by without anyone looking at me like I was acting like the teenage basket case.

The last phase is the worst and most recognizable. It is the total beast phase. This phase is the reason that women should still be sequestered to menstruation tents. When the beast phase hits, it not only when the rational woman is completely and totally dead, but it is also when we stomp and mutilate her body. It is full Hulk mode, minus the ripping of the shirt. It is when any boy knows you when you are normal begins to think wonder who you are and what have you done with that nice girl he knew a week ago. It is the phase that any boyfriend you have ever had, can identify and track by every major fight you have ever had. You are not yourself, and cannot be held responsible for your actions. This is what phase Lizzie Borden, Tammy Fae Baker, and John Wayne Bobbit's wife were in when they just plain went crazy. The worst part of the beast phase, for me, is I can feel myself being crazy, and yet have no control over it. I can feel the hate pulsing through my body and know I am toxic to any situation. It is like I am standing beside myself and watch watch this crazy woman who looks like me spread the poison around, yell at perfect strangers, rip good friends new ones, ensure good friends will not be good friends when I am again normal, slowly poison boyfriend/girlfriend relationships, cry in frustration that I cannot open a jar with wet hands, or plan total annihilation of the human race. When this phase hits I try to limit contact with the outside world or to people I don't care if I ever talk to after that day. It usually lasts anywhere from 10-36 hours, until my cycle finally starts and I can feel the hate flow out of me.

As much as any girl will deny it, this is all due to a hormonal flux. I worked women's health for the last two years, and in my field of work, I came upon some startling research. As you can clearly see from the graph above, the total beast phase occurs when a girl's "crazy hormone" is at it's highest. I mean, that is just science. Who could argue with me? I have a graph and everything.

Despite the admission that once a month we make boy's lives something akin to the seventh circle of hell, there are some girls that will blame it every character flaw and bad mood they have on the hormones. They will pick fights, be bitchy, be total messes, cry, complain, have erratic mood swings and then when confronted about being being a horrible person will blame it on week four. I beg of these girls, don't blame your special brand of crazy on week four. It already has a bad enough rap as it is, without you making it like hormones make girls crazy all of the time. Conversely, there is the other segment of the girl population that will never admit that they even have a week four, but doesn't seem like a huge coincidence that you and your boyfriend only fight one week out of the month?

Before the girl police come and cart me away for letting out classified information, I wanted to end by saying girls, be aware of what week it is and try your hardest, for everyone's sake, to keep your path of destruction to a one mile radius. And to the boys out there, all I really have to say is, I know it is hard to imagine the what it is like, but please make sure this time next month when I turn in to a crying, blubbering mess that you realize the real me will be back the week after that.

Night Shift Lessons

I survived my first night shift...barely. There were tears, there were threats, and in the end there was a broken person who used to love working in the hospital. But along the way, I learned a few gems that I thought I would share with you.

1. Working "nights" sucks just as much as Princess said it did. You should always believe Princess.

2. Don't piss off the person who control when you get your drugs in the first two hours she is there, because while you feel vindicated right now, remember there are still ten hours left of her shift.

3. When your preceptor tells you, "Now this is the way I do things", you should put your fingers in your ears and hum, because invariably, whatever she has to stay is idiotic.

4. Bacon wafting out of the cafeteria at the end of shift is not the heavenly aroma it is at the beginning of shift; it just kinda makes you think about how gross and greasy you really feel.

5. When they tell you that the cafeteria is open from 12pm - 3am, don't get all excited like you get to chose what day shift does, because all they really have for you is what you can get at a 7-11 at the same time of night.

6. You will always hate day shift and their full night sleep when they come in.

7. Just standing in front of the elevators will not make the elevator come. You might forget this when you are as tired as I am.

8. You might also forget how to get off the round-a-bout on the drive home.

9. Did I mention hating day shift?

10. Night shift does not sit around, catch up on their pleasure reading, or surf the net all night as I was once lead to believe. Turns out all that asinine paperwork that has to be done in the hospital, yeah, guess who gets to do that. If you guess the nurse who went to nursing school so she could secretly be a secretary, then you guest right.

11. Preceptors never tell you that you are expected to do stuff at certain times until it is like two hours after you should have already done them. So then you have to do them while you are supposed to be giving report to the hated, stupid day shift.

12. While we did baths on days at my old hospital, we do them on nights here. Why am I doomed to wash old people?

13. Quadruple charting must be super fun for everyone else, otherwise why would we do it so many times a night.

14. Lab, pharmacy, radiology, and dietary all hate you like you hate the day shift.

15. The new hospital you work at does everything it can to make your job just that much harder.

16. I am not as nice as I think I am at 0400.

17. Till midnight, I had the hardest time telling what time it was because I was not used to the military time. If I can't understand it, how is an 80 year old with glasses as thick as coke bottles? Oh, right, trying to use logic again.

18. You should never try to die in our hospital. Turns out we do no have code buttons....anywhere. You are supposed to, and I quote, "Scream bloody murder, and people will come, then we call the code". Awesome.

19. Walking out into a beautiful, warm spring day just pisses you off.

20. I used to say I was going to burn things to the ground as an expression. I now know what it feels like in reality.

21. Night shift will steal your chance to watch the "Lost" series finale. Which makes me hate the schedule.

22. One patient is hard when you are not used to how the unit is run, where things are, or the equipment. Two patients are eight times harder. How does that math work?

23. Night shift makes me hate everyone and everything. In case you did not catch that from the rest of the lessons.

24. Apparently I will do anything for money.

I am on the next two nights and I just have to hope that things get better. Next time you see me, just ask me how it is going. Then again, you might never see me, after the incarceration and all...

Project: Stay Up All Night

Well, this is the week I start working the night shift. Tomorrow night is my first shift and I am trying to make the transition in my sleep pattern. I have not worked the night shift since nursing school. Can I make it all the way till morning?

8:45 - Declare Project Up All Night starts. Thinks maybe I should have started last night instead. Fully convinced at this point that this is a bad idea.

8:51 - Stop at 7-11 and ask for largest Gulp available. Secretly sad when 64 oz of caffeine is all they could provide me. I was hoping for a trough, or a beer helmet, or a modified insulin pump that would inject substance straight into my body.

9:00 - Curse poor planning for leaving FHE so late that Cafe Rio is closed. Instead make overly complicated dinner which involves peeling and detailing shrimp. Feel like domestic goddess when dinner is plated and wished someone was there to tell me how awesome it looked.

9:20 - Check DVR and wondered why I have not filled it up with inane shows to watch tonight at 2am when even more inane shows are on. Start "House" and eat un-worshipped dinner with chopsticks. Feel fancy for doing so.

9:35 - Get brilliant idea that I will use my time wisely tonight and study EKG rhythm interpretation for my job. Pause "House" and rush out to hit up Barnes and Nobles before they close.

9:40 - Park at Barnes and Noble and of the three other cars in the parking lot, spot the one where either a date was ending very well, or the lady in the passenger seat was looking for her earring in the driver's seat while the man was still in it. Decide it best I not investigate to closely.

9:41 - Meet only clerk in entire store. Quickly realizes she hates her job, and hates me even more for coming in so late with dumb questions. Ask her where EKG books are. Told they do not carry them.

9:42 - Decide hateful store clerk is lying to me. Find selection in the "Medical/Nursing" section, and then locate desired books.

9:43 - Get side tracked by anatomy coloring book and have visions of how fun my night would be coloring pituitary and adrenal glands purple. Then remember I am 1) no longer being tested on exact location inguinal ligament and 2) have vague notion that I at one point already owned this book and colored my way through it.

9:49 - Struggle with purchase decision between 400 page book teacher recommended and 132 page pocket guide. Who are we kidding? I went with the pocket guide.

9:50 - In attempt to put back unwanted items, I create a tsunami of pocket guides where gravity reached up and claimed at least 20 of them. Now standing ankle deep in pocket guides while pervader of hate rounds corner and sees she has not gotten rid of me and thinks I am plotting to make her stay all night.

9:51 - Summarily escorted to register for my now mandatory purchase. Decide is not good idea to flip through the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition while at counter.

9:53 - Walk back out to my car and decide woman is defiantly not looking for an earring.

10:00 - Drive to Blockbuster to get movie to fill time later due to lack of DVR planning. Decide to rent "Crank 2" after remembering hot sex scene in "Crank 1".

10:05 - Walk past "The Bachelor Party" on sale table and decide life would not be complete without owning it. Spend next 10 minutes trying to find any movie I would not be embarrassed to own later. End up with "Couples Retreat", despite never having seen it and know Vince Vaughn will try his hardest to make me regret decision.

10:17 - Meet bookstore employee's long lost brother. Tells me movie I am about to rent sucks. Rent anyways because he obviously does not remember same sex scene I do.

10:25 - Return home and restart "House". Try to figure out what is wrong with patient before House does.

11:07 - Arachnoid tumor? Seriously? How was I ever supposed to guess that. Start mindless "Castle" next.

11:08 - Prep photos for Facebook upload, wonder how upset Flip will be at each photo. Decide I am not best person to judge and then remember that I post everything. Set timer to see how long till he untags himself and then tells me I am a bad person and will eventual destroy my camera.

11:19 - Review photos after posting and feel one might incur the most wrath, but still am unsure if I should take it down. In the end, leave it posted.

11:33 - While watching "Castle", surfing Facebook. Under the "Photo Memories" tab it shows a picture of me and The Jew. Momentarily black out thinking about how hot he was, and wonder if he still that hot. Check his Facebook account and confirm he is still that hot. Get depressed. Realize he is last person I kissed, get more depressed.

11:42 - Spent last nine minutes trying to think of someone who would make out with me. Came up empty handed. Depression deepening.

12:11 - "Castle" is over, pretty sure I got dumber from watching it. EKG book is staring accusingly at me. Pick up book and have high ambitions of being EKG queen by morning.

12:13 - Somehow EKG book is back on the table and I am reading Tucker Max instead.

12:26 - Text friend who sent me Tucker Max book and thank him for making my life better.

12:51 - Still reading. Texting friend tells me my text are coming through on a 20 minute delay. Hate AT&T. Go outside and angrily shake my fist at cellular wave that decide they are to good to stop by my house.

1:48 - Hit a wall. Tiredness is settling in. Direct caffeine infusion not possible due to lack of equipment, but I will have another Diet Coke. Think text friend has wisely gone to bed. Am going to attempt to finish Tucker book tonight.

2:26 - There is light at then end of the tunnel. I am convinced I can make it till sun-up. Best line from the book so far? "I hope my daughters date guys like me."

3:10 - Noticed Flip untagged his photos at 1:00. Two hours from post to untag, that has to be some kind of record.

3:42 - Sleepy is such an understatement at this point that it almost fails at being a word. Having a hard time concentrating on book, so decide to see if anyone is on line to chat with. No one; not a single person. FML.

5:13 - Finished entire 257 pages of Tucker Max book. Considers all the books I could have read tonight, and scan list of "Top 100 Greatest Novels of the 20th Century" to make sure it is not on list to be checked off. Oddly enough, it is not there. Wonder how many people will judge me for reading Tucker Max book.

5:14 - Am now fully aware will not make it to 6 am yoga despite desire for sexy swimmer lines for upcoming summer months. Unsure if can even make it to 6 am and regretting not buying Sport's Illustrated Swimsuit Edition to inspire me to go to 6 am yoga.

5:35 - Sweet, merciful sun. We meet again. Finish up blog post, wash face and attempt to devise ways to ensure dog does not wake me up every 20 for the next 9 hours of sleep.

Am I A Square?

Tonight I was excited beyond belief to actually have plans. Not that the quality nights I spent at home this week, kept company by Blockbuster, were not fabulous. Invitation was extended, I accepted, and off I went.

I arrived at the dance club, sans boots this time due to the big blisters they graced me with last time. I was there for about two and a half hours, and honestly had a blast. We danced to ridiculous line dances, giggled like teenagers, and I finally got to do some regular dancing, for the first since I have been here. Soon the hour grew late, and with my lunch date looming just hours away, I decided to call a night.

It was only after I got in the car and the whiff of stale cigarette smoke wafted up from my jacket and hair, that a slow and subtle feeling began to creep over me. I am having trouble finding the words to exactly pin down the feeling. I just felt bad. While my Austin counterparts were similarly dancing the night away, none of them left smelling like smoke or the feeling of a rock in their gut. It was not just the smoke that induced my non-eloquently stated feeling of bad.

The night was a typical night at the bar; full of drunk men trying to grope you, waitress wearing leather bikinis, and women dressed in their whore uniforms. Tonight we had the luxury of a stripping contest. Girls show up in costume, and strip down to their thongs and pasties. Right there in the club. Suddenly I began to wonder why the stripping had not outraged me while I was actually in the club. Why had the stripping not outraged me to the point where I was ready to leave? Was my overwhelming need to be accepted, overshadowing my need to stand up for what is morally correct? Then again, was it any worst than what I watch on TV? All these questions are the reason that I am having a hard time assigning words to the feeling.

Feeling still unresolved, I am off to bed and wondering how the Asian in the neon pink bikini and six inch clear heels feels that I am judging her right now. Then again, she might have given up the right to feel horrified at my judgment the moment she applied pink stars to each one of her nipples. The sad thing is that I am sure I am not the only one, back home, who is still thinking about her.

Hospital Orientation

Monday morning I started my new job. Well, to be fair, it was my first day earning a paycheck, but I have not really started working yet. Hospital orientation is a necessary evil that scares some nurses so much that they work at the same hospital their entire careers. A far as hospital orientations go, the one I have been in this week is not half bad.

Monday we started off with company wide orientation where you learn about just how large the system you work for actually is. No one except CEO's really care how the company started or it's humble beginnings. The funnest part of this was finding out that company headquarters are in King Of Prussia, PA. I was more interested in how this city got such an obtuse name as King Of Prussia and how it landed straight in the middle of Pennsylvania.

The next segment was on a "Culture of Care" and it was tag team taught by a truly Southern couple, complete with ya'lls and drawls. The husband portion of the team has a pitch and roll to his voice that harkened me back to my Baptist days. As colorful as he was, when he ripped into his 25 minute sermon on compassionate care and teamwork, I was on fire with spirit of the message. I could feel the pull of long forgotten joys associated with bedside care. I remembered that not only did I love working in the hospital, but that I was good at it. While the regimented grind sometimes pulverizes others, I thrive in an environment of order and near obsessive adherence to a schedule. I cannot express the internal satisfaction that I get from meeting the clear cut expectations required to be a hospital nurse. I know at 7 I must do assessments, 9 is morning meds, 10 is hygiene, 12 is lunch, 2 are procedures. My neurotic nature is perfectly designed to thrive in that setting.

After a deli counter lunch that left something to be desired, we did an additional four hours of no real note, except for one thing. I know you all know what a huge nerd I am, and this was typified at the sheer excitement I felt when I found out our facility uses Zoll defibrillators. I normally try to scrub my blog of any personal identifiers, but the picture at the top of this blog is me in 2007 at the Critical Care Nursing Conference in Atlanta. They were demoing the then new Zoll Defibrillators. The Zolls are just like in other standard defibrillators in that they deliver shocks through pads place on the chest, but what makes Zolls so special is that they give constructive feedback on how well your chest compressions are being given. At the conference, you first do one minute of CPR with no instruction and it gave you a rating on how well you did on rate, depth, pressure. I am ashamed to say I got a 39%. Then you do another minute of CPR with the verbal correction on and I this time I got a 97%. I am sure no one person who reads this cares, but I am simply salivating for my first code (and by that I mean so we can save them, not that I am cold hearted and wishing for people to die).

The second day was a bit of a snooze. We did every module that I had drilled into me while in the SNAP program like the Braden scale, core measures, restraints, organ donation, scope of practice, Accuchecks, etc. I seriously could teach these modules, and in the case of the Braden scale, I have. But, as Flip pointed out, it is better to bored to tears because you could take the test without the module presentation and be just fine than to feel overwhelmed and behind. I am just hoping that all the anxiety about lost knowledge when I get to the floor flows back just as easily. Interesting side note I learned on this day, techs cannot do finger sticks in the state of Nevada. Super, my first shift with a patient who needs them every hour should be awesome.

Today we did our computer training. The worst part of computer training is that fact that the entire class has to go as slow as the slowest person. I tend to be that person who is first done with their test, whom you actually secretly hate, so it was a bit painful doing 4 hours of work in 8 hours. Despite the snail's pace, exploration of the system unleashed my excitement. I cannot wait to get on the floor. I have not felt this kind of job excitement in quite a few years. I am ready to blast forward with plunge in head first.

I feel like I spent the first few years of being a nurse pulling myself up to a certain level of proficiency, constantly relearning things that were only words on a page before. I am now ready to build my career. I have a plan (then again, don't I always). I am going to start on night shift, which will be a great way to ease myself back into the swing of things and will be a great opportunity to learn what happens on the night shift because the next part of my plan is to be transferred to days. Days involves, three meals, morning meds, the bath, doctors orders, and all the procedures, and let me tell you is a whole other ball game. After about a year I hope to sit for my certification exam, the PCCN, and then apply to be a charge nurse. It is all very exciting.

Tomorrow with be another day of modules, and I am going to try to resist the urge to bring a crossword to class, and just focus on the fact I am getting paid. Monday morning I will get to see my floor for the first time. I am really excited about this new chapter in my life and honestly hope that it will be the kind of place that will cultivate a continued love for the hospital and the kind of nurse I want to be.

First Vegas Update

I know I have not been posting as regularly as many of you would like. The move became all encompassing, and it was hard to make time for anything, let alone reflection. I have gotten several requests for new posts to keep everyone updated on what is going on in with me right now. Being the good friend that I am, with some extra time on my hands, I thought I would oblige.

I arrived in the valley on March 22 and spent the night at my parent's house out in Henderson. The feeling was surreal. For as much time as I have spend there, I was now there not for leisure. With my dog scamping around, finally free of the confines of the moving truck, and my own car parked out front, the ephemeral feeling of childhood that the house usually held was not there. Twelve hours later I was off to my new apartment all the way across town. I now live about 35 minutes away from them, closer to where I went to high school. For those who don't know Vegas is a huge city in comparison to Austin and everything is much farther away than I am used to. Due to it's size, even though I grew up fairly close to here, I am not familiar with this part of town at all.

My dad came earlier in the day, and some guys from the ward came later that night and got everything moved in. From there, it has been all me. It is mostly all together now, even though some errant boxes are still littering the floors and all of my knick-knacks with no place to go are cluttering up every flat surface in the place. In the move I lost a floor lamp (dad's fault), a table lamp (my fault), a drinking glass, my Sonicare toothbrush, the bamboo vase, and a bedspread. All in all, I am no worse for the wear.

My hospital paperwork is all filled out and ready for me to start work on April 12th. The day I went over there to sign my offer I was blown out of the water. Summerlin Hospital is roughly the size of Brackenridge and St. David's combined, for any Austin nurses that should really impress you. As you crest the hill and the hospital comes into view, I could think of several casinos that are not this big. Keep in mind this is one of 12 major hospitals in the area. After I signed the offer I had to drive all the way across town and submit to the standard hospital hire of a drug test, a physical, and TB test. The weird thing is that they do a two part TB test here. So it was four trips back to the miserable occupational health clinic total. As if this was not painful enough I have a full week of hospital orientation next week. If I have to sit through one more ADEIT class, or restraints check offs, I might just have to jump off the top of the overly impressive hospital itself. Then again, at my new hourly rate, I think I can manage to restrain my areal ambitions.

Making new friends has been more successful than I thought it would be at this point. Some of you may remember me telling you about meeting up with Flip and we did as planned. He is a really quality guy, and has been invaluable in the process. My social awkwardness is still trying to sabotage me every now and then and I end up with my foot in my mouth. Like when I said, "Let's ask those drunk people to take our picture" and someone said, "They are not drunk those are our friends". This is not the way to win friends and influence people. I am trying to keep the advice that Red gave me before I left when she told me that moving gives me a blank slate, where no one remembers the social scars of the past here and I can reinvent myself. Frankie told me that I may have had problems making friends in the past, but that he thinks I have grown since then and he thinks I will be just fine. Who knew he would be right?

One of the best parts of the move is I now live in a city with a temple. I have not lived in a city with a temple since I was endowed. Although the temple could fit easily into one of the wings of the hospital, compared to the San Antonio temple, it is still large and impressive. Tonight we had a ward baptism trip, and I was saddened by how few people where there, both in our own baptism group and in the temple as a whole. I think San Antonio's small size and the fact that you have to book weeks in advance to do work for the dead had my expectations skewed on what to expect here. The member of the temple presidency who came to speak to us said that they do the same number of ordinance completed today as they did when it opened in 1989 despite there being three times more temple recommend holders in the valley.

Moving into the baptistry, I was filled with irritation at this and that, but after I was redressed and sitting on the bench, the feeling that I go for finally washed over me. The stress of moving, money, making friends, and starting a new job finally melted away. That sense of peace and confirmation that I had done the right thing came to me and I had not realized how much my soul was in need of it. I made a goal to recommit myself to do the things I have let slip in light of life changing events. I need to recommit myself to daily prayer and need to be more committed to scripture study. I know that He cannot do for me unless I am obedient and moving forward spiritually. It is not enough to simply take the leap of faith to come here without continuing to do the work. For now I am looking for answers on what the purpose of my move was, why did He prompt me to move here, at this time?

I am going to try to keep you more up to date through the post and just wanted to remind everyone how much I really do miss them. Until next time....

Old Post Found...

I was browsing some of my old posts and found this. I thought it was interesting in light of my recent move. Enjoy...

Leaving Las Vegas

Despite Austin being my adopted city, I will always consider Las Vegas, Nevada home. The wonderment and joy associated with going home still awes me. Every time I step unto the plane, and feel the cold radiate from the steel covered hull and the smell of the artificial air, I become overwhelmed with homesickness. Looking out my tiny portal, over the strip of light bouncing off the wing, I can look down unto a miniature world covered with a patched blanket of puffed white clouds. Emerging from my cocoon, I juxapositionally regress to an earlier stage as the dry heat envelopes me. Here I have no responsibilities, no car, no job, and no demands on my time. I am chauffeured around, I don’t have to pay for movies, someone else makes dinner, and I spend my day cuddled under a blanket I can remember from childhood. This is where the trite saying, “it is like coming home” stems from, but it is not possible that two dimensional words can fully describe the three dimensional emotion.

Even though the entire city is so familiar and reminiscent of the younger me, ever year it changes by miniscule amounts. It is a cumulative change that you don’t notice all at once, like the growth of a baby. Every year I am gone, everything ages a year, everything gets a year older. Like flowers saved in a memory box, thing slowly become a shadow of their former selves. Things are different; I am different. I pass along the ever present pastel stucco of the house and over-run rock garden now as an adult. Childhood has been whisked away. Walls that were one covered with gapped smiles and pig tails now holds son-in-laws, grandchildren, and Hawaiian vacations. We are down to one family pet. The fish tank sits fallow and empty in the garage, and two cats buried next to it. Every year my father’s hair fades another shade closer to grey, and his belt has to be let out another notch. Even the sun bleached city itself seems to age along with me. The wood, cement, glass, and paint that make up the metropolis are ever changing like cells, but despite the flux it still matures like any other body. Old and tired, it is still my town, my home, my lover and it glitters as a diamond in the desert when night falls upon it.

Last month my parents finally purchased their retirement home in the thicketed Ozarks. In a couple of years, they will be leaving Las Vegas, and consequently I will have to as well. Although Vegas will still be home, there will no epicenter to return to. I will have no base to recharge at. I will have to stay in hotels, rent a car, and be no different than any other tourist. Someday I would love to move back to my home, but I am unsure if that will ever be feasible. I feel like Vegas is about to pass out of my life forever. No matter how tight I try to hold on, it will soon slip from my grasp. For now, I will just have to enjoy what little time we have together.