side bar.

Quick updates today.

I'm feeling much better this week. The love of family & friends helped tons (thank you! much, much love to all of you- even anonymous love...), but also, as often happens, sometimes a good ol' utter and complete breakdown is necessary to clear out the emotional cobwebs to get everything back to normal. And actually, as also often happens, normal this side of breakdown feels much clearer and easier than the other side.

Anyhoo. My weeks are crazy busy of late. I'm seriously home only to sleep, and not much else. Other than that, I'm at school to study, then for class, then for work, then back to studying, or off to another job. It's madness! But I'm feeling good. I'm finding hidden moments for myself, and because I'm so busy, I'm appreciating them a ton. Today is a great example: I completed the study-class-work combo, and came home for a 15-minute snooze before heading to the restaurant (shower be damned! Neoprene funk on skin is easily covered with lotions and perfume... Welcome to the restaurant, fine diners!). After rushing around for 15 minutes getting ready, I realized I was a whole hour early! Which leaves a nice chunk of minutes for me to pack for my weekend excursion.

What weekend excursion, you ask? Saturday at midnight is lobster opener and this year I'm working on the boat all weekend long. We go out for a day trip tomorrow, return to harbor, fuel up, then head out again at 9pm to be at Anacapa for a midnight dive. Rumor has it we also do a 2am dive, so it's going to be a crazy night. I'm not sure how the rest of the weekend will go, I'm not sure how crazy it's going to be to be on the boat all weekend, but I'm prepared for an adventure ;)

School updates: Today in mixed gas class we cut 8" pipe underwater with a Wachs hydraulic saw. Because I helped prepare the hydraulics part of the equation, Instructor Geoff let me be the first to use the saw underwater. I'll post a pic of the saw later, but will say this: it was pretty rad.

I'm definitely becoming a fan of boys toys.

if.

If your life was a movie, what kind of movie would it be?

I was walking away from work tonight, at the restaurant, passing by the patio at Don's neighborhood dive bar, and a song was playing. I don't know what the song was, but it was something classic rock-y, sort of drifting out across the parking lot. As I was walking, I watched a woman leaned over her car trunk, fishing for something way in the back, so that all I could really make out of her person was her ass and legs, in faded jeans. From behind me, at the restaurant, dishwasher Eddie called his goodbye, "Be careful, mi reina."

I'm not sure why, but the whole scene struck me like something out of a movie. Maybe because it had a sense of desolation that sort of matched my mood- the dark alley, the music, the christmas lights strung up around Don's fake plastic trees, the dim light from the car trunk, the random people on the periphery.

How long does it take to change a mind? To beat it into submission, to knock free all those crusty old ideas that don't work anymore? A woman read my palm once and told me that sometime around now, I'd experience some kind of illness, or trauma. For the most part, I'm a pretty damn healthy individual, so I've always been a bit wary of this prediction, but could that miniscule interruption in my lifeline indicate instead a sort of spiritual trauma? Because that feels accurate, if you believe in that sort of thing.

A last note, a request for a little love. I know you read this- I can see you fackers that check this site regularly, but never leave any comment, or make any mention of visiting. And I'm baffled. Some of you I can figure out, based on web addresses and locales, but others... I've tried time and time again to figure out who the hell I know at GMAC residential funding- because you visit several times a week. Are you interested in perhaps moving to Santa Barbara, and want to know more about the city? Or do you like to read about flange fittings and Kirby Morgan dive hats? Or are you simply coveting my bike? I know you're sending some incognito love vibes, but I don't know how you are, and for a crazy neurotic like me, it's discombobulating.

So send a little love, because I'm needy and fragile this week.

roger that, topside.

Mixed gas diving today. First dive on helium.

The focus of 90% of MDT classes is on the diving, but, and here I'll relay to you by far the favorite quote of instructors in the MDT facility:

"The title of Diver is not a panacea for the skills or knowledge you
lack. It merely entitles you to a unique form of transportation."

This quote finds its way into everything. It can be seen on walls, various plaques throughout the building, syllabi, quizzes, etched into the toe reinforcements of the instructors' socks. They love this quote, because almost everyone in the building is there, initially, because they love to dive. But commercial diving isn't about diving, so much as it's about the work you do underwater. Hence, the quote. We learn to dive as a formality. The real training is in the work we learn to do while underwater.

So, getting back to today's class, mixed gas diving. My day actually started last night, cramming the completion of a mixed gas diving manifold schematic into an already very busy day, and then continuing into the wee hours of the morning, reviewing gas laws and equations for a quiz this morning. I slept a few hours, woke up early to continue studying for a few more hours before class and lab from 9am-2pm. Thursday is my Friday, though, and despite the busy-ness of the day, I had fun- I love being at the facility early, plus I kicked arse on the quiz. It was also our first day of diving for this class. Last week we pumped and analyzed our breathing mixes, today we got to re-analyze and dive the gas mix. Easy, right?

Our instructors like us to be task loaded. Maybe all diving instructors like to do this- it's the only real way you can test a diver's mettle underwater- by weighing them down with things to do, to see how they'll do, and what they'll do, and also if they'll freak out doing it. So today, in addition to diving the 77/23 HeO2 mix, we also worked on a flange disassembly/re-fit-up project in the tank. Easy, right?

In addition to task loading, our instructors like to make conditions as realistic as possible for us. So, in addition to diving helium, and working on the flange fit-up, sometimes we work cooperatively with another diver (and keep in mind that divers can communicate with topside individually, but cannot communicate directly to one another. Divers instead give messages to topside who then, in turn, relays the message to the other diver... very complicated.).

Another reality of working in the field is little to no visibility. Which means that sometimes, increasingly, the duct tape comes out and a few slices are taped to the hat viewer, leaving us... on helium, working with heavy equipment, with another diver, sightless as a newborn chihua.

I'm being dramatic though, dragging it all out like this. It's actually just sort of par for the course at this point. I think Geoff, the instructor, derives a tremendous sadistic joy from torturing both himself and us with this stuff. Mostly we have fun. We yell and get frustrated, but then we laugh about it afterwards and discuss what went wrong, what can go better the next time.

Like today, my dive with Zeke was pretty miserable. My gas mix was switched from air to HeO2 almost immediately upon descent. In situations like this one, communication is crucial, a point that Geoff had mentioned several times during our morning briefing. Unfortunately, I'm near-indecipherable whilst on HeO2. I tried talking slowly, enunciating, everything I could think of, but still no one could understand what I was saying, and communication suffered. After about 10 minutes, Geoff crumbled and let us take the tape off the face plates. We fit the flange back together, but it was off by one or two bolts. I have no idea how we would have ever gotten it back together blindfolded.

of a wednesday.

My second day of welding wasn't as awe-inspiring as my first- but still fun.

School's starting to kick in. I'm busy, stressed, a bit frazzled. I like the idea of graduating at the end of this semester for a few reasons, primarily because I'm so tired of being stressed about money. Somehow this place is like a vortex of financial stress. I don't know what it is, it's as though I'm creating my own personal hell in Santa Barbara. The stress and frustration seems to dissipate when I'm away from here, but it descends like a plague when I cross over from the VC into Santa Barbara County. I know it's a mindset, and as such, is completely under my control, I just haven't found a way to overcome this... Yet. (god knows I've tried... there must be a way!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!). Argh.

Can't put too much stock in my low-ish mood of today. It seems the week or so after a visit to Minne is a bit challenging, maybe a wee bit lonely. But being able to hang out with my family for a while, to chase my niece around, snuggle with my fave bully, hug my dad, break it down with my mom... These things make a short, wee dip in my mood very, very worthwhile ;)

what a feeling.

If you can ever, possibly believe it to be true, I had the coolest day ever at school today.

I might have mentioned I was not extremely excited to begin a certain class this year, a certain class known as Underwater Welding. Some of the primary causes for my lack of excitement about this class included that 1. welding underwater seems foolish and ill-advised, and 2. I'm not the world's most amazing welder. I mean, I'm no Alex Owens (see below), if that's what you're thinking, neither above nor below the water line, but I didn't suck today, and I actually did a half-decent job at welding underwater, which, understandably, came as something of a surprise.

cliche.

Some good cliche statements are running through my head at the moment: this hurts me more than it hurts you, and breaking up is hard to do. Both true for me at present.

I broke up with someone a few weeks ago. Someone I'd been dating for the better part of 5 months, which is a decent run for me. We got along really well. In some ways. In other ways, we couldn't have been further apart. I liked him a lot, I cared about him a lot, though I'm not sure he'll ever believe I did. We had fun when we were together, shared good conversation, regularly enjoyed Sunday breakfast over the Times.

But I questioned why we were together sometimes. We had so many different opinions on so, so many fundamental topics: money, work, relationships, the meaning of key relationship concepts like selfishness, and sacrifice. We also had a few fights, and after the first of these I decided to take a little break. And then, slowly, we worked our way back to being together. And again I found myself wondering why we were together.

Our second big fight came right before I left for my visit to Minnesota at the end of July, and I guess that one freaked me out more than the first. The concept of violence in eastern cultures extends from the external to the internal, so that a person's emotions can be considered violent, but may not be expressed externally, in an outwardly violent manner. I never felt physically threatened by him, but I did feel somehow emotionally threatened. And I know he never meant to seem threatening, but a few times, while arguing, I felt really uncomfortable, in a way I knew wasn't quite in line with someone I should be so close to.

So, when I returned from MN, I had hoped we could mend the fence, continue on as before. But I think sometimes when emotions are truly exposed, lines are crossed, and you can't ever really go back. I think that happened with us. I came back to SB, and I really wanted things to be the same, and they were, actually, but without any substance underneath. I remember this when I was young, and my parents would fight- maybe someone would come over, and they'd sort of have to act normally, until they were really acting normally, and then everything would be ok again. A sort of marital fake-it-til-you-make-it routine. We were doing that, the two of us, right when I got back. And it sort of worked, except that there was all this shit, this unsaid emotion and anger and blame underneath, but not so far underneath.

And it was too much. And I ended it. And I felt really shitty about it. And I still do.

I guess that's the surprising part. It's not that I don't want to feel bad about it, because obviously there's an emotional investment there, and a mourning period is normal and required. But I keep finding myself crying briefly, at odd moments, and sort of sending him telepathic apologies. I'm sure by this point he's over it, focused on other things, but I'm still doing it, still feeling really shitty about it. Which maybe says more about me than him, or us, or the relationship. But it certainly makes those cliches feel pretty true to life.

ode to a fisherwoman.

Awesome news (engagements!) in the past few weeks for a few awesome ladies I know: new roommate Claudia, old high school friend Jan, and, most recently, ballsy Bennie roomie, Meghan. But one of these things is not like the other (as in, not the traditional mode of becoming affianced), as made obvious in the email poem I received from her yesterday entitled, "fishing for the big one."

So one day a boy and girl set out in a little green canoe
they paddled and fished
their way through a lovely summer day on the Kawish

After a fresh shore lunch and a laze in the sun
the dark clouds rolled in
So homebound they turned

But the girl stopped them short
in a beautiful bay
and insisted they fish more, despite the now-stormy day

You see, This mischevious girl
had a trick up her sleeve
the lure she pulled out, the boy could not believe!

"This will catch the big one" she smiled
handing him the rod
which he readily grabbed, giving her a nod

Because he saw the lure was huge----
sure to catch a big fish
but "wait, what's that?", he looked tilting his hat

On the lure were markings
which seemed out of place
so he yanked it out, right up close to his face

"Will you be my catch for life?"
The lure blatantly asked
And with a curious smile, the boy replied yes!

Congrats to my girlies- and the lucky boys who snagged em (or got reeled in by them!) ;)

ugh.

I'd forgotten how hard it is to spend all day, 3 days in a row, with all boys. All, all, all boys.

Time for a snooze.

vacillate.

The oaths of a woman I inscribe on water.

~Sophocles

It's funny lately, someone will make some little statement, the most minor suggestion, which I'll initially reject, only shortly later to find myself doing that exact thing. Por ejemplo, a few weeks ago, Deckhand Aaron suggested I should sneak in a day of diving before heading back to school, which I countered with the most obvious reason to say no, that I needed to work. Fortunately, I was still within spitting distance of the end of my vacay in Minne, and could still see that play is sometimes, oftentimes, as important as work, and shortly thereafter resolved to play hooky at the restaurant to go out diving. another example, while meeting with an instructor early last week, he questioned my decision to drag out for 2 semesters what could be completed in 1- namely, putting off 3 classes until next semester when they could be completed this semester, adding only one more day of class to my schedule. Originally, the rationale for the decision was not wanting to alter my work schedule, to continue working on the dive boat on Wednesdays. I had also wanted to delay taking 3 classes I'm not at all excited about: Underwater Welding, Advanced Underwater Cutting and Burning (or some similar title, basically another permutation of burning things underwater), and Seamanship.

I thought the plan to put off the Wednesday torture was really what I wanted, but some strange urge struck me today when I walked into the facility: a great, overwhelming urge to be finished with the program after this semester.

I don't know what it is. I mean, I definitely have a love/hate relationship with Santa Barbara. It's amazing here, and beautiful, and I feel totally blessed to be living in such an idyllic locale. On the other hand, it's damn small, it feels a million times smaller than Minneapolis, and that's too small for me. I remember after studying in France, talking to friends who'd made their way to Monte Carlo. Sometimes I think Santa Barbara must be a bit like Monte Carlo- perfect to look at, almost too perfect to be real. It also feels really isolated sometimes, and it has helped for me to work the driving job, and in neighboring Ventura (approx. 30 miles away), because driving away from here is sometimes exactly what I need. I don't know if it's the feeling of being wedged into a very small parcel of land between the mountains and the sea (not a bad place to be wedged into, mind you ;) ), or the simple lack of neighboring towns (nothing to the north for miles, only 2 small beach communities immediately to the south, then nothing for 20 miles), or how small the town is, or how perfect, or how expensive. There's just something about living here that lends to a feeling of claustrophobia.

And it's certainly not that I don't love the program, and the people there. I do love them, dearly! But there's something about being there too, a sort of time limit. Walking back in today I was reminded of all the things I listen to on a daily basis there, things no woman should ever really know about men, like what they talk about, or how they function as a group, the ridiculous competitions that arise, the incessant need for validation. The summer was like blissful ignorance. I'd blocked out the stinky boys and had only a few boys to deal with, bosses, co-workers, friends, boy more-than-friend, most with a healthy understanding of appropriate social behavior.

So, I'll be done with MDT after this semester. I think I'll probably still stick around for a bit longer in SB, take some classes, brush up on my math skills, maybe take a real estate class, some pilates or tennis perhaps, enjoy my new digs and the view from my balcony for a while longer.

Unless I change my mind ;)

as is.

School starts again tomorrow. I've been scurrying around, attempting to get everything done in time. Of course, everything always gets done on time, even if it's not the timeline I'd envisioned.

I've registered for classes, I've even been declared a resident of the great state of California in the eyes of Santa Barbara City College, a distinction that carries with it a significant reduction in the year's cost of tuition. Today I completed my physical for the program, and later I'll gather my gear for the classes that start tomorrow: Surface-Supplied Ocean Diving (in which we dive from Stearn's Wharf in downtown Santa Barbara), and Emergency Medical Technician (in which we learn all manner of gnarly ailments). In general, I'm feeling pretty good about starting classes again. I think the biggest challenge I've encountered since arriving here was not the actual arriving here, which would seem the most reasonable answer, but, rather, the end of the school year. Arriving was obviously a big feat, and there was a ton of adjusting to do, but I had tons to do, and I stayed pretty busy with classes and trying to learn about Santa Barbara. So, the end of the school year was the opposite: with classes over, my whole raison d'etre in Santa Barbara was temporarily gone, most of the friends I'd made during the school year moved away shortly after finishing classes, I was only marginally employed, and the weather was grey and gloomy. It was a strange feeling of... aimlessness, and it sort of persisted throughout the summer, even though I found more work, and new people to hang out with. It seems to have passed out of my daily existence when I headed back to Minne at the end of July, so that now, just as I'm going back to class, I've finally made peace with just living and working in Santa Barbara.

But of course, comfort and ease seem not to agree with me for any length of time, so I suppose, just as I'm getting comfortable, it's time to recharge with some newness and momentary dis-ease, just to keep me on my toes. Who knows? Maybe there will be another girl at the facility this year, or even some interesting new stinky boys. I'm definitely excited about my classes. In addition to the ones above, I'm taking Mixed Gas Diving (yes, we will be diving HELIUM, or at least a gas mixture partially composed of helium), and during the second half of the semester, Bell/Saturation Diving, and Ocean Structures, and one other not-so interesting one that I can't think of right now. It will also feel pretty good to be starting the advanced courses, if only to entertain the illusion of understanding what I seem to have completely forgotten over the summer.

fitting.

sea legs.

Today is the day: 1 year ago today, after 2500+ miles and 4 days on the road, I drove into Santa Barbara with a carload of my most important belongings. I drove around (having forgotten to mapquest its location in advance, of course) until I found my new abode, getting plenty lost and frustrated in the process. I'm reliving it now... the late afternoon sun shining, inching down the street as the house numbers grew larger, larger, until I spot a big old Victorian with the Eagle's Nest bar just opposite... walking to the door, finding my key, going upstairs, opening the door to the yellow room for the first time...

920 Bath St.

The Yellow Room

It's funny to think back on. I can't really imagine how I was feeling then, or what I was thinking. Or maybe it's more that I don't want to, like it's more than enough to have gone through it the first time around. I remember feeling so excited and hopeful, and scared and lonely and uncertain. I so desperately wanted it to work out, but would it? It all seemed really crazy and illogical, as though there was no way it could possibly work, as though around every corner there was someone waiting to tell how foolish I'd been in thinking I could succeed.

Here on the other side of this first California year, I'm pretty pleased with how things have turned out. There have been some major adjustments, but I think that here, going into a new year, I'm beginning to feel really comfortable with where I am, and finally feel like I'm beginning to settle into jobs, community, friendships, school, but still feel like there's tons to learn and experience and do. Today, for example, on the boat, we anchored at Santa Cruz Island, rather than Anacapa, as we usually do. It was a full boat, which usually makes for a crazy busy day, but rather than pulling anchor after the first dive, we stayed in the same spot, which allowed me enough time for a bit of snorkeling. The visibility was amazing, the water beautiful and blue. At the surface, the sun was shining, the breeze minimal at our sheltered mooring.

flight of the bumble bee.

If you listen closely, you might hear a sigh of relief, coming from way down, deep inside of my person.

Tonight is the first night I've had to myself since I returned to Santa Barbara. I read something somewhere about how salespeople, upon returning from vacation, should overbook themselves, as a way to get their selling mojo back to operational. It made sense to me somehow, and so I intentionally set it up so that, upon my return to SB, I would be immediately back to work for a few days in a row, allowing for slim to middlin' time for wallowing and/or being sad. I'm happy to say the strategy has proven to be a magnificent success. I've been so busy for the past 4 days that my short term memory has all but disappeared, and I seem to be operating on auto-pilot. I don't really even have the presence of mind to decide what one has to do with the other at the moment.

I do know that life has been pretty amazing since I've been back. My time in MN was the perfect distance and perspective I was in need of, and has allowed for a renewed appreciation for where I am. My new place is amazing. I love having roommates, the best part being that I can be at home in my room, alone when I want to be, or out in the apartment, hanging out with my roommates. It's really, really good. I also love being back to work. I love going out on the boat. I'm having a great time at the restaurant. I'm also really looking forward to getting back to school, learning new things, getting back into the routine of being at the MDT facility, finding out what all my stinky boys have been up to this summer.

So that's it. That's my update for now. Because I want to get to bed, because I also have all of tomorrow morning to myself, even into the afternooon, so I'm off to read a bit before bed. May you all be having as relaxing and blissfully inactive a night as I am. May you all have a little something to be joyful about ;)

flyaway.

Back at LAX now, waiting for the bus to take me back to Santa Barbara. The weeks in Minnesota were too busy to reflect much on coming back, and even now, knowing I have so, so much to do in the next few weeks, I still don't have much time to think much about how I'm feeling or what I'm thinking. Increasingly, I think this is the best way for me- enough time to relax a bit, but I think I'm always in a happier place when I'm busy and active, without too much time for introspection. I think of others I know who are happy, and this seems to be a key, not too much down time, but lots of activity.

My early morning started with loads of good things: I woke up on time (in part because I don't sleep very deeply on mornings pre-flight), we arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare, the flight was only 3/4 full, and so my whole row (and a super roomy exit row, at that!) was empty but for me, and I caught some snoozes during the flight. The happiest coincidence though, was back at the Humphrey terminal, an example of how, sometimes, chance & circumstance totally knock me off my feet.

Consider the variables: choosing this particular day, 14 August, to fly back to SB; arriving at the airport, making it through check-in and security; stopping into the ladies, picking up my summer's last cup of DBC; choosing to walk down that particular aisle, at that exact moment when...

I ran into a guy I worked with in Minneapolis, a crush, way too young, but a crush nonetheless. He was leaving from gate H3, and as I walked between the rows of chairs, looking for a place to sit, he had just arisen from his own seat to board his plane. Another coincidence: he was moving, in a somewhat impromtu manner, to NYC. He'd made the decision in June, booked his flight, and was still waiting for the gravity, the reality of it all to sink in. The last coincidence being, of course, that today is the same date I drove away from Minneapolis last year.

And as always in situations of serendipity vs. chance, I have the internal debate: does it mean anything? My realistic mind leans toward the negative, but the hopeful, non-reasoning side of me always insists that it does, in fact, mean something, if only a reminder. And again today, as always, she walks away the victor.

electric.

Here's an old song to think about: "It never rains in California," by Albert Hammond. You may not recognize the artist, but my guess is that you could probably sing along to the chorus, because those words, combined with a simple poppy-folksy hook, will stay firmly planted in your mind for hours after hearing, or even thinking about the song.

It's not true, of course. It does rain in California. Just not very much. In the year that I've lived there, because it's also been something of a drought there, I've seen no more rainy days than I have fingers on one hand. 5 rainy days, at the absolute outside. A few of these happened to coincide with travel plans, most notably a drive north from SB to meet a friend in Big Sur. The inclimate conditions impeded our plans to hike and/or meander along the beach, but the drive up the PCH was beyond description. The water was pale aqua, beautifully contrasting a slate-gray sky. But I digress.

One of the things I love about Minnesota is all the totally insane and extreme weather here, especially during the summer, and specifically, thunderstorms. I remember living in the old house on Nortonia, watching storms roll in over the city through the huge picture glass window, the midday sky darkening to the color of steel, blinding flashes of lightning, rolling thunder rocking the foundations of the house, the humidity stifling, the uncertainty exhilerating. And despite all the drills in school, I was never really sure what to do with myself during those storms (turn off the TV? don't use the phone? open the windows slightly? tornado drills and thunderstorm procedures often mixed together, creating a sometimes contradictory, always hesitant precautionary mind-stew.). I was pretty sure that standing in front of a 4' x 6' piece of glass was not the most intelligent of my options, but I loved the storms, was transfixed by the storms, and so I stayed at the window.

In all the time I've been preparing to come back for a visit (and over the course of this harsh summer, my mind has wandered home repeatedly), I've been hoping for at least one good storm. At least one power-outting, tree-whipping, rain-slinging, pupil-aerobics-inducing, ground-rattling storm. I dreamt of one last week, early in the morning, after a midnight trip to the bathroom, but I can't really remember it, and so am not entirely sure it really happened. I got a hint of another a few days ago, coming from the St. Croix River after an afternoon with my big bro and niece, and Brendan and Regan. But the timing wasn't quite right, and I out-drove it within 15 minutes. Tonight though, tonight I got the right storm. It was big, and loud, the lights went out, leaving me to scrounge for a flashlight and candles.

And even though I knew this time what to do (head for the basement with weather radio and supplies, staying away from windows), still, I stood on the patio and watched, and listened, and felt.

med marvels, pt. deux.

Goodness bless antibiotics, and vicodin, and whatever else the doc gave whilst in tears at the clinic. Friday night was as blissful as I've felt in forever, and for sure about a gazillion times better than I'd felt all week, what with a tonsil the size of Delaware bearing down on my throat at all hours and impeding my ability to swallow saliva, let alone food or bev. A bit more detail on last weeks condition (only because I'm mildly astonished by the sheer bizarreness of it all):

• The mouth and throat may show a swollen area of inflammation—typically on one side.
• The uvula (the small finger of tissue that hangs down in the middle of the throat) may be shoved away from the swollen side of the mouth.
• Lymph glands in the neck may be enlarged and tender.
• Severe sore throat that becomes isolated to one side
  
• Painful swallowing
  
• Fever and chills
  
• Muscle spasm in the muscles of the jaw (trismus) and neck (torticollis)
  
• Ear pain on the same side as the abscess
  
• A muffled voice, often described as a "hot potato" voice (sounds as if you have a mouthful of hot potato when you talk)
  
• Difficulty swallowing saliva

I think the "hot potato voice" is my favorite symptom. I really cannot describe the strange quality of my voice during this week-long illness, and hot potato voice wouldn't be my first choice in phrasing, but it's better than I can do, so I'll let it be. I'll go a bit further than I need to and tell you that, after the doc had given me pills and prescription and momentarily quelled my fears of imminent death by choking on my own inflamed body parts, he suggested that, if the swelling didn't diminish, that the abscess could be lanced and drained. Fortunately for me (and for you, as I apparently can't help but over share, though it would have been really interesting to experience), the swelling went down, and all is well.

Tonight I watched Victoria Beckham: Coming to America. Am I acclimating so much to living so close to LA that I don't even flinch at wanting to watch this? I don't even feel ashamed. I sort of like her primarily because she's a little insane, but I also think this is adorable:

medical marvels.

I have an abscess on my left tonsil. I have no idea how it got there, but I can tell you that it is a mightily painful thing to have on one's tonsil. It makes swallowing exceptionally uncomfortable and painful. Fortunately today, day 5 of the tonsil abscess's foreign and unwelcome presence in my throat, I finally went to the doctor, who gave me drugs which promise to seek and destroy. The doctor wrote me a prescrition for antibiotics; he also wrote me a prescription for vicodin. I nearly didn't have it filled, but this sh*t, a plague on the soil of my throat for nigh on 5 days now, is really painful, and I think I could do with a good, long, painless, utterly relaxed sleep tonight, beginning perhaps around 8pm.


Somehow, despite the abscess, I had an amazing day. Today was my first day as divemaster on the Spectre, the sun was shining, the boat was only half full, and my favorite MDT instructor, Don Barthelmess, was diving from the boat. It feels good to be a Divemaster again. I kind of like having that power ;)

overview.

Lots of change lately. Not necessarily changes on the physical plane, but tons of ideas and thoughts and feelings running through my mind. I think this is actually the biggest deterrent to getting any writing done, simply the fact that I keep changing my mind and my outlook, to the extent that I don't really have a handle on what I'm thinking or feeling (except that right now I have a strong urge for grilled asparagus), and so I can't very well write anything down, because there's no real guarantee that I'll arrive at a concrete conclusion, but will instead ramble on without really saying very much. Not unlike what I've just subjected you to here.

As an infrequent reader of my own blog, I'm not even certain what all I've shared with my extensive reading public, so to quickly outline the summer's happenings, I was briefly and voluntarily unemployed, then started working at the driving service. To date, the most interesting people I've driven have included Kenny Loggins, Jean-Michel Cousteau (Jacques Cousteau's son!), and the chairman/CEO of Haworth Marketing & Media (they do Target's marketing, so he lives in Montecito, keeps a condo in Mpls, and flies on a private jet back and forth. Pretty sweet lifestyle, me thinks.). I also realized that I truly missed waitressing, and found a job serving at a small bistro, serving Pacific-rim fusion cuisine. The hours are good, the money is good, and I really enjoy the people who both work at, and frequent the restaurant. I almost became an assistant to a Real Estate agent, where I think I would have learned a great deal, but instead accepted a position working on the Spectre, a dive boat operating out of Ventura harbor. I'll be working as a divemaster again, which feels like a really, really good fit.

Personal relationships have changed a lot in the past months, too. Friends have moved away or are about to move away, which has made for lots of time for reading and introspection. It's been really nice, actually. My inner hermit has been greatly appeased during the past few months. Now, however, I think she's retreated to her cave, and I'm ready to resume my social life. I've started back up with the guy I was dating up til a few weeks back, and have decided to ditch my *studio apartment for a room in the abode of a friend. While my current *apartment has been a lovely place to call home, I have more than outgrown this teeny tiny space, and will be SO pleased to live where the kitchen is a WHOLE SEPARATE room all by itself, with adult-sized appliances, like a stove and a refrigerator! Oh, the beauty of it all, I can barely stand it.

fritters & rice.

Times have been a bit lean in the past months, one of those periods where I really start to believe the statement "Santa Barbara is such an expensive place to live." Granted, it's true for the most part, but there are certainly ways of getting around the pricey ticket items, and keeping life simple and maintainable, modeling my behavior and spending habits after SB's working class. I've been eating a lot of *survival food, and there's something sort of satisfying about that. Survival food is basically what's cheap, filling, long-lasting, and somewhat nutritional. Beans, rice, crunchy natural peanut butter. Bananas, canned goods, tofu, coffee (some room must still be maintained for comforting daily routine...). I know it's not forever, which helps make it easier to deal with. It also allows for elevated levels of appreciation/satisfaction when offered shift meals at work, for free samples of delicious peaches at the farmer's market, and for when there's a bit left over for little treats.

I mentioned in a previous post that my dating stint had come to a halt. I'm realizing in the aftermath that part of my attraction to him was that, rather than the 1 room *studio I inhabit, Chris actually had an apartment. Still technically a studio apartment, but his was a real studio apartment, the kind with a private bathroom, and a kitchen. He even had a small fenced-in patio at the front, with a BBQ and room for outdoor dining.

I've lived in this room now for almost 11 months, and, clearly, I'm ready for a change. It's actually been a few more years than this that I've been without access to a yard. And these seemingly inconsequential details will be the reason I plan to move when my lease finishes in August. I'd like to think that I could stay for the remainder of my time in SB, but my love affair with Chris's apartment has shown that I love having a kitchen! And a private bathroom! And on days like today, when the sun is shining, and it's warm and sunny, I fantasize about lying around in a big old hammock in the yard!

I had a funny experience recently, while watching a movie. In the movie (Stranger than Fiction), the female love interest is a baker of modest means, and over the course of several scenes, a good chunk of her house is cameo'd. My reaction to this, rather than thinking what a lovely old Victorian it was, or how cute and boho the furnishings, was the question "Wait, she can afford to live in that house, all by herself? Nor was I the only one thinking this, the friend I was watching with expressed the same incredulity. So, I've become a Californian, in that I've become accustomed to the limited extent of one's housing dollar.

And here I'll close this entry. I'd like to re-read, and edit, and come to a great conclusion about all the world's problems, but at the moment, my concentration is waning. The reason my concentration is waning is because at this moment, in the shared bathroom on the other side of the hall from where I'm sitting right this moment, is the incessantly chatty 22-year old who lives down the hall, in the bathroom, for some reason, with a friend. They've been there for about 20 minutes, talking. And bless their hearts for it, because I was 22 once, too, and I know it's a different place from where I am now. It's just that I don't really want to hear about it anymore, especially since I'm waiting for them to exit so I can use the toilet.

self, fulfilled, pt. II: marine mammals.

The rest of my weekend was amazing, and relatively uneventful. I had a magnificently bad town car run, that I won't bother to outline, for lack of interest in perpetuating the horror of its memory. Strangely, Monday was the day life took a grandiose turn for the awesome. I got called by Sam (the Marine Mammal Vet and the organization's co-founder with wife, Ruth) of CIMWI to help with a rescue. Seeing as I was free for the day, I LEAPT at the opportunity. During my time volunteering for the organization I've cleaned up after and fed lots of sea lions, and recently joined other volunteers for a release from one of the local whale-watching boats. I've also helped with the bodies of those who haven't fared as well. Soon I'll also have the chance to sit in on a necropsy (just like an autopsy, but for animals) to learn more about the anatomy of the animals we spend so much time with. But I've never been along for a rescue, and I was pretty stoked to be able to go.

There were 2 reports of stranded sea lions yesterday: the first, a yearling, exhausted and stationary on the beach, approximately 2.5 feet in length; the other, a juvenile, mobile, around 4-5 feet in length. The first animal was clearly no problem to handle. He was conscious, but essentially unresponsive. So, wearing specially designed protective gloves (ie ginormous leather welding gloves), I firmly cradled my hands around the base of the pup's skull, lifted, and placed him into the kennel we use for rescues. Sea lions are pretty strong, and densely muscular, but the major concern when dealing with them is to keep your soft warm flesh away from their sharp bitey teeth: their saliva can cause a nasty infection in us humanoids. Lifting in this way is the same as any wild mama would do with her young: grab onto the nape of the neck and get em where you want em to be.

Checking on the second sea lion in the day's dossier, we found a confused pregnant female who'd been booted from the shores of the island (there's a whole pecking order I'm working to understand: as with any group of animals that gathers in droves, there are powerful instinctual behaviors that aren't always favorable to all individuals.). We observed her for a while, as Sam gave us a play-by-play of her behavior, but despite her not-ideal location, all was as it should have been for her, and so we let her be. We brought the first patient back to the treatment facility for assessment (all indications, very sadly, point to domoic acid poisoning), attempted to feed the other wee devil that was already there, and gave a few injections to keep everyone healthy, if not happy. Today was another day at the facility, my regularly scheduled day to be there, to feed and clean, medicate and log.

I love my work there. I love spending time with Sam and Ruth. The work is challenging, and sometimes really sad, but it feels like we're doing something really good, really trying to help, and that's love. And it's an amazing thing to be a part of. Sam said something a few weeks back to one of the vet students who'd asked how he'd started doing this work (FYI marine mammal vets are few and far between. There are few, if any, vet schools that offer specialization in marine mammals, so the bulk of Sam's training has been post vet school, on-location, figuring it out as he's gone along.). Sam's response to the question was that he'd decided he was going to work with marine mammals, and he didn't let anyone stop him from making it happen. CIMWI is a side project he's been dreaming of for years, but he makes his living by flying all over the country, throughout Mexico and the Caribbean, caring for marine mammals at places like Sea World, and Dolphin Encounters, among others.

I can feel myself getting further and further away from being able to work the way I've been doing, to be working jobs I'm not passionate about, working hours not always determined by me. I'm constantly surrounded by people who are self-made, with businesses centered on what they love, on sharing what they love with the people. There's a whole different vibe involved in this, a sense of freedom, a sense of determination, a passion for one's work, a sense of control over the outcome of one's life. It's just a matter of time now, and a matter of figuring out the hows. I may not have had the drive that Sam had from an early age, but I know it's in there somewhere!