Poetry Anxiety

I've just finished up some ugly Algebra homework and am needing to stay awake long enough to process my laundry. So I thought I'd catch up a little on my e-journaling. I fell asleep last night while trying to cram in my poetry reading prior to my literature class tonight. I woke up just before midnight and found my light still on, my glasses still on, and my book sprawled across my chest--it was the oddest feeling. I ditched the effort at that point, but woke up again at 4:00 a.m. I was really sore from my chiropractic treatment yesterday so I tried to find my stash of Aleve, and, of course, could NOT find it anywhere. I finally gave up, went back to bed, and worked on reading some more poetry. I went back to sleep a little after 4:30.

This poetry stuff has GOT to go. I was discussing it with some of my classmates tonight, and we are all unanimous in our consensus that it is the epitome of misery. I thought my analysis paper on the short story was tough--the poetry analysis has got it beat all to pieces. It's almost as if it's a totally different language; it doesn't matter that it's in English. Take this excerpt, for example:

"As virtuous men pass mildly away,
and whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say, No;"

Profound, eh? Now, I'm sure there's at least one of you out there who will read that and know exactly what is meant by it with little or no effort at all. But this type of thing is HARD for me--it is NOT my love language. I am not--nor have I ever pretended to be--an analytical person. And so I keep whining...

God and I had a little Talk one night about my first analysis paper--and it looks like another one is certainly in order.

My cousin William's wedding was last weekend in PA. I had several mid-term exams and/or assignments to get behind me before I headed out for the weekend. It was a very stressful week with very smallish nights. I could tell I was not getting my proper allotment of rest, but in situations such as these, you just adjust and do what you have to do.

I had noticed some lower back pain Monday and Tuesday, but then it went away by Wednesday. Friday morning, we got up at 4:00 a.m. to make our 6:25 flight out of Nashville. The plan was for Martin, Sharon, and me to fly from Nashville to D.C. and then drive to PA with Alvin and Doretta. I was making last-minute adjustments, etc., before we left the house. I bent over just slightly to iron a little bit of something, and in the blink of an eye, I went from being a fully-functional adult to a cripple who could hardly move. The lower back pain was back with a vengeance! I quickly swallowed some Aleve, but there was not much time to delay--we had a flight to catch. I laid the seat back on the ride down to Nashville and stretched out hoping somehow whatever was causing the pain would miraculously be re-adjusted. But it was not to be.

This pain was later diagnosed to be a pinched nerve. I had never experienced anything like it before; I couldn't sit--I couldn't walk--I couldn't even haul my own luggage. And as usual, we Menno chicks got snagged at security because of the many metallic items in our hair. And it was simply torturous to take my shoes off. By this time, boarding for our flight had already begun. We could tell Martin hadn't traveled with Mennonite women recently--he stood there impatiently twiddling his thumbs making pointed glances at his watch. Sharon and I both got the pat down for the first time. The lady was apologetic, but it was like... C'mon! do what you gotta do--I've got a flight to catch! It took me so long to get my shoes back on that Sharon and Martin didn't want to wait for me to get them tied. So there I was--strings streaming out behind me, tromping down the hall, as I tried hard to stay caught up with them. We got there finally. "You're at the right gate, at the right time," as the lady put it. Whew! Time to relax just a bit. To add insult to injury, Sharon had to help me tie my shoes in the cramped quarters of the tiny plane. I was really hurting by this time.

I noted that, as usual, there was a whiney kid across the aisle in the seat in front of us. There's always at least one in every flight, I've noticed. Well, the kid we could deal with-- what we could NOT deal with, however, was the cat that was seated several seats up. Yowl, yowl, yowl! And at take-off, YOWL, YOWL, YOWL! And we yowled all the way to D.C. The owner, as Martin noted, seemed to be of the Cruela DeVille type. She had furs and leopard print clothing adorned with cat pins. And she spoke so fondly of her "spoiled baby." It was amusing to hear a guy several rows back say, "Boy, I thought I heard a cat for a minute there," to which someone else assured him that in actuality he HAD heard a cat.

When we finally got to D.C., Alvin made arrangements for me to be seen by a chiropractor. We went to Choice Books first so that I could see the imaging software Alvin designed for Choice; from there, we went to the chiropractor. They dropped me off after which the rest of them went to a coffee shop to wait. The doctor put me on some type of therapy which required me to lie flat on my back for about ten minutes. When it was time to get up, I physically could not do it. The nurse had to let me grab ahold of her arm and she pulled me up. By that time, I was dizzy, my vision was blurred, and I could hardly walk or sit. I sat in the exam room for about five minutes before the doctor came in to give me the rest of the treatment. By the time I was finished, I felt as if I had been to war and back. If anything, I felt worse. I made my way out to the street to wait for my ride.

The doctor had told me to pack my back with ice, so we went back to Choice to get me fixed up. We headed up to PA then. It was about a four hour drive, and I was good and ready to get there. I was stiff as a board and had to limber up every time I got out of the van. I worked on my Algebra homework that night, then went to bed early (or at least earlier than I had been recently). I think I got about nine hours of sleep. I had my back packed with pillows and ice and slept quite well. [Thank goodness, I had packed my Squishy. A Squishy is a marvelous little pillow that we discovered at Wal-Mart this last summer. It's got spandex fabric on the outside and tiny little beans on the inside. It makes for a wonderful little pillow. Everyone should have their own Squishy.] Alvin and Doretta had to be at the wedding earlier than the rest of us. So we didn't wake up till Alvin pounded on the door to get to the keys. Being the responsible one, I was, of course, the one who responded to the door. I could tell the instant I was on my feet that my back was 100% better. Who would've thought??? I was still really sore, but I could function again, praise God!

The wedding was fun. It was nice to be able to sit and enjoy it. And Will--he was literally somewhere up there in amongst the clouds. What fun to be able to celebrate his wedding with him. After some serious cousin-ing at the church, we decided to continue the evening and went to the hunting lodge afterward where Joe's were staying; we ended up staying till midnight!

On Sunday morning, we drove back down to VA to Arlen & Rita's place for lunch. She, of course, had a wonderful lunch waiting for us. We spent the afternoon just chatting away.

We headed for the airport about two hours early. I would have to just point out that SOME amongst our ranks thought I was being overly cautious time-wise, but in the end, we had not a second to spare. We got inside that airport, and the line for security started at the door--went the length of the airport, curled around and went back and down and around and in and out... I have never seen such a long line for security. We had a little over an hour by the time we got to the line. It moved fairly quickly, but it was still a long time. Martin got through security just fine, and we were in the next ones over, just about ready to step through the Menno-snaggers. In fact, our carry-on items had gone through the x-ray machines already-- when, of course, there was "an alarm on the other side" and Sharon and I were pushed back outside so that they could go into shut-down mode. They closed off security with these little gate thingys--there we were on one side and there Martin was on the other side-- we had sent our cell phones through so all we could do was gesture through the gate. Once again, we found ourselves pressed for time. Finally, finally--everything was cleared, and we were able to proceed. This time Sharon made it through with no problems. While we were waiting, she had stripped her hair of everything except three hairpins, one barrette, and two small clips to hold her veil in place. And it didn't beep. Well, now we know. I still had to be searched, however. But we made our flight. I spent the entire ride back working on my algebra. What a journey! And how good to be home!

On my way home tonight, I called Mom to see if Dad would possibly be interested in selling one of his many goats to Alexandra's sister-in-law. Alexandra says Ninfa has been crying for the last little while because her goat got into something he shouldn't have and is now in the process of dying. A bloated stomach is the main indication. "The way Alexandra explained it to me was, "See... Ninfa... she no have children..." Oh. That says it all. I guess I need to get a goat too. So anyway--Mom told me that our nanny goat had finally had her kids. Sharon and I decided to drive to the barn to see them. I stopped and picked Mom up, and we ambled on down to the barn. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I wasn't planning on them being quite as cute as they were. Why, they're the size of kittens, relatively speaking. At the risk of sounding gushy... they are soooooo cute! I may have to follow Ninfa's example and adopt a "kid" of my own. I now understand a little better why one of my former students ran all the way home from church when her nanny goat had had her kids.

Well, I have well exceeded the time necessary to babysit my laundry.