Can't Open the Can Opener

I am hypoglycemic. If you don't know what that means, please look it up on WebMD because I don't mean to be rude, but I'm tired of explaining it and people still not understanding. The simple explanation is it's the opposite of diabetes. My blood sugar drops too low. Theirs rises too high. And today, I crashed.

 After lunch with Kayla, I went to my Film class in McKee, which lasted over an hour. In between my Film class and my Human Society class with Professor Guinness, I had 3/4th of a ham sandwich I had slapped together at home. For some reason however during class, my attention began to get fuzzy and I could feel the empty, swirling dizziness begin in my stomach.

"You saw me eat that ham sandwich, right?" I asked Chris on the way to my apartment.
"Yeah..."
"Then why am I so hungry?"

Chris and I got to the apartment, I checked my bank balance online, then we headed to Wal-Mart because I was out of bread. I should have known then. It was 5:00, around the time I normally start thinking about what I'm going to cook for dinner. I should have known better!

At Wal-Mart, I was dizzy, but functioning and walking through the aisles searching for bread helped take my mind off things. Then, we got to the check out. I should have gone to Food Lion; they are so less crowded. But there I was stuck in a line at Wal-Mart, just chit-chatting with Chris and my mind went back to the overwhelming wave of dizziness starting to crush down on my head, and of course the guy in front of us is taking forever needing minuscule coins for change.

The first sign of my downfall was I typed in the wrong pin number. Normally when I pull a slip up like that I type in my mom's pin number forgetting which card I'm using. This time... I don't know whose pin number it was but it certainly wasn't mine, my mom's, or any card's I have ever used. It was the beginning of the end.

Got checked out... headed out into the parking lot... unlocked the car... grabbed a protein bar from my bag... hopped into the driver's seat... took off down the road hoping the protein bar would help. Unfortunately, those protein bars are to keep you balanced, not to help you balance out a problem already.

Soon, I started pulling weird stunts of going the wrong direction to Chris's dormitory and not being able to focus. I dropped him off, insisting I was ok and chattered to myself down the mountain back to my apartment. Another sign: incessant chattering, particularly to myself.

Upon arriving at the apartment, I decided, "Ok, I'm gonna need some help getting dinner ready." My hands had started to shake. My knees were beginning to wobble. Where were my roommates?

I knew Kayla was at work. I knocked on Cody's door. No answer. "Cody?!" No answered. I knocked on CC's door. No answer.

Ok, ok, I can do this. I'm going to pop some fish sticks in the oven and open a can of yams to microwave. I can handle this. I've been like this before.

The fish sticks were easy. I placed them on a baking sheet, set the oven, then turned to the yams as the oven preheated. Our can opener is not user friendly. Our can opener is even less user friendly when your hands are shaking badly because your sugar is dropping. Wrestling with this can opener, I was spilling yam juice all over the counter and barely making a dent in the lid. I knew the game was up. I needed help. I grabbed my cell phone and made a call.

You might be wondering at this point... why the flip didn't you just grab some peanut butter? Eat something! Anything! No, at this point... I needed real food. Snacks were only going to bring up my blood sugar in one big wave to then quickly crash back down again harder.

After a slurring phone call, here comes Charlotte! He found the front door open and me sitting on the floor with a mug in my hands. God bless him, he didn't panic; he didn't rush to my side. He didn't make me feel out of place, embarrassed, a burden, or anything out of the ordinary. Calmly, he strode across the living room and into the kitchen.

"So I'm hypoglycemic," I began and pointed up at the counter above me. "And, I can't make my dinner."

"Did you fall?" Charlotte asked.

"No, I just needed to sit down."

"Ok, just making sure," and he got to work on the can of yams. He, too, needed assistance when it came to that gosh darn can opener. Making me laugh (which was probably the best thing for me), Charlotte fiddled with the can opener finally calling it quits and chopping the edges of the lid off with a butter knife. We got the yams into a bowl, the bowl into the microwave, then I stood in front of that machine blankly wondering why I was standing there, what needed to be done, and oh yeah... what buttons... buttons... lots of numbers... which numbers... must push the buttons... how long for the yams... until finally it clicked into place.

"Sorry... my functioning and rational is gone," I answered, slumping into a dining chair while Charlotte filled me in on his day.

When the microwave beeped, he handed me the bowl and a fork, and I went to town probably looking rather scary stuffing my face with mushy orangish red roots. That can was supposed to last me two nights of dinner. I finished it in less than fifteen minutes.

Charlotte stayed until I had also cleaned my plate of fish sticks before returning to his own apartment.

"Thank you so much," I said, finally feeling up to being a human being again. "I'm so sorry I had to call you out here."

"Don't worry about it," he insisted. "If it happens again, well I'll just be sitting in my apartment."

If there were ever a person to be able to handle hypoglycemia, it would be that boy! Bless him, he had me laughing and keeping me alert the whole time. And, if there were ever a "good" attack from my grand old enemy, it would have to be today.

Just to let everyone know... I am doing much better!

Room-a-Mate Up-a-Date

Nine out of ten people won't show you their strange quirks and identifying behavior when you move in with them, especially not in the first week. But Kayla is so herself that she can't help it! I don't want to say I have her pegged to some sort of stereotype because I don't! In fact, it's just the opposite. I can barely keep up with her as she bounces around the apartment in her polka dot bathrobe or wild child jeans. And, she is now one of my favorite people because of this quirk:

After trekking through Cullowhee Creek for the entirety of Saturday afternoon, the boys and I collapsed in the apartment with four boxes of Pizza Hut. Kayla and CC were in the background, stepping around us to make their own dinner. They had been sitting at the dining room table watching Cody flip through the TV channels when Kayla stood and began rummaging in the cabinets again. I turned to glance at her when she said, "Does anyone want to try blackberry jam?"
I didn't respond. I prefer jelly to jam, and I was tired and couldn't figure what she was trying to get at. The boys glanced at her as well not really responding.

"Blackberry jam, anyone? No?" she asked.
Cody mumbled about possibly trying it, but when she felt it wasn't a definite enough answer, Kayla used a different tactic.
"You see, the thing is... I don't like an odd number of bread slices in my loaf."
This got our attention, and I turned to stare at her with a smile splitting across my face. Her face was dead serious.
"I just can't stand it," she said, "and yesterday I only had one piece of bread so I have an odd number. You want to try the jam, Cody?"
The hilarity and oddity of this struck me full force and I began to cackle hysterically.
"I'll just take the bread," Cody said, and Kayla moved behind me to give Cody the oddball piece of bread with me still cackling, which gets Kayla laughing. One of the boys, River, is grinning away at me as he always does when I get tickled. By this time, I have tears rolling down my cheeks, still laughing.
"See, what you're supposed to do now," stated CC, "is have two people say they want to try some jam."
"No!" Kayla cried. "Only one piece of bread," she insisted, which got me coughing from laughing so hard!
Eventually, I calmed myself but it still gets me when I think about it!

Now, I absolutely adore Kayla! That girl is something else, and I'm so excited I get to share this apartment with her! I can't wait to see what she'll be up to next!

Food for Thought

Over the summer, I was supposed to learn how to cook. Well, things never go according to plan in my house, so I only learned three or four meals.
Coming to the apartment, I had no clue how to operate a kitchen efficiently and on a budget, much less for four people. Thankfully, we decided it was best to go our separate ways and make our own meals on most nights. So here I was fending for myself with two shelves in two cupboards dedicated to my stash of goods. It's been about two weeks and I still haven't had a real home cooked meal, but I'm alive, and here's how I have survived:
1. McDonald's has 89 cent burgers.
2. 25 block meals and over $300 in declining balance points on campus
3. I'm learning to feed on leftovers. Before, I wouldn't eat two-day old tomato soup... not even 40-minute old tomato soup. Yesterday for dinner I swallowed up two-day old ravioli! For me, that's saying something. And you know what... Ma was right these past several years. It does taste the same as the first time I cooked it. Huh!
4. Getting creative. Tonight for dinner I had macaroni and cheese and grapes with two waffles for dessert. Last night: two-day old ravioli, a large carrot stick, and cinnamon applesauce. As long as I feel full, I don't really need to have some kind of large meal. That would be nice, of course, but for now while I trying to learn how to budget and cook... I'll take it!
5. Canned food does not usually cost over a dollar per item... especially at Wal-Mart.
6. Don't mindlessly snack.

I want it to be known, I'm not sitting over here starving. In fact, I haven't gone hungry or felt pressured for finding something to eat the entire time I have been here. Honestly, I feel less stressed because I am in complete control of what I buy, when I eat it, how I cook it, and in which quantities I choose to eat it. I don't have to rely on someone to fix me something to eat and I don't have to sit down to a meal I'm not hungry to eat. Thus, less food is wasted and less food is consumed. Yes, the nutritional value has dropped a bit in my diet, but I think that will level out as I learn to manage my money better... also when I haven't just moved into an apartment and can stop spending money on household items like a toilet plunger, plastic sandwich bags, etc.

I never thought I'd feel such affection and devotion to another "home" as I would toward my home near Charlotte. But even though I co-own this place with people who are not my family, I am in such love with this place! It's in a strange city that I don't always have love for, but this place... I have turned it into my home. I can look around and see touches that are my own like the dining room chairs, the green key holder which Chris and I hung crookedly beside the water heater closet, the mosaic tile with the Ralph Waldo Emerson quote on the kitchen wall, my room with its collage of pictures, posters, and personal belongings. Everything in that room is mine from my room at home, nothing I ever have to give back, return, or take care of as it is someone else's property. I just met her but I love Kayla like the older sister I never had. CC has such an infectious laugh and Cody is one of my boys. The walk to campus will be beautiful in the fall and is refreshing, wearing me out and taking away my excess energy as I head to class. The housework gives me something to do, a chore in preserving my new home. If only I had a yard...! And I miss my cats dearly, but one day... this is just a step to owning that house with the yard and however many pets I want. This is a step to having a "real job," becoming financially independent, and starting my adult life. It's what I've been wanting for a long time, and I couldn't be happier.

 Life isn't perfect, of course. The Viking is only a few minutes down the road; we go to the school together, and we will see each other again. At least, I have the comfort of knowing I can return to my apartment and let him and everything that happened between us disappear as it never happened instead of the cramped dorm room with little privacy and cell-like appearance.  If I had returned to a dorm, I probably would have let the depression consume me until I became unrecognizable, kind of like what happened last year in May but much worse. Here, I don't feel like I'm dying inside, a caged bird trying to get free. Even if I was sitting here starving because my cooking skills were that nonexistent or money was tight, it'd still be better than living in a dorm.

Let me Ask you Something: Protection Against Nature

Today would have been an amazing finish to a great weekend. Unfortunately, I got slapped upside the face with my depression and didn't enjoy the day as I should have. So when Kayla asked me if I wanted to see Cullowhee Falls with her and her friends, I immediately agreed, eager to get out of the apartment and do something energy-draining. And it would have been an amazing hike and afternoon, except for...
 In my home, I was raised to respect, love, and never physically harm another living creature whether it be a human, a dog, a gerbil, a fish, or a snake. It didn't matter if the creature was dangerous or not. We respected nature, let it go its own way. Now, I've never been in a life or death situation with something like a bear or a mountain lion. Obviously, I am going to defend myself in the best way I can, but I'm going to try my best get away with both me and the animal unscathed. I have come in contact with a couple of copperheads, as they are popular around my house in Charlotte, and I've never hurt one of them. I step around them and go on my way. To me, that's how it's supposed to be.

 So when I saw a guy separated from his group swinging a big stick up and down in sharp motions at something on the ground, I began to head over that way praying he wasn't doing what I thought he was doing.

Oh, he was doing exactly what I thought he was doing!

He was swinging that big ole stick up and down on the limp body of a medium-sized snake.

"Oh yeah, there are snakes over here!" he called out to me taking my white face of horror as a fear of snakes not that I was trying not to scream for him to stop the beating that had already done its job. "Yeah, there's another one under that rock. I stabbed it but it got away."

Let me get this straight: I'm going to take a wild stab that this snake, still unidentifiable, probably did not attack you. In fact, I'd go so far to say that it probably startled one of the girls and you thought you'd do the world a service and beat the poor thing into a bloody heap. And then, oh then, you decided to stab its mate so that it can either bleed to death or die slowly of starvation because its stab wound hurts to much to go out and hunt rodents. Thank you, sir, for your bravado of beating to death an animal that would have never attacked if you hadn't picked up the big stick. Thank you even more to your fellow friend who after the snake was well beyond dead decided to be a MAN and threw rocks at it! Even better... he missed! (The snake got his revenge, by the way! We later passed these same people sitting on the road beside their car drinking beer and waiting on a buddy because they were locked out of their vehicles! Does the genius gene run in the family, sirs?)

I just want to say I have never seen such heartlessness in my entire life. That snake and his mate were probably just perched on a warm rock sunning themselves before slithering off to capture some disease-carrying mice, and oh dear, you stepped over them. It's called sharing nature and respecting it because guess who was there FIRST?
Obviously, I have a very strong opinion on this matter not agreed with by others. My friends... yeah, they laughed at me, rolling their eyes because I'm too emotional. Kayla, well she was polite, but she was kind of thrilled the snake was dead because she's deathly afraid of them. So what's your opinion?

Say it wasn't a snake. Maybe a skink Or a porcupine. What if the boy had beaten to death a porcupine? Dangerous, but it's not going to attack you unless provoked. Ok, and I understand if the snake came out and attacked them. I understand if he was backed into a corner. But seriously... he had time to pick up a stick and then beat up the thing after stabbing the other one! That makes me assume the two were trying to escape. And even if they were going after the students, dude I'm banking if you can beat to death a snake, you can outrun one, too! But running away from a snake probably won't impress that girl with the double D's in your psychology class, right?
So in my opinion, I don't believe either snake deserved what fate served up in the form of a stupid boy and his dumb friends. But leave a comment and tell me: would you beat up an animal because it scared you? What rules do you abide by when it comes to Mother Nature?

Thought

Depression is like ice. When you fall and hit, it is unforgiving.

Cheers to Friday

"Culture shock." It's a term we've been studying in Human Society class. It's like a Chinese man walking into a Charlotte "cowboy" bar. My friends, that would be a nasty bite of culture shock.

Last night wasn't quite so much culture shock as it was a new experience. In many ways, I was so far gone out of my element that the usual sensations of nervousness or plain fear were gone. I actually had a great time! And for me, doing something "new" or "different" nine times out of ten gives me no "great times."

 Down the sidewalk, my friends from last year "Woodstock" and "Charlotte" have an apartment with two other roommates. Woodstock isn't so much as partier as he likes big get-togethers, especially if there's going to be weed. Weed... yeah, not my thing. It was the main reason out of many why I broke up with my last boyfriend. I do not find it or what it does to your psyche appealing. But, when Woodstock asked me over to a little get together he was having as we passed each other in the pizza line at the UC, something told me to agree.

 "Yeah, sure I'd love to," I answered with an easygoing smile. Woodstock and his roommate Charlotte are good friends that I want to become great friends, and not because I want Woodstock to hook me up with some weed or beer... heck, I don't have to be his friend to get that stuff from him. But, both of them are really good people.

I met Charlotte in English 101 class when we were paired up together for an assignment. Concidentially enough, our assignment was to write an essay on the other, so we got to know each other (on the surface) quite quickly. From then on, it was the nice nod and say hey every time we passed each other, which was often as I was always on the fifth floor with the boys and he lived there as well. We had quite a few things in common, including a love for horses and growing up in the same area of North Carolina. And, he's pretty easy on the eyes.

Everyone knows Woodstock by reputation. I met him officially in Global Issues class where I tried my best to nudge him awake as he worked off a hard night of partying or whatever he did every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning. While he can be lazy and people may judge him as shallow at first glance (I can only imagine what my grandmother would say about him), Woodstock is such a thinker! He would have me read his response papers for Global Issues because I fixed his grammatical errors. That boy can write! And, not that he just writes correctly... he put so much into it! I was amazed and did not hide my amazement when I read his first paper, which made him laugh. I would love to sit down and pick his mind for a few hours.

So, with this in mind, I decided to head over to their apartment and check out this "party."

When I arrived, I was one of four girls, and there were four guys already well into the beer. Charlotte, the perfect though tipsy host, constantly hovered near me for the first 15 minutes making sure I didn't want anything to drink.

"No, I'm fine," I answered. "No, I already had dinner." "No, you guys go right ahead."
Soon, the vodka appeared from the freezer, and the mixing of juice, V8, and various alcoholic substances began. But you know in the time that I stayed (God knows what happened after I left), no one was falling over themselves, no one barfed everywhere, none of the guys were stumbling over me trying to get my attention. Everyone was really genuine and just having a good time, and I sat back and laughed and laughed. Woodstock is very conscious, even in a buzzed and "gone" state, of how I feel towards drugs and alcohol and was very respectful toward my wanting to remain clean. No one made me feel like a "party pooper" or stupid for not wanting to participate in the active members of the party, and it was great. I got to hang out, meet some cool people, and sit back in different company in a new scene I wasn't used to. I honestly don't ever remember doing that my entire freshman year, and isn't that the whole point of college? Trying out new environments, making new friends, and getting out of your comfort zone? Ok, when the guidance counselor taks about that, I'm sure he or she is not referring to a party with booze and pot, but I wasn't drinking, and I wasn't smoking. I was hanging out with a new group of people, and even though Charlotte swears that I didn't have a good time because I wasn't drinking, eating, or really talktative to a big part of the group, here's a message to him: Charlotte, I had a great time last night!!! Thank you for letting me hang! It was awesome!
 There was that one part though... when a few people went to the back rooms to smoke then came back to the front room afterwards... wow, yeah me and pot... I have a zero tolerance. So when this aroma began to permeate the front room where I was sitting... yeah, I got a bit giggly. But that could have been all in my head.

 Afterwards, I went to Dave's apartment to hang out with the boys as it was BAD HORROR MOVIE NIGHT!!!!!! Which is my favorite night, by the way!! We gather around a television and make fun of, crack up at, and make up our own dialogue to crappy, cheap horror movies. Last night's film turned from a slow, boring another-babysitting-night-gone-wrong to holy freaking crap, she's baby-sitting Satan's own child!!! This kid had horns!! And the "evil man" trying to kill the kid was actually a priest trying to get rid of the mark of Satan from this world. And the parents walk in... "Last time I saw that guy he had a hachet in the back of his skull in Translyvania," said the father, him being the person who put the hatchet in the man's head. These people are completely bewitched by this demon child and they kidnap "pure" girls because that's what the demon child eats: pure, female flesh! Yummy! Talk about a plot twist! Amazing!

 All in all, it was a successful Friday night! There was booze. There was loud music making the floorboards jump. There was meeting new people and socializing. There was hilarious movies that weren't supposed to be hilarious. And there were great friends! Cheers to Friday!

Hiccup!

So Chris and I have this professor we call "Professor Guinness." She is ...something else! Our first day of class she told us students, "My office hours on Fridays are from 2:00 to 5:00. Actually, it's more like 4:57 because at five o'clock there is a Guinness beer with my name on it!" She also has this assumption that whenever we talk about "fun" or "doing stuff" we are referring to drinking, and this is a class of freshmen and sophomores, a.k.a. students that cannot legally drink. Prof G went on to tell us how she doesn't count Atlanta as a place she lived in because she was there for a year and doesn't remember any of it because she was drunk or hungover the whole time!

Today, she pulled out a dark wine bottle from her bag, a souvenir from Italy. This wine bottle had a bold picture of Adolf Hitler on the front with curvy script underneath reading "One Country. One Law. One Ruler." It was a bit nerve-wracking, but she was so gosh darn excited about it. No, she was not promoting Hitler or anything he stood for, but was trying to teach us to be open-minded when dealing with sociology. In truth, her initial reaction to seeing the bottle in Italy (this was in the year 2007) was "Holy f***!!!" Thankfully, she bleeped herself.

 This is something very abstract about this professor. I definitely want to get to know her better!