So. Happy belated Thanksgiving. Vermont was fun -- crowded, yes, but much fun. I left work early on Wednesday (my boss kept trying to push me out the door earlier and earlier -- I told her it might be best if I left at 2 to catch the 4 o'clock bus, and she told me I could leave at noon if I wanted to. Since South Station is only a few subway stops away from where I work, I declined). It was a good thing I left when I did, though, as the bus terminal was packed. I bought two books for the trip (both Tolkien -- I will read The Silmarillion if it kills me, damn it) and picked up my ticket and some bus-snacks, and settled in to read and wait to board. The buses to Connecticut and New York were the worst -- hundreds of people waiting for very few buses. I got very little reading done, since the people-watching was more fun. When it came time for my bus to board, it was determined that there were more passengers than seats, so we sat in the terminal for ages while various Greyhound staff pleaded for people going to Hartford to get on a later bus, thus allowing the people trying to get to Lowell to board. One woman stood in the aisle and loudly bitched about how they should have reserved a seat for her, because she didn't want to share with anyone. The guy sitting next to me had the worst travel experience ever, I think: an older gentleman sitting across the aisle volunteered to get on the later bus, and stood up to collect his baggage and get off the bus. When he bent over to pick up his bags, he managed to shove his ass, complete with three inches of, er, "plumber's smile," directly into my seatmate's face. When I say directly, I mean it -- the poor guy's nose was in a place it never wanted to be. The older man straightened up, then bent over again, then straightened up... and then did it one more time. My poor seatmate was leaning against me, clinging to my shoulder, and making faint whimpering noises. When the older man finally got off the bus, we both breathed a sigh of relief... then, a moment later, he very faintly said "I think my whole life just flashed before my eyes." I laughed, and said that I really needed a car. "What, and miss the scenery?" he replied. Hee.
I got to Vermont about an hour late, and my mom took me home, fed me, and put me to bed on the couch in the living room. I was awakened at 7 o'clock the next morning by the smell of pies baking -- mom got up early to get the cooking done before my brother and his girlfriend arrived. A shower, an email check, and then I settled in to watch the first episode of the Buffy marathon on FX. I was engrossed, and therefore antisocial and rude, when Mike and Mary Ann arrived at 12:30. Mary Ann wandered into the bedroom (where the only TV my mom owns lives) and settled down to watch with me. She's never seen Buffy, so I tried to explain the show to her without sounding like a nut. I'm not sure it worked. I like her very much -- the most of all my brother's girlfriends, I think. She's very easygoing, very comfortable to be around.
At around 2, the feast was cooked, so we settled down around the table -- me, my mom, Mike, Mary Ann, and my mom's downstairs neighbor. Much eating ensued -- the table is small, so my brother had to sit alone at a card table. We made far too many jokes about banishing him to the kids' table. My mom's dog was fed far too many table scraps, and we all slowly sank into food comas. After the food, Mike and Mary Ann took off to visit one of his high school friends, and I went to ease my achingly-full stomach with more Buffy.
Later that night, we decided -- okay, I decided -- that we needed to play one of our infamous Trivial Pursuit games. Normal families play nice, polite, sedate games. We are not normal. We have discovered that the best time to play is after everyone's had a glass or three of wine, and is feeling tired and goofy. We always end up laughing hysterically over silly things -- on one occasion, my brother laughed so hard he snorted most of a glass of wine, and fell off his chair. We don't play sedate, normal games. This time was no different. At one point, I was in the kitchen having a cigarette, and heard my brother asking Mary Ann "What six-word phrase was made famouys by Star Wars?" She didn't know, so he said "Come on, there's only one famous phrase from that movie!" I yelled back "I can think of three! How about 'Use the fork, Luke?'" There was a silence, then all three of them burst out laughing. Maybe you had to be there. It was comedy gold, trust me.
Friday was spent shopping with Mom -- my favorite record store ever, Sound Barrier, was closing after 17 years (sniffle) so I wanted to poke around and buy some CDs. That store was my favorite haunt in high school (mostly because I had a big crush on the owner, Jeff) and I was sad to see it fade away. Friday night, mom and I saw Harry Potter, which was way too much fun. I'd forgotten it was 2 1/2 hours long, though, so for the first hour or so I thought the pacing was all off. We didn't get home until after midnight, and then I bounced around the house keeping everyone awake until the wee hours of the morning -- seeing a good movie makes me hyper. Saturday morning, we got up ealry, and my mom drove me to White River Junction to catch an express bus back to Boston. I got stuck in the back seat of the bus behind an elderly man who had his seat reclined as far as possible (right into my kneecaps, but I think he probably was uncomfortable, so I didn't complain). I was content until the World's Largest Man sat next to me -- the guy was built like a tank, and really wanted to sprawl. He was one of those guys who feels compelled to sit with his legs spread as far as possible -- and, let me tell any men who may be reading, I hate that. That "My package is so big I have to spread my legs!" pose. Hate it. I hate having to sit on public transportation eith your leg rubbing against me, and your crotch displayed to the world. So if you do that, stop it. It's nasty. He also kept falling asleep and slumping over onto me, so I spent two hours squished into the smallest corner of the seat, unable to move my arms or legs. Not fun. It's safe to say I was a wee bit cranky when I got to Boston. I staggered home, and took a very long shower, and went to bed.
So. That was Thanksgiving. Other than that, not much going on in my life. I was very sad to see that George Harrison died -- my favorite Beatle was Paul when I was younger, but George grew on me. My earliest memories are of napping in my little rocking chair, in front of the stereo speakers, while my dad played The Beatles and Bob Dylan. I turned on the TV this morning, and saw (weirdly enough) my college boyfriend's father being interviewed. I stopped to watch, amused, and when they said he'd died, I sat down hard and just stared at the TV for a while, until I was late for work. I knew he was sick, I just didn't want to see him go. It's sad when a true legend dies.
Lazy and slothful, that's me. I haven't even any good excuse like schoolwork, because I've been slacking on that, too. I blame FX. They're showing Buffy reruns, you see. And they're all episodes I haven't seen -- I didn't start watching until season 5, so I missed a lot. They start right at dinner time, so I watch while I eat, and... well, there you go. Plus, the Sims. I don't even have the new expansion pack yet -- I'm pestering my mom to get it for me for Christmas. I hadn't played in ages, and I started again the other weekend, and... well, I've been staying up too late. I've been downloading stuff for them, and building them big shiny new houses... it's madness.
So. In happy news, I do not have a brain tumor, or alien eggs hatching, or anything nasty like that. The MRI results came back clear, which is not surprising, but is still a relief. Of course, that didn't stop my head from throwing three migraines in a row at me. Oy. But at least now I can actually take medication for them. I had one yesterday too, so my boss sent me home just before lunch (I have an obscene amount of sick time, so I didn't mind). I came home, took a nap, and... played with my Sims. For hours. It's a sickness.
Tomorrow, I am off to Vermont for Thanksgiving. My brother and his girlfriend will be at my mom's too, which will be interesting... it's a very small apartment. I have no idea where we'll all sleep.It'll be fun, though.
On a less happy note, I remembered on my way home tonight that today would have been my second wedding anniversary. Funny how time passes -- the divorce doesn't seem that long ago. Neither does the wedding, for that matter. It's weird... I don't miss the ex at all. I'm much, much happier now than I was two years ago -- two years ago tonight I was numb, trying to convince myself that getting married really was a good thing, that it really was what I wanted. Things just would have gotten uglier if they had gone on any longer, and I'm still proud that I had the strength to leave him -- when it came right down to it, he didn't expect me to. He thought I would cave in, and do whatever he wanted. He got a bit of a surprise, I think. And I'm glad I've moved on. It feels good, albeit a bit strange.
It hasn't been a great week.
I mentioned that I've been having migraines, right? They started back in the spring -- in April, I think -- and have been getting worse since then. They aren't fun at all -- first my vision gets messed up, and I see lots of flashing lights, then everything goes blurry, then my head starts to feel like someone whacked it with a hammer. No fun. I went to a neurologist, and basically was blown off both times I saw him. The two visits took maybe ten minutes, total. He gave me some medication, and basically told me to not let the door hit me on my way out. After the second visit, I made an appointment with another doctor, one of Dr. I-Couldn't-Care-Less's colleagues. Happily, she turned out to be very nice. The one appointment I've had with her took an hour -- she asked me loads of questions, and examined me, and came up with a plan. First, she took me off the medication Dr. ICCL had me on -- it turns out that, since I have vision problems, that medication is very bad for me. The visual stuff -- the aura -- is caused by blood vessels in my brain constricting. The medication makes them constrict more. This is not a good thing. So, no medication. She also scheduled me for an MRI, which I had Wednesday.
I really didn't think the MRI would be a big deal. I should have paid more attention when the doctor kept offering to prescribe a sedative for me to take beforehand. She warned me that, if I was at all claustrophobic, it would be very unpleasant. I've never really been claustrophobic -- the only thing that really bothers me is being in a big crowd, so I figured as long as they didn't stuff 30 people into the machine with me, I'd be okay. Heh.
I had the MRI at Mt. Auburn Hospital on Wednesday afternoon. I left work early to get there on time, and arrived feeling vaguely nervous. That was more about what the results would be -- a giant tumor? A blood vessel preparing to go pop? Alien eggs hatching in my skull? I wasn't terribly worried about the test itself until I saw the machine. It's really big and intimidating, with a little tiny hole in it. A little tiny hole that they stuff you into. Hmmm. But still, no big deal. I actually thought the whole thing would be kind of cool and sci-fi. I took off everything metal I was wearing, and they settled me on the table. The technition, a tiny little blonde woman, put foam pads around my head to keep me from moving, and put big puffy headphones over my ears. She'd explained that the machine was very loud, and that the headphones would help. She asked me my favorite radio station, and they tuned it in so I could listen to music during the test. No big deal at all. The only thing that bothered me at that point was lying flat on my back without moving -- I don't even sleep on my back, so it's not a terribly comfortable position for me. But still, no big deal. Then she pulled a metal cage over my head -- it came down to my shoulders, and was very very narrow. That made me a bit uneasy. But still, tolerable. Then she moved the table, and me, into the machine. Oh my. Very narrow -- it was pressing against my arms on both sides, so I couldn't move them. There was an angled mirror above me, so I could see into the control room. The tech warned me that I might want to keep my eyes closed, as the angle and the mirror messes with your depth perception. Did I listen? Of course not! I wanted to see what was going on. She tucked a call button into my hand, and walked away. Before she'd even gotten into the other room, I was mauling the poor call button. Yep, I freaked out. Crying, shaking, hyperventilating, the whole works. She ran back in and took my out of the machine, and patted my shoulder until I calmed down. I was really embarrassed -- I was the one who refused the sedative, because I was sure I'd be fine. She explained that most people wig out, because it is such a small space. She said if I couldn't handle it, that we could reschedule, and I could be sedated, and have someone come with me. I hadn't known that I could have a friend stay in the room with me -- Lee had offered to come, and I'd said no, thinking that she'd be stuck in the waiting room reading year-old Reader's Digests for an hour. I think I would have felt much better had I had someone there to hold my hand, or something... but I didn't want to reschedule. I knew there were people waiting, and I also knew that, if they let me leave, I wouldn't go back willingly, so I told them I was just being a baby, and to get it over with. The tech put the headphones back over my ears (Dave Grohl doing a lovely acoustic version of Everlong, one of my favorite songs) and moved the table back into the machine. I kept my eyes closed that time, and tried to ognore the fact that being in that thing felt like lying in a coffin. Tiny and cramped and unable to move, and... ugh. I couldn't hear the radio once the test started, since it makes so much noise (loud rattling and buzzing, mostly) so I just concentrated on breathing, and counting the seconds until it was done. The tech would tall me, via the headphones, when each round of scanning was done, and how long the next one would be. She would also say things like "You're doing great, honey!" which was sweet, but didn't help one little bit. It took a half hour, not the full hour my doctor had told me to plan on (I don't think I could have done an hour. By the end of the half hour, I was starting to panic again). A nurse came and disentagled me from the machine, and led me back to the waiting room to collect my things -- I was very dizzy, for some reason, and couldn't walk without leaning on her. Nerves, maybe? I don't know. I had also tensed up so much that I couldn't turn my head at all -- my neck is still sore, and I had bloody fingernail marks in the palms of my hands. I grabbed my stuff and went outside to find a place to sit and calm down. I called Lee and babbled at her for a bit, until my bus came, and then went to the diner in Harvard Square where my friend Dana works. She listened to my tale of woe, and poured beer into me until I felt better. (There was a girl sitting next to me who'd just had a cervical biopsy, so the two of us huddled at the counter sharing cigarettes and whimpering quietly.) Then I went home to hand out candy to cute little costumed kids (yes, I had the MRI on Halloween -- I should have worn fangs or something) until I was chased off to bed with yet another migraine. A few Buffy reruns and a nap helped with that, though.
So, now I wait a week or so for the results. Part of me is hoping they find something wrong -- something minor, something they can fix with a minimum of difficulty, so that the migraines go away for good. I don't think I want to hear "Well, it's just stress or hormones or whatever, you'll just have to live with it." Maybe it really is alien babies hatching. As long as they behave, I don't mind much. Maybe I'll charge 'em rent.
In other happy news, I was abruptly (and rather curtly) turned down for the very first professional librarian job I applied for. It was in New Hampshire, at the State Library, and it sounded great. The guy in charge of hiring responded to a question I'd emailed with a brief note: "We aren't considering you for this position." I don't have enough professional experience (never mind the fact that I've actually been doing the work for three years now.) Feh. I didn't really want to move out of state at the moment anyway -- I like where I'm living now. I have an excellent roommate (best I've ever had, in fact) and I'm content and comfortable. So phhhht. I'll keep looking. It was only the first application, after all. Can't expect to luck out every time, right?