I'm not going to lie - I've been bad with blogging lately. I've had some things to blog about (for one thing, my best friend keeps finding old, first year of college photos that she never got around to posting and tagging, and this latest one has me busting a move in my swimsuit during a midnight swim, not that it's a big deal) and the latest round of passport photos that I had taken at CVS for my visa application makes me look like I'm a sketchy, skeevy person of ill repute. I'm currently watching the USA take on Algeria (yes, I know they've won, and yes, I know they're through, but I had to work a double yesterday, and didn't get to watch it and have it on the DVR) and doing some thinking.
Thinking about a lot of things in general - and how the hell have we not scored yet!? We'd have chances out the wazoo here, and we can't find the back of the net!?
Sorry. Sidetracked. It happens (you guys know this by now).
First thing (or things) I want to remark on is the neighborhood shenanigans that have been going on. I'm going to be honest - I've been sick. First semester first year of college, the mystery pain that nobody had an answer to, that nobody could figure out why I was having pain the way I was having pain, ultimately ending in surgery to remove a cyst and some other benign tissues from my internal girly parts. But between September and January (when I had surgery), and nobody knew what was going on with me internally, it was really, freaking scary. My body was doing something to itself that I couldn't control, and simply had to cope with. We tried some things - I kept a food and exercise diary (and a pain one, too) and went, at one point, two weeks without any dairy products of any sort. I was in New York City for a college publishing thing (we toured some of the publications and publishing houses) with my sister, and attending these sessions with major publishing powerhouses, and opposite my bracelets on my left wrist was my pre-surgery hospital band on my right.
You can see it in this photo. It's on the hand closest to you.
Being sick, in general, sucks. It does. Having cancer sucks even worse. But the biggest, and most frightening thing, at least to me, is not knowing what's going on with your own body. Not knowing what it's doing to itself on the inside. If you know what's going on - you have a diagnosis - you can fight it. When you don't have a clue what's happening, you can't. You just have to ride it out. And that's just all kinds of scary, truthfully. Scarier than having a diagnosis.
I understand being sick. I get that. What I don't get is the specific set of rules that I've been asked to play by, concerning someone and their illness. I understand that there are things you don't want to hear - but you're going to hear them anyway, because people can't remember specifics, and yes, in all reality, as much as you'd like to think to the contrary, you're still sick - but to slam someone whom who've progressively gotten closer to because of the way they have - in your opinion mistakenly - acted (with good intentions, mind you) that's, in layman's terms, not right. Flat out. And you've done more than simply hurt feelings and make a good person who wanted nothing better than to help, hurt instead. That's not right, either.
Simple human kindness dictates that when someone does something for you, out of graciousness and the want to assist, you thank them, not nitpick and complain that it wasn't done to the correct specification, simply shut your mouth, and accept it for what it was - assistance, helpfulness, and a good deed so that life might be a little easier.
For example: We have a very team-oriented atmosphere at my workplace. I'm a waitress. So, when I get swamped, and maybe behind a little in taking out my dinners, someone assists me. They also - sometimes - assist in handing out my dinners (or desserts, because we're sometimes a little rushed handing out cheesecake at the end) and can't necessarily readily read the map that I've drawn myself (because it looks pretty cool when you put a dinner in front of someone and know who ordered what, and how they wanted their beef cooked) so they simply look at the table, find the plates, and hand them out. I don't light into them later on because they've done it differently than I would have. I thank them for helping me, and we move on. Later on in the night, when we're doing coffee, if I take a pot of coffee upstairs, I simply move throughout the floor and offer coffee to everyone - including the tables that aren't mine. I might not have the same personality, or know the tables as well as my own, but I still get a thank you, and I've still helped my coworker and the customer. And that is what's most important. We don't get petty, and we don't get upset with each other. We help each other. One of us has a rough night on the floor (someone that can't be pleased) then we try to make life easier for him/her by doing what we can to help. The same goes for our F.O. when we set up or clean, or are getting food out. We do what we can, and while sometimes it might be a little unorthodox, it's still appreciated.
Bottom line: Someone does something nice for you, does you a favor and tries to make things a little easier so you can focus on what's really going on, what's bugging you (fighting an illness or simply having a tough time) you smile, and you say thank you. Because that's what you're supposed to do as a decent human being.
Then again, lately, there seems to be less and less decency in the world. Nearly a week ago (last Friday, really) while my father, the dog, and I were outside (and the cat, too) doing lawn work and trying to get the old push mower started, my dad heard a thu-thump, the dog started going nuts, and he looked at the road in time to see our beloved black cat take off the for old back porch.
She'd been hit by a car.
Said car did not stop. Said car did not even slow down.
You hit my cat, the least - the freaking least - you can do is slow down or stop, especially if you see someone outside. However, whoever it was kept on going.
Before I cause any unnecessary stress - I have one very, very lucky kitty. No broken bones; a gash on her back leg (took a nice chunk out of her) and she's got some road burn on her face. She's a very lucky black cat.
She'd gone and hid under the porch at the old house. Neither mom nor I could get her to come out - I actually crawled under there (which, considering my fear of spiders was interesting) but couldn't get close enough to get a hand around her somewhere and pull her out. Later on, Heather rattled the cat food in the house and she came out, laying on the step and wanting to come in, mewling.
I was not able to walk her home. Heather had to wrap a towel around her, pick her up, and take her back across the road. We put her in the bathroom, brought up her catbox, and peeked in on her every now and then. She was not a happy camper. She was actually quite miserable. I took her to the vet the next morning - the doc was very good with her (and she didn't claw anyone, which is a miracle, 'cause Pepper'll rip your hand off on occasion) and said she was very lucky. Usually, when a cat meets a motor vehicle, the cat doesn't walk away.
Also last Saturday was the Waterfront Festival. Our Waterfront Festival is the broader term for the Cardboard Boat Regatta. Yes, boats made of cardboard and duct tape. And they sail in the marina. The pier was packed, and my college friend, Josie, whom I was meeting down there, wound up with a busted muffler (that the AAA guy took off completely) and we watched some of the boats before it started to rain and I had to go to work. The she spent some time with my mom, sister, and the little one while I was at work.
And things like that are only as awkward as you make them. Everything turned out okay. And I would say that the family agrees that I've found really good friends at college. For that, I'm really lucky. Lucky and grateful.
Tuesday (two days ago) I made a new blog. Again, before I cause any unnecessary stress as to whether or not the Wandering Sagittarius will be going anywhere - I won't be. I've toyed with the idea of making a blog about my time abroad, or whether to give it a specific heading and specific tags, and keep everything under one roof. And after spending the amount of time I did on a layout and trying to do colors, and really thinking about, I'm now looking for a way to delete that new one. The other one. That I don't want to use. It would be too much of a hassle, and probably too confusing to keep those posts separate (for both you and me) and too much to mess with. So what you'll get is a series of posts (titled similar to Murphy and Me and Things to Know) with Roman numerals and the same snarky, introspective Molly Louise that you've grown accustomed to. Just on the other side of the pond.
My cousin and I go to Fitness at six in the morning four days a week. That works for us. It's a combination of lifting weights, working muscles you don't normally work, and doing more push ups than people can really count. We quite possibly do about a thousand a week, just in four days worth of work. That, though, doesn't work for everyone.
What my sister's been doing at night is walking. She'll walk anywhere between three and five miles (depending on whether she's pushing the thirty pound child in the heavy stroller) each day, and she keeps track (meticulously, I might add) of the miles that she logs. She puts her mp3 player on, her headphones in, and pounds the pavement to the RENT soundtrack.
I couldn't be more proud of her.
And trust me, when she walks, she's movin'.
Fridays are the days when I don't have Fitness. Tomorrow morning, at five, we'll get up, put in the headphones, and pound it out. Then she'll go to work, and I might get back into bed for a couple more hours. Or I might not. I'll figure that out when I get there.
Side note - I can't imagine watching this World Cup game in real time yesterday. I know there's a goal coming, and I'm on my last set of adrenaline nerves watching it because they haven't scored yet, and they need to win to advance. I think I would have been on the edge of my seat and screaming at my TV. Like I don't do that already, as it is.
And have I mentioned that I absolutely adore Landon Donovan and Carlos Bocanegra? If not, I'm mentioning it now.
Soccer for me is still a big part of life. I don't play anymore - competitively - but if I could find a pick-up game or so I'd be out there in a heartbeat. What's been a little difficult, especially this past season, being a referee -
How the hell did they not suffocate Landon in that tremendous pile?
- it's made me remember my days with my club team. And the WAZA girls, and everything that happened in those four years. Trying out for ODP (multiple times, and not getting in - which, when indoor happened shortly after that, my coach looked at me said, "You come back from ODP tryouts and you're playin' like you got robbed - it's great, girl") and then really settling in, both in goal and in the midfield (actually as a back) and I played a lot of soccer. At times a lot of good soccer. Then there was my senior season with my varsity team. It was -
Not entirely sure I can watch my favorite player - and who's number I wore for so long - cry in this interview after putting them through the to the next round.
- one of those times that you think you're going to go on to bigger fields, and bigger competition.
It's complicated, and difficult to explain. My weekends used to be games, and travel, and doing homework in the car, and sleeping in the car, and changing uniforms on the road to another game, and to not have that anymore - in any capacity - is incredibly difficult. It feels, at times, like something is missing.
I understand, and I believe that things happen for whatever reason (still, a reason is a reason) and that when one door closes, another opens (or a window, whatever, I'm not picky) and I know that if I had been in season last fall, then I wouldn't have found community theater, and met and worked with the people that I met. And I wouldn't have really found that I enjoy theater and decided to minor in it. I wouldn't have found that, and I'm very happy that it was something I did find.
Still. Sometimes it feels like there's something missing. And I think that that specific feeling is going to be there for a long time.
Which is why I want to see if I can help out the Varsity girls coach (who was also the travel U19 coach who I was going to be another body at practice with) during their preseason in August and maybe up until I leave, depending on my work schedule). I can't coach - I don't have a license, though there is a need for a girls Modified coach. Also, I leave toward the beginning of September, so that wouldn't work. That might be one of those ways I get soccer back.
It's not what I had, but that's something that you probably can't get back. Not just in soccer, but in general.
Up next for the rest of this week - I start the visa application tonight (which reminds me that I need to read those papers [the instructions] multiple times) and go back in to work for another double on Saturday. Hopefully, when I get out at 12:30 in the morning, I won't hit a large, four-legged furry thing on my way home. If I time it just right, I'll be coming in the house as my father is leaving for work, which is always a little bit fun.
On that note, I've got live World Cup soccer, Patrick O'Brian's Master and Commander, and about two more hours before I get to pick up the little one from daycare. Hell, I might finish my latest section of Murphy and Me.
Maybe. If I can find my Focus. Which is another story entirely.