so, i haven't written since April. Not that I think anyone read this thing, but I'm kind of stressed right now and so I thought I'd get some stuff out. Maybe it will help me get my mind on the task at hand (anyone who knows me knows that my parents should have named me The Procrastinator instead of Kelly. It would save everyone (classmates, coworkers, the power company bill collector...) a lot of time trying to figure me out. I wait until the last minute on everything. I always have and I probably always will. I'm almost 30 and it's never blown up in my face (I'm knocking on wood, don't worry). I think if it had, say, back in high school one good time, I probably wouldn't have ended up in my current position. Oh Well. I can work on changing next semester. Speaking of, let me give you the update:
1. I got into grad school! Yay! I am now a (virtual) Tarheel. UNC has an online MPH program, which given the fact that I work an hour away from the closest program was really the only way to go. Plus, UNC has a REALLY good Public Health School. I, with my mediocre grades and sub-par GRE scores never, in a million years, would have gotten into the on campus program. Since there will be no difference, on paper, between me and the smarties that go on campus (you know, when I'm seeking future employment as Kelly B Bragg, MPH, CHES, CPH (fingers crossed!)), I couldn't really pass it up when I inexplicably got an acceptance letter in the mail. I say inexplicably because I am by far the least qualified person in the program. For example, a sample of my classmates would be my group in my one of my first classes as an MPH candidate: Introduction to Public Health Practice. There are five people in my group - a woman with a Ph.D in genetics, a regulator with the FDA, a nurse in high risk obstetrics at a large hospital in Nashville, and a doctor. Thats right, I'm sharing posts and answering questions with an MD. I keep trying to tell myself that I'm the only one with true local public health experience. So far, I think I'm holding my own. I have a paper due tomorrow that I haven't even started yet - brings back memories of the Dub. :) I'm also taking intro to biostatistics. I LOATH that class and everything related to it. I am barely hanging on in there.
2. I had a pretty good summer, all things considered. In June, while on my lunch break at work, I decided to relive my glory days as star of the middle school basketball team. I went out back to shoot hoops (by myself) and fell. When I fell, I snapped the end of my fifth metatarsal off. Apparently, it's pretty common among us ballers. Anyway, I was in a boot for like 6 weeks. The weekend after I did it, a friend from Indy came down to visit. We really couldnt' do much because of the crutches, so I felt a little bad. I mean, lets be honest. Noone I know wants to spend all that money and fly in to see scenic Gastonia. I had fun, I just hope she did. It was about 4,034 degrees the entire time she was here and since I drive a manual car, I had to borrow my father's automatic 2001 Mitsubishi with 145,000 miles on it and no AC. Good times. Anyway, I did the crutches, the boot, the ugly crocs I was instructed to buy, etc. I tried to power through, but was still in a signifigant amount of pain so I went back to the doc in October and it WAS STILL BROKEN. Apparently, drinking a gallon of diet coke a day since hte age of 10 really isn't a good way to build up bone strength. Awesome. So, I'm dealing with that. You know what happens when you can't do anything but ride a bimke for exercise for 6 months? Your ass gets bigger. A lot bigger. It's been a real drain on the self esteem, but I'm hoping that the $400 orthotics that I paid for out of pocket will help me get back on the horse, er, treadmill. Any day now.
3. Terrance and I got a cat. No, we aren't cat people. He showed up in our yard, crying, and I couldn't let him die. The dogs tolerate him. His name is Charlie. I'm fairly certain he's a terrorist (not to make light of everything going on right now, but he's kind of ruining a bunch of my stuff. And I look like I try and hug a weedwacker on a daily basis).
4. I'm gearing up for another fun filled Festivus party. This will be the 3rd year Terrance and I have had a Holiday bash. I'll admit, I go a little nuts over it. I LOVE entertaining. People think I don't, because most of the time I spend the party running around making sure everything is going just right. I don't want anyone to bring anything... I just want to be the consumate hostess. I think I do OK at it. We should have about 20-25 people there this year, most of whom are return visitors, so it can't be so bad. :)
5. I went Black Friday shopping this year. I will never go again. It was too stressful for words. I saw people get punched, arrested, gun confiscated. People waited in line for 4, 5, 6 hours. And then another 2 to check out.
6. I love our little house. It does not love me back. Since we moved in 2 years ago, we have had to fix or replace the following things: refrigerator (fix - $400), septic system (fix - $600), washing machine (replace - $550). The roof now needs to be replaced as does the heating and air unit. Both of which are going to run us about $4,000-5,000. I'm tryng not to be an angry person. At least I have a house, right? A house that stays around 60 because 4 space heaters can only do so much and you can't run them all at once anyway because you short the house out. There are days that I want to send Charlie in to make the guy that sold us this place pay. And then I think about how cute it is and all the work I've done (we refinished the hardwoods in the dining room, painted a bunch, and I did tile backsplashes in the kitchen). And then I like it again. I have to admit, I like it because it's home. It will always be the first place we bought and when I'm making those big MPH, CHES, CPH bucks and Terrance is making those big history channel book tour bucks (he's in school right now as well to become a historian), we'll look back at this little place and say 'remember when' and laugh fondly as we sip wine overlooking our vineyard while we reflect on our fabulous lives... (more likely, we'll look back and say we miss paying this mortgage when we inevitably have to upgrade based on need not an increase in income... sigh...) Home, for us, is definitely wear the heart is - otherwise I'd cry. :)
OK- best to get started on the paper. Anyone taking bets on whether or not I can still successfully pull off the all nighter?
Monday, November 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
sadness
Last June, my friend Amy got married. Amy is a great friend and one of those people who I know I'm going to be friends with for the rest of my life. We lived together sophomore year, junior year, senior year and for a year after I moved back from Indy. We've seen each other get our hearts broken, fall in love and finally, we've seen each other get married. Which is why it wasn't totally weird when Amy called me the Monday after her wedding. I thought she was calling to see how the night when. Or to tell me that their flight to Aruba was cancelled. Or tell me that she needed something that week at work. But she sounded weird. I never expected what she was going to say.
Margaret died.
"What???" "I think Margaret died." "Why? What do you mean?"
That's how June 29, 2009 started for me. Margaret, the person I called when doing something reckless/fearless/different, died. Turns out, the most fearless person I ever knew was in a freak hiking accident. She was this amazing person. And she was just gone. I saw her fall in love, get married. Heard about her son being born.
"How did she die?" "It looks like she fell hiking." "Let me get on and see..."
I knew Margaret for a very short time before we lived together. She drove an old white ford escort. She was from NY. She liked indy music. She could run. She painted her room on Chestnut St blue. BRIGHT blue. With a zebra printed comforter. She didn't even ask before she paintedit.
So I painted my room. If Margaret did it, why couldn't I?
So I called Jenny, who called Kristin and Cathy. I called Jess. No one knew what to say. Or do.
Don't get me wrong. She didn't do everything right - she slept on the beach and got her purse stolen. And she wondered why. That was sort of a typical thing. But we all just accepted it because it was Marg.
I know I didn't call her enough. I know I wasn't her best friend. I don't feel like I was close enough to her to miss her so much. I know the fact that I cry once a month about her being gone might seem too much. But I miss her. I miss knowing she's there. To call when I want to do something that seems stupid. She was the only person in my life who didn't think I was wrong about my husband. She got the whole "when you know, you know" thing. She understood most things.
That was the thing about Margaret. She got it. All of it. And she knew it. And she loved it. And we loved her for it.
She should have turned 29 in 2 days. She deserved to do that. And I'm pissed that she can't.
I started going to church this past year. I feel like I can talk to her there. It's the only time I can hear her. Really hear her. And I think she can hear me. I talk about how, since her wake in Albany, I've stayed in touch with Cathy and Jenny and Kristin. How she reminded us that we were friends. How we all miss her so much. How she was the one who kept us together. Because she cared enough to keep us together.
How I miss her.
Happy Birthday, Margaret. We love and miss you.
I'll talk to you on Sunday.
Margaret died.
"What???" "I think Margaret died." "Why? What do you mean?"
That's how June 29, 2009 started for me. Margaret, the person I called when doing something reckless/fearless/different, died. Turns out, the most fearless person I ever knew was in a freak hiking accident. She was this amazing person. And she was just gone. I saw her fall in love, get married. Heard about her son being born.
"How did she die?" "It looks like she fell hiking." "Let me get on and see..."
I knew Margaret for a very short time before we lived together. She drove an old white ford escort. She was from NY. She liked indy music. She could run. She painted her room on Chestnut St blue. BRIGHT blue. With a zebra printed comforter. She didn't even ask before she paintedit.
So I painted my room. If Margaret did it, why couldn't I?
So I called Jenny, who called Kristin and Cathy. I called Jess. No one knew what to say. Or do.
Don't get me wrong. She didn't do everything right - she slept on the beach and got her purse stolen. And she wondered why. That was sort of a typical thing. But we all just accepted it because it was Marg.
I know I didn't call her enough. I know I wasn't her best friend. I don't feel like I was close enough to her to miss her so much. I know the fact that I cry once a month about her being gone might seem too much. But I miss her. I miss knowing she's there. To call when I want to do something that seems stupid. She was the only person in my life who didn't think I was wrong about my husband. She got the whole "when you know, you know" thing. She understood most things.
That was the thing about Margaret. She got it. All of it. And she knew it. And she loved it. And we loved her for it.
She should have turned 29 in 2 days. She deserved to do that. And I'm pissed that she can't.
I started going to church this past year. I feel like I can talk to her there. It's the only time I can hear her. Really hear her. And I think she can hear me. I talk about how, since her wake in Albany, I've stayed in touch with Cathy and Jenny and Kristin. How she reminded us that we were friends. How we all miss her so much. How she was the one who kept us together. Because she cared enough to keep us together.
How I miss her.
Happy Birthday, Margaret. We love and miss you.
I'll talk to you on Sunday.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Lent
As most people who know me know, I was raised an NPC (Non-praciticing Catholic). My mother, was protestant so she encouraged church after my sister and I were baptised catholic but didn't push and my parochially educated father was so turned off by the church after it was shoved down his throat that he had no use for it. His philosophy on church was somewhere around we should go, but not too much. I can remember summers where the family goal was to go to church 2 times a month. Twice. And we often failed. I went through communion when I was supposed to, was confirmed in high school and so I am, for all intents and puposes, a catholic. My political views prevent me from respecting much of what the church offers today, but I'm stuck in this realm of guilt about not wanting to completely turn my back on the religion that I have half assed for most of my life (I experimented a little in high school and college, but it never stuck). Or maybe I'm afraid I won't have as many jokes if I become protestant. Anyway, Terrance is Lutheran (if you want to call him anything) but doesn't really practice anything. We know we're christian in our house but that's about as far as it goes. Because not getting married in a church wasn't really much of an option as far as our families go (and, when it comes this part of the wedding, you do what the people who are paying for the thing tell you to do), we stumbled upon the Episcopal Church. It's nice there. It offers both of us a little of what we grew up with. I like it because it's just like the catholic church without the homophobia, judgement, or guilt.
My whole point in giving you this brief history of my spirituality is that yesterday marked the first day of Lent. During this time, catholics and other christians give up something for 40 days before Easter to represent Jesus' struggles in the desert. It starts 46 days before because you're allowed to indulge on Sundays, the day of celebration. I decided to jump in this year and really try to make it through. I've tried before in recent years, but have always failed miserably (my running joke is that I'm giving up meat. I've been a vegetarian since 1990.) But what to give up? I have trouble thinking of anything that wouldn't also be for personal gain - anything food related would help me in my never ending quest to fit into smaller pants, if I gave up facebook, it would only result in me being more productive, etc. - which I know is not the point. But what am I to do? I gave up the sweets. We're now a day and a half in, and based on the fact that I can't think of anything except the joy that a doughnut or cookie or peice of cake gives me, I feel as though I made the right choice.
When did this happen??? When did I morph into Veruca Salt? If I was coming up with excuses, I could blame my workplace. There's always a treat or two floating around the office and I think sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas I became accustomed to a daily treat and then two and then three. After that, well, then the day is kind of a wash, so I'll just have another one. I started working out again during this time and somehow, somewhere in my college level nutrition trained brain I convinced myself that 30-45 minutes of cardio burns somwhere around 2500 calories a day on a person with my frame. Turns out I was wrong. So, with the exception of the week I had the stomach flu, I've been, well, frankly, I've been a glutton. I'm paying for it. When Cadbury Creme Eggs start making a splash in Wal-Mart, I think my head is going to explode. We'll see.
My whole point in giving you this brief history of my spirituality is that yesterday marked the first day of Lent. During this time, catholics and other christians give up something for 40 days before Easter to represent Jesus' struggles in the desert. It starts 46 days before because you're allowed to indulge on Sundays, the day of celebration. I decided to jump in this year and really try to make it through. I've tried before in recent years, but have always failed miserably (my running joke is that I'm giving up meat. I've been a vegetarian since 1990.) But what to give up? I have trouble thinking of anything that wouldn't also be for personal gain - anything food related would help me in my never ending quest to fit into smaller pants, if I gave up facebook, it would only result in me being more productive, etc. - which I know is not the point. But what am I to do? I gave up the sweets. We're now a day and a half in, and based on the fact that I can't think of anything except the joy that a doughnut or cookie or peice of cake gives me, I feel as though I made the right choice.
When did this happen??? When did I morph into Veruca Salt? If I was coming up with excuses, I could blame my workplace. There's always a treat or two floating around the office and I think sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas I became accustomed to a daily treat and then two and then three. After that, well, then the day is kind of a wash, so I'll just have another one. I started working out again during this time and somehow, somewhere in my college level nutrition trained brain I convinced myself that 30-45 minutes of cardio burns somwhere around 2500 calories a day on a person with my frame. Turns out I was wrong. So, with the exception of the week I had the stomach flu, I've been, well, frankly, I've been a glutton. I'm paying for it. When Cadbury Creme Eggs start making a splash in Wal-Mart, I think my head is going to explode. We'll see.
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