I visited a local social service agency today, just as I've been doing about four days a week for the last month and a half since I began this job. I should've visited this one earlier, as they are one of the biggest service providers in the city, but I was a little iffy about them. I had heard things about them, about their conservatism specifically, and I put off my visit.
I dress down when I go to shelters and soup kitchens, because going in my standard professional garb usually makes me stick out like a St. Bernard amongst chihuahuas. This place was different. The staff were all wearing suits and nice shoes. The woman who gave me my tour had fabulous earrings and meticulous makeup and would've fit into any financial firm in town. We sat down in a conference room clearly touched by the hand of a superior interior decorator. I had mixed reactions to this; I like a beautiful room as much as the next person, but where had the money come from? I've seen too many institutional living situations. Did the women who lived in this building ever get to sit in these lovely and comfortable chairs?
They do. This is the first place they come when they are interviewed to become residents there. They sit in the clothes they have accumulated on the streets, on these spotless chairs, and as it turns out, they are asked many of the same questions that were asked of me. "What's your background? Why are you here?" All the rooms in this building are beautiful, not just the conference room where they greet visitors. The women are provided with good quality clothing and advised about dressing well, and asked to dress professionally for their classes in the recovery and transition program. Beauty, it turns out, is part of their mission. Beauty helps these women know that they are valued and cared for.
The women on the staff buy their clothing almost entirely at thrift stores. They are walking lessons in how to bring out the best of yourself without dropping a lot of money. I meet a woman in the kitchen who came there not knowing how to use a stove, who now makes famously good soup for the residents and the dinner program next door. She's moving out next week, into an apartment of her own, but she's promised to come back and make her soup for the community. She, and the other women I meet there, are dressed to the nines. They could be mistaken for government workers or financial consultants. I felt underdressed.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Reactions, and Life in General
This whole tumor thing has put an odd spin on my life. I got over the freaking out stage pretty quickly, but the stupid thing is still there, sitting inside my head, being uncertain. I feel like I should tell people, because if it turns out to be something bad, I don't want them to be completely surprised; it's easier to sort of slide into it slowly. But the fact that I have told people, here and in person, means that I have to deal with their reactions in addition to everything within myself.
Here's something I have noticed: other people sometimes freak out a lot more than I do.
Case in point: suddenly there was a rumor going around that I had a massive, terminal brain tumor and would almost certainly die soon. It was an odd thing to hear about myself. I have been very cautious about clarifying that, while the words "brain tumor" are scary, this is probably benign and harmless. Clearly, people overreact. I've been doing pretty well at differentiating myself from the anxiety of others, but seriously, do people really think it's helpful to call someone who has just found out that they have a brain tumor and practically start shouting at them, "Oh my God, are you going to die???" Of course I'm going to die, someday. Life is terminal. But I'm doing fine at being reminded of my own mortality without your help, thanks.
A nice, "Hey, thinking of you" = great.
Histrionics, projected anxiety, and panic attacks = not great.
Aside from the too-mah-related madness, life is pretty good. It's a busy week at work, since I'm preaching this Sunday and also really starting to get into the swing of things with youth activities and outreach efforts. My dog is at the office today because I'm afraid she'll be terribly neglected for most of the week, and then I have to leave on Monday morning for some silly required ministers' retreat. Oh, did I say silly aloud? I used to love this sort of thing and think that the networking and friendships made it worthwhile, but I have networking to do and friendships to build and maintain here now, and I am getting tired of having my time consumed by other things. But such is life. I shall go and try to be as positive as possible, because chances are, some of the other people there will need this time for support and general well-being.
"Try to be as positive as possible." Doesn't that sound hopeful!
To return to the topic of odd reactions, I seem to be wearing a sign lately that says, "Men with girlfriends, hit on me!" If you see such a sign on me, would you kindly remove it for me? I'm getting fairly tired of having great (and often long) conversations with people that abruptly end when I ask questions like, "Do you live alone?" Someone needs to clue these guys in that it's considered better form to end the old relationship before seeking the next one. I'm at the point in my life where I'm attempting to at least be open to the idea of being in a relationship, but the idiocy I'm encountering recently is pushing that door shut in a hurry. I just don't have the time or energy for this dishonesty and foolishness.
And now, since I have a to-do list eight miles long and a whining dog standing at my office door, I'm going to stop snarking and get back to work.
Here's something I have noticed: other people sometimes freak out a lot more than I do.
Case in point: suddenly there was a rumor going around that I had a massive, terminal brain tumor and would almost certainly die soon. It was an odd thing to hear about myself. I have been very cautious about clarifying that, while the words "brain tumor" are scary, this is probably benign and harmless. Clearly, people overreact. I've been doing pretty well at differentiating myself from the anxiety of others, but seriously, do people really think it's helpful to call someone who has just found out that they have a brain tumor and practically start shouting at them, "Oh my God, are you going to die???" Of course I'm going to die, someday. Life is terminal. But I'm doing fine at being reminded of my own mortality without your help, thanks.
A nice, "Hey, thinking of you" = great.
Histrionics, projected anxiety, and panic attacks = not great.
Aside from the too-mah-related madness, life is pretty good. It's a busy week at work, since I'm preaching this Sunday and also really starting to get into the swing of things with youth activities and outreach efforts. My dog is at the office today because I'm afraid she'll be terribly neglected for most of the week, and then I have to leave on Monday morning for some silly required ministers' retreat. Oh, did I say silly aloud? I used to love this sort of thing and think that the networking and friendships made it worthwhile, but I have networking to do and friendships to build and maintain here now, and I am getting tired of having my time consumed by other things. But such is life. I shall go and try to be as positive as possible, because chances are, some of the other people there will need this time for support and general well-being.
"Try to be as positive as possible." Doesn't that sound hopeful!
To return to the topic of odd reactions, I seem to be wearing a sign lately that says, "Men with girlfriends, hit on me!" If you see such a sign on me, would you kindly remove it for me? I'm getting fairly tired of having great (and often long) conversations with people that abruptly end when I ask questions like, "Do you live alone?" Someone needs to clue these guys in that it's considered better form to end the old relationship before seeking the next one. I'm at the point in my life where I'm attempting to at least be open to the idea of being in a relationship, but the idiocy I'm encountering recently is pushing that door shut in a hurry. I just don't have the time or energy for this dishonesty and foolishness.
And now, since I have a to-do list eight miles long and a whining dog standing at my office door, I'm going to stop snarking and get back to work.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Too-mah Update
Thanks, everyone, for the comments and prayers. By way of an update:
- The MRI will be April 3. This is a bit longer than I had hoped to wait, but what do you do? I should have results by the 10th.
- Upon getting over the sheer terror inspired by the words "brain tumor," I started doing some thinking and research. If something turns out to be bad, well, it just does, and we'll deal with that if/when it comes. But the fact is that this particular tumor is small, it's partially calcified, and it's in an easily operable place if that should become necessary. So, at the moment, there is no cause for panic.
- If the amount of tumor humor that has come out of my mouth in the last few days is any indication, I am a very warped individual.
- The MRI will be April 3. This is a bit longer than I had hoped to wait, but what do you do? I should have results by the 10th.
- Upon getting over the sheer terror inspired by the words "brain tumor," I started doing some thinking and research. If something turns out to be bad, well, it just does, and we'll deal with that if/when it comes. But the fact is that this particular tumor is small, it's partially calcified, and it's in an easily operable place if that should become necessary. So, at the moment, there is no cause for panic.
- If the amount of tumor humor that has come out of my mouth in the last few days is any indication, I am a very warped individual.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Not quite the appointment I expected
Nothing introduces you to your own mortality quite like the words, "You have a brain tumor."
Yes indeed, back in the summer when I was hospitalized after a seizure, that "something odd" on my CT scan that made them keep me in the hospital an extra night turned out to be a small tumor in the meninges of my right hemisphere. That would have been helpful to know, oh, nine months ago or so. The neurologist is 99% certain that it's benign, but I'm having another MRI this week to make sure it hasn't grown. The tumor is completely unrelated to the seizures. Tumor. Tumor. Tumor. I keep repeating the word to myself in an attempt to remove the fear from it. Is it working? Not so much.
But I'm one of his easy patients, the neurologist tells me during every visit. My seizures are controlled by a low dose of a single medication. Because half of my family has some form of epilepsy, seizures don't scare me. Apparently he has a lot of people who freak out in his office, a lot of people whose seizures interfere with their lives and don't respond so well to medication. I understand the medical language, and our visits are fast because he doesn't have to translate and explain everything. He wishes all of his patients were as simple as me, and as calm, he tells me. So I take this newest development calmly too, sitting placidly as he keeps talking about my tumor. When he looks down to write out the orders for the MRI and blood work, my eyes start to betray me, but I pinch myself hard and remain the easy patient. We shake hands, and he says yet again that he wishes all his patients were like me. I tell him he'd be out of a job.
He has referred me to his colleagues in neurosurgery to monitor the tumor, so that if something does need to be done, it can be done quickly. That is both comforting and not. Because I am calm, he can give me the information with no frills or hesitation. It's probably benign, but we're not taking any chances. I made it out of the office without crying, but I didn't quite manage the walk to the car. Tumor, tumor, tumor. I'll have the MRI, and we'll talk in about a week. Whatever happens happens, but let me tell you, this was not exactly how I expected my easy appointment with the neurologist to go.
Yes indeed, back in the summer when I was hospitalized after a seizure, that "something odd" on my CT scan that made them keep me in the hospital an extra night turned out to be a small tumor in the meninges of my right hemisphere. That would have been helpful to know, oh, nine months ago or so. The neurologist is 99% certain that it's benign, but I'm having another MRI this week to make sure it hasn't grown. The tumor is completely unrelated to the seizures. Tumor. Tumor. Tumor. I keep repeating the word to myself in an attempt to remove the fear from it. Is it working? Not so much.
But I'm one of his easy patients, the neurologist tells me during every visit. My seizures are controlled by a low dose of a single medication. Because half of my family has some form of epilepsy, seizures don't scare me. Apparently he has a lot of people who freak out in his office, a lot of people whose seizures interfere with their lives and don't respond so well to medication. I understand the medical language, and our visits are fast because he doesn't have to translate and explain everything. He wishes all of his patients were as simple as me, and as calm, he tells me. So I take this newest development calmly too, sitting placidly as he keeps talking about my tumor. When he looks down to write out the orders for the MRI and blood work, my eyes start to betray me, but I pinch myself hard and remain the easy patient. We shake hands, and he says yet again that he wishes all his patients were like me. I tell him he'd be out of a job.
He has referred me to his colleagues in neurosurgery to monitor the tumor, so that if something does need to be done, it can be done quickly. That is both comforting and not. Because I am calm, he can give me the information with no frills or hesitation. It's probably benign, but we're not taking any chances. I made it out of the office without crying, but I didn't quite manage the walk to the car. Tumor, tumor, tumor. I'll have the MRI, and we'll talk in about a week. Whatever happens happens, but let me tell you, this was not exactly how I expected my easy appointment with the neurologist to go.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
We're launching into Holy Week, a time which for the last three years has been fraught with insane amounts of planning and stress. This year, I am reading Scripture tomorrow, jointly presiding over communion on Maundy Thursday, and chanting a Psalm on Good Friday. No stress. This feels weird, but good. It would even feel restful, if I could manage to get any rest, which of course I haven't, because I am insane.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
I Finished the Song I Didn't Expect
Sometimes you start to write one song, and an entirely different one shows up. If that doesn't sound like life, I don't know what does.
On an unrelated note, you can see some of my pictures from Ireland here.
Also, what on earth is up with our governor (if indeed he is still governor at this point...we are awaiting his likely resignation)? I am so very tired of politicians and their scandals. I heard a radio commentator today arguing that we should stay out of what happens in people's bedrooms and hotel rooms, and that people are coming down too hard on Eliot Spitzer. Not to dwell on the obvious, but this is not just a case of someone messing around, which is so common that we barely bat an eye. This is about an elected official involved with prostitution, which last I checked is illegal.
And now this is the post I didn't expect to write.
On an unrelated note, you can see some of my pictures from Ireland here.
Also, what on earth is up with our governor (if indeed he is still governor at this point...we are awaiting his likely resignation)? I am so very tired of politicians and their scandals. I heard a radio commentator today arguing that we should stay out of what happens in people's bedrooms and hotel rooms, and that people are coming down too hard on Eliot Spitzer. Not to dwell on the obvious, but this is not just a case of someone messing around, which is so common that we barely bat an eye. This is about an elected official involved with prostitution, which last I checked is illegal.
And now this is the post I didn't expect to write.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Why I Will (Probably) Never Go on a Group Tour Again
(Apparently I'm blogging a lot today, because a) it's my Day of Recovery, and if I don't find something to do with myself, I'm going to end up working even more than I already have; b) I'm determined not to leave my house, because it's just so darned cold and I'm really tired of being cold; and c) one never knows when I'll have time again, this being the season that it is.)
I've always suspected that I am not a tour group traveler. Now I can actually say this with some experience to back it up.
I will clarify: I had a wonderful time in Ireland. It was beautiful. I met some great people, both those on the tour and those I encountered while wandering away from the tour. I heard a lot of terrific music. I wish I could describe it better, but what do you say about a trip like this to people who weren't there? Anyway, I am so, so glad I went, and the good far outweighed the bad. And yet...there are some things about the trip that irked me, and most of them had to do with it being a group tour organized by a travel agency. I am preparing to write a letter to the agency about some of them, but first I shall gripe here.
1) Anything that could have gone wrong with my reservations for this trip did. In an attempt to placate me at the height of the wrongness, the agent said, "We've been doing this for thirty years." Fabulous. One would think you would know what you're doing by now, then. The purpose of having someone else organize your trip is to make it simpler, but I have never had a more difficult and time-consuming travel arrangement process than this.
2) Is it too much to ask for an itinerary with some sense of times and options?
3) If I don't have such an itinerary, does it really seem reasonable to expect that I will know when and where I'm supposed to be? And must you shout at people when they ask if they'll have time to see something? How rude.
4) We were on tour with rock bands. Part of the tour involved spending half of the evenings at concerts that went late into the night, and were definitely not followed by going immediately to bed. 7am wake-up calls? Are you people insane? Vacation for me never involves being up at 7am. I don't even like it when my normal life involves being up at 7am.
5) Ditto to 7am flights, especially those that leave from airports an hour or more from the hotel.
6) My favorite thing about traveling is getting to meet local people and observe local life. Doing this with 200 other Americans roaming around is nearly impossible.
7) Letting someone else choose my hotels: not wise. They did pretty well in Dublin, and great in Killarney, but Galway was just....ew. Good thing we only stayed there one night (although we paid for two), because they had scheduled things so that we all got out of the final concert well after midnight and had to be on a bus to the airport at 3am. Who needs sleep?
I loved touring with the bands, but seriously, next time around, I'm scheduling my own underground tour, with reasonable flight times and no wake-up calls.
I've always suspected that I am not a tour group traveler. Now I can actually say this with some experience to back it up.
I will clarify: I had a wonderful time in Ireland. It was beautiful. I met some great people, both those on the tour and those I encountered while wandering away from the tour. I heard a lot of terrific music. I wish I could describe it better, but what do you say about a trip like this to people who weren't there? Anyway, I am so, so glad I went, and the good far outweighed the bad. And yet...there are some things about the trip that irked me, and most of them had to do with it being a group tour organized by a travel agency. I am preparing to write a letter to the agency about some of them, but first I shall gripe here.
1) Anything that could have gone wrong with my reservations for this trip did. In an attempt to placate me at the height of the wrongness, the agent said, "We've been doing this for thirty years." Fabulous. One would think you would know what you're doing by now, then. The purpose of having someone else organize your trip is to make it simpler, but I have never had a more difficult and time-consuming travel arrangement process than this.
2) Is it too much to ask for an itinerary with some sense of times and options?
3) If I don't have such an itinerary, does it really seem reasonable to expect that I will know when and where I'm supposed to be? And must you shout at people when they ask if they'll have time to see something? How rude.
4) We were on tour with rock bands. Part of the tour involved spending half of the evenings at concerts that went late into the night, and were definitely not followed by going immediately to bed. 7am wake-up calls? Are you people insane? Vacation for me never involves being up at 7am. I don't even like it when my normal life involves being up at 7am.
5) Ditto to 7am flights, especially those that leave from airports an hour or more from the hotel.
6) My favorite thing about traveling is getting to meet local people and observe local life. Doing this with 200 other Americans roaming around is nearly impossible.
7) Letting someone else choose my hotels: not wise. They did pretty well in Dublin, and great in Killarney, but Galway was just....ew. Good thing we only stayed there one night (although we paid for two), because they had scheduled things so that we all got out of the final concert well after midnight and had to be on a bus to the airport at 3am. Who needs sleep?
I loved touring with the bands, but seriously, next time around, I'm scheduling my own underground tour, with reasonable flight times and no wake-up calls.
Stage Fright
After a week of being essentially guitar-less, my fingers are not cooperating as I try to play the partial song in my head into being. My callouses are depleted, and I seem to have lost a bit of stretch, although that could be just that my hands are cold. The question of whether to bring my guitar was quite the dilemma. I knew I'd want to play it, because I'd be surrounded by music and musicians all week. I also knew that I wasn't about to send my guitar through an airport conveyor system, and even if I could manage to convince the airline to let me carry it on, the buses that transported us once we were there had severe luggage restrictions. So, I settled for borrowing the guitars of others on the one night when the bands pulled out their instruments to jam. Not during the jam, mind you; it seemed fairly clear that the jam was for the bands to participate and the rest of us to observe. Afterward, I approached one of the guys and requested relief for my itchy fingers, and he happily obliged, as did another of them later in the night.
The band I actually knew on this tour was Enter the Haggis. They have been my introduction to Celtic rock. I'm spoiled by the fact that their music is not strictly Celtic, but also incorporates influences from jazz, bluegrass, prog rock, and a myriad of other genres. I'm learning that, while I enjoy watching other Celtic rock bands live, music strictly within that genre sort of bores me in recorded form. I'm also spoiled by the fact that they are all absolutely amazing musicians. I have tremendous respect for their technical skill, creativity, and songwriting abilities.
Which might explain why, when I had a mad craving for a guitar, I went not to the guys I knew, but to one of the members of the other band on the tour, the Elders. I think I said something like this: "I know you don't know me at all, and I don't even know your name, and you should feel free to say no, but I have a desperate favor to ask you." Mind you, this guy is also a great musician, but he seemed a little more relaxed, and less likely to lend me his guitar out of sheer desire not to disappoint me despite his own extreme anxiety that I would do something to it. My perception of him proved true. Also, I felt perfectly comfortable playing in his presence. I fear playing in front of the Haggis. Well, I fear playing in front of two of them, anyway.
Yes, this is the trip in which I discovered that I do have stage fright after all. For someone who has seldom been known to turn away from a microphone, this is a startling revelation.
This is only slightly related, but it also struck me that, for me, the world of musicians often feels much like the world of church, in that the center of it is largely populated by men, while women are often relegated or relegate ourselves to the periphery. I sometimes wonder what it is that keeps me from stepping up and asserting myself in musical circles the way men seem to do so easily - whether it's realism about my own skill level, or irrational anxiety about their reactions, or a genuine sense that I would not be welcome. I don't know. But I am glad to have my guitar now, so I'm going to go try to write this song.
The band I actually knew on this tour was Enter the Haggis. They have been my introduction to Celtic rock. I'm spoiled by the fact that their music is not strictly Celtic, but also incorporates influences from jazz, bluegrass, prog rock, and a myriad of other genres. I'm learning that, while I enjoy watching other Celtic rock bands live, music strictly within that genre sort of bores me in recorded form. I'm also spoiled by the fact that they are all absolutely amazing musicians. I have tremendous respect for their technical skill, creativity, and songwriting abilities.
Which might explain why, when I had a mad craving for a guitar, I went not to the guys I knew, but to one of the members of the other band on the tour, the Elders. I think I said something like this: "I know you don't know me at all, and I don't even know your name, and you should feel free to say no, but I have a desperate favor to ask you." Mind you, this guy is also a great musician, but he seemed a little more relaxed, and less likely to lend me his guitar out of sheer desire not to disappoint me despite his own extreme anxiety that I would do something to it. My perception of him proved true. Also, I felt perfectly comfortable playing in his presence. I fear playing in front of the Haggis. Well, I fear playing in front of two of them, anyway.
Yes, this is the trip in which I discovered that I do have stage fright after all. For someone who has seldom been known to turn away from a microphone, this is a startling revelation.
This is only slightly related, but it also struck me that, for me, the world of musicians often feels much like the world of church, in that the center of it is largely populated by men, while women are often relegated or relegate ourselves to the periphery. I sometimes wonder what it is that keeps me from stepping up and asserting myself in musical circles the way men seem to do so easily - whether it's realism about my own skill level, or irrational anxiety about their reactions, or a genuine sense that I would not be welcome. I don't know. But I am glad to have my guitar now, so I'm going to go try to write this song.
So, I'm Back
A few days ago, I was doing this:
(Taking a jaunting cart ride in Killarney National Park)
...and seeing this:
(Christ Church Cathedral in Dublin)
I spent some time here:
(The Quays in Galway)
...and heard a lot of great music from these guys:
(Enter the Haggis and the Elders playing their final show in Galway)
I also not-quite-kissed the Blarney Stone (do you know what's been on that thing??), touched a mummy, wandered through a lot of churches and ruins, and met several herds of Welsh men. I have yet to meet a Welsh woman, or a Welsh man traveling alone or in a group of less than ten, but I've encountered multiple flocks of Welsh men in both Scotland and Ireland, usually doing something related to rugby. My next overseas adventure may need to include a trip to Wales to investigate this situation.
Speaking of my next trip, I've been contemplating timing and destinations. Glasgow is still my favorite city in the world so far, and it is calling to me...but then, I've been asked to perform a wedding in Scotland in September of 2009, so I know that time is coming relatively soon. Also, I feel that I should go somewhere new, and quite possibly somewhere non-English-speaking. However, the UK/Ireland area agrees with me. So, we'll see. It's a bit soon to be planning another excursion anyway, given that I've been overseas twice in the last two months.
So, I'm back, sitting in my apartment in my bathrobe, going through emails while my "neglected" dog sleeps off her own vacation. It's both sad and good to be home.
(Taking a jaunting cart ride in Killarney National Park)
...and seeing this:
(Christ Church Cathedral in Dublin)
I spent some time here:
(The Quays in Galway)
...and heard a lot of great music from these guys:
(Enter the Haggis and the Elders playing their final show in Galway)
I also not-quite-kissed the Blarney Stone (do you know what's been on that thing??), touched a mummy, wandered through a lot of churches and ruins, and met several herds of Welsh men. I have yet to meet a Welsh woman, or a Welsh man traveling alone or in a group of less than ten, but I've encountered multiple flocks of Welsh men in both Scotland and Ireland, usually doing something related to rugby. My next overseas adventure may need to include a trip to Wales to investigate this situation.
Speaking of my next trip, I've been contemplating timing and destinations. Glasgow is still my favorite city in the world so far, and it is calling to me...but then, I've been asked to perform a wedding in Scotland in September of 2009, so I know that time is coming relatively soon. Also, I feel that I should go somewhere new, and quite possibly somewhere non-English-speaking. However, the UK/Ireland area agrees with me. So, we'll see. It's a bit soon to be planning another excursion anyway, given that I've been overseas twice in the last two months.
So, I'm back, sitting in my apartment in my bathrobe, going through emails while my "neglected" dog sleeps off her own vacation. It's both sad and good to be home.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Arrived in Ireland
Traveling with a large group is much different than traveling alone. For example, when you arrive at the destination airport, you can't just get your stuff and grab a taxi into the city to check into your hotel. You have to sit around at the airport and wait until everyone is assembled. Sometimes you have to wait three more hours for another flight to arrive. Fun. There is a lot of waiting involved in group travel. I am not so good at the waiting.
Aside from that, everything is great here. I'm on day two in Dublin, and I've ditched the group day trip to Wicklow to explore the city on my own. We had hardly any time yesterday, as most of it was spent waiting, riding around on a bus, waiting some more, riding around more, touring the Guinness brewery, waiting, riding, checking into our hotel, waiting, collapsing, and waiting. And then all the sights were closed. So, today I have done a little tour of churches, and am now wandering around the Temple Bar and Trinity College areas. I'm on my way to see the Book of Kells, and then will be figuring out how to get to St. Michan's church, which I hear has a very interesting crypt, if I can convince them to let me see it. Which I feel certain I can.
Pictures will have to wait until I get back, as I have no camera cord, but it's lovely here. It's even sunny today.
Aside from that, everything is great here. I'm on day two in Dublin, and I've ditched the group day trip to Wicklow to explore the city on my own. We had hardly any time yesterday, as most of it was spent waiting, riding around on a bus, waiting some more, riding around more, touring the Guinness brewery, waiting, riding, checking into our hotel, waiting, collapsing, and waiting. And then all the sights were closed. So, today I have done a little tour of churches, and am now wandering around the Temple Bar and Trinity College areas. I'm on my way to see the Book of Kells, and then will be figuring out how to get to St. Michan's church, which I hear has a very interesting crypt, if I can convince them to let me see it. Which I feel certain I can.
Pictures will have to wait until I get back, as I have no camera cord, but it's lovely here. It's even sunny today.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Mental Hamster-Wheel Blogging
I am leaving for Ireland tomorrow, and I am so worked up that I cannot go to sleep. I have dreamed for the last two nights that I nearly missed my flight - which I'm sure has something to do with my experience of trying to go to Scotland without a plane ticket, and having to race back to my house to find it. Sometimes my punctuality compulsion serves me very well.
On a side note, I've also been suffering severe back pain since Wednesday. I have no idea what I did to myself, but whatever it was, it left me gasping every time I moved. Conveniently, I was attempting to lug my baggage through airports at the time. I finally got in to see the chiropractor today, and my spine is now aligned...but two days of walking around with my pelvis completely out of whack has left me with a considerable amount of inflammation. I feel like a hunched-over 80-year-old every time I stand up, and tomorrow I have to be on a plane for several hours. This does not bode well for my first day in Dublin.
I feel that I am lacking something, for I do not have the Lonely Planet guide to Ireland. I meant to go get it today, but somehow it just didn't fit into working a full day, seeing the chiropractor, dropping off the dog, going to band practice, dropping off the rent check, picking up travel-sized toiletries, and having a farewell drink with a friend I haven't seen in a while because I've been either out of town or working frantically for the last couple of weeks. I know I'm going to be on an organized tour rather than wandering around solo like I was in Scotland, but I still want to have maps and recommendations of funky little restaurants and pubs. Honestly, I'm a little anxious about this whole tour business. I really enjoyed the solo wandering. I'm not so sure about following an itinerary and traveling with busloads of people. But, whatever. I'm going to Ireland! Yay!
Okay, I have got to get some sleep. I'll try to check in with news and pictures from the Emerald Isle.
On a side note, I've also been suffering severe back pain since Wednesday. I have no idea what I did to myself, but whatever it was, it left me gasping every time I moved. Conveniently, I was attempting to lug my baggage through airports at the time. I finally got in to see the chiropractor today, and my spine is now aligned...but two days of walking around with my pelvis completely out of whack has left me with a considerable amount of inflammation. I feel like a hunched-over 80-year-old every time I stand up, and tomorrow I have to be on a plane for several hours. This does not bode well for my first day in Dublin.
I feel that I am lacking something, for I do not have the Lonely Planet guide to Ireland. I meant to go get it today, but somehow it just didn't fit into working a full day, seeing the chiropractor, dropping off the dog, going to band practice, dropping off the rent check, picking up travel-sized toiletries, and having a farewell drink with a friend I haven't seen in a while because I've been either out of town or working frantically for the last couple of weeks. I know I'm going to be on an organized tour rather than wandering around solo like I was in Scotland, but I still want to have maps and recommendations of funky little restaurants and pubs. Honestly, I'm a little anxious about this whole tour business. I really enjoyed the solo wandering. I'm not so sure about following an itinerary and traveling with busloads of people. But, whatever. I'm going to Ireland! Yay!
Okay, I have got to get some sleep. I'll try to check in with news and pictures from the Emerald Isle.
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