What the frak is wrong with people?!?!

I just heard the most ridiculous thing on the news. Last year, two guys got drunk, one drove, they got in an accident, and died. Here is the ridiculous part: the family of one of the guys (the passenger, not driver) is suing two restaurants/bars where the guys were drinking saying that someone at the restaurant should have stopped them from driving! I mean really. The restaurant is responsible? That is ridiculous. What are they supposed to do ...make you turn in your keys if you are drinking alcohol and only give them back if you pass a breathalyzer test? I say that the guys were the ones who did not use a designated driver. They did not call a taxi. the passenger chose to get in a car with someone who had been drinking. A bad decision, but still his decision to make. What the frak is wrong with people?!?!

SNOW!

I love snow. Everything all white and fluffy. I swear that Lorelai Gilmore and I have the same love of the snow. The first snow. The smell in the air right before the snow comes. That slight "brrr" from the chilly air. I love watching my cats try and chase the flakes through the window. I still don't understand people who choose to live in snowy places, but don't like the snow. Move already and stop your whining. Enjoy how pretty everything looks. All those leafless twigs sticking up from the ground have a new life covered in snow. Its like art. Even better when it turns to ice on the branches (well, not the damage it can cause, but how pretty it looks). I am happy when it snows.

Life and what to make of it

So, this life thing goes on and on. I keep thinking about what I am doing, how I am living my life, and how I want to be living my life. The worst part for me is that I feel like I am in a constant state of waiting. Waiting to figure out who I want to be. Waiting to figure out what kind of career I really want to have. Waiting to be able to afford a home that I would really love to live in. Waiting to be who I am supposed to be. As of right now, at age 29, I am still not quite sure who I am.

One of the most painful, yet numbing feelings, is not knowing who you are and what you are passionate about. After years of not figuring out what I liked because I was so worried about being judged for my opinions, I never felt brave enought to form my own feelings about things. Now, as I try and figure out what it is I do love, I feel like I am lost in the woods without a compass or a guide. I feel no sense of direction. What steps do I take to find my passion? Or is the real truth that there is no passion inside of me to tap into? I have always thought that everyone has something that they love, that they dream of doing.

How do you find your passion? How will I find mine?

I feel brave.

Those who know me may know of my fear of having blood drawn. It is incredibly difficult to communicate how truly traumatic this experience is for me. From the moment I hear I have to have blood drawn, I begin having palpitations, little mini-anxiety attacks that make my head swoon and my shoulders hug in to each other to protect myself from the fear. The actual moments leading up to the blood draw only increase my anxiety. I am a rational person. I know I will not die from a blood draw. It does not matter. I cannot control the reaction my body goes through once the process starts.

Arriving at the lab, I must always convince the phlebotomist that I am not overreacting, kidding, or being over-demanding. If I have someone with me (which I always try and do), I explain how they need to come in with me. Then the rest of my needs: I need to lie down; I need them to not tell me anything about what they are doing; I need them to put the blood out of my line of vision; I need them to try not to judge my ridiculous rambling attempts to distract myself with endless chatter; and oh yeah, if there is no one there with me, can you please just keep me talking about anything other that what is happening? Once I get past all of this, it just starts to get worse.

I not only hate blood draws, but on top of it, I have small, hard-to-find veins that every phlebotomist struggles to find. There is nothing so comforting as knowing that the person who is going to stick the needle in you can't find the place to stick said needle. They put the tourniquet on one arm, tappity-tap-tap, then the other, tappity-tap, then back again. Finally they say something calming like, "Well, we'll just try this one". They have no idea that they truly only have one chance to stick me, cause if they miss, they will never be allowed near me again.

At this point, my breathing is becoming shallow, I am talking my head off, and I feel the swabs and the poking, knowing that the needle is coming. And that is when it all goes to hell. Moments after I feel that little prick in my arm, it is like my life-force is being sucked from me. My head is full of tingling cotton balls. A deafening silence takes over my hearing, then the distant ringing sounds. I am cold, clammy, hot, and feverish. My face is now white, devoid of all color and feeling. And then I feel it coming; this approaching swirling blackness. I can't do anything to stop it. I am screaming inside my head for them to hurry up and stop. I panic. I try and not panic. It doesn't work. Just as I approach the abyss, I hear the only words that can start to bring me back: "Okay. All done. Do you need some juice?"

Believe it or not, it takes me longer to recover than it does for them to draw the blood. Ten minutes lying there. Drinking bad juice that is like licking the frozen concentrate straight from the freezer. Testing whether or not I can sit up without the woozies coming back. Eventually, I began to feel some semblance of my normal self again. And I can get up and walk out without falling flat on my face. I am still creeped out every time I notice the bandage and remember. It will linger and haunt me for the rest of the day.

Today, I had to have blood drawn. My doctor said I had to leave from her office and go get it done. I didn't have anyone to go with me for comfort and distraction. The amount of willpower it took to even get off the highway exit was astounding. I was talking myself out of it and back into it every other minute. Pulling into the driveway, I felt my heart start racing. Getting out of the car, my limbs felt like weights trying to keep me from moving. At the registration window, I was praying for the lab to be closed. It wasn't. I went in. I had my blood drawn. All by myself. I almost passed out, but I did it. And ten minutes later, I got up and walked out. I was truly proud of myself (and still creeped out).

I felt very brave.

Welcome to my blog-type world.

This is what I call breaking the ice. I am making my first blog post with virtually no depth, no controversy, no humor, and very little thought. Instead, it is my way of getting past any anxiousness about putting my words out there for others to read and comment on. My ego is fragile and only protected by a very thin shield of false bravado, so be gentle, kind readers.

Be back soon with something real to say.

K