There's Just Something About My Job

There's something excrutiatingly frustrating about trying to talk to a little deaf girl who doesn't speak much more sign language than you do. Which isn't a lot.

There's something wonderful about the thrill you get when she understands what you're saying and you realize she's finally learned the word you were trying to teach her.

There's something strangely heartwarming about the feeling of a little hand in both of your larger, stronger ones.

There's something of perfection in holding a little boy in your lap, after he's crawled there himself.

There's something supremely exhausting about carrying said little boy on your back for "horse rides." Especially when he wants you to jump.

There's something peculiarly un-awkward in explaining to the other children at the park that the little girl is deaf, and then teaching them how to say a few words to her in sign language.

There's something a little daunting about leaving for work every day at 5:15 in the morning. (Edit: There's something about the sunrise this morning that made it pretty much worthwhile.)

There's something completely peaceful about blowing bubbles and watching two little kids try to chase them before they get away.

There's something nervewracking about watching a mother scream obsenities at her child, even though you both know she can't hear it.

There's something awful about having to search through the stacks of hundreds of horror movies to find the ten or so movies halfway suitable for children, only to have the little boy ask for "Dawn of the Dead" anyway.

There's something heartwrenching in the fact that every time we play, he ends up brutally murdering someone either by decapitation, stabbing, or dismemberment. He's eight years old.

There's something totally reasonable in believing that the above behavior simply stems from the lack of movies that don't feature bloodied corpses terrorizing the populace...

...And yet there's something in you that says there's something else going on.

There's something terrifying in suspecting that something's wrong in a child's home and not being able to do anything about it.

I love my job.

I hate my job.

There Can Be Only One Conclusion

Consider these rather ominous symptoms:

I have had a headache for four days.

I have been craving Chinese food at every meal, and I can't seem to get enough.

Yes, after careful analysis, I have finally come to the same conlusion that you have doubtless arrived at yourselves: My head has been invaded by a tiny Chinese man. Really, I'm surprised I didn't think of it before. It's so obvious. It explains everything. Apparently, he's not quite tiny enough, because it's far too crowded in there (hence the headache). And, he's hungry, and possibly homesick (I know I would be), so he wants food that will remind him of home.

But since I simply cannot eat out all the time, he's been forced to content himself with whatever we fix here at home, which has not been even remotely Chinese. So then he gets angry and throws little temper tantrums, which explains why my head hurts worse at some times than others.

And occasionally, he simply refuses to eat American food at all, choosing instead to munch on my brain. Which explains the contents of this blog.

I Have Been Having a Torrid Affair...

...with a headache! It keeps coming back every night to sleep with me. It's been three nights in a row now. I feel so used...

Anyway, I did in fact secure the job I interviewed for in the previous blog. (Well, the interview wasn't in the previous blog, but I did mention it there.) So that's good. It means I have a paycheck coming, but it also means I can't go to D-port next week because they think I should actually show up to work at this new job. Jerks.

But apart from those two items, my boredom is surpassed only by Larse's, who wrote a disgruntled email about grass. And I didn't make that up. Although we do have similar thoughts about a missing hue in the highlighter industry, I have fortunately not sunk so low as to be upset about the color of grass. I am counting my blessings.

Heart! Headache Face

[insert creative title here]

I have a job interview today!! Woot. If I get the job, I'll be working with two little kids, a brother and sister. The girl is deaf and the boy is slightly mentally retarded. It also starts at 5:45 in the morning about 40 minutes away from here. So my enthusiasm is slightly dampened. (That's kind of an odd figure of speech, don't you think? How can your emotions get wet? And do they ever dry off? Ahh, life is full of mysteries. Perhaps this colloquialism will serve in my plan to add an air of mystery and excitement to my life...) Anyway, the interview is at one. I'll let you know how it went. Whether you care or not. Because now that you're here, you will read whatever I have written! There is no escape!! Beware the perils of Found Space!!! Mwahahaha!!!! Alright, my evil laugh sucks. I'm sorry. That totally took you out of the moment, didn't it? I mean, it was all pretty believable until that little blunder, right? My sincerest apologies if your sense of unholy fear was dampened.

Moving on.

So, for those of you who were wondering why I haven't blogged in over a week, here's a little explanation: I found a lump (hehe, lump lump lump lump--that was for my friend Tracey. Shoot. I shouldn't have clarified. It might have aided my quest for a mysterious and exciting air.) (By the way, how can air be mysterious or exciting?) and went to the doctor about it last Thursday. He was a little more concerned than he tried to let on, which made my mom and I a little more concerned...basically, by Saturday I was sure in my heart that it was breast cancer, because the longer I had to wait to find out, the more I thought about it. Add to that the fact that I just died of breast cancer onstage earlier this year, and I was kind of freaked out. I had an ultrasound on Tuesday, and I saw the offending little black blotches with my own eyes. And by "little" I mean "really-big-and-scary." The technician said right away that they were benign, and confirmed it with the radiologist down the hall, so that we could be sure before we went home. But my feeling of relief was dampened by the sight of the little buggers. And by "little" I mean "completely-unnerving-and-terrifying-despite-the-fact-that-they-are-not-cancerous." So even though my worst fears had been proven wrong, that whole day I was just a mess. It's just kind of disturbing to see things growing in you that aren't supposed to be there, no matter how non-lethal they may happen to be.

I'm better now. I'm imagining them differently, and pretending they're cute and cuddly. Not really. That's kind of weird. But I am trying to think differently about them. The whole week or so that this was bothering me, I didn't really want to blog about it, and I didn't have anything else to talk about, since that was pretty much all that was on my mind. And I didn't want to blog about this because I was afraid people would think I was being ridiculous, because you just don't get breast cancer at age 21. I didn't even want to talk about it to anyone, not even to have them pray for me, because I was afraid they'd think I was dramatising myself. (I accidentally mentioned it to one friend, simply because I didn't have anything else to talk about, and while he assured me that I was not being dumb, I'm still not sure if I'm glad or sorry I brought it up.) Plus, if I blogged about it, I'd have to swear on the internet (you know, br**st...). But I decided that the only people who read this thing are my dearest friends, anyway, and they're kind of like my family. And even if they thought I was being ridiculous, they deserved to have the opportunity to pray for me (I could still use it). And besides, what are friends and family for, if you couldn't tell them what's really bothering you? That would kind of dampen the whole spirit of community, wouldn't it?

So there you are. That's what you get for being my friends. Now I'm going to go get ready for my interview. I hope you all have lovely days, and your feelings are kept completely dry. Heart!