When I started writing here, I promised myself I'd write once a week. You see, I've tried (and failed at) blogging a few times now, and it's never worked. I get too lazy, forget to post, or get disillusioned when my posts don't generate the feedback I crave. This time I was hell-bent on making it work, so I set up automatic updates to compensate, and for awhile it was good. I thought I was safe, and in control, and finally on my way to responsible bloggerdom and then life happened.
For a start, finals kicked my butt. I had expected finals to be a bit of an obstacle, but I honestly was not prepared for the stress of finishing two majors, (which consists of 4 classes at the 300/400 level) in addition to the stress of graduate school preparation. I was also unprepared for the relative disorganization of History professors who are completely capable of "forgetting" the existence of finals, or 20 page essays. I worked the entire week before finals, and the entire week of finals up to the day before graduation. When all was said and done I turned in over 100 pages of material, while still managing to keep up my GPA and Magna Cum Laude. I'm still not sure how I managed it.
Following that, there was graduation and about a million other things to wrap up. It took me an entire day to clean up my suite (no, that mess was not all mine), and another two to fully pack, unpack, and repack my possessions. And at the end of it all...my part time job at the local library, searching for an additional summer job to supplement my income (and rather meager hours), and searching for an apartment in Kansas and making plans to travel. And of course, my boyfriend (whom I am very serious about) began the job search.
I know I'm making excuses, but at the time, blogging was the last thing from my mind. I'm sure as August 15th drew closer, I would've returned to blogging, but I was too busy being a stressed-out recent college graduate. And then something happened that made my previously troubles look like nothing.
About three weeks ago, my father complained of a sore back, stomach problems, a serious cold, and a swollen foot and asked to see a doctor. That may seem like nothing to some of you, but it's been over 20 years since my dad has gone to the doctor. He's not squeamish and whenever he gets injured, he'll try to do "surgery" on himself. For over a year now, he's complained of soreness, lack of circulation, stomach problems (sometimes resulting in "accidents") and injuries that wouldn't heal. And while my entire family nagged and cajoled, no matter what, my dad would not agree to see a doctor. I know it sounds like a cop out, but my dad's a larger-than-life sort of person, with an explosive temper and a stubborn streak a mile long. He's 6'2" and weighs more than I'd care to admit, and if he doesn't want to do something, nobody in our house can make him.
After visiting the local walk in clinic, who prescribed him some weak antibiotic, he was scheduled for a consultation with his doctor. After taking one look at his infected foot, the doctor told him to get himself to the ER, because something was seriously wrong. My father was then diagnosed with diabetes, gangrene, a staph infection and thrush, and would eventually lose his toe to amputation.
While my father was miserable in the hospital, I lay on our couch, miserable with illness of my own. What started as the cold from hell became something very like strep. When my symptoms got bad enough I finally went to the doctor, only to be told that my tonsils were frighteningly inflamed and there was nothing they could do. I spent the week drooling (swallowing anything hurt like razor blades) and napping when I could.
I'm alive and I'm back now, though. And I hope it's for good!
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