Plaquenil Farts, Socks, and Things Along the Way
And here it is nearly three weeks later and I'm carving some time . . . well, damn, time is getting away from me. I last left with leaving for the AHA in Washington DC. Yup. I even brought the cold with me.
Home, the day I took flight from NYC to DC.
Of course, the AHA is a mixed bag of chaos. The job market, the chaos, the always being on display . . . every year the AHA brings out the inner emotions of Middle School gym class. You know, the standing on the side lines, waiting to get picked for Dodgeball . . . never wanting to be last, and then being last. Shit. The pace of the meeting, the go-go-go. The always running into people from the AHA. The wanting to sit down, and not being able to because it takes too long to ride the elevator up to your room on the 20th floor and walk the mile long corridor, so you stave out in a dimly lit bathroom stall for a few seconds of enclosed bliss among heels clicking, toilets flushing, and sprays of perfume wafting in the air.
In short, the AHA ain't for the faint of heart.
Now that I've exhausted myself just thinking about it, you now know why it always takes me a week of sleep to catch up post AHA. Yea, I'm still catching up. Of course, a little thing called the Arctic Vortex delayed and cancelled my flight. Since DC is a little less than three hours from my folks I went and saw them for a couple of days, since Delta said it would be no problem and they would rather I take a flight a few days later than hang in the airport and become angry lady. So, I slept a little, drove my Dad around (since he still couldn't drive post foot operation), gave my Mom a break from being his chauffeur du jour, worked (as usual), and kept the socks I knitted as my Mom said they were too bright for her taste (which I really knew all along, and would have given them to her had she been earnest in saying she wanted them . .. but warm toes for me!).
See:
That's a painting my sister did, in the wake of a relationship hi-jinx, ions ago. The notes, for the socks are on Raverly if you want the down and dirty. FYI, takes me about two weeks to make a pair, while watching TV.
Though, while at my parents all I had with me were some fleece lined running tights, a thermal running hoodie, the three business outfits I packed for the AHA, and a pair of jeans. I dug. Found a pair of me made PJs and my high school hoodie from soccer (or football for every country but the United States) in drawers. Still fits 19 years later. Who's the beast now?
Somewhere in there I've done some more writing, worked on the book due to press in a week or so, did an article, got the pile on my desk to a record near completion point, broke an expensive shredder (don't judge me), flew two feet across the apartment because Muttly was sleeping in the dark (my pinkie is sprained, or some such, I shit you not), and listed some stuff on ETSY. Like the 60+ dollar waxed canvas bag I made as a gift and it was liked but "not the type" either of them carry. Yes, I made the first one to see if my Dad or the dude I married liked it. Oh well. Shit happens. Someone buy that bag, please. Oh, they've asked for bags of a slightly altered design. No biggie, but that shit ain't happening for at least a year. Really, someone please buy that bag. It's the last picture here. Oh yea, I got asked to go to Ecuador!
Yup. In March, two weeks before I'm in The Netherlands for a swanky conference (that I love), I'm accompanying ten lovely students to do some eco projects in Ecuador. Nine days of South American bliss, with a couple days in Quito (the capital), a bus trip (quintessential to the experience if you ask me, as you get to see the country side and really experience moments of life), and one of our work locations is on the coast. Looking at the sea while planting trees and revitalizing orchards . . . sounds like a great place and way to give back. Back in the day, Latin American History was my secondary field for comps. So, I've been wowing folks with my knowledge of the region. Of course, I've tapped some of my friends (in neighboring countries) for info. In that regard, tomorrow (or Saturday, whichever isn't arctic-freeze-my-eyelashes-and-nose-hairs-off cold) I'm going for my typhoid and yellow fever shots. I've got about a month and a half to pick up things like band aides, DEET bug spray (because I ain't going hippie on that shit), and sunscreen (yea, Lupus girl is still Lupus girl), and make a couple pair of cargo pants. Seriously, this eco stuff is up my ally and at least two articles are coming from this trip! I teach Environmental History, buy 90 percent of my food local (I shit you not), eat organic . . . so, totally up my ally!
Though, I was asked on board late and found out yesterday that I needed to raise 450 bucks for the trip (the students had to raise 450, so I did too). Well, I set up a Go Fund Me and intended to harass the 2000 readers on here. Well . . . 500 dollars in 25 hours from my Facebook feed. Thanks. From the bottom of my jaded heart. Really. I really am devoid of articulate words.
Though, along the way I still don't have health insurance . . . and blah blah blah. But, the plaquenil farts are back! Yup, I apologize to the greater NYC area: Sorry, not really sorry. Though, ya'll can also thank me. The day before I went back on the plaq there was a record fog hazying up the city. Day after: Plaquenil farts. I killed the fog. You're welcome. Yea, who cares if you can't breathe right. In short, I went to see the primary care I had before health insurance went bye bye (again). Found a way to make it work. He's also a good man. What can I say? Sometimes good shit happens. Seriously, I cried little with the script. There is something so mortifying and gratifying about access to medications. The pharmacist also gave me a discount because I'm sans health insurance. Grateful is one way to put it.
In about a week the side effects should calm down and my body should feel better (a week later it already is!). Well, I hope so on those farts. I'll be in Boston, and I doubt my friend Leigh would appreciate a haze over Beantown (my favorite American city outside of NYC, though N'Orleans comes close . . .but you really need a passport for N'Orleans, as what happens there stays there).
On that disgusting note, of Lupus laden humor, I leave you for now. My sewing machine (idle for a month!) is going to blow like a freight train all weekend. Why? I have everything done, caught up, and well . . . there's a knot in the middle of my neck and stress relief at the machine should fix that shit.
Home, the day I took flight from NYC to DC.
DC thought I needed snow to feel at home. Um, DC . . . no. No snow needed, but thanks for the thought.
And then there is the basis of the AHA . . . The big meeting of historians, not just ones that study the States. Yawn, stretch, drink some more coffee. For three days, every year I go, I run non-freaking stop. As in, at one point, I told my editor that we needed to find chairs or conversing with me would be from the floor. I was more serious than not. Damn, just thinking about the three meetings about random things, one panel presentation, two (or was it three) meetings with editors, coffee with a colleague, coffee with two more, submission of my vita for two postings, the failed attempts to meet up with friends (and we didn't even cross paths in the book room when the presses bring out the free wine!), and the literal running into one friend (and the two of us having conjoined heart attacks as we hadn't seen each other in about eight years), and the luncheon with a press about a new digital archive is making me exhausted all over again! Oh, and one afternoon I smartly squirreled away with old friends from college and we lazed the afternoon at a lovely Lebanese place while grazing, and eating, and enjoying every second and bite. We talked of their kids, work, mentioned some old friends, talk of my work, my writing . . . in general, just a great time.
Of course, the AHA is a mixed bag of chaos. The job market, the chaos, the always being on display . . . every year the AHA brings out the inner emotions of Middle School gym class. You know, the standing on the side lines, waiting to get picked for Dodgeball . . . never wanting to be last, and then being last. Shit. The pace of the meeting, the go-go-go. The always running into people from the AHA. The wanting to sit down, and not being able to because it takes too long to ride the elevator up to your room on the 20th floor and walk the mile long corridor, so you stave out in a dimly lit bathroom stall for a few seconds of enclosed bliss among heels clicking, toilets flushing, and sprays of perfume wafting in the air.
In short, the AHA ain't for the faint of heart.
Now that I've exhausted myself just thinking about it, you now know why it always takes me a week of sleep to catch up post AHA. Yea, I'm still catching up. Of course, a little thing called the Arctic Vortex delayed and cancelled my flight. Since DC is a little less than three hours from my folks I went and saw them for a couple of days, since Delta said it would be no problem and they would rather I take a flight a few days later than hang in the airport and become angry lady. So, I slept a little, drove my Dad around (since he still couldn't drive post foot operation), gave my Mom a break from being his chauffeur du jour, worked (as usual), and kept the socks I knitted as my Mom said they were too bright for her taste (which I really knew all along, and would have given them to her had she been earnest in saying she wanted them . .. but warm toes for me!).
See:
I actually finished them during the AHA, as one night over-exhaustion kept me awake. Why yes, yes, I matched the stripes. They fit much better than the first pair . . . of course. For the record, pair number three is more than half way done.
Somewhere in there I've done some more writing, worked on the book due to press in a week or so, did an article, got the pile on my desk to a record near completion point, broke an expensive shredder (don't judge me), flew two feet across the apartment because Muttly was sleeping in the dark (my pinkie is sprained, or some such, I shit you not), and listed some stuff on ETSY. Like the 60+ dollar waxed canvas bag I made as a gift and it was liked but "not the type" either of them carry. Yes, I made the first one to see if my Dad or the dude I married liked it. Oh well. Shit happens. Someone buy that bag, please. Oh, they've asked for bags of a slightly altered design. No biggie, but that shit ain't happening for at least a year. Really, someone please buy that bag. It's the last picture here. Oh yea, I got asked to go to Ecuador!
Yup. In March, two weeks before I'm in The Netherlands for a swanky conference (that I love), I'm accompanying ten lovely students to do some eco projects in Ecuador. Nine days of South American bliss, with a couple days in Quito (the capital), a bus trip (quintessential to the experience if you ask me, as you get to see the country side and really experience moments of life), and one of our work locations is on the coast. Looking at the sea while planting trees and revitalizing orchards . . . sounds like a great place and way to give back. Back in the day, Latin American History was my secondary field for comps. So, I've been wowing folks with my knowledge of the region. Of course, I've tapped some of my friends (in neighboring countries) for info. In that regard, tomorrow (or Saturday, whichever isn't arctic-freeze-my-eyelashes-and-nose-hairs-off cold) I'm going for my typhoid and yellow fever shots. I've got about a month and a half to pick up things like band aides, DEET bug spray (because I ain't going hippie on that shit), and sunscreen (yea, Lupus girl is still Lupus girl), and make a couple pair of cargo pants. Seriously, this eco stuff is up my ally and at least two articles are coming from this trip! I teach Environmental History, buy 90 percent of my food local (I shit you not), eat organic . . . so, totally up my ally!
Though, I was asked on board late and found out yesterday that I needed to raise 450 bucks for the trip (the students had to raise 450, so I did too). Well, I set up a Go Fund Me and intended to harass the 2000 readers on here. Well . . . 500 dollars in 25 hours from my Facebook feed. Thanks. From the bottom of my jaded heart. Really. I really am devoid of articulate words.
Though, along the way I still don't have health insurance . . . and blah blah blah. But, the plaquenil farts are back! Yup, I apologize to the greater NYC area: Sorry, not really sorry. Though, ya'll can also thank me. The day before I went back on the plaq there was a record fog hazying up the city. Day after: Plaquenil farts. I killed the fog. You're welcome. Yea, who cares if you can't breathe right. In short, I went to see the primary care I had before health insurance went bye bye (again). Found a way to make it work. He's also a good man. What can I say? Sometimes good shit happens. Seriously, I cried little with the script. There is something so mortifying and gratifying about access to medications. The pharmacist also gave me a discount because I'm sans health insurance. Grateful is one way to put it.
In about a week the side effects should calm down and my body should feel better (a week later it already is!). Well, I hope so on those farts. I'll be in Boston, and I doubt my friend Leigh would appreciate a haze over Beantown (my favorite American city outside of NYC, though N'Orleans comes close . . .but you really need a passport for N'Orleans, as what happens there stays there).
On that disgusting note, of Lupus laden humor, I leave you for now. My sewing machine (idle for a month!) is going to blow like a freight train all weekend. Why? I have everything done, caught up, and well . . . there's a knot in the middle of my neck and stress relief at the machine should fix that shit.
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