The new tattoo

Two years after getting my AS from PCC, I'm finally going for my BS. Or should I say 14 years after taking my first college class at PLU, I'm finishing what I started. Either way, I'm in school and look how much smarter I am already! 

I'm taking a statistics class for business majors even though I want to major in biology. Or anthropology. Or science whatever so I can study dinosaurs. FOSSILS YAY! But the school has decided that I still need to take statistics. But it's okay because I love maths. Though I didn't know I loved maths until my third time in college circa 2008. Probably because I spent my high school years writing notes on my graphing calculator to my best friend rather than actually doing the work. Then I wondered why I got a D and stopped caring until I was in my late 20s and realized that math rocks. In class this week a student asked the prof if there was any significance of the mode and the mid-range being the same and in my head I thought: "uh yeah, that math is fucking awesome and symmetry is rad!" but I'm probably not one of the coolest kids in school. 

This is the Fibonacci spiral and it IS the coolest. As it would happen I got my new tattoo the weekend before school started. Because I went to the most popular tat shop in Portland I made my appointment back in May, way before I even knew I was going to apply to school. Because yes, I applied to school less than one month before fall term started. Sometimes I can be impulsive. Not usually, only when my future depends on it.

I was sick for a while

I haven't written. I still don't really know what's wrong with me but at least I'm well medicated now. It felt like my brain, and in turn the rest of my body, was rebelling against me. For all the beer I've drunk? For all the bacon I've eaten? It's a hopeless feeling not knowing what's going on in your own body. At least when you have a broken bone or a huge wound you can be like, "oh gross, I need to get this fixed" but when the pain's all up in your brain business it's shitty trying to figure out what the hell's happening.

The severe stabbing headaches started in March. Near the middle of May everything else started falling apart. I was dizzy, fatigued, out of breath and could barely walk up a flight of stairs without needing a nap. I couldn't eat, couldn't drink (alcohol, it was a sad time) and I couldn't even sing along to music because I would run out of air. And I love to sing out loud. Like really loudly. It's the only thing that quells the road rage. I had to cancel my gym membership and while I haven't actually gained any weight since, I have gotten quite flabby, thank you very much. Doctor visits, MRIs, Aleve that tore up my insides, Ibuprofen that made my ears ring, Tylenol that did nothing... it was a long process. I finally saw a neurologist who put me on an anti-headache, anti-seizure medication (which also happens to be used for weight loss, meth and coke addiction, PTSD and alcoholism) that has helped me get back to 80%.

I even went on a 30 minute hike a couple weeks ago without having to stop once. That's a huge deal for me. I started school this term and had been very concerned that my plans would be deterred by my deteriorating health. So it's good news all around. When I don't feel well I don't want to do anything. It took every ounce of my strength just to go to work every day. I didn't call in sick once. Well, maybe once. Or twice. But after work I couldn't dream of going to the gym, taking my roomie's dog for a walk, even reading made me tired and dizzy. So writing was out of the question. Plus, what would I write about?

As usual drugs make everything better.