I haven't written for a little bit because I've been facing a difficult time. I generally like to keep difficult times as private as possible. Sometimes so private that those closest to me are shocked when they discover that I'm struggling.
But I'm realizing that life isn't always full of rainbows and puppies and everyone knows this. I don't have to pretend that mine is. I've had epilepsy for five years. It gradually took over my life and got to the point where I couldn't get out of bed. I clung to my bed because the sensations it caused were so overwhelming. The struggle is something that I don't like to go back to and, actually, I recently discovered that there are parts that I can't go back to. I came across diary entries from three years ago and had no recollection of that time. I blocked it out. And that's good. Why revisit it? I threw the diary entries away.
I'm talking about it now because I feel myself inching back to that time. In just the past few months, I've rediscovered Meghan. I had a surgery that took about a year to start reintroducing me to myself, and it has been the most amazing experience ever. I was never one to take anything for granted, but to lose everything, then to get just about all of it back is indescribable. Going to a movie is a whole new experience, going out and laughing with friends makes my heart swell, planning something a week or more in advance is something that I no longer have to hesitate to do. If I'm going to cancel on you, I better have a darn good reason! I've still had my bad days when seizures have snuck up on me for a day or two, but this used to be an everyday affair. Usually, I might be out with friends or at work and feel something for about five minutes, and no one even knows.
That was until my job changed a few weeks ago and my sleep schedule was turned around. I've had to be up at 3 am. I really thought this would be okay, as long as I got eight hours of sleep. I was wrong. Everything has gone wrong. Even the healthy people in my new department can't function normally. After a week of it, I began to worry. After a week and a half, my brain began getting mad. After two, I knew that I needed to be responsible and put my health first. I've only known my old self again since last fall. I don't want to lose her.
It's a struggle. When I reunited with Old Meghan, I wanted to pick up where we left off. I thought, Hey! You're back! The last time we were together, you were planning steps to start your career! Lets go at it, full speed ahead!! So I did just that, and it turns out that I'm not the same 20-year-old Meghan. On the inside, I am. I'm positive, bubbly and excited to run with life. I like taking chances and seeing where I end up. Basically jumping in with my eyes closed and hoping that the best happens. It's just that I have to realize that there is a little tweak to this Meghan. She feels pretty good, but she actually does have epilepsy and has to take that into consideration. She can't just go and wake up at 3 in the morning and think that she can function without epilepsy knocking on the door. She can't handle extensive stress, only life's usual stressors. Epilepsy doesn't have to rule my life, but it makes sure that it has a say.
I was going to say that having epilepsy is a constant guessing game. I always have to test the waters and learn my boundaries. Then I realized that, really, life is the same way. Things are thrown at you and you have to adapt accordingly.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Flood of '08
I've been through floods before. I grew up along the Mississippi River. Not, like, literally on the Mississippi, but the cities that I was raised in were both on the river. When I was little, my backyard flooded enough that, once the water receded, we had other people's belongings sitting by my playset.
I was 11 during The Flood of '93. I remember reading a lot that summer because it rained so much. Other than that, I lived far enough from the river that I wasn't personally effected, aside from our wet basement... but that was a regular thing for us, growing up. No biggie. Really, the big thing for me with The Flood of '93 was that I wrote a poem about it that ended up in our local newspaper. That was the first time I was published.
There were floods in our area after that that gained national attention. When I was in college, I took some time to volunteer to sandbag in one of my hometowns (I consider two places my hometown, because my dad lives in one city and my mom lives in another). I had been visiting my dad and was heading home to my mom's when I saw people sandbagging and thought I'd stop for a few hours to help. ABC's national news crew stopped me to interview, and I remember telling them that I had finals for school that week, but thought I'd pitch in and help for a bit. They tried to play up the part where I was choosing volunteering over studying... but all I could give 'em was that I was a nerd who had spent the last two weeks studying. The least I could do was spend a few hours to fill a couple of sandbags. I didn't end up on TV.
Now we're having the biggest flood I've ever seen with my own eyes. I now work in production for a television station in Cedar Rapids, so it's all I've heard about for the last three days. Before this started, when everyone in this area far from the mighty Mississippi was panicking about a little flood, I scoffed and thought, "Ha. A flood. Their basements will get a little wet. I've been through this several times. What's the big deal?"
Well, I found out what the big deal is. It was absolutely chilling when I had to drive on the Interstate, the only way that was open for people to drive through the city, and looked downtown to find water covering the buildings' first floors. I drove past a neighborhood on that same Interstate and their garages were covered. On Friday morning, I had to be at work at 4am, so, obviously, the sun wasn't up when I went in. Through the first half of the city, things appeared normal, except for the police who were guarding the closed exits. Then when I got downtown, it was pitch black, because there is no power. Below me was 30 feet of water that shouldn't be there. This is a bridge that was built over a street, not a river.
A delivery lady came into work to pick up boxes on Wednesday, the first day that everyone had been evacuated from downtown Cedar Rapids. She looked up at one of our televisions to see that we were showing live images of the downtown area and we happened to be showing her neighborhood. She had just evacuated the night before. Though the area has shelters available to people, she and her husband and their dogs went to a Motel 6 for shelter, and the place didn't even offer them any sort of discount. It was $80 a night, and who knows how many nights she is going to be out of her house? She only knew that she couldn't afford very many nights and that all of her friends had offered their space to other friends and family members. She didn't know where she was going to turn. She might have had to go to a shelter, but I know if I were in her shoes, that'd be the last place I'd want to go... and I only know of one that was accepting pets.
When I was at work on Friday, the anchors that I was working with reported that my city was starting to flood. I started to panic, because I didn't know how far it was from my apartment (I wanted to know that my dog was okay) and I didn't know how far it was from Kevin. Then they announced that the last road of many from Cedar Rapids back to my city was going to close in just a matter of hours. The traffic was bumper-to-bumper and moving at 5 mph. If I didn't leave then, I didn't have a way out. That's a truly scary feeling. Even though my kind manager offered her homes in case of an emergency, I wanted to be with my husband and dog, and I needed to be home for my medication. As a trapped feeling started to sink in, my manager sent me out the door, because she knew that I truly wouldn't get home if I didn't leave right then.
I crossed the bridge that they were closing down right as water was beginning to creep over it.
I am truly blessed that that is the most that this flood has effected me. Chilling images and nearly being trapped in Cedar Rapids, by a matter of an hour.
It scares me to see those houses drowning in the water, but I'm not the one who has to call those houses homes. It's frightening to see the train bridge that collapsed and wonder which bridge might collapse next, but I haven't been personally effected by that. It's terrible to see all of the businesses that are up to the first floor in water, but I'm not the one who is without a job right now or who has to return to work in a few weeks to clean up and replace thousands of dollars in damaged products.
I'm safe. My husband is safe. My doggie is safe. Witnessing the situation firsthand is scary.
I was 11 during The Flood of '93. I remember reading a lot that summer because it rained so much. Other than that, I lived far enough from the river that I wasn't personally effected, aside from our wet basement... but that was a regular thing for us, growing up. No biggie. Really, the big thing for me with The Flood of '93 was that I wrote a poem about it that ended up in our local newspaper. That was the first time I was published.
There were floods in our area after that that gained national attention. When I was in college, I took some time to volunteer to sandbag in one of my hometowns (I consider two places my hometown, because my dad lives in one city and my mom lives in another). I had been visiting my dad and was heading home to my mom's when I saw people sandbagging and thought I'd stop for a few hours to help. ABC's national news crew stopped me to interview, and I remember telling them that I had finals for school that week, but thought I'd pitch in and help for a bit. They tried to play up the part where I was choosing volunteering over studying... but all I could give 'em was that I was a nerd who had spent the last two weeks studying. The least I could do was spend a few hours to fill a couple of sandbags. I didn't end up on TV.
Now we're having the biggest flood I've ever seen with my own eyes. I now work in production for a television station in Cedar Rapids, so it's all I've heard about for the last three days. Before this started, when everyone in this area far from the mighty Mississippi was panicking about a little flood, I scoffed and thought, "Ha. A flood. Their basements will get a little wet. I've been through this several times. What's the big deal?"
Well, I found out what the big deal is. It was absolutely chilling when I had to drive on the Interstate, the only way that was open for people to drive through the city, and looked downtown to find water covering the buildings' first floors. I drove past a neighborhood on that same Interstate and their garages were covered. On Friday morning, I had to be at work at 4am, so, obviously, the sun wasn't up when I went in. Through the first half of the city, things appeared normal, except for the police who were guarding the closed exits. Then when I got downtown, it was pitch black, because there is no power. Below me was 30 feet of water that shouldn't be there. This is a bridge that was built over a street, not a river.
A delivery lady came into work to pick up boxes on Wednesday, the first day that everyone had been evacuated from downtown Cedar Rapids. She looked up at one of our televisions to see that we were showing live images of the downtown area and we happened to be showing her neighborhood. She had just evacuated the night before. Though the area has shelters available to people, she and her husband and their dogs went to a Motel 6 for shelter, and the place didn't even offer them any sort of discount. It was $80 a night, and who knows how many nights she is going to be out of her house? She only knew that she couldn't afford very many nights and that all of her friends had offered their space to other friends and family members. She didn't know where she was going to turn. She might have had to go to a shelter, but I know if I were in her shoes, that'd be the last place I'd want to go... and I only know of one that was accepting pets.
When I was at work on Friday, the anchors that I was working with reported that my city was starting to flood. I started to panic, because I didn't know how far it was from my apartment (I wanted to know that my dog was okay) and I didn't know how far it was from Kevin. Then they announced that the last road of many from Cedar Rapids back to my city was going to close in just a matter of hours. The traffic was bumper-to-bumper and moving at 5 mph. If I didn't leave then, I didn't have a way out. That's a truly scary feeling. Even though my kind manager offered her homes in case of an emergency, I wanted to be with my husband and dog, and I needed to be home for my medication. As a trapped feeling started to sink in, my manager sent me out the door, because she knew that I truly wouldn't get home if I didn't leave right then.
I crossed the bridge that they were closing down right as water was beginning to creep over it.
I am truly blessed that that is the most that this flood has effected me. Chilling images and nearly being trapped in Cedar Rapids, by a matter of an hour.
It scares me to see those houses drowning in the water, but I'm not the one who has to call those houses homes. It's frightening to see the train bridge that collapsed and wonder which bridge might collapse next, but I haven't been personally effected by that. It's terrible to see all of the businesses that are up to the first floor in water, but I'm not the one who is without a job right now or who has to return to work in a few weeks to clean up and replace thousands of dollars in damaged products.
I'm safe. My husband is safe. My doggie is safe. Witnessing the situation firsthand is scary.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Logan wrapped in a fajita
A few years ago, I drove past a semi full of pigs and got all googly-eyed over how cute they were... then it hit me that the driver didn't just load up a truck full of adorable pigs to take them on a scenic tour for kicks... he had heart breaking plans for them.
It struck me then that if I can't bear to think of what's happening to the cute pigs on truck and the cows on my family's farm, then maybe I shouldn't be eating the meat. Derp.
I feel guilty saying this, but at that point, I was able to shut the cute pigs out of my mind when presented with a tasty ham loaf. However, as time goes on and I think more about it and read more research, I just can't do it anymore. Even when I see the little squares of chicken waiting for me to roll 'em up in my fajita for lunch, all I see is my puppy, Logan. He has feelings. So do the animals that I've been eating. I can't imagine him going through what the pigs, cows, lamb, chickens, etc., go through to be eaten... so I shouldn't be eating them, should I? Nope.
I finally bought a book I've been wanting to read called Skinny B*tch (nope, I don't even cuss if it's in the book's title), and it educated me about the health benefits of a vegetarian diet (who knew all these foods could help my brain function better and help protect my body from cancer?? Eating certain food can do that?). I learned how to eat like a vegetarian in a healthy way (I don't have to worry about missing out on protein and iron, like I thought. Non-animal foods have me covered.) and, bonus points, how a vegetarian diet can help me lose weight and maintain that lower weight for life.
It's actually a lot of overwhelming information to take in. I thought I'd just grab some lettuce leaves and a banana or something, but it turns out I need to load up on brown rice, nuts, legumes, beans and all sorts of business to be totally healthy about it.
Can I handle it?
If it means I don't have to see my Logan wrapped in a fajita when I sit down for lunch, I think I can.
Poor Logan. I'm sorry I ate him.
It struck me then that if I can't bear to think of what's happening to the cute pigs on truck and the cows on my family's farm, then maybe I shouldn't be eating the meat. Derp.
I feel guilty saying this, but at that point, I was able to shut the cute pigs out of my mind when presented with a tasty ham loaf. However, as time goes on and I think more about it and read more research, I just can't do it anymore. Even when I see the little squares of chicken waiting for me to roll 'em up in my fajita for lunch, all I see is my puppy, Logan. He has feelings. So do the animals that I've been eating. I can't imagine him going through what the pigs, cows, lamb, chickens, etc., go through to be eaten... so I shouldn't be eating them, should I? Nope.
I finally bought a book I've been wanting to read called Skinny B*tch (nope, I don't even cuss if it's in the book's title), and it educated me about the health benefits of a vegetarian diet (who knew all these foods could help my brain function better and help protect my body from cancer?? Eating certain food can do that?). I learned how to eat like a vegetarian in a healthy way (I don't have to worry about missing out on protein and iron, like I thought. Non-animal foods have me covered.) and, bonus points, how a vegetarian diet can help me lose weight and maintain that lower weight for life.
It's actually a lot of overwhelming information to take in. I thought I'd just grab some lettuce leaves and a banana or something, but it turns out I need to load up on brown rice, nuts, legumes, beans and all sorts of business to be totally healthy about it.
Can I handle it?
If it means I don't have to see my Logan wrapped in a fajita when I sit down for lunch, I think I can.
Poor Logan. I'm sorry I ate him.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Little People, Littler Meghan
We all have dominant traits that end up defining us through our whole lives. We get used to it and learn that whatever the trait is, people notice it and might tease us about it, make up nicknames because of it, etc. It can be hair color, a big nose, a dimpled smile, freckled skin... we all have something (or lots of somethings).
One of my traits that I hear about a lot is how short I am. I don't really realize it until I look at pictures and see how much smaller I am than the people around me.... or each day when I put my pants on and the legs don't go past my feet. Yeah. That's a good suggestion that maybe something is off with me.
At first, it felt weird to be short, because I was on the taller side when I was a kid. Actually, my husband is now 6'4, but when we were each 10 years old, we were both 4'10. Then when I hit 12, I stopped growing and everyone else kept on getting taller, so when the "Omigosh, you're short" comments started rolling in, I was actually caught off guard. I truly thought I was still average. By the time I hit my 20s, I was used to the fact that 5'1 is short and started to beat people to the punch on the short jokes.
"Yes, I'm standing. Yes, I'm sure the weather is warmer down here. No, I can't see over that counter top. Yes, your 2-year-old is nearly my height."
So today, I was talking to a coworker and she mentioned someone else we work with, who I'll call Ann. And you know how, when you want to describe someone by height, you'll throw your hand out and, if they're tall, you'll toss your hand up high and if they're short, you'll lower it down to your elbow or so? Well, Ann is short, so I said, "Little Ann?" And threw my hand out to describe her by her height, but I didn't really pay attention to where I was putting my hand. Apparently, my hand wanted to be accurate, and it went approximately one inch above my own head. My coworker found it amusing that, to describe "Little Ann," I still had to put my hand up over my head.
Maybe if it hadn't been casual Friday and I had been wearing my heels, my hand might have gone to my nose or so.
One of my traits that I hear about a lot is how short I am. I don't really realize it until I look at pictures and see how much smaller I am than the people around me.... or each day when I put my pants on and the legs don't go past my feet. Yeah. That's a good suggestion that maybe something is off with me.
At first, it felt weird to be short, because I was on the taller side when I was a kid. Actually, my husband is now 6'4, but when we were each 10 years old, we were both 4'10. Then when I hit 12, I stopped growing and everyone else kept on getting taller, so when the "Omigosh, you're short" comments started rolling in, I was actually caught off guard. I truly thought I was still average. By the time I hit my 20s, I was used to the fact that 5'1 is short and started to beat people to the punch on the short jokes.
"Yes, I'm standing. Yes, I'm sure the weather is warmer down here. No, I can't see over that counter top. Yes, your 2-year-old is nearly my height."
So today, I was talking to a coworker and she mentioned someone else we work with, who I'll call Ann. And you know how, when you want to describe someone by height, you'll throw your hand out and, if they're tall, you'll toss your hand up high and if they're short, you'll lower it down to your elbow or so? Well, Ann is short, so I said, "Little Ann?" And threw my hand out to describe her by her height, but I didn't really pay attention to where I was putting my hand. Apparently, my hand wanted to be accurate, and it went approximately one inch above my own head. My coworker found it amusing that, to describe "Little Ann," I still had to put my hand up over my head.
Maybe if it hadn't been casual Friday and I had been wearing my heels, my hand might have gone to my nose or so.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Celebrity? Where?!
Status and popularity have always meant very little to me. In my personal life, if I liked a person, I liked a person and that was that. They were my friend. If I didn't, I didn't and I had no cares about their personal lives and rumors about them, just because they might be "popular." I never knew the high school gossip that was going around because, basically, if we weren't friends, I didn't care what was, or supposedly was, going on with you.
So I suppose because of this mentality, I never understood the hype around tabloids and why paparazzi are so obsessive about chasing celebrities down for the money shot. I always wondered who could possibly care about watching Matt Damon walk down the street with a Coke in his hand.
I said wondered.
This was before I met my first D-List celebrity, Davy Jones. I didn't even care about The Monkees until I knew they were going to be in my hometown the summer that I was 18. Then suddenly, I needed to prepare for his arrival by listening to songs that I always knew, but didn't realize I knew. I needed to watch his cameo on Brady Bunch: The Movie. I needed to be ready to send my vibes to him so when he sang "Girl.... look what you've done to me...." he knew from stage that he was singing it just to me... um, even if he was 55 when I was 18. Details, details.
That summer, The Monkees came, they sang, they left the stage, like performers do. My boyfriend (husband now), his sister and I enjoyed the show, went back to their house and hung out... then we decided to drive back to the stage to see if they had left yet. Lo and behold, their buses were still there, so we decided to stand by a gate to see what we could see.
And wouldn't you know, Davy Jones came walking out, all 4'2 of him, in a smoking jacket and leisure pants and greeted about 15 of us who were waving at him. My boyfriend guided me towards the gate, since I am all of 5'1 and he is 6'4, so I could see him and I gave Davy my ticket to sign. The Sister spoke to him. Yes. She spoke to him and he spoke back. I believe that's a conversation? Davy never saw me, because he had to look over my head to see The Sister. So while they spoke, I reached out my right hand and... wait for it.... touched Davy Jones's hand.
*sigh*
He gave me my signed ticket, I turned around and I screamed.
For a 55-year-old D-List celebrity who I didn't care about two weeks before that day, I screamed like I had just seen something rise from the dead. Only happier.
So, though I don't support at all what the paparazzi do to celebrities, I get the public's obsession with tabloids. I, personally, have an obsession with celebrity news on E! and the occasional check on TMZ.com, which has recently died down. I was much more sensible when I was a teenager and didn't care about them. Now when I hear that a celebrity is in town, I go out of my way to make sure I'm in the vicinity.
So I suppose because of this mentality, I never understood the hype around tabloids and why paparazzi are so obsessive about chasing celebrities down for the money shot. I always wondered who could possibly care about watching Matt Damon walk down the street with a Coke in his hand.
I said wondered.
This was before I met my first D-List celebrity, Davy Jones. I didn't even care about The Monkees until I knew they were going to be in my hometown the summer that I was 18. Then suddenly, I needed to prepare for his arrival by listening to songs that I always knew, but didn't realize I knew. I needed to watch his cameo on Brady Bunch: The Movie. I needed to be ready to send my vibes to him so when he sang "Girl.... look what you've done to me...." he knew from stage that he was singing it just to me... um, even if he was 55 when I was 18. Details, details.
That summer, The Monkees came, they sang, they left the stage, like performers do. My boyfriend (husband now), his sister and I enjoyed the show, went back to their house and hung out... then we decided to drive back to the stage to see if they had left yet. Lo and behold, their buses were still there, so we decided to stand by a gate to see what we could see.
And wouldn't you know, Davy Jones came walking out, all 4'2 of him, in a smoking jacket and leisure pants and greeted about 15 of us who were waving at him. My boyfriend guided me towards the gate, since I am all of 5'1 and he is 6'4, so I could see him and I gave Davy my ticket to sign. The Sister spoke to him. Yes. She spoke to him and he spoke back. I believe that's a conversation? Davy never saw me, because he had to look over my head to see The Sister. So while they spoke, I reached out my right hand and... wait for it.... touched Davy Jones's hand.
*sigh*
He gave me my signed ticket, I turned around and I screamed.
For a 55-year-old D-List celebrity who I didn't care about two weeks before that day, I screamed like I had just seen something rise from the dead. Only happier.
So, though I don't support at all what the paparazzi do to celebrities, I get the public's obsession with tabloids. I, personally, have an obsession with celebrity news on E! and the occasional check on TMZ.com, which has recently died down. I was much more sensible when I was a teenager and didn't care about them. Now when I hear that a celebrity is in town, I go out of my way to make sure I'm in the vicinity.
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