Jessie's girl

My grandmother died at the end of May. She was brought to the hospital after suffering a heart attack, which brought her into a coma stasis. Those in the family who were capable visited her in the hospital; this included my mother, who's sleep was disturbed from the imagery of my grandmother lying in the hospital bed. Dismally, the aunt of mine who lives in Colorado, Aunt Ashley, did not make it in time to see her before she passed. I am ashamed to say this, but my feelings were conflicted. As a child my grandmother adored me; pictures of me were on every wall and she gave me my own highchair, to the jealousy of my uncles and aunts for the special treatment. As she got older she became selfish and demanding, causing trouble for my parents. I did not visit her often, the same for everyone else in the family. The last time I recall seeing her was at Christmas in 2007 years ago; and before that, Christmas 2006. Having class from 8 until 10am, I was barred from attending the wake. My mother insisted I leave class earlier to see her before the casket was closed, but I resisted, not seeing the importance. We fought, in the end leading to me accuse her of pushing her beliefs onto me, where she submitted. Coming out of class, I drove to Walgreens to meet up with my Mom, who drove us to the church, leaving her car in the store parking lot. With time to spare, we sat in the car until the hearse arrived. Beforehand, my cousin Richard asked my mom to put it forward that he wanted to speak with me. This was intriguing; I inferred earlier that I do not communicate with anyone in the family, so I could think of no reason for him to want to. My hypotheses lacked good intentions, but I endeavored to think otherwise.

Entering the church, both of us headed to the restrooms. Leaving, I had the misfortune of crossing paths with my father, who I had not seen in three months; we spoke no words as I walked by. I was greeted with a legion of hugs from the rest of my family; only one member, my Aunt Josie, commented on the weight I lost. Watching the casket being brought in on a rolling platform, my cousins Joe and Mary, the children of Uncle Mike, both exchanged queer glances at me. My mother and I had planned on sitting in the back of the pews, until my Uncle Mike insisted we sit in the front with the rest of the family. The two of us sat in the second row, along with Sherry, off and on girlfriend my Uncle Sam who passed away in 2003, Aunt Josie and her daughter Susan, who is in her late 20's if not early 30's. In front of my mother and I was Richard, his wife and kids, and his sister Rebbecca, who is the daughter Sherry. Next to her was my father and Uncle Mike; the rest of the family was scattered among the other attendants. Before taking my seat, watching my father take his seat, my entire head twitched. I could not help but move my eyes toward him during the ceremony, but no words left me.

The service was touching and moving. I had never been to a funeral before; in fact, I had not attended a gathering and possibly even entered a church since I was a ye child. My grandmother was Catholic, so the service thus followed the practices of the religion. It consisted of smoke, eating crackers, piano playing, a sermon and most of all, rising and sitting. The entire time Sherry, who sat to my left, was crying. This made me uneasy, unsure if to console her or not; ultimately I patted her on the back. I also felt a slight sadness; I reminisced the time we spent together, the fun we had and the people her death would impact the most. Aunt Ashley had been very close to her, as had my father. What I thought sounded somewhat selfish, Aunt Ashley voiced her concern to Aunt Josie if they would ever see each other again as my grandmother paid her tickets to visit us. Not only that, she paid for her cellphone bill. Aunt Josie assured her they would, whether this was sincere I do not know.Uncle Mike had come to terms easier with her death, realizing her heartache since the passing of her husband and Uncle Sam. Changing this was useless, despite years of effort he had exhausted. As did my mother and I discerned as well, she is in a better place now.

Small talk was made with members of and friends of the family directly after the sermon ended. I was taken aback that a woman surmised I was closer to the age of a sophomore in High school then a sophomore in college when I gave her some information about myself during our introduction. This was the first instance someone conjectured I was younger than my real age; I conceived my facial hair and height were a dead giveaway that I was older then that. In fact, years prior I was told I could pass off as in my late 30's! My mother and I did not stay for the burial; it was my father's mother, we had no right to make him ill at ease at the time of mourning. We headed back to Walgreens where we talked over what I was thinking. To my displeasure, she informed me that Sherry was a drama queen; others in the family are so accustom to her hyperbolic emotions all ignored her. Knowing Richard worked often, I sent him an email instead of a phone call in the following days. After no response, I left a message on his answering machine. I had concluded he would not follow up his request until he responded to my email, establishing he would connect with me in hi available time. As of this writing, nothing has been heard from him. Having guilt for excluding family members from my life, I sent friend requests to Joe, Mary and their mother, Aunt Josie on Facebook. Mary accepted that same day and having showed the woman who misjudged my age my status which read“Wyatt was stunned a woman at the funeral thought he was a 16/17 years old”, left a note on my wall that the woman was sorry about the remark. Aunt Josie was ecstatic; she felt honored that someone my age wanted to include her. My mother radiated customizing her Facebook profile, which she had begun construction on days prior. To my annoyance but without amazement, she called on me several occasions to assist her as I was in the process of completing class assignments.

It ought to be obvious that I call into question the security of my friendship with Sarah. After what transpired close to two weeks ago, I am inching ever so slightly to certainty this relationship will endure. Sarah and I text back and forth, but only at that. One evening I checked my cell phone for new messages to find I had missed a call from Sarah. With my interest piqued, I skipped over the voice mail to return the call. Without any indication of cause, she answered sobbing. She was upset; she regarded those in her hometown were treating her unfairly and was lonely because of her close friends' preoccupation with their boyfriends. On top of this, a friend who lived in Washington, one she had gone into detail about, had been derogating her after learning her innocent intimacy with school mates the past year. The two of them had once been in a distant relationship, but split apart transitioning to college. He decided to end ties with her for months at a time without a stated reason. She regretted telling him this activity, but she presupposed they could only be friends and nothing more. His reaction made it clear he wanted more then she was willing or able to cater at that moment. As I had done with her before, I provided alternative perspectives and solutions, some of which my own. When what was said and done, I checked to see if she was more relaxed, which she responded only a little. I took it upon myself to improve her mood further; I sang along to the song The Best Day Ever by Spongebob Squarepants and recited unfunny jokes from the Internet. I was disappointed in myself for failing, but she appreciated the effort. The day after she assured me being proficient at listening, which she suggested I was, is more then enough.

The extraction of my wisdom teeth went swimmingly. Arriving at 9:30 am, I was fitted with a mask releasing nitrous oxide to loosen me up; I did not notice any difference. A needle injected me with anesthesia, almost immediately putting me to sleep. Awaking from the anesthesia, I was brought home to devote my weekend to resting, doing as little activity as I could. The dentist had kindly provided a Velcro fabric with slots for the insertion of ice pack to rub against my face. To my gratification, very little swelling existed, minimal pain was experienced and dry sockets did not form. The only ache came from a canker sore that had formed on my gums in the back of my mouth, distributing pain when my mouth was opened extensively. It healed soon enough; my only assignment since then has been to remove particles of food from the holes previously filled with the teeth to not hinder the healing process.

One Thursday, a girl I had talked to off and on in Counseling, Jan, was late for class. At the end of class I mentioned I hadn't seen her sneak in which she responded she had been late for class. I judged that the conversation was over, since we talked seldom, so I went on my way. Strolling to the parking lot, I heard someone behind me say "Weren't you talking to him?" with the other person responding yes. Suddenly, the girl scooted up to me, telling me she had still been talking to me. I apologized several times and we chatted on the way to the parking lot; our monologue lasted for approximately 2 and a half hours. Holding conversations of such length has never been my forte, but that looks to have changed without me recognizing it. Then on Monday we walked to the parking lot again and talked for an another 45 minutes. Tuesday we not only talked once again for 40 minutes in the parking lot, but then went to the dairy bar next to the parking lot to grab a bite. Before we separated she asked me if I wanted to work together on the take home exam Wednesday after class. At this point I suspected she has a thing for me, recognizing she carried on proposing activities for us to do together; this along with laughing at a multitudinous of my bad jokes. I am not the only one to point out my confusing sense of humor; Sarah agreed with me. I settled on asking her to go to see a movie with me Wednesday when we were to depart from the library. After class Wednesday we traveled to the Diamond Library where we talked for two hours, making absolutely no progress. It was there that she dropped the bombshell: she's engaged! She had never mentioned it outright in all the time we were together. I was disappointed but I figured she would still be a good friend. Interested, I inquired about her finance, which she informed me that he cheated on her while she was in London, less then a year ago. They didn't have sex, but she was mad she heard it from someone else and not him. The trust had been broken and she became teary eyed, looking away from me. Returning home he proposed to her, which she felt was an attempt to apologize for his action. To her anger, he planned on going on a trip that weekend with the girl he cheated on her with without telling her or offering her to go! When she confronted him about it, he simply sidestepped around it. Recognizing my bias, I said trust is important and suggested going to couple's counseling, which she replied he had refused. After that we went to meet with her friends for lunch and low and behold, there was her finance Jessie, having lunch with another girl. She introduced me to him and then we proceeded to another table; he said nothing more and left once he had finished eating. We went back to the library and got a moderate amount of work done. It was then that I became suspicious and realized I was in an awkward situation. In retrospect, it was awkward for a different reason. Trying to make her finance jealous could not have been her motive, as he didn't appear to give a shit. If she did like me, I knew the situation would not end well if I intervened. Still, I worried if the attention she gave me continued it would sooner or later lead to problems and stress. Ensuing the great than five hours with each other that day, I was bewildered to be messaged by her the instant I logged onto Facebook. Unprepared for the position I was in, I asked a multitude of people their view. The initial responses were to guide her to cut ties with him, which would make me "that guy”. I hated the idea of being “that guy”, although I do agree with the sentiment a “that guy” will come forth if the bond is weak. Further inquiries validated my thoughts; do not touch it with a teen foot pole, as one person said. In an attempt to further communications with my cousin, I asked her, which from her response looked like gratitude for valuing her opinion.

In order to not distance myself from her in reaction to my apprehension, I proposed viewing the latest Pixar movie Up, with her, myself and her friend Kerry. I was soon to discover I had been mistaken; the man I had met with at lunch that day was her friend Jessy, not her finance Jessie. She found the mix up to be humorous. Jessie was socially oblivious, not a jerk; she and her other friends accepted him for who he was. To my credit, having two friends with the same name can be confusing for an outsider, as I explained. I felt silly for allowing my emotions to carry away, but inside my feelings contended. There was a distinct connection with Jan I had never had with another human being. After meditating on it, I conceived that it was within the realm of possibility she had seen this connection. Without comprehension when it happened, flirting took place between us the day spent in the library. It may hold no significance, but I find that hard to believe. As of now, my feeling have subsided and I am content where we stand.

A human becoming

Momentous update incoming; so large that I'm splitting it into two! I've been so swamped with work from my summer courses that I have no remorse for the lack of updates. I passed in my independent study paper at long last. I cannot surmise the quality was to my usual standards, but ultimately I was awarded an A for the class. I am conflicted with this grade on the grounds of knowing I did not exert myself as much as I could have. I received an A- in Research Methods and unfortunately, a C+ in Abnormal Behavior. The C+ caused my Grade Point Average to drop, but not significantly.

Sarah and I continue texting each other. At a few points I speculated she would stop associating with me, yet she continues to do so. One day she was trying to determine how to move her 500 (yes, 500) cellphone pictures onto her computer. Unable to locate the cable included with her cellphone, I advised buying an adapter to read a memory stick she could save her pictures on. I went as far as calling her to talk over her options. She texted me some hours later notifying I was correct. When I expressed my gratification to help, she enlightened me her service provider Verizon had, who she had called because of my poor communication. Sarah time after time has trouble deciphering my lingo for unidentified reasons; the only explanation I have contrived is my habit of mumbling and pressured speech.

As I had yearned for, my nose ceased bleeding in time for my first class on Tuesday. Be that as it may, I still resonated the voice of a person with a cold and my nose prolonged oozing mucus. Gratefully the stints in my nose, which the outward appearance was unknown to me, were extracted two days later to which in great measure reduced both symptoms. I was completely taken aback when my ENT pulled out a 4 inches long by 1 inch wide piece of plastic from each nostril. My nose has extensively stopped bleeding, but I continue to have blood in the mucus I retrieve from the back of my throat. During my appointment with her Monday I will ensure to mention this.

The first week of the summer semester I struggled to be on time for my 8 am class, Counseling. Not only was I leaving late, but on top of that I was being delayed by summer construction. I succumbed and set my alarm a half an hour earlier; I have not waken up at 5:30 am since Freshman year in High School. Gratefully, Counseling is extraordinarily engrossing. There have been two instances in my life that I have gotten wind of a viewpoint considerably much the same as my own. The first occasion took place when I was advocated to give heed to a podcast called Common Sense with Dan Carlin. The show is directed toward news and government from the perspective of the radical, non-partisan host called Dan Carlin. Dan describes his show as being a part of the new media, described as “the emergence of digital, computerized, or networked information and communication technologies in the later part of the 20th century” by Wikipedia. I loathe the mainstream media for the reason that I identify it as entertainment more then news. Journalism today is not as it once was; you don't see journalist getting the inside “scoops”. The media relinquishes former practices in order to maintain connections for future material. At the end of the day, it all comes back to ratings, sales or clicks. Integrity is a thing of the past; now more then ever the news caters to what the audience wants. Many subjects that should be top stories are minor news. Most American citizens want to hear about the latest murders and celebrity going ons more then being told their practices are harmful or will fall on the shoulders of future generations. I am enraged at how proportionally high murders are portrayed on television compared to other crimes and the obvious partisanship displayed. Humans naturally have a “them versus us” attitude and this is reflected in politics; society pressures citizens to identify with a political party, even if citizens don't particularly agree strongly with the party. The podcast is only every other week for 30 – 45 minutes, but the insight is more enlightening then what you would hear from then an entire group of pundits.

Counseling is the second time I've encountered this phenomena. I may confuse what my professor believes in and what Carl Rogers did, but none-the-less the sentiments are of importance. Love is often given conditionally; unconditional love is rare, which can be seen from the most au courant 52% divorce rate. There is no such thing as altruism; people help others to fulfill their own needs. Feeling satisfaction from helping others is providing that pleasant experience. There is not one reality; each person's perspective is a reality. At one point in my life I debated if there was only one reality; two realities, an inner and outer; or a separate reality for each person. While there is no definite answer, I find the last conclusion the most satisfactory. Painful experiences can not be undone, only understood and learned how to be dealt with. Human growth doesn't stop; while our physical growth ends, our mental capacities are always expanding. I am doubtlessly forgetting a heap of conceptions that parallel my way of thinking and of course, there is much more then what I have annotated, but this provides a prelude to the subject matter presented.

Roughly three weeks ago, an acquaintance from High School posted on my Facebook wall asking me why I don't play Warhammer 40,000 with him and his friends. It was completely unpremeditated; having dealt with this person only on a few select occasions, I did not know what to make up of it. When I clued in my friend Melvin, he was hurt he had not been invited seeing he knew those who were playing to a much greater degree then me, but he still encouraged me to attend. Observing his feeling of being left out and ken on him catching cabin fever from being inside his home for the greater part of his time nowadays, I expressed I would request him tagging along, for which he was grateful for. I responded that I was interested along with the supposition, then went along with my usual business. Hours later I returned to Facebook to read the person who invited me, James, had responded affirming Melvin's attendance would be a non-issue and that he needed me to select a race to play as, directing me to Wikipedia. He also sent me a message on AIM while I was away. Electing to get back to him tomorrow, I hooped into bed only to hear my cellphone vibrating. The number was not one I recognized, but I answered it despite this. To my astonishment, James had used my cellphone number posted on Facebook to call me. Our conversation was to the point as I remarked I was lying in my bed when he called. We were to meet at noon Wednesday at a small shop located in downtown Dover.

On Wednesday, having not heard from James, I called him to get directions to the shop due to forgetting the name and being unfamiliar with Dover; he did not pick up his phone. Twenty minutes later he phoned me back, apologizing for being asleep when I rang. He gave me the name of the shop, Elite Hobbies, and it's general location, near the Strand Movie Theater. I printed directions off Google Maps, picked up Melvin and headed on our way. Our travel began smoothly, effectively highway, but once we exited, to no amazement, I achieved losing our way. To use Melvin as a scapegoat, he handled the directions and was in charge of watching for street signs, a task not fitting for someone who can scarcely see from his left eye. After driving in circles for a period of time, we found our way to the Strand Theater. Melvin buzzed James, who had not left Rochester yet. To kill time, Melvin and I ordered pizza at a restaurant across the street. Looking for a parking space at the Strand, I misjudged the depth of a puddle at a spot; stepping out of the car I found it to be several inches deep. Returning to my car, drenching my sneakers further, I recognized I had left my cellphone there. Opening it, I had missed several calls from James, for which he left a handful of messages. I returned his call, confessing I had forgotten my phone my car and that we had grabbed a bite. He and his friend were waiting at the shop which was nearby. Admitting the ease I get lost, I handed the phone to Melvin who directed me. Of course, we still took wrong turns. Frustrated, James ordered us to wait at the Strand, as he would walk over the meet us. I suggested to Melvin we walk over ourselves but he refused out of pure laziness. He appeared 10 minutes later, commanded me to hand over my keys and drove us to the shop, which was 30 seconds away; Melvin and I argued who was to blame until we walked inside. Elite Hobbies is a small shop that caters to a niche demographic along with carrying products involving home repair.

If you are unacquainted with Warhammer 40,000, as I was, it is a franchise that started as a tabletop miniature wargame that has expanded into other mediums. A Tabletop miniature war game is a military focused, turn-based strategy game that incorporates tiny figurines and model terrain. The main appeal for the greater part is customizing the miniature figurines. The other dude there, Tom, who I had English sophomore year with, painted his army as storm troopers from the Stars Wars films. The game itself is astonishingly elaborate: measuring tape is used to calculate distance of movement and fire; plastic utensils that called to mine the type I operated in Geometry class; a large assortment of different types of dice, ranging in size, color and use; and multiple booklets for instructions and stats used for calculations. In spite of having commenced setting up, an additional half an hour or longer was necessary antecedent to playing. I can say without shame that I label myself as a geek. With that said, I still view this as geekness at another level. A commonplace joke is those of us into more non-mainstream hobbies speak a incomprehensible language; this was that precise experience.

We were split into two teams: James and Melvin on one and Tom and myself on the other. Tom and I played as space marines, James used some sort of space elves and lastly, poor Melvin played as the Orks. I show sympathy told Melvin for the army he was dealt with was atrocious; he had the largest army, but their strength was puny so consequentially, Tom was annihilating them. James gave Tom and I a handicapped for the sake of Tom being relatively unfamiliar to the game. Granting it is a strategy game, victory relies more on luck; a role of the dice ultimately clinches a favorable outcome. You role for turns, if units can enter the battlefield, ability to do damage, amount of damage, area of damage, resistance to damage and undeniably more I am not aware of. I indulge in entertainment that luck plays a smaller role in, thus Warhammer was not to my great liking, in particular to my indifference toward customization. What I found more intriguing was how James and Tom treated Melvin; in high school, Melvin stood out like a sore thumb and was often ridiculed and bullied for it. However, by senior year he had joined a semi-clique in Computer Technology class, which I took the first part of two years prior. I was not a part of this clique, but it's presence was evident. I had three friends in the clique, not including Melvin, who I was not friends with at that time, as were James and Tom. I had observed that within this clique Melvin was still moderately mocked, it was in a more friendly fashion. The put downs in Elite Hobbies was less so. Guys like to rag on each other, but as I pointed out to Melvin on our drive home, there is only a certain extent until the person is covering up what they really think as a joke. He was slammed time and time again; unlike myself, he was able to shrug it off. I am far too sensitive to take such abuse without becoming enraged, as Melvin did when I first met him. I am conscience-stricken; I also partook in this to a much smaller extent. The worst was when I recollected the story of Melvin's mom leaving a chore list for him, one task being to untangle the phone cord, which I found to much humor as did others who I repeated it too. Besides that, I almost fell when I went to lean against a wall that was further back then I discerned and two brothers, between the ages of 8 and 10 watched us play for a length of time. I was astounded to find they were well conversant of the game. As a kid that age, I procured no patience for that type of activity.

Smile like you mean it

It has been over a week since my independent study professor remarked the paper I need to hand in and I still haven't worked on it. I planned on toiling away on it last Thursday and Wednesday but I was rather drained; the additional workout exercises I'd added into my routine have left me tender and depleted. I learned Tuesday that the gym is free for full time students during the summer, which I will be. This permits me to carry on with my strategy to elevate distinct areas of my body.

I'm getting worn-out on describing dreams, but forecasting inconsiderable episodes to portray this summer, this will assist filling the vacant space. Time elapsed before writing this, so the specific aspects are more ambiguous then average. The first dream placed me inside some sort of multilevel mall. I can't conclude whether the food I had brought along went bad or if my mother opted to provide an alternative meal, nevertheless she delivered shrimp with cocktail sauce. Ensuing, I called her on my cellphone fussing over her not providing a proportionate meal. Skipping ahead, I returned to a table I had previous eaten at to discover a person halted by the mess I had left behind. I confessed I had come back to clean it, asking for his patience. As I was handling my dirty Ziploe containers, he suggested ringing the bell against the wall to call an attendant to rinse my dishes and sanitize the table. Uneasy with this, I disposed of it myself. Walking away, a man I had a sneaking suspicion mistook me for a mall employee beseeched me to follow him for something involving his father. Doing so, I spotted a former boss and friend of my mine named Rachel with both her children and another girl I had worked alongside at the same job. I stood still as they walked pass, indecisive to make contact. Just then, a person holding shaving cream in the shape of cotton candy bumped into my ear. Irked, I pulled swiped at the shaving cream, unable to remove the remnants that had slid deeper inside. The girl I worked with informed Rachael of me, prompting the group towards my direction. Following expressed delightedness of our encounter, Rachael inquired if I had planned on passing by without saying hello. Lying, I explained what had happened and my embarrassment to be seen in such a state.

Part two took place in my home, involving the aunt with cancer, my cousins on the same side of the family and peculiarly, the IT friend of “her” earlier mentioned named Bethany. The bunch were making baskets akin to Easter. Returning home, I found a disarray of ripped papers on my bed as well as an old wallet I once used with the money spread on top of the bed. I struggled to disclose my hunch that Bethany had been the perpetrator to my father with no avail because of his hearing difficulties. Aggravated, I proclaimed my dislike of visitors entering my room while I was away and accused Bethany of intruding. Pleading innocent, I discourteously pronounced I didn't believe liars. Without an ounce of emotion, she handed me the basket my aunt had made for me. Still choleric, I broadcasted my rejection of the basket. Proximately, I chuckled as I reached into the basket to recover rotten fruit, feeling my action was ultimately correct.

I met with Sarah, the girl I talked to for an hour on Facebook, for lunch last Tuesday. It went shockingly well; I had her laughing almost the entire time. It's feasible she was only doing so to be considerate, but I didn't sense it. Most of the laughter involved her having multiple men yearning for her. I made acquaintance with Sarah in Introduction to Theatre, a class we both took in the Fall 2008 semester. Up until that unforeseen day we first chatted on Facebook, we had spoken scarcely. Sitting in the restaurant, I caught sight of her freckles and brown eyes, traits I had overlooked. I do not deliberate if I procure feelings for her. When “she” was a supporter of mine, I highly anticipated text messages from her, as I do Rachael, but I did not occupy a tenacious longing for her. After lunch we marched over to her dorm room which was disarranged from packing; she was leaving that day to return home in Montana. She offered me an assortment of food she needed to unload. Most of the food had peanuts, which I dislike, but there was a box of vanilla waffers, which I fancy. The first one I bit into was hard; she forewarned me they might be old. I ended up taking a white chocolate with coconut bar and cinnamon graham sticks.

I approached the girl with the dazzling smile last Tuesday before the Abnormal Behavior final. I started by asking her if she had any questions before the exam. We compared notes and consulted with the people around us. With no further questions, I asked her if she was going to be near campus this summer. On account of living in Nashua, I queried if she wanted to hang out sometime over the summer. I am unsure if she said yes, but her reaction was that she would Facebook me. At another time that day having not been sent a request, I searched for her on Facebook. To my despondency, her profile picture was of her and another guy. Her profile was public, so I accessed it and took notice she was in a relationship. It took me a lot of guts to ask her, but conceiving I suffer no loss, I'm giving all I've got to not let it irk me. Besides, I've never done it before, which shows I've grown as a person. I am aware this course of action contradicts an earlier declaration that I was not interested in dating. My change in outlook on the world has brought a belief in myself I have not possessed for many a year.

In a previous entry I alluded to repercussions of being delivered by forceps. I was let known last October that I had a deviated septum, which from my knowledge is a misalignment in the nose and in my case, a left nostril that was practically closed. In the beginning I had gone to an Ears, Nose and Throat (ENT) doctor for a throat issue. I frequently sense food embedded in my throat and at times am able to dislodge small white pieces from inside, but the feeling does not cease. The doctor took notice that one of my tonsils was enlarged, explaining why food becomes lodged. It was at this time she informed me of my deviated septum. As a child when I put a finger over each nostril to blow the other, I noticed my left one did not release as much air as the other, but thought nothing of it. I am not the first in my family to have this complication. In fact, two uncles on different sides of the family a short while ago had operations for it. Favorably for me, my circumstance was commonplace. One uncle had a follow up procedure because of additional difficulties and the other required having his nose broken. Following a handful of different tests to no conclusive answer for the initial complaint, I preceded with repairing the improperly aligned nostril.

I arrived at the hospital Friday a little after 7 am and was brought into the operating room around 8 am. My ENT doctor performed the surgery; a well dressed woman in her late thirties with as my mom described “the personality of a pig”. I awoke an hour and a half later woozy from the anesthesia and was immediately put on morphine. After an hour in recovery, I proceeded home with a list of instructions: rest; sit at a 45 degree angle; no bending over; no nose blowing; mouth open when sneezing; a gauze under the nose changed regularly; a saline solution up the nose every three hours; an antibiotic three times a day and ointment inside the nose three times a day. My mother has been babying me to my protest, excessively worrying as always. She carries my meals to my room and keeps account of my medication schedule. When her employer called to solicit her working a few hours on Saturday, I had to persuade her to leave my side. She called some hours later to check up on me, for which I replied “Don't worry about me, just work.” She has been on the phone perpetually updating her family on my condition; why I can not contemplate. In truth, I am accustom to this treatment from her, but I will not derail into that. After such a major surgery, I am genuinely splendid. I stopped taking the painkillers prescribed because I am not experiencing serious distress. My weekend has been sleep, eating lots of candy and sitting on recliners playing computer games. I am not in full health yet; I can still spit out blood and my nose is lightly bleeding. When my summer courses begin on Tuesday, I am optimistic my nose will stop. The one major inconvenience is I will not be able to exercise for the next two weeks because of the surgery, disrupting one of my goals for the summer.

As a I practice from now on, I will not divulge topics in future entries because I end up not following through.

I can't say that it's over

I can't say that it's over

I know that I should believe me

but I can't

Oh yes I can just not yet

Just not yet

I woke up one morning in the past week and threw this chorus together. Imagine someone singing this with a soothing voice with the two yets drawn out. I'm not sure if the lyrics mean anything; in the past I've largely failed at conceiving lyrics to a catchy beat. I worked on them out loud before I came up with something that sounded decent. Well, anything that comes out of my mouth sounds horrible, but if it was sung by someone with actual talent it would be enjoyable to listen too. Soon after near finalization I started remixing the chorus; I do this with other songs not created by me as well. I had it stuck in my head for so much of the morning I recorded it on my computer for safe keeping. I took a stab at expanding it to a full length song with no success.

I have remote justification why I am extraordinarily late with this update. I had two papers to write last weekend for last Monday and have only completed one so far. Fortunately my professor for the independent study forgot when he wanted the paper. Heck, I had to ask him the length and when he wanted me to turn it in a few months ago. When I saw him last Friday he finally asked me about it. My song and dance is two Saturdays ago my predicament began when my gums itched on the left side of my mouth all day. On Sunday it followed up with a tooth ache in multiple areas on the left side of my mouth. This botheration continued the next day with my left ear aching. I had reached my limit; I scheduled a doctor's appointment for the next day. As expected, he prescribed me an antibiotic. Subsequently I had a toothache mainly with ear pain now and again. The issue at hand was the antibiotic, painkillers, brushing nor flossing alleviated the affliction. Fortuitously, I tried cold water which pacified the pain temporarily. For a handful of days I had a water bottle with me at all times to enclose water in the area of my mouth. I had the option of swishing the water around before spitting it out but I instead drank it resulting in many trips to the restroom to my disfavor.

As with relatively all medical afflictions, the origin could have been numerous illnesses. As a precaution, I'm going ahead with the wisdom teeth removal. I mentioned erstwhile that we will have to pay what my dental insurance will not cover. For this reason I could not go to the dentist on account of having to pay even more money for the extraction if I did. The withdrawal is on June 6^th, so if future problems ensue, I'll just have to tough it out. I depended on activities with constant stimuli such as video games, television shows and movies to distract me from the pain. This may be unconvincing, but escapism and sleep are common means of handling pain. The pain is non-existent now, however I h have a mild sore throat. I confess my depletion of motivation did not help the situation. I played video games all weekend and watched Lost; I've done nothing productive.

Two weeks ago I walked into the roommate at the gym. I disremembered in my last entry that I had posted on her Facebook wall apologizing for our last clumsy conversation. Her response left me regretting writing it, but during our following encounter (before this one) she did not look bothered by it. I could see it going two ways: because she knows me to a greater degree then most, she is more understanding of my gracelessness or she is a talented actor. I'll take Understanding for $500 Alex. Some time afterward as I was at a machine I gazed the gym to see if she was still there and sure enough she was using a treadmill behind me. I've stated before I have a tendency to fixate on people, so I regularly turned my head towards her. It may have been so apparent she picked up it; as I saw he turn her head slightly to left toward me; there is a possibility we just synchronized at the same time. Still, last semester I was watching a girl at the bottom of an inclined lecture hall when unanticipatedly she turned towards me. Discombobulated I altered my field of perception toward the floor and never glared at her once more. Is looking at a girl for an extended period of time ogling or admiration? In this case I was not ogling. She is a lovely girl, but her role in the incident is the reason why. Before heading to the changing room, I timidly walked towards her, wished good luck on finals and to take care. I am sure the roommate and “her” have better things to talk about then me, but I would be more at ease knowing “she” had forgotten about me fully. I desire to her, but I know it is a pipe dream.

Samantha did get back to me; I can't recollect her precise response but the gist was she was busy and apologized for not replying sooner. She messaged me on American Online Instant Messanger (AIM) while I was away so I did not respond back. I contacted her on Facebook some time later to see how she was doing. Her responses are always so full of liveliness that I question the sincerity. I've contemplated she used me to collect herself from her disastrous evening because of my accessibility . I struggle to think the best of people, but playing defensive shields from being severely burned. To add fuel to the fire, as I was turning into A Lot in one of my dreams, Samantha said goodbye to me as she walking on the sidewalk in the opposite direction. I did never reschedule with the girl I had called off for coffee, but it broke when we spent over an hour last evening shooting the breeze on Facebook.

In the original post of my previous entry I wrote a lengthy paragraph that I cut because it lacked anything worth interest; further progression has taken place validating it's importance. A small number of weeks ago I watched the movie rendition of Girl, Interrupted, based on the book of the same title we had been assigned to read, in my Abnormal Behavior class. We did not finish the film and because the professor was uncertain we would in the course of time, I downloaded it and watched it to completetion. I sent a mass email to the entire class offering the movie on either CD or directly onto their computer. Three people responded, including a girl who gave me a copy of her notes when I missed two classes because of a medical account. I was eager to help her, but I am unhappy to say I was unable to on account of her missing both scheduled meet-ups to receive a copy. The other two came on time without issue. Amusingly, we ended up finishing the movie in class. Although my work was all for nothing, I didn't lose anything out of it and for a small instance prospected I might benefit, as I'll elaborate next.

On Wednesday I made my way to campus, even with no class to attend, for a Abnormal Behavior test preparation at CFAR. My mentor set up with a mentor for another student in my class to have a person from our class who was achieving for tips on how to prepare for the final examination. I ran late because of having to constantly pour cold water on my tooth. When I got there, I was taken aback that the girl I gave a copy of the movie too was the other student seeking help at CFAR. When her mentor asked if we knew each other, she responded yes with a smile that warmed my heart. When we were done, as I was about to leave I stopped to ponder asking the girl to study with me before the exam. The achieving student invited us to a study group taking place this week, which we both agreed to attend, but I wanted to get to know her more personally. I gathered my courage, approached her, and gave her my proposal. She accepted, the time pending on her moving belongings back home. She delivered her enchanting smile, leaving me mesmerized. I swiftly turned around, spitted out that I'd see her later and left. Not a suave exit by any means, but there is nothing suave about me. Dejectedly, she has not emailed me and it is doubtful she will. I haven't procured an email concerning the study group in addition; I may be alone on this one. This makes me a sad panda.

Last Friday I consummated my Research Methods class. For only studying an hour and a half before the final, it was relatively a cinch. I said goodbye to my professor, a tenderhearted man that I had long exchanges with during the semester. I can not express that he is a marvelous teacher, but he created an atmosphere in the classroom I felt content in. His unusual characteristics such as sitting on top of chairs, bobbing his head across the room when he asked if there were any questions, simulating mice in example experiments and playing the fiddle distinguishes him from other lecturer, if not other people across-the-board. His empathy toward my condition aided me in not failing the class; I handed in an assignment two weeks late. I savored no harsh judgment from him and his overpraise flustered me. He has been the sole instructor I've had any connection with, which I will surely miss.

Before I bring this to a close, I abridged the rant I contrived in a preceding entry when filling out the evaluation sheet for my Abnormal Behavior professor. I am proud to say I achieved filling the page without use of slander. Next entry I will discuss contrasts between my mother and I and hopefully continue with my movie idea before the concepts fade from memory.

Long walks on the beach

I know I sound like a broken record, but I can't seem to push myself to put time into the important assignments due in the near future. In some measure this is brought about from the semester nearing a close, but there is another factor I have yet to establish. I want to work on the assignments, but some unknown force is holding me back. I'm in the position now that if I am unable to exert myself, I go to bed early; I have fallen asleep between 8 and 9 pm the three evenings this week. This may be the reason why I have been sleepier than ordinarily.

Last Friday I made a resolution to be more positive; I had an epiphany of some sort. I at long last got it through my head that medication is only a building block in recovery; I need to take charge of it myself. Through my writing it should be apparent that I am pessimistic and do not exert myself to conceal it. I have avowed to change that quality about myself in hopes of becoming a more happy and open person. A positive perspective will not prohibit low moments, but I will be more capable of coming over them. I am now visiting the Diamond Library again and if by chance I cross paths with the girl I've been avoiding, I will smile, wave and carry on my way. Having meaningful goals is significant as well, but outlining what I yearn to fulfill will have to wait until after my major papers are wrapped up.

On Friday an unforeseen development took place. A branch of my new philosophy was to be more social. I out of the blue instant messaged a girl I have known since junior high and had one of the classes I dropped out of. As we chit-chatted she asked me questions that I knew were leading to something. They were questions such as what are you doing now, when does your next class start and when does your last class end. When our future plans for the summer came up, I noted I had not been to a beach in long time. Posthaste she proposed going to a beach not far away from campus, even if only for a limited amount of time. I agreed and she picked me up at the bus stop in front of the Diamond Library on Main Street. On the drive there we conversed on a number of topics such as her trip to the emergency room by ambulance for chest pains in the middle of the night. There was diddly squat they could do for her so she proceeded back to her dorm, unable to continuing resting. Samantha has a host of medical problems, all of which I can not recollect. Her most explicit condition is allergies to an abundant number of things. She is fully aware her difficulties handling stress further bring harm to her. She went on about troubles with her boyfriend at a considerable length. He stresses about what she doesn't, only amplifying her level of stress. She has an itch that the sixteen day trip to Ireland during the month of June together will make or break the relationship. They have never been alone for such an extended length of time which worries her that it will not go well. I made an effort to be impartial, giving her advice such as arranging activities alone to give each other space. It was no picnic because of her concentrated negativity toward him. Alongside that, I've had a teeny crush on her for years now. Connectedly, she conveyed a crush she had on her college English teacher, which I found rather cute. I was dumbfounded that I succeeded in holding a conversation for so long with minimal uncomfortable moments; she even seemed interested in what I had to say. We strolled back and forth on the beach for an hour or so giving enough time to drive me back to campus before my next class started. I had scheduled attending yoga, but skipped it because I felt we both needed the break. I contacted Samantha on Monday to check up on how she was feeling and to inquire if she was available Friday. My proposition of seeing a movie and playing pool might have come off as a date, which was not my motive. I enjoyed her company and want to continue to do so in the future. She was uncertain of her availability, only remarking she might be free after 8 pm. This could be an indication that she would rather not, I'm not sure; I've never been good with these sorts of things. I was allegedly oblivious that we flirted with each other during high school, according to friends at the time. The old me without much thought would have stopped pursuing her altogether, but with my new affirmative attitude, I am inclined to put additional effort in. I messaged her again yesterday about it, with no response. I'm am uncertain whether to probe her again. I'm worried my message Wednesday was creepy and pushy.

My mom has it in her head that we are destined to be together based on coincidental evidence. When Samantha was in 8^th grade, me being in 7^th, she chose to go to Kingswood Regional High School instead of Spaulding High School where students from Wakefield customarily attend. I made the same choice in 8^th grade, but she had changed to Spaulding High School at the beginning of sophomore year because she did not enjoy Kingswood. When I also had the same problem and transferred to Spaulding sophomore year. She felt guilty because she believed she had played a part in my decision to go to Kingswood. After graduating from Spaulding, she went to the University of Maine for college. I started at the University of New Hampshire last spring and she transferred here this spring because of the cost for out-of-state students in Maine, which I found out when we met in class. We also worked at the same store at different times. We sometimes messed around in my junior year of high school driving back to Wakefield and before she graduated she wrote her number on my car instructing me to call her and scribbled “Thanks for the fun times, Wyatt!”, “Samantha is cool!”, “Sucka”, and “You wish you were a senior. Ha ha ha!” The last part was in reference to me having parked in the senior parking lot that day. As I acknowledged before, I was blind to these signs. Both my friend Melvin and my mother think I should weasel my way in while she is discontent with her current relationship, but that is not the type of person I am. Not only am I convinced that ship has sailed, I am in no health for a relationship as of now.

That same day I text messaged two people I've had communication with this semester. One person was originally a participant in the experiment I was in, but dropped out because of his classes being top priority. During our short lived time together we got along rather well, so far that we exchanged phone numbers and Xbox Live usernames. To my dismay, he has not responded. The other person I've talked to off and on during the semester after a verbose dialogue on Facebook relative to a situation with a boy she was considering dating. Preceding Friday she offered spending time together, which I neither declined nor accepted. When I took her up on it, she suggested getting coffee before the semester ended. We were to meet Wednesday, but I canceled because I was not feeling well and stayed home. I do not think we will reschedule.

Speaking of Wednesday, I woke up feeling rather “off”. It had nothing to do with waking up on the wrong side of the bed, but rather a strange feeling of being incomplete and misaligned that I haven't experienced before. Nothing was missing, but everything was disorganized. I felt that my reality had become fragmented; I was in it and not in it at the same time. The Lost episode I had watched the night before involving a character whose mind kept jumping back and forth in time may have been an influence.

I haven't caught up with everything I want to talk about, so if not by tomorrow then by Sunday I will cover what I didn't today and continue my movie proposal.

The mighty Moose

The month of April has finished and spring semester is coming to a close. I can't say I have a colossal pile of work to be done, but if I carry on as I am now, I'll dig myself into a hole I'll not be able to pull myself out of. I did not feel inclined to catch some zzz's Thursday night, opting to watch an episode of Lost instead. My body apparently felt the same to my vast displeasure as I awoke an hour and a half early Friday morning. Gratefully, my weekdays are not hectic; the only out of routine task that day was to visit an ears, nose and throat doctor at 9 am for a precursory check up before my procedure later in the month. I'll spell out what the operation is for as it draws near.

I dreamt once again Friday morning. In my dream I stepped in to help the UNH women's hockey team during practice due to being a player short. Two people from my past were present as I played; Lucas G, who I was friends with from elementary school to high school and Rick, who I believe I knew up to junior high. Ludicrously, I played without a hockey stick and helmet to offset being a male. I skated slowly, succeeding in snatching the puck away from the girls, even managing to score one goal; Lucas G complimented how skilled I was. When I was out played Rick called out in disappointment, which I detested having not played the sport since I was twelve years old. I apologize to all women for this sexist undertone. I do not genuinely think women hockey players are so inferior to men that this is feasible. The fact is, I can't even ice skate.

Being the person I am, until I left my house that morning I expanded the dream further into a feature length film. The movie starts with a middle school hockey game in a small arena. The clock shows five minutes left in the third period, with the score 3-2 in favor of the Millieville Moose. The parents cheer from the stands, clapping and calling out their children's names. Even after playing a full game, none of the players show any signs of fatigue, displayed the rigor of youth. The coach claps and cheers for the children as well, patting them on the back as they take their seat on the bench. The game intensifies as a player on the opposing team is tripped by number 6 of the Moose, resulting in a penalty. As the player stands up, he mumbles “Fag”, instigating number 13 on the Moose who retaliates by pushing him onto the ice and is immediately put in the penalty box. With three minutes left, both players in the penalty box for two minutes for a five-on-three in favor of the Ithua Muskrats. After winning the face off at center ice the Musktats pull their goalie, making it six-on-three. The Muskrats stand on the outskirts of the Moose zone, passing the puck to each other in an attempt to take the defense off guard to shoot the puck at the goal. Number 42 of the Moose positions himself in front of his other teammates. He keeps his eyes on the puck, sliding back and forth to block any opportunity to shoot. After some time passes, an opposing player becomes impatient and when he pulls back to shoot, number 42 reaches out for it and knocks it to the other side of the rink. As his two teammates and the opposing team skate to retrieve it number 42 while catching his breathing stares off into the crowd as if he is looking for someone. Suddenly, his coach hollers “James, pay attention!” Number 42 turns his head frontward to see three Muskrats players skating toward him in a horizontal line passing the puck the puck back and forth to each other. With little time to react, James slides forward to block a shot that bounces off his right knee. With a grunt he pushes himself to remaining standing but in unable and has to rest against the wall. The three players reclaim the puck, set up a two timer to score a goal. As James slowly moves toward his team's bench, his coach in a concerned tone asks if he's okay. James replies that he's fine and takes a seat. James watches as the Moose hold on until the power play ends, still with his hand on his right knee. The clock continues to count down with one minute left to go. James returns to the ice, joining his teammates on the Muskrat's zone. As the children fight for the puck in a corner of the rink, a Muskrat achieves in taking the puck. He passes it to a teammate, who forwards it to another teammate gliding toward the Moose zone. James, the only person in his way, skates backward into his zone. James keeps up with the player until a jolt of pain runs through his leg, knocking him off balance enough to fall backward onto the ice. The opposing player skates around him, shooting the puck into the net just as time runs out. James lies on the ice with his eyes closed, hearing the announcer proclaim the victory for the Ithua Muskrats, the new regional champions. He opens his eyes and pulls himself up. The goalie on his team skates up behind him, asking if he's okay; he replies yes heavyhearted. His teammates put their heads down, except for number 7 and 13, who glare at James. James takes off his helmet and peers into the crowd, noticing the disappointment of his teammates' parents. He carefully takes notice of who is in the crowd and then stares down at the ice, with tears rolling down his face.

The scene changes to James standing outside the ice rink against a wall in winter clothing watching parents walk out of the arena. All his teammates except the goalie scowl at him as they pass by. When nearly everyone is gone, his coach looming from behind, asks if he needs a ride home. James looks at him, shakes his head no and returns to looking at the ground. The coach stares at him briefly, pats him on the back and walks away. With everyone gone, James pulls his head up, peering at the stars above. The scene then moves to a small house surrounded by trees in a neighborhood. James walks from the street into the driveway and up the stairs to the door. When he tries to open the door it is locked, so he lifts one of his feet off the mat he is standing on and pulls out a key below it. As he walks into the house he hears yelling in the kitchen up ahead. He prepares himself to block out the altercation and precedes forward.. As he walks into the kitchen he notices a beer bottle in his father's hand and an assortment papers on the table. He walks pass them undetected into the living room where more items are displaced. James to no surprise finds the couch loaded with an assortment of items, including a wired phone that looks as if someone explored the internal workings. He pushes the items over enough to sit down and takes off his shoes, placing them in front of the fire place. As he enters his room, he still hearing his parents fighting in the distance. He sits down at his desk, puts his head between his arms and begins to cry softly.

The story will continue in the next blog post along with the customary update of events.

The pain

My Research Methods teacher last Wednesday decided to cancel Friday's class because he wanted to attend the undergraduate research conference. I planned on going to see the senior student's presentation of her honor's thesis that I had been a participant in after class. A part of why I wanted to go was because I was the only participant she was showing data for. It would be difficult to explain why without giving extensive information about what her thesis was on, but from what she told me I gather that my data absolutely validated her research. My Abnormal Behavior professor was away Thursday so we watched the movie rendition of the book Girl, Interrupted that we are in the process of reading. The end of the week seemed promising.

On Friday I was an hour early for the undergraduate research conference, so I took a nap in the MUB to pass the time. When I awoke I felt dizzy and struggled to walk straight, falling over multiple times. Having forgotten my cellphone at home, I used the Information Booth's phone to call 911. They picked me up shortly after in an ambulance. They did the standard procedure; monitor my heart rate, put an IV in, etc. They handed me a rather unpleasant substance to drink on the way to the hospital to pacify the symptom. When we arrived they rolled me into a room, keeping me monitored until I was moved into a different room, both of which under surveillance. I stayed there for quite some time, long enough to fall asleep; I can only seem to ever nap when I am under the weather. I awoke an hour later to uncomfortably find two people in the room staring at me. As they were unable to determine the cause of the imbalance, I was discharged after having been there for four hours. During spring break last month I was inflicted with constant light, dizzy spells that diminished over time. The doctors speculated it was an isolated incident and handed me a paper on methods to prevent another occurrence. As I was leaving I still felt off balance but stable enough to drive home. A nurse informed me the next bus to campus would be stopping in front of the building in 20-25 minutes, so I took a seat in the waiting room. After lying down for so long the nauseousness I originally felt when I entered the hospital but disappeared returned even more intense as I began to walk again. From what I could tell my stomach had become uneasy from the swaying back and forth, so I went to the restroom to unsuccessfully vomit. When it neared the time the bus was to arrive, I carefully walked to the bus stop, having to take grab onto the utility poll near the stop to lower myself down from the grass above onto the crosswalk. I sat on the cement seating for quite some time until fifteen minutes had past the designated time. I delicately walked back into the building and used a phone to call the number on the bus stop. The person on the other line notified me that the next bus would be there in twenty minutes. As I was walking back to the bus stop I saw a bus driving toward the stop. I attempted running in an effort to make it in time, but the distance was too great so it past right by. When the next bus came twenty minutes later I was saddened to observe that the bus halted at the bus stop across the street. I kicked myself for not thinking to ask the man on the telephone which stop it was picking up at. Discouraged, I called my mom to come get me, which meant another 45 minute wait. She arrived annoyed and worried as I had not called her about where I was. I had planned on not mentioning what had taken place to not worry her. She drove me back to school to pick up the items I had left behind and to my car. On the drive home I suffered ungodly stomach pain. I fidgeted in my seat the entire drive home striving to relieve some of the pain. I failed to withstand and had to pull over to lay on the ground until it subsided enough to continue. As I was pulling into my drive way I felt the desire to vomit and did so immediately on the ground after opening my door. Vomiting reduced the pain, but not enough. Inside my house I laid on the ground in the bathroom or near a bucket in case more regurgitating occurred. My mom's advice to eat food to throw up worked, decreasing the pain further. I talked to my mom the remainder of the night, which helped get the discomfort off my mind. It was the worst physical suffering I've ever experienced in my life and I wish to never relieve it. On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the worst, the pain was an 8 at it's peak. It would have been higher if it did not die down at short instances. I spent the rest of the weekend recuperating, which translates to accomplishing nothing.

One of the people I have lunch with called me on Monday to check in on me, leading me to presume she had been let in on what had come about Friday. I have not called her back as I feel embarrassed and worried she will not hire me for the position I wanted she has open this summer in her department. The same day the Dean of Students for the College of Liberal Arts, the college I am in, emailed me requesting to meet. We had met less then months earlier to discuss a similar incident that transpired at home to ensure I was seeking help for my safety. When I met with her yesterday, I was displeased to be informed that if a comparable event happens again on campus, my enrollment would be in jeopardy. While her reasoning was sound, it still angered me; it was clear there were alternative reasons not explicatively said. I've calmed down since and will not allow for such a case to come to pass on campus one more time.

That covers everything I remember that needed catching up on. With that said now, I've determined to no longer go to the lunch get together on Wednesdays. Not only do I still preference eating alone, I do not wish to come into contact with the woman involving the job. Overall I did not find it to be a good use of my time. There is beyond any doubt that I will not be employed this summer; it's unmistakable that I am an indecisive person, having gone back and forth over this for weeks now. I need to my energy into getting back onto the road of recovery. It will take time and not be straightforward, but well-nigh all obstacles are. My mom made an admirable argument of why I should delay removal of my wisdom teeth. She rationalized there was no reason to extract them if I was not experiencing aching. When I made her aware my dentist had told me to not hold up because of that train a thought, she made a off-hand remarked that of course he would tell me that. I pointed out she failed to recognize he had no incentive to pressure for extraction seeing another dentist would be performing the procedure. I know her well enough to see her ulterior motive of holding off on paying for it. She denied the accusation, but I agreed to cancel my appointment despite her deception. We held class outside for Research Methods yesterday; the last time one of my classes was held outside was in the neighborhood of one year ago. It has been inordinately warm the last week for this area. Last weekend was awfully humid; so much so Sunday night I struggled to fall asleep. Sleeping whilst hot is near impossible for me. Ever since the temperature approached 90 degrees on Tuesday I've been wearing shorts to school. My only discontent is the chilly wind chill, but it is not notably strong. Back on topic, I was unable to mange not snicker when the professor implored a student to move where he was sitting so the smoke from his cigarette would not be carried into everyone's faces from the wind. When he finished and returned to his seat, he for a unknown account lit a pine cone on fire, producing more smoke then his cigarette had. What a world with such interesting people in it.

On one final note, New Hampshire's senate passed a bill to grant homosexual marriage by a narrow margin of 13 to 11. At the same time they passed an additional bill for the use of medicinal marijuana. There is still a possibility both bills will be rejected by either the house or the governor, but that is unforeseeable. It is intriguing to see a shift in mindset of the state officials in such a short period of time. New Hampshire has been, for the greater part, an old fashioned, conservative area of the country. Residents of New Hampshire have been said to place confidence in one's ability to maintain a decent standard of living without aid. My town of residence is a superlative example of this; the taxes are low because the people on the council are frugal with using it for services to aid inhabitants of the village. For almost 150 years voters in New Hampshire have primarily voted for republican candidates in presidential elections, yet in the past five elections a greater number has voted for the democratic candidate four times. The governor, both Congressional seats and the majority of the Executive Council are from the democratic party. I don't pledge allegiance to a political party, but I am wholeheartedly liberal minded, so I tend to support the democratic party because of similar concerns and the methods of addressing them.