I'm the baby, you gotta love me

My lovely siblings have been taking great care of me since I haven't really been able to walk the last few days. Well, I can walk but it's super painful and if I walk a lot I start to leave a blood trail. It's just not a good idea.

For the most part the food has been edible. There was an incident with easy mac and cheese that didn't go over so well. It had sat in the microwave for too long and lost all the water. I was mostly passed out on the couch when my brother mixed it up. He asked if it needed water and I said no. I'd forgotten that water evaporates. Everything ended okay because my mother made me Gold Fish mac and cheese. It was cute and delicious.

Fishies (Photo)

Thankfully my older sister made me a salad so I have eaten something healthy in the last few days. Pretty sure it's the only healthy thing I've eaten.

I did get some interesting, but yummy french toast for  breakfast. My brother made it. I was not entirely sure it was going to end well. I kept hearing questionable noises coming from the kitchen. The most disturbing was when he asked if it was supposed to look like that. Since I was lounging (in a rather foul temper) on the couch and couldn't actually see the kitchen I had no way of answering. It's been really odd to have him cook for me since if it's just the two of us at home I do the cooking.

It looked a lot like this, but flatter (Photo)

The best thing was when I asked my brother to get me a cup of coffee. I have a French press. He took the lid off and freaked out when he saw the coffee grounds. He didn't realize the plunger thing needed to be pressed down. In his defense he avoids all coffee and necessary equipment for making coffee. I got to talk him through the actions for a French press. Mostly that you have to push the plunger down slowly. He also took the lid of the creamer instead of popping the top up. Just unscrewed the whole thing.

This is real hard to use.

But mostly I've just eaten a lot a macaroni and cheese. It's my go to comfort food when I feel bad or am stressed.

I tried to decapitate my toe

Yesterday afternoon we were getting ready for a picnic when I cut open the bottom of my toe/foot area. It was highly unpleasant. And kind of embarrassing. My mom asked me to grab something from the pantry (our pantry is like 10 feet tall). It was barely out of my reach. Instead of taking the minute or so of time to move stuff around and set up the step ladder I decided to be time efficient and just jump up and grab it.

In retrospect it does seem like a dumb decision. However, I have lived in this house for over a year and jumped up to grab items on numerous occasions. At the time it seemed a reasonable action to take.

I landed on something and it hurt. It felt like a paper cut, a sharp stabbing pain. I looked down, this was possibly another mistake. Blood had gushed out of my foot all over the floor. There was a small puddle of blood on the pantry floor that was getting bigger while I put pressure on my foot. I turned my foot over and could see into my toe. A flap of skin had popped open, it looked like someone had tried to peel all the skin off. I freaked out.

My family members all rushed to the kitchen to see what they could do to help. After looking at the wound they decided it needed stitches. They bandaged up the toe in an attempt to stop the bleeding and took my to InstaCare.

Unfortunately the place was located in an intersection that is under construction. Traffic was at a standstill and we took the side roads, which ended up being blocked off and we did a circle around the building before getting to the lot. My father was driving and was not happy with the traffic. I was sitting in the middle of the back seat with my foot propped up on the passenger side seat. I did what most people do. I texted my best friends a picture of my bandaged foot. Responding to their messages kept me from freaking out about getting stitches. I have never had stitches before. 

The clinic was basically empty. I am assuming it's because of the horrible traffic. I got in to see a doctor in what is probably record time. I am almost positive you can't really read my handwriting on the information form. I probably should have had my father fill it out, but it's a little late for that.

The nurse was very nice. I remember she had on these light blue cowboy boots and black scrubs. She also had a really nice voice when she said my heart rate was elevated. Had I not been in so much pain it would have been funny in a I wan to punch you sort of way.

Had that nurse been the doctor things would have gone better. He came in and it all went down hill from there. He was an older, heavy man with a slow, wanna be Texas drawl. (I say want to be because it's Wyoming and most people from Wyoming who try and effect a Texas drawl don't do it right.) After looking at my foot he declared it a superficial lesion slapped two bandages on it and sent me home.

It was slightly more involved than that but the whole visit couldn't have taken more than fifteen minutes. I have a gouge out of the bottom of my toe and slice out of the side. The side cut almost looks like my skin just burst open. It's disturbing to look at. What's slightly more disturbing is that the bottom gouge connects to the side slice so that half of my toe skin can flap up.

I spent most of the examination gritting my teeth and trying not to bitch every time his pudgy fingers poked the open wound. For some reason the doctor did not realize, or possibly care, that it was really only one cut. He kept saying it didn't need stitches. Now it is possible there was nothing to keep the stitches in and they would only cause more problems but that isn't what he said. The doctor also told me I would be able to walk on it with out any problems. He only told me that after I asked. He also said I could take ibuprofen or Tylenol but didn't say how often or how much. Which I found highly irritating because I try to never take pain medicine if I could to something else to alleviate the pain, like drinking more water or eating something different.

By the time I got home I had already bled through the bandages the doctor had put on. I was so tempted to call them back and bitch at him. He had specified, the only thing he'd actually told me to do, that I needed to change the bandages once a day for the next ten days or so. When I'd asked if I would need to do more than that he'd said in a very snooty voice, "Once a day will be fine."

Subtext "I am the doctor, this is not a real problem."

You know when you can just hear what someone is saying?

That's what happened then. The doctor had decided I was a young woman who came in because of a little cut. Problem solved.

Even the nurse asked if he should look at it from another angle. If you are a doctor what would it hurt to have another look at something? It would have taken less then a minute and might have possibly made my life a little easier. It's not like he had another patient to look at.

Instead of him doing his job my mother has bandaged up my toe and I've been on bed rest. Which is very boring. Very boring. And quite possibly the only reason I wrote this post. Because every time I get up and walk around blood starts leaking all over the place. It's messy and disgusting.

Super Bowls and Food Stamps.

Bread and Circuses.

Sound familiar?

It should. Many history teachers preach on the subject. How governments give the people distractions to keep them content. It's a sleight of hand technique to keep control.

All that being said. I have no problem with the Super Bowl. I like watching it; the commercials are always interesting. I am not a sports person. I don't play them and I never watch a game. The whole thing is uninteresting to me. I'd rather be reading a book. I understand that they are important to other people, some of my close friends and family members are huge fans of football. Honestly, it's more fun to watch them watching a game then to watch it myself. They get so into it.

I also have no problem with food stamps. Sure, some people are working the system but there is always going to be a group of individuals that game the system.

It's what con men, grifters, do.

I've been called naive for believing that. For believing in the goodness of people. I don't want to believe we have become so depraved that everyone one food stamps shouldn't be. I don't want to believe we've lost that much. America has always been a country of values and I refuse to believe it has changed. The values may have changed (of course), that's part of growing up, maturity adds a new perspective to life.

If nothing had changed since the founding I wouldn't be able to vote. I am a women. I am an educated women. If nothing had changed my life would have been different.

Superficially my life would have been much the same. I would still be a women, I would still have gone to college, I would still be able to think. But I wouldn't be allowed to do anything about it. I wouldn't be me. I would have grown up in a culture constantly telling me I am inferior, I am  not good enough. That I will never be good enough. Because of my gender.

It's almost laughable.
Except that it's not funny when it happens.
Not going to lie. I got a lot of that already. It just would have been exponentially worse.

I'd like to think that I would have been a spinster working in a library. That is if I was born before women were allowed to be equal. By equal I mean legally. The unwritten rules have taken longer to change. They always do.

I can't tell you how happy I am to live in a world where my opinions are valid; where I can be both an intellectual and a women. It's such a refreshing idea, women can think logically (please note that's mostly sarcastic).

But more than anything else I am happy my value is not based on relationships. I do not have to be a wife to have value. I do not have to be mother to have value. I am an asset because of my brain. Because of my work ethic. Because of my humor. Because I am a valuable individual.

I am.

Anything I want to be.
Anything I want to become.
Anything I work hard enough for.

I am a women and that is enough.

And if I am naive for believing in the goodness of people at least I am happy in my naivete.

My original point was that we can't complain about stupid government decisions when we elected  the people making those choices. (I don't care if you didn't vote for that president/governor/senator/mayor/congressperson; they got elected by the majority. Deal with it) Don't bitch when you don't care enough to research the people you elect. If you don't like the direction the country is going, do something about it. You are an important part of this era and your choices make an impact.

If you're wondering what one person can do to change a country take a look at the names below:
Martin Luther King, Jr.
Rosa Parks
Mahatma Gandhi
Nelson Mandela
Mother Teresa

All of those people had huge impacts on the world. They changed the fabric of their cultures. Forever.

Here are some more individuals who've had an impact on cultures, eve if it is more oblique (and not always a good thing):
William Shakespeare
Mark Twain
J.K. Rowling
Stephanie Meyer
Suzanne Collins
Joss Whedon

They all started out with an idea, a dream, something they couldn't give up. Something to live for. Regular, everyday, people who didn't give up.

Being an adult is hard.

What does love mean?
It's a word. One that is, if I am being entirely honest, dropped way to often. Way to often. Do you really love that person, or are do you want to own them?

I've had similar thoughts floating through my head lately. I don't know what I think love is anymore. I can recognize it, or what I would define as love. But I'm not sure I am seeing what's really there.

I love my family. And I don't particularly care what they do. I have no say in their dreams or hopes or futures. I can give my unsolicited opinion (I do this frequently, even if most of the time it doesn't leave my own head). But is that really something someone who loves you does?

When I was in high school I had a boyfriend I loved. Or at least I thought I loved him. I felt utterly destroyed when we broke up. Just thinking back on it is enough to make me shudder. Most of what I feel now is embarrassment that I would ever let another person have that much control of my emotions. That I would let myself fall apart over a boy. The anger I felt over that break up lasted for years. It almost cost me a friendship (and that is funny story, even if the events are traumatic). All of those emotions I barely managed to keep a lid on came out anyways. It seeped out and stained my world view.

Making friends is difficult if every new person I meet I consider a potential safety hazard. Letting people get close, letting my guard down, tends to end in messy ways. I've had two best friends since college and it's been hellish keeping those relationships. I hate the phone. I don't check facebook often enough and I basically never check my e-mail. My preferred method of communication is letters. Or my blog (which has clearly not been used enough in the last year).

My sad, pathetic excuse is that I don't blog about work. Since all I do is work and read it would make an exceptionally boring blog. This is all true.

It's also true that I have a crazy bent towards philosophy and I like bashing in preconceived stupidity. I can't stand catchall comments and I have to almost physically stop myself from yelling when it turns derogatory. No matter what someone believes, thinks, expresses, wears or looks like they are human and deserve to be treated with respect. Even if they aren't present.

Phrases like these drive me crazy:
Those Christians
Those homosexuals
Those liberals
Those conservative
Those Republicans
Those Democrats
Those Milennials
Those Welfare receivers
Those people

You know what I'm talking about. The statement that is made with complete conviction that "those people" are some how less. Some how not human. We define certain characteristics, group individuals together and then start to seem them as less. The very act of grouping causes us to just see the minute part of their beliefs we dislike and not the individual. It's easy to hate something I dislike, it becomes incredibly easy to hate a person if all I see is a group label.

I am one of those Milennials. The ones that doesn't work full-time. Because I am ...

You can fill in the rest. You've probably been called something similar recently. Labeled, correctly, judged harshly and left to stand alone with no one listening to you.

Sometimes all people have are excuses. And sometimes people have interesting stories. A story I'll never hear if I'm not willing to stop and listen.

I'll tell you what I know about the Milennials.
We are lazy, for a value of lazy that means we don't want to waste time.
Most of us are over educated and under payed.
We've almost lost the ability to believe in a better future.
Because we are scrambling just to survive.
But we haven't given up yet and we won't.
Because we know that hard work and relentless commitment will get us to the goal.
We still believe in possibility because we've seen it over and over and over all whole lives.
We've grown up with terrorism, school shootings and war.
We know the value of a life.

And this all brings me back to love. If we love people how can we judge them so harshly. Why aren't we willing to stop for a moment and listen. To let go of childhood prejudices and communicate as adults.