Saving Lives and Getting to Class Ontime

Last week I donated blood for the second time. My appointment was at 12:15 and, naturally, they were running behind.  Even with my scarlet letter "A" (for "appointment"), 12:30 came and went.  Taylor was sitting near me as I complained about being so close to getting to class on time.  He said he had a 1:15 class, too.  We didn't think we were going to make it.

Ms. Red Cross called for an appointment and I leaped to my feet.  Then she changed her mind and called a walk-in instead.  Taylor got to go instead.  I made a snotty comment about being angry if he made it to class on time and I didn't.

"What time's your class?" a professor sitting nearby asked.
"One fifteen."
He looked at his watch: 12:35.  "You're probably not going to make it."

I said I'd give them five more minutes before I left and came back after class.  The only trouble with that was having to eat again and healthy mid-afternoon snacks don't exist here.

In that five minutes, a man called for the next appointment.  I jumped up and literally ran to the computer station.

"Are we having fun yet?" he asked.

I told him about my class and he gave the clock a skeptical glance.  It was going to be tight!

"Don't pass out on me."

I assured him I wouldn't... hoping I could stay true to that promise.

We sped through the identification questions as fast as we could.  To the point where he almost asked my temperature before taking it, like I was supposed to know it off of the top of my head like my height and weight.

When I gave him my height and weight, he looked away from the computer and met my eye when he repeated it to confirm.  I'm dangerously close to the limit.  I know that.  It's a generic weight limit not accounting for different heights.  Which means I'm technically still over the limit even though I'm five eight and have the body of a microphone stand.  (Shaun Groves said that).  I was prepared to argue that I did not have a problem donating last time.

"Listen, you're very close," said Mr. Red Cross.  "I don't care if you're late to class.  When you're done, you're going to sit at the cookie table for at least ten minutes."

"Yes, sir."  Honestly, if you're going to be put in time out, the cookie table is the place to do it!

"I'd rather you pass out here than on the asphalt outside."

Thanks for that encouragement, buddy!

In the interest of time, he read the questions aloud to me rather than letting me answer them privately.  I think there were only 15 questions that would have made Melissa giggle.  I speak fast, but this man could give me a run for my money!  By the time we got to pulse and blood pressure we were in the middle of a marathon!  Yeah, not exactly what you want when you're having your blood pressure taken.  (Even if he had to inflate the cuff just to keep it on my arm).

“Are you nervous?  Your heart rate’s fast.  Don’t be nervous. I’m pretty good at this,” he said.

I wasn’t really scared nervous.  I was time nervous, anxious, and excited.  I was a big mess of emotions; no wonder my blood pressure was high.

However, having your blood moving fast does come in handy when you’re having a it stolen from your arm.  The actual donation, like everything else that day, was super sonic speed!

"Utto," Mr. Red Cross said.
Yeah, that’s never a good thing to hear when you’ve got an IV in your arm! He tried to fill up the test tube and it wouldn’t fill properly.

“You already took all of my blood,” I teased.

“And I’m going to take a gallon more,” he said.

“Do I get extra cookies for that?”

“You can have as many cookies as you want,” he said.

A few more jokes (“This won’t hurt me a bit.” “Two fingers on the booboo. Yes, that’s the medical term.”) and I was free to go to cookie time-out.
I looked at my watch: 1:02.

God is good! He gave me my ten time-out minutes to eat cookies, inhale water, and be interviewed for the newspaper.  I still made it to class on time!

In my interview, I was asked why I donate blood.  Like my buddy Jesus, I answered her question with a question: why not?

Then I explained–I had been the queen of excuses. I didn’t weigh enough. I had a cold. I left the country.

And once I got over that, got over myself, I took the plunge and tried it. I loved it.  The first time, I kind of felt like I was being rushed through and I was there for a longer amount of time. The second time, I was there for a shorter amount of time but Mr. Red Cross took the time to tease me, answer my questions, and truly care for me.  It made a huge difference!

It’s a simple, financially painless way to give of yourself and make a huge difference. Sure, hurts a bit, makes you look like a druggy who loves Sharpie, and makes you feel a little weird for a few days but with the lives saved, it's worth it.  I’m genuinely disappointed I’m leaving the country before I’m eligible again. But my April 2012 to do list: donate blood.

If you’re eligible to donate, why not?

<>< Katie

Never Alone

She sat on the futon with both of her legs curled underneath her.  The purple polar fleece blanket draped over her held the textbook she wasn't reading.  Just out of reach was her chocolate milk in a glass made of glass.  On the table in front of her sat the computer with broken internet, Nalgene with one last shluck of iodized lake water, and her Writer's Notebook. 

The music was playing louder than necessary but she wasn't listening until the familiar chords sounded once again.  She'd already heard that song once that day well as several times in the last week.  It seemed to be appearing everywhere as if it were haunting her.  Perhaps there was something in it she desperately needed to hear.

"Never Alone" by BarlowGirl

I waited for You, today
But You didn't show.
No, no, no.
I needed You, today,
so where did You go?

You told me to call.
Said You'd be here.
And though I haven't seen You,
are You still there?

I cry out with no reply,
and I can't feel You by my side,
so I'll hold tight to what I know:
You're here,
and I'm never alone.

And though I cannot see You,
and I can't explain why.
Such a deep, deep reassurance
You've placed in my life.
Oh, oh.
We cannot separate.
You're part of me.
And though You're invisible
I'll trust the unseen.

I cry out with no reply,
and I can't feel You by my side, so
I'll hold tight to what I know:
You're here,
and I'm never alone.

We cannot separate.
You're part of me.
And though You're invisible
I'll trust the unseen.

As she listens, she remembers learning to sign the song.  The corresponding facial expressions of desperation and confusion seemed to come so easily.  Now they seem easier.  What was once a loud proclamation of, "I'll hold tight to what I know: You're here, and I'm never alone" is now whispered gently.  Yet it still holds true.  Even when it is difficult to say, it holds true!

Her right hand flies through the air in a reverse candy cane.  The left meets in an imaginary bouquet of flowers and pulsates for emphasis.
GOD TRUST +

"God I trust You," she says.

Chopper One Sighting

One evening after dinner there was a knock on the door.  Most people just walk into our apartment, but if someone knocks those who don't live here often answer the door.  This time Nikki got it and standing outside was a middle-aged man.

Before I tell you about him, let me tell you about my apartment.  We're a brand new building that is still considered to be on campus, but we're out in the boonies.  A large parking lot separates us from the nearest building.  My front window view is a cliff with a road at the bottom of it and woods across the street.  More woods on our left, and behind us is a huge red field that will someday house more buildings but for now will be the home of our own Mud Fest.

The middle-aged men that darken our doorstep are our fathers and the maintenance men.  This particular man was neither.

"I'm the father of a girl in the apartment across the hall.  Do you have internet?  She doesn't either.  I just want to take a quick peak in the closet at your wireless hook-up."

Across the room and out of eye sight, I shot a "What the heck does he think he's doing?" look at Adam.

"We were told the internet can't be hooked up until the building is complete.  Even though we're living in it the building can't be officially declared complete until the cable company comes back," Nikki explained.

"You see, that's not true," he said.  "You guys can't live without internet."

If there was sarcasm in his voice, I did not hear it.  He also never gave his name, but Adam said he had a school employee ID.

If I was suspicious before, I was upset now.  My desire for internet was overpowered by my desire for that father to let his daughter go unplugged.  It was one night for goodness sake!  The rest of us had been internet-less for literally a week, and we were still alive.  Gasp! 

I'm glad I didn't answer the door.  I might have said something like this: Sir, if you work here, check it out in the morning.  Don't go around the building at night and explore the internet hook-up.  Don't teach your daughter that you can fix everything instantly.  She's 18 not 8!  (OK, I would not have really said that, but I thought it).

Honestly, my heart broke for her.  You see, I know what it's like to go to school where your parents work.  For nine years I shared a building with two student-sisters, a teacher-mother, and an administrator father.  It was not unusual for someone to see all five of us in one day.  Even now, I go back and nobody asks me what I'm doing.  They already know; Mom told them.

To the girl who I've not even met yet, I am sorry you chose a school where your parent(s) work.  I've been there.  I'm sorry you have a hovering Helicopter Parent.  I have two.  Come on over.  We'll swap stories.

Dear Mr. Creepy Man/Helicopter Father, thank you for trying to fix our internet.  We really do appreciate your (failed) effort.  Now, it's 9pm and your daughter's first night away at school.  Let her make some friends and enjoy herself without you here.  It's actually better if her computer doesn't work, so she's not in front of the screen all night long.  Oh, and, yes, we can live without internet.

Thank you for letting me rant.  As always, thoughts welcome.

<>< Katie

The Gang's All Here

Well, summer is over.  Even though classes don't start for another few days, I'm back at school.  Most students aren't back yet, but all six of the girls in my apartment are back.  (Jennifer, Nikki, Allyson, Amy, and Elizabeth)  Despite our hectic pre-semester schedules, it's been great to be back together playing Banangrams, being sassed, Wii-ing, being sassed, cuddling, being sassed...

Oh, and the light switches have been fixed.  Allelulia!  No more being blinded because you, heaven forbid, rolled over in the middle of the night.  Now if you sit still for fifteen minutes, which I can do thank you very much, the light goes off.  Of the two, I prefer this (I think).

Another glitch in our brand new building is the lack of intenet.  Since school is not in session, the computer lab are not open, so I have to butter up to a professor, yes, before school even starts, to check my email.  I can survive without internet.  Facebook can wait.  Email's important, but anyone emailing me urgently right now will accept the "My internet's not connected yet" excuse.  The blog, sorry friends, can survive a few days without me.  Books, however, need to be ordered.  At the beginning of last semester I talked about how I like brand new books and don't mind paying bookstore prices to not have to worry about the hassle.  I stand by those opinions.  However, this semester my schedule includes a stinky science class with a text book that costs almost a million dollars. A book I'm never going to use again and will not be able to sell.  So I Amazoned it. (I just made "Amazon" a verb... it's English).  Since I had to order that one online, there were a few others I ordered, too.  Well, intended to order.  The lack of internet put an impasse on my plan.  I'm not making an online purchase from a public computer, sorry.

Periodically, I can get internet when sitting in a certain position on my roommate Jennifer's bed.  Ever seen someone putting cell phone in the most bizarre of positions in order to get a signal?  Yes, that's me with my computer.  When I get Jennifer's Bed internet it's for about ten minutes and that's it for the entire day. This morning, I was starting to get cranky about the situation and stressed about the upcoming semester.

I only had a half hour, so I booted up my computer, plopped it on Jennifer's bed, and began to rant.  "God, I can live without internet. I proved that several times this summer and again this week. However, I'm really starting to worry about this upcoming semester. If I could just order my books I'd feel a lot better."  I checked my AOL email since it's my internet provider (since 1997!) but before I checked my school email and gmail, before I checked facebook, before I checked the blog (gasp!) I went to Amazon.

Finding the books was quick and easy.  Checking out, no problem.  I got decent deals and saved a lot of money.  Life was good.  I hit "Submit this purchase."  It went.  PAH!  I closed amazon and typed "katieax.blogspot.com" into the navigation bar.

"Internet Explorer cannot display the page."

I was moderately annoyed and simultaneously moderately amused.  I said I wanted internet to order books.  I got internet to order books.  I could not help but say, "Thank You, God."  The blog.  Facebook.  Email.  All were unnecessary distractions.
 
Twelve hours later, I'm using some friends for their internet to update my social media outlets, not for work.  Life is good.
 
<>< Katie
 
Reason of the Day to Laugh at Katie:

I dropped my socks in the toilet.  No, they weren't on my feet.  Yes, the toilet was empty.

An Afternoon at Starbucks

A few weeks ago I confided in you all that I have this secret goal to one day become a coffee shop-dwelling writer.  I talked about how my first shot at that goal didn't go so well since I chose a small, local coffee shop where professors hold office hours and my friends dwell.  I didn't give up, and on Wednesday I took a second stab at that goal.

"Hey, do you guys know of any good coffee shops in the area?" I asked after an enlightening, entertaining lunch discussing world politics and the best way to remove snot from one's nose (yes, really).

"Come over to church and use our coffee shop; that's why we have it," Bob suggested.  Then he laughed, "No, you wouldn't get any work done; you'd just talk."  I pretended to be mad at him, but we both knew it was the truth.

"Barnes and Noble has a coffee shop.  As does Borders," Jessica provided.  No good.  I'd spend more than the $3 I had in my wallet.

"Or there's a Starbucks across the street," Emily offered.

I was looking for a small, local coffee shop, but Starbucks would have to do.  I ventured across the street, walked into Starbucks with my purple purse, purple computer bag, and purple tumbler, and took a seat at the first table I saw with an outlet.  There I sat.  My water warm (it sat in the car during lunch).  My coffee cold (I only bought it so I didn't feel like I was loitering).  My battery dead (it was fine Monday, but by Tuesday it wouldn't hold a charge).  My pen sticky, my notebook out, and my inspiration missing.  I had been afraid of that.  I wasn't too worried.  I had plenty of stories to write.  Since the novel's hit a stand-still I've explored short stories.  As I've sure you've all noticed, I don't do "short" but, boy, do I love "stories."  If none of those would suffice, I had plenty of old material to play with.  I've never written "Major Parking Lot Incident" or I could tell the stories behind some of the weird items I'm finding as I clean my bedroom.  That wasn't necessary.  I did several hours of "picking" and POV focusing before finally calling it a day.

One thing I started in March was what I think I'm going to call the "inspiration box"  (Unless someone else has a more clever title). Anytime I read a good prompt, quote, exercise, or idea it goes in a gold box I saved from this past Christmas.  Most of these come from a writer's blog but some come from class and others from others.  I'd love to hear, how do you find inspiration?  What do you write when words don't come?  Also, can you work in a coffee shop or do you spend too much time people watching?  I've had that problem, too.

Oh, and how about a quick quote from Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.

"And as I worked on the novel, as my character did what he wanted and ruined my story, it reminded me of life in certain ways.  I mean, as I sat there in my office feeling like God making my worlds, and as my characters fought to have their way, their senseless, selfish ways of nonstory, I could identify with them... I was also that character, fighting God and I could see God sitting at His computer, staring blankly at His screen as I asked Him to write in some money and some sex and some comfort." (Pg 85-86)

<>< Katie

God Believes In You

You how when something's bothering you and there's only one thing, person, answer that can make it better? Sometimes you don't even know what the one thing is until it appears. Something like that happened to me today. I was grumpy (no peanut gallery comments), and I nonchalantly excused myself from the kitchen to avoid getting crabbier. Like any normal college student who's been at work all day, I came to the computer and checked my email, facebook, grades, etc.

There it was. Right there inside my inbox.
Subject: God Believes in You
From: Max Lucado

Of course, I read the devotion that went along with it, but really the subject line hit to the heart a whole lot better. I'm keeping it in my inbox. Not because I haven't read it (in fact, I first read same devotion in a book recently) but because sometimes you need that subtle reminder that God believes in you.

In the words of Point of Grace, "When I think I'm all alone and the phone starts to ring: It's just the voice I needed to hear on the other end. You do it again, You do it again. You speak to me just like a friend. You always seem to show up right on time. You do it again, I guess You know when my heart needs to hear Your voice... I could be driving in my car, I turn the radio on. Trying to figure out my thoughts, then I hear the perfect song. I can open up Your Word and not be sure where to turn, but I start to read and it's like You know just what I need."

Hey, God believes in you, too!

In Christ,
<>< Katie

"And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work." 2 Corinthians 9:8