Driving seems so straightforward, but sometimes it’s hard to be absolutely sure if you should be using your turn signal or summoning creatures from another dimension using an ancient scroll.
Thank goodness Obvious Plant is always looking out for us. Today he’s provided this helpful guide to car safety with a simple list of dos and don’ts.
- Martin Luther King Jr.
I am reminded of a tale Neil once told about one of his children coming to him and enquiring about Batman’s Origin.
Child “Why is Batman Batman?”
Neil: “He was deciding how to fight crime, and a bat flew through his window”
Child “What if a ball flew through his window instead?”
Neil: “Then he would have become Ballman”
This was followed by the secret origin of Gloveman, Trainersman, and IIRC, Chest Of Drawers Man,
This is true.
Has a silk bathrobe
Avowed bachelor
Wears a hat of someone else’s choosing
@dayglopirate relevant to your interests
Here’s the list:
tag yourself I’m “a perplexment”
Years ago I once mentioned to a coworker at a theatre where I was interning that my boss was bi (he was out, I wasn’t doing anything I shouldn’t) and she said “Oh! He sometimes shops at the other market!”
I almost fell over laughing at the expression, and I reported the conversation to my mum later. She picked it up and would joke about it for like, YEARS after. It became a running joke in our family, the expression “He shops at the other market.”
This ended up being REALLY funny about five years later when we were trying to find a grocery store on a family road trip and ended up buying what we needed from a grocery store with a big sign out front reading BI-MART. We pulled into the parking lot and I leaned over to my mother and said, “This is the other market he shops at.”
I always forget to tag this post for the classic it is/
‘son of the moon’ how poetic is that tho
Who cares what they have to say about you? Just do it
❤ let’s empower ourselves and our girls ❤
Plz like the video on YouTube !
A lot of people think the girls in the video are actors. they’re actual arab athletes, the first of their kind in their countries. First female Emirati parkour coach @leap.of.hope first Jordanian female boxer @arifabseiso first female Tunisian fencing Olympic bronze medal winner @ines_boubakri and First female Emirati figure skater @zahralari (Instagram handles)
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“This said nothing about nursing…yet you already knew this was your job description”
So accurate.
@moderatelychaotic you were asking about nursing the other day? I gave you the rose colored glasses version. This is also accurate. #StillLoveWhatIDo
- Sienna Morris
Where math, science and art collide.
Sienna uses mathematical equations from her subject matter to create her intricately stunning drawings. For her piece “Human Heart” you’ll find equations for norepinephrine, cardiac output, stroke volume, and membrane potentials—all part of the mechanics of pumping blood. Numbers, formulas, and symbols related to these concepts are all hidden within the curves of her anatomically drawn human heart.
Sienna is AMAZING! I’ve seen her work (and met her) at the Portland Saturday Market. So if you’re in PDX, go tell her I sent you, and get yourself an amazing piece of art.
How does it feel to be an adult?
exhausting and everything is expensive
Today is a not a good day for me mentally. My hubbs keeps calling me from work to check up on me. I'm just in one of those moods where I want to vanish for a bit, but responsibilities demand my attention. So, I am having a cry before my child gets home from school. I have started therapy and we are discussing medications and I know that is a good step. But I'm terrified all the same.
It’s going to be okay.
YOU are going to be okay. This is a temporary thing with your brain being a dick, and you will get through this.
I’m so proud of you for starting therapy, and looking into meds to help your brain get the help it needs to stop being a dick to you.
If I may suggest something: I practice a version of cognitive behavioral therapy. The short and overly simplified version is: when I feel my brain throwing a sad or depressive or negative thought at me, I stop what I’m doing, and I make the effort to consciously remember something awesome that happened that made me happy. It doesn’t matter what it is, just as long as it’s a good memory. It doesn’t even have to be a big, complicated memory. It can be like that time I ran my first 5K, or the time I switched on my emulator and it worked! It can be a quiet walk I took with Anne (I have a lot of those to choose from) and specifically how nice it felt to hold her hand.
We have tons of good memories, and sometimes we have to make the effort and work hard to find them, especially when it’s easier to feel bad about something.
Also, it’s OKAY to recognize that a thing made you sad, and then sort of visualize putting it on a shelf or in a bag or just kicking it out of your way for a moment while you pay attention to that good memory.
There’s science which tells us that the experience of recalling something happy produces the same neurochemicals as actually having that experience, so even though this can feel like woo woo mystical bullshit, it’s a real thing.
So your homework is to think of an awesome thing that happened, just a moment when you were really happy, and recall something specific from that moment. Your brain may try to be a dick and do this thing where it goes, “and that’ll never happen again.” or “and I didn’t deserve it.” When your brain does that, it can be a challenge to stay focused on the good memory, but you can do it!
You’re gonna get through today, I promise. Send me a note tomorrow and let me know how you’re feeling, okay?
Hello, I really appreciate your blog and frank discussion of mental illness. I just got prescribed anti-depressants and will start taking them tomorrow. I am terrified. Any words of advice?
I can only speak to my personal experience, but I think it’s normal and totally reasonable to be somewhere in the continuum of worried to terrified. You’ve gotten used to your brain and your reality being a particular way, and you’re about to begin a journey that will change that. It’s changing it for the better, and I know that you’re going to feel better, but it’s still a pretty fundamental change so it’s normal to be apprehensive about it.
When I started my meds, I was able to take a day off, just in case my body reacted strangely. Luckily, it didn’t, and I ended up watching a whole lot of Adventure Time without feeling like I was wasting the day. But it may be different for you, and that’s okay. Some people need a day or a week to adjust, and even when it’s tough, it’s worth it.
You may also feel nothing for up to three weeks. That’s also normal and it’s also okay. In my experience, it was less like a switch being pushed and more like a sudden realization that the lights had slowly come on in a very dark room, but they’d come on so gently and slowly I didn’t realize they were on until the moment I could see the door out.
It helped me to have Anne to talk to while I was adjusting to life with brain pills. Maybe it’ll help you to have someone you can talk to who you trust, too.
If you just take one thing away from this, though, please let it be this: it’s completely reasonable to be apprehensive, and I’m super proud of you for having the courage to help yourself get better, anyway.
Let me know how it goes, okay?
I love this description of antidepressants starting to work. Spot on. Thank you.
I’m doing better today.
They were short at work last night and I had child care so I went it from 7p-3a. I did good energy wise, just broke into a sweat a few times.🤔
I still have not been able eat solids other than Ritz crackers or chips. No diarrhea, and my pain is minimal. So it’s broth and crackers for now.
Aside from having trouble eating, I think I am on the mend!
Home resting and back on duty tonight… we shall see.
So glad you're starting to improve!
Three in one shift?
That would make even the crustiest old bat have a bit of a heartache.
Dang. I’m sorry.
But in general, every death, much like every patient, is different. I have witnessed “good deaths” involving Morphine drips or DNRs quietly passing while appearing to be sleeping peacefully.
I’ve also seen UGLY, NASTY deaths involving multiple codes in one night. Traumatic pneumothoraces, blood coming out of ETTs, families weeping at the bedside.
I think this is one factor in our caregiver grief.
Another factor is…how *deserved* was this death? I’m not saying we put prices on our patients, but everyone reading this knows exactly what I mean.
The last patient for whom I personally performed post-mortem care was a known child molester.
A patient who died close in time to that person was a chronic, well-loved patient. Many staff members, some from other units, came to pay their respects to this gentle soul as care was withdrawn. Tears were shed that night - but none were for MY patient.
And then we have age.
I recently had a patient younger than I am who died. She had three small children and I said to myself, “she didn’t even have a CHANCE at life. She won’t get to see those precious babies grow into adults.” (How pediatric nurses do it…well, that I don’t know).
On the other hand, a 90 year old great grandfather who saw it all, did it all, left a legacy of love…he “led a good life.” It’s our way of saying it’s okay that he died.
I’ve noticed that the way we react to patient death is also related to how close to death we work. As an ICU nurse, I feel like the grim reaper at times. My ED friends see numerous deaths rolling in all at once sometimes. But Labor & Delivery nurses - their patients’ deaths are ALWAYS tragic. ALWAYS. They’re rare (I hope) and memorable. When I worked in ambulatory surgery, we had one patient die. One. We all remember her. Most of us probably still recall her name. Everyone can describe the circumstances in great detail, even years later. We all were shaken.
But the most important factor in handling caregiver grief, in my opinion, is our relationship to said patient. I’ve had patients that have touched me, that I’ve connected with, that I’ve developed a rapport with families, etc. Those patients’ deaths hit me a lot harder than the patients who were already hospice care when I arrived on shift. I didn’t know them. I made sure their morphine doses were adequate, the family was supported, but I probably didn’t cry.
Those are my beliefs related to a nurse and the deaths of her patients. I don’t have much advice for dealing with it, or shutting off when you get home. But I’ll say a few quick things…
- Don’t shut off. Acknowledge your grief. Let your family know why you’re sad. Cry if you need to.
- Read the patient’s obituary. It helps to personify him or her as a healthy person and see why perhaps he or she IS at peace because you can visualize him or her ill
- Pass it on. Read what things your patient enjoyed, what causes were important to him or her, what he or she maybe never did get to do due to illness. And do something that will benefit society, yourself and your patient’s memory.
Again, I’m very sorry to hear of your awful shift. My condolences. I can tell that you are a caring nurse and your patients were certainly fortunate to have you during their final moments.
I’d like to say it gets easier, but because of those factors I described, it doesn’t for every patient or for every nurse. But you MUST acknowledge and deal with your grief. Consider decompressing with other staff members who knew the circumstances of the deaths…they’re probably feeling similarly.
(via medsurgnurse)
So whenever I read trc, I'm always overwhelmed by this almost pathological desire to experience the same feelings of wonder and beauty and magic that you describe in the series. Yes, I understand that there is no sentient, magical forest to discover, and no sleeping king that I can search for, but I still have this urge to have similar feelings and experiences in my life. So how do you experience a similar kind of magic and wonder that you describe in your books, in everyday life?
Dear jalapeno–business,
Are you listening closely?
As an author, I travel a lot. At one point, I was on the road one day out of every three — planes, hotels, rental cars. There’s a rhythm to it, like running up a very long flight of stairs. You figure out how many stairs you can take in a jump, and how to breathe-in-breathe-out to keep from wasting your lungs, and you learn how to tell when you have to stop to rest your knees or you just won’t make it to the top.
The airports and the planes and the people can all start to seem the same after awhile, if you’re looking at them wrong. If you let them. Anything in life can sound ordinary if that’s all you’re listening for.
Back in 2014, I was in a Texas airport. The night had that glittering senseless jitter to it that happens when you’re tired but going home, finally going home. I was early for my flight and sitting several gates away from my real gate, listening to music. A young man sat down two seats away. Ordinarily, tired and occupied with the peculiar every-day magic of the music in my headphones, I wouldn’t have noticed him, but a moment later, a phone rang. He asked if it was mine; it wasn’t. Someone had forgotten it on the seat between us.
We both looked at it.
It rang again for someone who didn’t know to pick up, and then he took it away to one of the United desks for them to give it to someone who would listen. He didn’t return.
Two hours later, I went to my real gate to board. Full flight. Everyone was checking and double-checking their seat assignments as they defended their right to aisles and windows. When my seatmate settled himself next to me, I looked up, and it was the guy from the waiting area. He had a tilt to his chin that telegraphed that he thought he was hot shit and a grin that said he recognized me.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
We laughed ruefully and applied our headphones — we both knew the routine of polite air travel. But the agreeable tingle of the coincidence still ate at me, and I could tell it ate at him, too, because after a few moments, he offered me a truffle from his bag. I told him I couldn’t take it because of my allergies, but the headphones came off. We started to talk.
And he was a big talker. He was cocky. A surgical resident. He told me how he loved the hell out of taking internal organs out of people. He described how he listened to sixty-minute epic soundtracks in his ear buds while he removed appendixes and gallbladders, kidneys and stones. He told me of watching Dateline by himself at the end of seventy and eighty hour work weeks, and he told me about his Hyundai, which I made fun of. Confidentially, he whispered to me about a surgeon he knew who had the goal of removing every gallbladder in Texas. Two hours into the flight, the conversation tilted toward spirituality. He’s hot shit, he confessed, and works hard, but he sometimes wonders if he’s allowed to want to be successful, or if that makes him a bad person. Because he’s working a lot of hours in a week, and he’s tired, but he’s pretty sure that he’s hot shit, but maybe that’s not allowed.
I was watching him fumble his fingers over each other. He was scratching a hole in his own palm.
And all at once there was a phone in my head, and it was ringing just for me.
“One of your parents has obsessive-compulsive disorder,” I told him. “Maybe both.”
The shimmering grin slipped. “How did you know? How could you know that?”
I asked him if he was getting treatment for it.
He said, “No, no, I’m over it. How could you know that?”
Because in a foggy way, that phone was still ringing between us, and now, I recognized the number.
I said, “Don’t kill yourself.”
He replied, “No way,” and then he started to cry.
The shit-eating grin had vanished. He told me how he’d made up his mind that he didn’t want to make it to 35. He’d researched all the ways to make sure he didn’t. Over the next hour, I told him about my OCD, and how I thought his uncertainty over wanting to be successful but also wanting to be humble was a function of his OCD’s spiritual obsession. That he wasn’t over OCD, that you never were, but that his agony didn’t have to be a real thing. He could be both humble and successful. It wasn’t against the rules of goodness to be proud of what you’d done, as long as you were doing things for the right reasons. I told him how once I bought a race car, but I’d given it away to someone who could use the money, because I realized I was only racing to look sexy in a car, and not because it was really making me happy.
I told him he didn’t have to worry about looking sexy in a Hyundai, though, and he replied that he would look sexy in anything, and then he cried a little more.
Everyone else in the plane was asleep, but we were wide awake.
When we got off the plane in Virginia, the surgical resident gave me an awkward side-hug, and he wiped his face. Then he dug in his bag for the wrapper from his truffle. As the other travelers shuffled past us sleepily, he pressed it into my hand. He didn’t want to give me his name, he said, but he wanted something for me to remember so that when we ran into each other again in 15 years, I’d know who he was.
After we’d parted ways, I turned my phone off airplane mode, and a text came in that had been sent while I was in the air. It was from the person I’d given the race car to. I hadn’t heard from him in nearly six months. The text said only: thank u maggie i have such a hppy life bc of u
Magic.
You have to be listening closely. Phones are ringing all over the world, and sometimes they look like magical forests, and sometimes they look like race cars, and sometimes they look like surgical residents.
urs,
Stiefvater
I can’t stop replaying it
[captions]
[Adult beatboxes skillfully at the child]
[Child blows raspberry in response]
This is one of the most delightful things I have seen recently.
I can’t stop replaying it
[captions]
[Adult beatboxes skillfully at the child]
[Child blows raspberry in response]
This is one of the most delightful things I have seen recently.
