Pages

Showing posts with label things that are so not cool. Show all posts
Showing posts with label things that are so not cool. Show all posts

Monday, January 30, 2012

Where Has Olivia Been?

And why hasn't she been posting?

Besides the obvious--right here--and the usual--she's been too lazy busy--Olivia actually has some pretty good reasons for sealing herself from the world.

Exhibit A:



Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus.

That's right, Olivia had MRSA.

That--that purple thing was inside of her!

It's kind of paradoxical, really, that something such a pretty shade of purple could be so wicked, and in the wicked-bad kind of way rather than the wicked-good or wicked-cold kind of way.

"Um, Olivia," you say, "it's not really purple. It's only purple because smart scientist people dyed it that way so you could see it better."

"Oh, yeah, um, right. I knew that." She tugs on her blonde hair. "I just forget things sometimes!"

Still, it's a blasphemous usage of the color purple!

You might be wondering now what having MRSA entails. (And what it means: it is a staph bacterium that has mutated to be resistant to a number of antibiotics, which makes it doubly nasty.)

Well, to abridge this story, Olivia got a small pump on her leg which was very sore, and then it got very, VERY sore, and then she got more very, VERY sore sores on her legs which then burst and gushed blood and pus everywhere (it's a very, VERY good thing that Olivia takes a fascination to these things and is not easily disgusted by blood and pus, because if she were, she would have retched on top of it all). On Monday Olivia had a doctor's appointment already scheduled, and when the doctor took one look at the worst of the sores, she told Olivia's mother to take her to the ER and get admitted to the hospital.

Olivia was rather angry when she heard this. Olivia, you see, HATES hospitals. This is also a little paradoxical, because Olivia is quite fond of science and especially of medical-related things, but she LOATHES medical environments with every fiber of her being. (Her mother wants her to be a pediatrician, but Olivia says she would die to spend any more of her life in a clinical setting than she already does, and instead desires to become a large animal veterinarian, so she can largely work outdoors.) 

She also learned she has a good deal of depression which she keeps at bay by staying insanely busy, but being idle in the hospital, which is an exceedingly dark and gloomy place to begin with, put her over the edge, and she sobbed, inconsolable, for hours, even though she was responding very well to the treatment and knew she would probably get to go home very soon.

Overall, her two nights (and threeish days combined) in the hospital were a very dark and slightly traumatizing time she prefers not to think about, but she survived emotionally by reading Job (and especially 6:10) and praying (for herself and others) and reading some Hamlet (which is NOT what you should read when you need a pick-me-upper, though it is very well written), and she has a large group of truly amazing friends (and family) who prayed for her, and she responded amazingly well to the antibiotics and got to go home Wednesday, and was well enough with the doctor's permission to go to homeschool co-op Thursday, a piano lesson Friday, work on the ongoing project of revamping her room Saturday, and go antiquing and bookshopping* (you can save that footnote till you get to the end of this sentence, because that footnote is long, but you probably already read that footnote anyway, so sorry, and I'm just stretching out this paragraph now) with her mom Sunday, and resume run-on-sentencing on Monday, though the people she came into contact with treated her a bit like a leper, for which she can't really blame them, because MRSA is nasty and nobody wants it.

(And yes, she might have made that sentence super long just for the sake of it and to show you that she is much better now.)

She shall continue her antibiotics course till Thursday, and while her wounds are still a bit sore when she moves in a certain way, they are much, much improved. (She was in so much pain in the hospital, the nurses wanted her to take narcotics, but Olivia does not like feeling loopy, so she only took Tylenol, and dealt with the pain.)

Well, and there you have it: the tale of Olivia's hospital trauma experience, which turned out to be augmented rather than abridged. To (badly) paraphrase Mark Twain, she doesn't have the time to write a short post.

So hopefully now you understand why Olivia has not been up to blogging lately. Hopefully, she will blog a bit more if she finds the time once she makes up for a week unproductivity, though she doesn't really NEED to make up for it, because no one forces a school or any other schedule upon her but herself, and she was so immensely productive last semester she kind of needed a break; she just feels slightly panicky when she is not intensely productive (it probably goes back to keeping that depression at bay).


*She met two pretty cool people at Barnes & Noble. The first showed her to the Shakespeare section, and she had recently played Olivia in a production of Twelfth Night. Then, as Olivia was checking out (well, really her mother was doing the checking out, but anyway) with a rather nerdy stack of books (Twelfth Night, The Tempest, a nonfiction book on Shakespeare, Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman, and Tennessee William's The Glass Menagerie) (yes, Olivia is doing a self-conducted study of drama), the woman checking them out asked which class she was in, for two classes at a nearby university were reading the latter two plays. When Olivia's mother told her that Olivia was, in fact, reading them purely for fun, and that she was a tenth grade homeschooler, the lady didn't even bat an eye, for she too had been homeschooled, and therefore understood these things.

That was almost as long as some of the footnotes in some of the editions of Shakespeare Olivia looked at. She is leaving it in a large font, to spare your eyes.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Stages of an Essay


1. Think. 

And think.


And think.


And think.



2. Write.


And write.


And write.


And write.


3. Read what has been written.


"I seriously wrote that?"


"That will never do."


4. Despair.






5. Regroup.


6. Employ Little Brother's hair-plucking services.


7. Practice aim.


8. Refocus self on task at hand.


9. Blog about it.



Well, now you know what's been holding me up lately. Maybe if I ever get this thing finished I'll start posting again.

It's times like these I'm glad I'm a self-directed learner and I never was forced to write papers of any sort. I wrote so much on my own about what I was learning my mother saw no need to constrain me to assigned essays and thereby squelch my creativity. In fact, as a child I compiled books about my studies, so why should I have been limited to mere essays?

But now I am applying for a camp, and I must write an essay to turn in with the application.

Woe is me.

Friday, September 30, 2011

Our *Dear* Mr. Blogger is Videoist

Mother Dearest sent this to me for this week's Geeky Friday.

Only, you will never know what this is because Blogger doesn't let me insert non-YouTube videos that aren't on my computer. How rude, and exclusive, and discriminating, and inconvenient!

Blogger has been bothering me lately for lots of reasons. Like--ahem--NOT BEING ABLE TO COMMENT ON MY OWN BLOG. First, whenever I tried to comment with my Google Account it told me I was not authorized to access the page (...eh?), so I've had to post for a while now with a name and URL. But this morning it wouldn't even let me do that. And poor, dear Birdi's comments get all eaten up too, and possibly other commenters' that I don't know about because they can't comment!

Blogger's probably mad at me because I mentioned considering switching to Wordpress. But I considered switching to Wordpress because Blogger is possessed. So Blogger started it.

Anyway, back to Geeky Friday.

I am afraid I can only provide a link, thanks to Blogger's... videoism.


It's about asteroids, for the curious.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

I Am a Hostess

Dear reader, I am a victim of the dreadful rhinovirus.

In other words, I hab cod a coad.

Viruses are meanies. Really, don't they have anything better to do than pick on poor, innocent little girls?


That... that thing is infecting me. How rude!

Actually, it's sort of pretty... it's blue... and wavy... and it glows...

But I don't want it inside of me!

If you noticed an absence of posts over the weekend, that blue glowy thing the explanation. If you didn't notice the absence of posts over the weekend (more likely), shh! I didn't say anything.

I do believe, however, that I am recovering from this infection, and that my prognosis is fair. Odds are, I will survive. After all, if my research is correct, less than half of 1 percent of people afflicted with this illness die.

Still, there is that half of a percent...

Friday, September 16, 2011

The Woes of Mathematics


As a warning, I am tired and quite incapable of thinking clearly at the moment. This post is going to be a jumbled mess. I am going to regret posting this at such a late hour. I am going to wish I had never posted this when I am in such a state of mind. But it's Geeky Friday, and I must post something.

It may seem quite shocking that I would write a whole post all about the dreaded math.

On the other hand, it's quite shocking that I don't like it. After all, all life is biology*, all biology is physiology, all physiology is chemistry, all chemistry is physics, and all physics is math (or however the saying goes). And I'm all about learning how and why things work.

For while I didn't know why I disliked math, other than that I did. But I think I've finally pinned down my main objections to it.

Force. I was a nerd from the very start, and avidly pursued my studies beyond what was required. But all the other subjects were so interesting and exciting to me, math tended to get neglected. My mother, therefore, had to make me sit down and do my addition and subtraction.

That brought my enthusiasm to a screeching halt.

I have the unfortunate tendency to despise anything that I feel forced to do. This is, in fact, likely the primary reason I don't drive: I was forced behind the wheel a few years ago, and I think I'm about to be forced to get my permit. I have a natural response to resist pressure.

I suppose this makes me sound like a wayward, rebellious child, but I don't think this reaction is at its root necessarily a bad thing. This is the same reflex that causes me to resist societal influences.** It's just, perhaps, taken a bit too far here.

Still, coercion is an ineffective method of imparting knowledge. As Plato said, All learning which is acquired under compulsion has no hold upon the mind.

Method of problem solving. In most cases, I'd rather toil for hours until, by trial and error, I discover the solution on my very own, than read how to solve the problem their way step by step in boring detail. I skip over bits of the process, working it out in my head, and scribble out others. (This means when I am interrupted and look down at the paper again I have no idea what I was doing or how I got there.) I attempt to forge short cuts; many don't work, but some do.

This makes me wonder what people like Einstein or Stephen Hawking thought about their schooling. Not that I am anything like them, but I suspect I am better at math than standard teaching methods allow me to realize.

Of course, this is coming from someone who feels like a mathematical genius when she correctly adds two single-digit numbers on the first try. So then again, maybe not.

Lack of science. Math is fascinating as it applies to the world. But when all I'm doing is empty equations on the paper, and solving the problems brings about no scientific revelation, it feels like my time should be better spent. Math that does nothing is boring. It is intangible and pointless and dull and if ever I could find a program that taught it as it applies practically, to science, to something, oh, I would be so happy!

Lack of milkshakes. As I was pondering all this, I suddenly remembered a long-forgotten part of my life, a time in which math was a happy event. My father used to write two very large numbers (at least, they seemed impossibly long sums at the time) and ask me to add them. When I did several of these, he made me a milkshake. I had so much fun doing that. I don't remember why that stopped.


Can't someone out there write a curriculum that teaches math in a sensible way and that puts knowledge gained to use?

Anyway, what got me thinking about all of this was The Official SAT Question of the Day, which I suppose was the ultimate purpose of this post. So there you go. Have fun. Be nerdy. I really should go to bed.

*The very best subject ever.
**Besides, of course, the conscious realization that society has issues.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Three Things

'Cause it's late and I don't feel like writing a long post, although I could.

Thing the First: My last list post was called Thirty-Two, because there were thirty-two bullet points in it. I realized a few days later there were actually thirty-three things in it. Eheh...

Thing the First and a Half: The first time I spelled it realised. What am I, British?

Thing the Second: I have dermatophytosis. That is, ringworm.

Now, I'm not bothered by blood and gore, and I examine photographs of gruesome wounds with fascination. However...

Eeeeeee! There's fungus on my ankle GET IT OFF GET IT OFF!!!

Ahem. I do not like fungus. I do not desire to ever eat a mushroom, because it is a fungus. Therefore, I am just a little disturbed that a fungus is feeding on the dead tissue of my skin. I did not give this fungus permission to lay its haustoria on me. This is not cool. I banish the fungus. The fungus is banished.

Thing the Third: On his way home, my father found the most adorable basset hound puppy on the side of the road. I'll try to get a picture of that wubbable wittle face tomorrow when it's light.

Now to find its owners...