Blargh.

I went to the post office today to buy stamps. That's what I did today. And watched a lot of videos on YouTube. And drank two pots of tea. And avoided writing this essay for school that I've already gotten an extension on. That's going to have to happen tomorrow, then, because I've got to work all day Wednesday, and I'll be damned if I'm going to be doing schoolwork on Christmas Eve.

Work. I start on Wednesday at 6.00. SIX O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING. The only plus side to starting that early is that by the time lunch rolls around, my day is almost over. I lied - there are two plus-sides - the lunch thing, and that it's at least still a bit dusky when I finish work at 15.30. On Friday I was on silverware detail, which they kept saying is the easiest job in the dishwash kitchen where I was working. For five and a half hours (FIVE AND A HALF HOURS) I sorted forks, knives, and three kinds of spoons, and put them in little paper bags so they could be distributed to the patients. About 30 minutes was spent standing around doing nothing, and another 30 or so minutes was spent spraying down the machines after all the dishes were taken care of, which leaves two and a half hours of taking coffee cups, saucers, and soup bowls off the trays (but only the ones with handles. No handles, not my problem). There was also about 45 minutes somewhere in there where I only had to take lids off things, but there were several different kinds of lids, and they had to be sorted and put neatly into the rack before being sent into the dishwasher, and that whole thing was surprisingly difficult.

I can speak two words of Polish - a word that sounds like "Spahtch!" (which I say in the same voice I use when I say "Garbanzo beans!") which means sleep and a word that sounds like either "kurva" or "kurdva" and is an all purpose Slavic and Uralic language family (Uralic because it's the same word in Hungarian, which is not a Slavic language) word meaning something like "fuck". I heard the second one. A LOT.

Gah.

After I noticed that it was 13 degrees in the living room and there was a snow drift on the inside windowsill of the bedroom, I turned the heat on. Paul kept saying that we didn't have to, and I wasn't in the mood to try and have a discussion with him about it, and I didn't see what the big deal was, anyway. It was fucking freezing, and I turned the heat on. So what? And you know what I did, how crazy I let myself be when I turned the heat on? I turned it up to a roasty, toasty... 17 degrees! That's not even 65 degrees Farenheit, folks! And I was still walking around in about 15 layers and my ridiculous slippers, but at least I wasn't cold in those 15 layers!

One of the side benefits of growing up with parents who, despite being born in 1945 and 1950 and both growing up at least reasonably economically stable and being economically stable as adults, still think it's the Great Depression is that in the middle of a blizzard, I can turn the heat on in my apartment and set it to about 62 degrees Farenheit and experience it as a heat wave. I leave you with that thought, and this LOLcat:

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Ik verzon gisteren een Sinter Klaas verhaaltje voor Paul en ik las het hardop nadat ik z'n Sinter Klaas cadeau aan hem had gegeven. We hebben besloten om Sinter Klaas ergens van de zomer te vieren omdat alle de algemene en binnen-onze-relatie feestdagen (Sinter Klaas, mijn verjaardag, Kerstavond, Kerst, Oud en Nieuw, Valentijnsdag, en Pauls verjaardag) plaats vinden tussen 5 december en 15 februari, en dat maakt de rest van het jaar vrij saai. Maar, het verhaal schoot me binnen, en zulke inspiratie kan ik me niet goed tegenhouden.

Dus, het verhaal:
In de loop van Pakjesavond bracht Sinter Kllas een kort bezoekje aan het apartement van Paul en Alana. Hij vroeg Brompijp wat hij voor Sinter Klaas wilde krijgen, en Brompijp zei, "een Superman-pak" en Sinter Klaas zei, "Ik zal mijn best doen, knul." Hij vroeg Buddy en Tigger wat zij voor Sinter Klaas wilde krijgen, maar ze zeiden allebei dat ze liever op de Kerstman wilde wachten en Sinter zei "oké".

Toen vroeg-ie een kleine aap. Aapje verzocht snoepbanaantjes, maar ook wat ander snoepgoed zodat hij z'n cadeautje met z'n familie kon delen. Alsof het niks deed Sinter Klaas z'n arm in a'n zak en trok uit een snoepzak in de perfecte formaat voor zo'n kleine aap.

Toen vroeg Sinter Klaas hoe het hem beviel om met Paul en Alana te wonen.

"Met wie?" zei Aapje.

"Met je mama en je papa," zei Sinter Klaas.

"Nou," zei Aapje, "ze maken te vaak ruzie, en ik mag tegenwoordig met maar één vrindje in bed slapen, maar voor de rest ben in hééééél gelukkig."

"Ik ben blij om dat te horen," zei Sinter Klaas.

Aapje keek Sinter Klaas even aan. "Eigenlijk," zei de aapmans, "nou dat je vraagt, Sint, er is één ding waarmee ik best teleurgesteld ben geweest."

"Vertel me, jongen."

"Een paar maanden gelden is papa op reis met Ome Micha gegaan, en ik mocht niet mee! Mama ook niet, trouwens, maar dat kan ik begrip om dat het een als een mannenweek was bedoeld, maar tel ik toch niet mee?"

"Wat erg," zei Sinter Klaas. "Ik moet dat met je vader bespreken."

"Alsjeblieft, Sint," zei Aapje.

Ze lieten allebei een stilte vallen.

"Wat deed je pap op z'n reis, eigenlijk?" zei Sinter Klaas.

"Hij mocht camperen, wat hij weet dat ik ook graag doe!"

"O jee," zei de Sint. "En waar is hij wezen camperen?"

"In Zuid-Frankrijk, waar ik nooit ben geweest maar heel graag naartoe wil!"

"Wat flauw van hem," zei Sinter Klaas. "En heeft-ie iets op z'n reis gekocht?"

"Niks interessants - allen die flessen wijn."

"Ah ha! Euh, o nee, bedoel ik," zei de Sint. "Jongeman, ik ga woorden met je vader hebben om zo'n situatie in de toekomst te voorkomen, maar je hebt mij wel een idee gegeven."

En omdat Sinter Klaas zo druk bezig op zaterdag en zondag is geweest (en hij moest toevallig gisteren... iets doen), krijg nu pas, Paul, je Sinter Klaas cadeau.

Dus, maak er gebruik van!
Sint en Piet

I turn 25 next week.

I don't really know how I feel about it, but I don't think I feel stressed about it. It just that it's such a round number. It carries a tinge of "I should be a grown-up by now, and I'm not really". It doesn't help that some of my classmates are 17 or 18.

I graduate in eight months, so that's something. I wish the future after that was clearer, but we're working on that.

I'm tired, and I have to work in a new-for-me section of the hospital tomorrow doing work I've done once. It's manageable, but I hate that feeling of having to learn something new, again, and then probably never working there again. I don't mind working at an intellectually challenging or physically demanding job, but to do that kind of stuff as a student, when I just want a stupid student job, is a pain.

Actually, it's not really intellectually challenging, and the physically demanding part is more a question of getting used to it. But it is a detail-oriented job, and because it's in a hospital, forgetting details, or mixing details up, can have serious consequences - apart from feeling like an ass, that is. And if I worked there with any regularity, I'd eventually be able to remember the details, but I don't get scheduled regularly, so I just end up spending five hours making dumb mistakes and feeling like an ass and getting paid minimum wage to feel that way.

At least if I had to wear a chicken suit and hand out flyers in the center of town, I'd be aware that I was going to look like an ass and I could make a joke out of it to deflect. But that's harder to do in the hospital, and I don't know a phrase that translates to "The devil is in the details".

The ways we humiliate ourselves for money.

Questions about the future are really gnawing away at me.

I want a crystal ball for my birthday.

"Paternal uncertainty is one of the many biological inequalities of reproduction (see also: pushing a human being out of your vagina)"

From: http://www.salon.com/life/broadsheet/feature/2009/11/20/paternity/index.html

I'm taking a mental health day from school today. I don't really need it, but I'm doing it anyway. One class has us not just doing all the reading, which isn't that much but is hard, and having discussions, but we also have to write summaries and answer questions based on the reading and bring that to class. It's really time-consuming and it's hard for me to find the motivation to do it.

Plus, there's a shithead in the class. In the first two weeks, it was kind of funny and pathetic how he was always attacking my ideas, and I kind of enjoyed demonstrating how pretty much everything he said to me was wrong. But now it's getting to be a drag, and I feel like I can't say anything in the class without him jumping on me. I don't even really get why he's doing it, either. In the first class, he said something, I asked a reasonable question in a reasonable tone of voice, and I could see him getting pissed off and starting to get that bristling posture some men do when their ideas are questioned.

It's been downhill from there.

In sharing personal stories of what the discipline has meant to us, and how and when we realized that it was important, I mentioned the names of two philosophers, and he started trying to debate me on the merits of their arguments. Sorry, kid, but, 1 - you don't know anything about the philosopher other than what I've just said. 2 - you're confusing me with the philosopher, and my views with the philosopher's. 3 - it's not a debate; it's a personal story of how and when I realized that this was important. 4 - your criticism is of the most irrelevant and vacuous kind, and you've completely missed the point.

Le sigh.

In the rubric of "Things that Seem Like a Good Idea but Actually Aren't" goes today's accidental experiment - drinking a whole pot of black tea by myself.

I am about to jump out of my skin.

OMFG. I just spent €200 on clothes. How did that happen?

I got (mostly) stuff I needed. I really need pants. I have two pairs that are wearable, and one of those pairs has already been patched twice. I should probably get some more. But let's not go crazy, here. I got something else which I didn't need, but, c'mon! It was 30% off! I got two other things I didn't really need, but c'mon! At that price, I might as well get two! (I might return one. I have to think about it. And model them for Paul) I got something else I didn't need but can honestly use. And I got one thing which I can use, but I didn't need, but is also cute on me and is - this bit is critical - warm. I spend 5 months of the year feeling cold, so that's an important quality in an article of clothing.

I got paid today, so that helps with the guilt factor. And everything I bought is, hopefully, made to last, and nothing is really trendy, so I think I'll be able to wear it all next year. Plus basically my whole wardrobe is mix-n-match, so I should be good to go.

Trying on clothes always makes me realize a few things - plunging v-necks shirts are not my friends. Instead of cleavage, I have a slight shadow where my cleavage would be, if I had any. Deep v-necks make me look kind of ridiculous. And, my bottom half is at least one size bigger than my top half. I tried on a shirt that fit like a dream on top, but was straining to get around my hips. I can do something about the size of my ass in profile, but I can't make my hips much narrower than they are already. Bummer, dude.

1. If there was one thing about your body you could change, what would it be? Some minor aesthetic points, like never have to pluck my eyebrows again, or make my pants size the same as my shirt size.
2. Would you rather lose 10lbs or 10 points off your IQ? What, is this a question? 10 pounds.
3. When you look in the mirror, are you happy with what you see? I'm satisfied, but I'm not exactly happy. I've seen progressive over the past few weeks, but I've got a ways to go.
4. Have you ever dyed your hair? Several times. I look pretty good with blue hair, or a blue mohawk, I have to say.
5. How often do you weigh yourself? Most mornings.

I forgot to say that last week I wrote a piece in Dutch so that a woman from the Language Center in Maastricht could assess my writing ability and help me find the right class to help improve my writing.

A part of the instructions they give you is to write something that is representative of the kinds of texts that you want to learn to write. I'm going to need to be able to write academically, but seeing as I hadn't started classes yet, I didn't want to choose a random subject as a formal essay topic.

Instead, I wrote a reflective piece about working at the hospital this summer. It turned out pretty well, and I'm thinking about working on it to make it more substantial, but the really neat part is that I realized in reading it over that it sounds like me. When I read over Dutch-language journal entries, or notes I write, or e-mails, or whatever, it sounds like a stranger. But this sounded like me. My expressions, my ways of saying things, my story, and my idiosyncrasies.

I've found my Dutch voice. Cool. :)

I just realized that I should be going to bed because I have to start work at 8.00 tomorrow and I have kind of a long day.

Tomorrow's list:
Work from 8-12
Swing by the market to buy oranges for Paul (optional - can also be done on Tuesday morning)
Get a haircut
Go for a run (I wanted to go tonight, but my right calf is still kind of twinge-y)
The last two will necessitate a shower
Going to a birthday party in Nijmegen for an evening of barbeque and beer
Try to squeeze in dress shopping, but I don't think I'll have time for that. Next week, then
Call the woman from the jewelry store in the center to get a final price indication so I can compare the prices with the other place in Winkelcentrum Woensel

I feel like I'm forgetting something...

Sunday is going to be a cleaning day. Paul comes home on Monday afternoon, and I have to go to school on Monday, so I won't have time to do it then. The whole apartment needs a good onceover, and I have a couple of special projects lined up for myself, too. We'll see how much of it actually gets done.

It's 5.31 and I can't sleep. Just can't sleep. Haven't been able to sleep for most of the night. I woke up and thought, with relief, "Phew - at least it's almost time to get up after only sleeping in small chunks of time" and then I looked at the clock and it was 3.30.

I don't know why I can't sleep. I went for a run tonight, but that was only at around 19.30 or 19.45, and I still had more than an hour to cool down, shower, and even watch an episode of Family Guy before going to bed and reading for half an hour before trying to fall asleep.

It's 5.32 now, and my alarm clock goes off in 63 minutes so I can work the whole day and then go right to the station to go to Maastricht and go to my Dutch class. And there's too much food in the refrigerator, and I'm supposed to be eating my way through the freezer, but I can't cook tonight because I don't have time because I'm working and I have to get to Maastricht early enough to do the homework because we have to turn it in. What's that about, anyway?

Aapje's keeping me company, though. I worry about him sometimes. He watches a lot of TV, and a fair number of the movies and shows we let him watch aren't appropriate for monkeys his age.

Gah. It's 5.37 already. It's time to try to sleep for an hour, or at least lay quietly in bed wool-gathering before getting up.

So. How was it, that whole "being in the United States for the first time in two and a half years and using up a chunk of vacation time to visit my family" thing?

For the ADD, it was mostly good. Don't feel obligated to read further, though I will say that there is NEWS a bit further down.

For the more attentive: Like anything, there were parts that were good, a couple of great parts, even, some neutral to boring parts, some sucky parts, and a couple of shitty parts. If it wasn't my family, and if I didn't feel a sense of obligation to see them every now and again, I probably wouldn't bother. There is something in me that was calculating, based on flying time, how far I could have gone in a different direction, and what other kind of vacation we would have booked, given the money we spent.

But still. It's my family.

I want to finish on a high note, so I'll start with the not-so-good parts.

The bad
First one that comes to mind - Paul barfed while we were landing in Brussels. I couldn't stop my uncomfortable laughter, and people kept turning around and staring at us while I mouthed apologies in three languages. The worst part for me was when I was left literally holding the bag after he finished one and started working on the second. Then, when the seatbelt sign went off, I had to push my way through the crowd to the toilet to get rid of the bags.

On a more serious note, I felt bad that there was nothing I could do to make him feel better. Not even hold his hair.

(There is also a tasteless joke that goes along with this experience, but I'll save that for the end)

Another one - my mom's house is such a mess. I get that cleaning and organizing is a drag, but, at least for me, there is definitely a connection between the quality of my life, my mood, and the cleanliness of my living area. Another problem is that Paul is allergic to dust, which is pretty much a load-bearing construction feature in my mom's place. Having to be there, and having no control over it, and constantly having to clean up so we could cook, sit, sleep, play cards, and be in the same room together without at least one person having to stand, was really wearing, and I was glad we got a break to go camping.

There was some family drama which I could have handled better, but could have also been handled better by the other party. I'm still thinking about what I want to do about it now.

The neutral
Being in the US itself was weird. Speaking English to everyone but Paul was an adjustment, and Paul's father commented in the car on the way back from the airport that my Dutch accent had gotten a lot worse in the two weeks we were gone. I had some grammar trouble, too, which I haven't had in a long time. I was able to get back in the swing of things pretty much right away - starting work at the hospital didn't hurt - but it was still annoying to take a step back.

I was reminded of a lot of the reasons why I left the US in the first place - the traffic, the unhealthy lifestyle, the emphasis on comfort and convenience at the cost of an authentic experience, the consumerism. I could lead the life that I want in the US, but I think it would take more effort and be less socially accepted and normalized than it is here.

I saw my father for the first time in eight years. Some of it was okay, some of it was weird, some of it was actually kind of nice, in a mindfuck sort of way, so I guess it balances out to being neutral. He was trying to be positive and he sent an e-mail afterwards following up on something we discussed and giving Paul a positive review, which I thought was kind of him. In a mindfuck sort of way.

The positive
Being around my family and my extended family for the first time in a long time was good. There are family jokes and references and traditions and even two kinds of handshakes that aren't a part of my life at home. It felt good to be connected again to people who've known me my entire life (instead of less than four years, not that less than four years in an insignificant amount of time, or that I don't value these people), who are connected to me on a fundamental level, whose genetic code I share. It was good to hear stories about relatives and reconnect to my own family history. It was fun, and an interesting change, to be able to share significant looks with people and have Paul be the one with no idea of what's going on or why it's funny - no, really, like, really funny - that my little cousin Robert undoes his belt after eating.

The Pequot Library Book Sale was awesome. Awe. Some.

Seeing my friend Jim was really great, and I'm glad that we were able to have two visits that consisted of doing something instead of just dinner. Saying goodbye to him was really hard (harder than saying goodbye to my mom, actually. Ouch). He dropped us off at my mom's place, and I could see him looking and smiling at me in the rearview mirror, and I wanted to look back, but I could feel already that I was going to lose it. I'm losing it now, actually.

Camping was fun. Buggy, hot, and on the last night I was convinced that a bear was going to attack us (but it turned out that a beetle was stuck in our tent. BUT IT WAS A REALLY BIG BEETLE. Allcaps in honor of Dooce, natch.). Barbequeing was great. The amount of food we at was insane. The bonfire on the last night was one for the ages. Hiking - on the one day that I managed it - was worth being reminded how desperately out of shape I am. The rain at night was relaxing. (TMI warning!) And, if we're speaking honestly here, the sex was hot. Just sayin'. Too bad I got chewed to pieces by mosquitoes. I still have visible bite marks.

If I had to choose one highlight, though, I know my choice. When Paul proposed. Next to an outhouse. How perfect and "us" is that? I accepted, and it took some time to stop that happy, laughing, smiling, crying thing long enough to announce it to my family.

I wasn't expecting it, and even though we've started doing wedding planning, in some ways it's not really real, yet. Dutch doesn't have a handy word for fiancé, so I keep using "boyfriend", which doesn't feel right.

During the first couple of mornings after that day, I woke up before he did, looked over at him, and thought, "So this is what the next 40 years of mornings are going to be like." This is a sobering thought. Sobering, too, is the idea that there will be a lot of fun and pleasure and happiness in those 40 (or however long) years, but a lot of pain, too - pain that I wouldn't experience if I were on my own.

Four years ago, I never could have predicted that I would be here, now. I never could have predicted that my life would have gone this route. I'm curious about what the next four years hold, too.

For the patient - the tasteless joke I made to Paul after getting off the plane in Brussels after he was vomiting was, "Hey - you're lucky I already agreed to marry you! Hahaha!"

"Dear Prudie,

"I'm a 14-year-old who is about to go into high school. My question is concerning a stuffed animal I've had ever since I was 4. I sleep with this little dog every night, and when I go anywhere else, I am sure to bring him. He's very familiar and comforting, and while I'm sure I could sleep just fine without him, it's very nice to be able to cuddle something soft and nonjudging, especially after a trying day. So, my question is: Am I too old to still be sleeping with a stuffed animal? Will it hurt me later on if I don't get rid of him?

—Don't Want To Let the Dog Go

"Dear Don't,

"I have every confidence that your long relationship with your stuffed dog is actually helping prepare you for the time when you share your bed with a live partner—one who I hope will listen sympathetically at the end of the day as your bodies are entwined. I have such a bedmate—my cat, Biscuit. My husband is cuddly, too, but I agree that there's something about a small, fluffy creature that just takes the edge off. There's no reason not to continue to let your sleeping dog lie next to you; after all, he's absorbed a decade of kisses and tears. But because you're wondering about it, the next time you go for an overnight, why not take him along, but leave him in your bag—just to see how it feels. And even though you will learn to get through the night without him, that doesn't mean he shouldn't accompany you to college or be lovingly cared for until, maybe someday, he will be ready for duty for your own children."

From http://www.slate.com/id/2224925/

Hahaha... I'm such an idiot sometimes.

Paul is watching the England vs. Netherlands friendly warm-up to the World Cup match, and I was half listening as I was checking out the latest offerings on Failblog.com.

This went through my mind: "Hey. I recognize that song. That guy's singing 'God Bless America.'" At this point I switch my ears back on and start listening again. "Wait a minute. He's getting all the words wrong. He's saying something about a lady or something or a quee... Shit."

I'm finally crawling out of the pit of being completely exhausted when I come home from work and am now usually capable of staying awake or at least mostly conscious until bedtime which has now been rolled back to 21.30.

The tradeoff is that I sometimes fall half asleep in the breakroom while sitting up in a chair and then have to struggle, with my awake half, to keep my mouth shut and not drool.

I wish I was kidding.

So what's making me so tired? We got back from the US a week ago Saturday and since then I've been working full-time as a cleaner in the cardiology ward of the hospital where I work making beds during the year. It's mentally unchallenging, other than keeping enough of my brain free to mind details like
- putting in new trash bags before mopping the floor
- wiping off the doors and handles before using the same cloth to clean the sink and faucet
- keeping track of my co-worker so that I don't get started on the wrong task because I've forgotten the schedule.

It can actually be kind of meditative and liberating, in a Hegelian sense. I'm freeing myself through labor, and I find my last task of the afternoon, dry mopping the floor of the hallway, kind of relaxing. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, oops, missed a little bit of dust, ach - I'll get it tomorrow, back and forth...

But, of course, it does have it's downsides. It's a dirty job. I wash my hands on average five or six times a day, not included after using the bathroom. You never know what you're going to find when cleaning toilets. The patients are very often really sick, and outside of geriatric pornography, I can't imagine when I would ever see so many people old enough to be my parents or grandparents in their underwear. You're constantly the lowest man on the totem pole, and unlike other support positions in the hospital (like in the Beddencentrale, where I usually work, or Transport, or the dishwash kitchen), you're also constantly in contact with people who's work is more important than yours and who's jobs involve things like Saving Lives and Providing Quality of Life and Protecting the American Way (oops - not that last one) (and, to be fair, in the nurses' case it also involves things like monitoring patient fluid output and cleaning up vomit) and to whom you must cede the way.

It's also physically demanding - lifting pulling pushing vacuuming mopping - and you're constantly in motion and constantly on your feet.

Some good stories do come out of it, though. My co-worker and I mistook one of the patients for a man, and we called her "meneer" ("sir") for about a day before we figured it out. Today another patient was telling us about the hallucinations his roommate gets from his medication - "Last night, he was seeing bunnies all over the room, including balanced on top of the door. He wouldn't shut up about those goddamn rabbits". There are others, but I can't think of them at the moment. Most days something happens that's kind of funny, or at least a little entertaining. Like two days ago, when a patient who was sitting in a wheelchair in the hall kept screaming for a nurse and screaming at us for not taking her to the bathroom (this is the same one who we mistook for a man. She also has hallucinations and screamed at us one day for not cleaning up all the "filthy little beasts" that were all over the room) when we aren't nurses, and even if we wanted to do that - ::shudder:: - we aren't allowed. We talked to the woman's nurse about it and he said, basically, that she's too weak to be able to walk to the toilet herself, and too fat to lift, so she has to use a diaper and then they only have to roll her a couple of times a day. (That nurse, by the way, is the model for the hospital's photo montage of proper hand washing technique and appropriate protective garments for use with quarantined patients. He's handsome in a 1950's sort of way - good-looking, but not distractingly so. His name is Koen and he works until from 7.30 to 15.00. Not that I'm paying attention.)

So the work is heavy, but doable, and it's not as heavy or as heart-breaking as it can be on other floors. Other floors like Pediatrics, Oncology, Hospice, or Internal Medicine (which, in the one day that I worked there delivering meals a few months ago, I noticed always smells like pee). And it's not as boring as working full-time making beds or washing dishes. I can take whatever I want from the kitchen, our breaks always last longer than the legally mandated minimum, my co-worker is pleasant and a hard worker, and the vast majority of people just ignore me rather than bringing me down, which is better than nothing.

I can't think of a snappy and memorable way to end this entry.

On the list of things that look/sound like a really good idea but actually aren't: beschuit (a thick slice of bread, if the bread was round and extremely dry and brittle) with cheese, ham, and a tomato.

Why wasn't this a good idea? The tomato slide off the surprisingly slippery ham and landed on the keyboard.

Maybe a tomato plant will grow from the seed stuck between the spacebar and the "b" key.

I typed out a good Friday Five, but then teh LJ ate it.

Sucks.