Promotional website for the new location of the Ellwood City Library. The second picture is my gramma. :) (The reason why she has "The Dangerous Book for Boys" is because she has three boys. There are ads that say "This is the one that taught me to love unconditionally and carry a big stick" or something along those lines).

From Least I Could Do

Dot went to the vet for the first time, today. According to the Dr she is a wonderfully healthy kitty, though she may have a slight heart murmur. She is scheduled to get spayed on the 4th. At the moment, she is curled up under the couch, glaring at me. She is not a happy kitty.

No news yet on my grandfather--he's still in ICU. I guess they were supposed to run some more tests, today, but, per usual, no one is picking up their phone. Bah.

I'm debating changing my scholastic focus. I've been focusing on English whilst at CCAC mostly because my family suggested it. And I'm good at it--I'm good at literary analysis and pulling papers out of my ass, but I'm pretty sure that I would not be happy teaching, not even at a college level which is why I was planning on doing. Instead I'm considering forensic science, but I'm not sure what Kind of forensics. I watch enough Dexter that blood splatter analysis looks awesome, and I love playing cell phone and computer detective so those are also options, plus just general crime scene investigation...I don't know. Do you actually specifically get degrees in these things, or do you just get a general forensic science degree and then get a job with whatever focus you can?

What I'm afraid of is that I'm not going to be very Good at it. I'm a detail oriented person, and this type of stuff makes my brain light up but what if I suck? Would it be better to stick with a major that I Know I'm good at that I most likely won't really enjoy in the long run, or something that I think I'll love, but may be horrible at?

Gah. I wish I was one of those people who Knew what they wanted to do (okay, that's a lie. I Know I want to be a writer, but that is not a feasible long term goal. It's a possible one, but the likelihood of getting a million dollar book deal is slim to none. It's best to focus on my backup plan and then keep writing in the meantime). My life would be so much easier. Damn my brain and it's multiple interests.

It doubly doesn't help that I've been toying with the idea of double majoring with religious studies. What the hell is my brain thinking?

Holy shit. I just checked my grades and I got a B in Algebra! I haven't gotten anything above a C in a math class since the eighth grade. I was so excited I called my dad to tell him. He said to frame it and hang it on the wall because no one will ever believe it otherwise. Ha. So that makes my grades two B's and an A so far. My religion grade isn't up, yet (they're not actually due until the 14th), so we'll see how that goes. Hopefully I made at least a C. As difficult as his grading is (and since there are only two tests and I got a D on the midterm), though, I'm not so sure...

I'm debating cutting my hair off again. Or dying it something fun, either way. I was originally planning on growing it long again and not dying it so that I can for sure donate it, but I'm annoyed with it already. Either that or this is another example of my stress making me all ADD with my hair since I know that changing it will make me temporarily feel better. I either want to pixi it again (which wouldn't be too much of a change as it's only about chin level now) or dying it some ridiculous colour like purple. I have to check with my boss on the latter. The former I'm not sure on because I know once I get it past this annoying "can't do anything with it" stage and can start pulling it back I won't hate it so much. Plus I've been on this dressing girly kick and I always feel weird in a dress or a skirt when my hair is super short. But I just feel so much better with short hair. I dunno. I should not have to put this much thought into it, ha.

OH! I lost five pounds. Only 10-15 more to go. Now that I don't have to go to class right after work (I'm taking all internet classes this summer), hopefully I'll be able to hit the gym more.

I'm not sure what Evan is cooking for dinner, but it smells freaking awesome. Yum Yum.

Grampa is still in ICU. He was moved to Shadyside last night, and I was finally able to see him this afternoon. He...doesn't look good. At all. His colour is really gray, and due to either the meds they pumped in him, or the fact that he's been getting all of his nourishment through IV for the past two weeks, he's really swollen, especially around his face and hands. They don't know what's wrong with him. He seemed earlier in the week--he was supposed to be released on Friday, but then Thursday afternoon he was using the restroom with the help of a nurse and just...passed out. They brought out the crash cart and the whole nine yards. He woke up again after a bit and they transferred him to ICU. Originally they thought he had a bleed somewhere and then maybe an infection from the surgery, but every test has come out clean.

So last night I guess they were able to talk him into allowing them to transfer him to Shadyside where they have, well, everything better. Which makes me happy because I don't trust the medical staff at Ellwood as far as I could throw them, though I'm rather biased simply because that's where Danny died.

Still. I'm really scared. He really doesn't look well at all, and he's very weak. When Evan and I went to see him (finally--I've been trying to see him for days but my family kept telling me not to go because he didn't want me to see him like that), he wasn't saying anything I was wanting to hear him say. I wanted him to be cracking jokes and making light of the situation like he always does, not tell me that he wanted to make sure that I know how much he loves me. I don't like that line of thought at all, especially not after the Death and Dying class I took last year. I don't want to think that he's resigning himself to some inevitable conclusion to this tale. Evan pointed out that Grampa always wants to make sure things are on the safe side and that everything is taken care of--he is the type of person who reminds to you lock deadbolts and puts different coloured tops on keys so that you know which is which, and taped my spare key to my car inside of the door to my gas tank so that I have it available if I lock my keys in. He takes care of things. But I don't want him to feel that he has to take care of That. Not now. Him telling me that he loves me, even though he may not always act that way, and making sure that I knew that...that isn't a good sign to me. That's telling me that he's giving up and I...I can't even think about that.

Shit, now I'm crying again. I need to stop thinking about this.

Fuck.

My grampa's in the hospital. Something with his gallbladder. I guess they're talking about operating. It's nothing really life threatening, just painful, but there is the fact that he has a bad heart that they need to worry about--especially as he just started taking a blood thinner a few weeks ago, and surgery + blood thinner = not a good idea. I've never really thought about the fact that my grandparents are due to die one day until now--they're a lot younger than the grandparents of people I know (they're only in their early 70s), and are both really active, so the possibility of them dying never really crossed my mind. I can't say that I'm too thrilled with these thoughts. I'm not sure what I would do with out them. Especially my grampa--the man is one of the wisest people I have ever met, and is where I get my strange sense of humor from. Gah. This is making me sad to think about. No more of that.

Nevermind.

Ugh.

Final payment on my car was made on Saturday. I am now in complete ownership of a '98 Chevy Cavalier...with a tape deck...and 132k miles on it...awesome.

But it's better than nothing. Even though I have had to put more money into keeping the damned thing running than I actually did buying it. Ah well. I'll see how well it runs towards the summer and decide if I want to attempt to trade it in. I will admit that I have grown rather fond of the rusty thing.


My uncle is coming in from Germany this weekend. I think I've only met him...four times in my life? If that? I haven't seen him since I was maybe 12 or 13. I guess he's stopping on his way down to some base in Alabama, so he'll only be around for a few days. I'm gonna make an attempt at getting off work early on Saturday so as to join in family festivities at the restaurant (which, you know, is my all time favorite place to be x_X).

Good news, though, is that I think Beth comes home on leave this week. Yay! That is much more exciting. Though how much I'll be able to see her will be another story, seeing as how I have a paper and two tests due this week, as well as having to get started on my term paper, and getting all of the stuff that will be due around Spring Break done (because my professors are evil and decided to have papers due During Spring Break...I didn't even think that could do that. And I'm not about to be doing homework whilst in New Orleans).

So yeah, hopefully there will be time. Bah.

I wish I could just not do anything for a day. I had two days off in a row this weekend and feel like I didn't stop to breathe during either of them. I did allow myself to sleep in on Saturday (till 1030, whoo), and wasted an hour watching the ep of Ugly Betty I missed on Thursday, so I guess that counts as lazy time, but still (which was Evan's argument when I complained about not having any real "day off time" on my days off--that I didn't actually start my day until after lunch. Coming from someone who only has to go into work when he has appointments and therefore gets to hang out and relax most of the day, I was rather annoyed). I don't know why I've been so stressed, as I'm not really doing much more than I have in the past, but there's just this underlying feeling of "Go go go! Move move move!" that's driving me rather bonkers. It doesn't feel quite like my manic stages, but it's still keeping my mind from focusing on one thing at a time and I'm hardly able to sleep at night, my dreams are all either horrible, violent, bloody nightmares or crazy adventure resistance dreams that make me feel like I've just run an marathon when I wake up. Ugh blah yuck.

I need a nap. Maybe no one will notice if I curl up under my desk for a while...

...haha, yeah right.

I feel awful. I'm all light headed and dizzy and just all around sick. I started feeling this way while in the tub a few hours ago. Maybe it's the tea I've been drinking. I've never felt like I was going to pass out while laying down, before. Ugh. The sucky thing is that I feel so ill I can't really focus on my homework, so I've decided to just...not do it. I'm an awful student like that, but really, there is no way I can focus enough to write a rough draft of a paper right now. I'll do it over the weekend.

Went into Ellwood for my gramma's birthday. It was, of course, at my family's restaurant, which really was the last place I wanted to be, but whatever. Afterwards, my uncle wanted to show off the remodeling that he had done to Danny and I's apartment behind the restaurant that is now being converted to conference rooms. I was amazed at how...small it looked. I don't remember it being that tiny. They knocked a wall out which should have given the illusion of more space, but really it was just...so small.

The thing that's been bothering me is that I was going to go into the apartment anyhow, just to see if I felt him there.

I didn't.

I don't know why I was expecting to.

I've been listening to the same song over and over again, today. "Compromise (Be a Poet About It) by Edie Cary. Not sure why. Maybe because I really want to write a song, but can't find the right words. I'm still really not sure what this emotion is that I'm feeling enough to put it on paper, never the less to music. It's been a long time since I was inspired to write a song. My mind is just so muddled right now...

Evan and I booked our tickets for Europe, so it's official. We're going to Europe for spring break. I'm excited.

I'm gonna pull out the guitar and then get some sleep. Or something.

So I decided, tonight, to ask my mom why it was that she hadn't met my grandfather till I was born. I knew that he and my grandmother had gotten divorced when she was little, and that he had been in Vietnam (four tours), so for some reason I had just assumed he had dissapeared or was considered MIA or something.

Turns out, though, that he had come back from 'Nam with PTSD (not surprising as he was part of some secret strike force who would sneak into Vietcong camps and assassinate people). This I kind of already knew/assumed based on the fact that, when I was really young I used to stay with him over the summers for a few weeks and one day he was sleeping on the couch and when he wouldn't wake up when I called to him I got rather worried and shook him by the shoulder. He jumped up out of sleep and almost broke my neck, and then, understandably upset, explained to me to never touch him while he was sleeping because, because of his traning from the army, he could hurt me accidently.

It seems, though, that the man came back from Nam batshit insane, going so far as to threaten my grandmother and those around him, showing off how quickly he could kill someone with a machete or that kind of piano wire stuff that they use to assasinate people. So my grandmother took my mom and aunt in the middle of the night and just...ran away. The whole time she was growing up she had to tell people when she came home for the holidays that she lived in AZ when she was really growing up in GA (and had a super strong southern accent) because they were in hiding. I guess he tried to contact her a few tims in high school when they finally moved back up north and somehow managed to get into her graduation. His comment was that he was surprised how "voluptuous" she was. Freaking weird.

Now, I love my grandfather. He sometimes annoys me because he can't seem to understand that I'm not eight years old, anymore, but aside from that, I only have good memories of the man. Aside from that one instance mentioned above, he's never acted strangely towards me. Mom told me that I'm to act as if I don't know anything that she told me, but I'm 24 yeras old and am old enough to know the truth, but really...how do I really process this information? I always knew that something weird had happened, there, but I never knew How weird it was. It's a truely frightening idea that this man who used to take me fishing and taught me how to cook and humored me enough to watch my silly little plays I wrote and acted out with my dolls when I stayed there over summers once repeatedly threatened to kill the people he should love most.

It does put a lot into perspective, though, and makes me understand a lot of the little comments I've heard over the years reguarding him.

But still...so strange.

I guess that will teach me not to ask questions I'm not prepared to hear the most bizarre answers to. Or something.