Desperation

Ok, this has gone on for over a month now. I can't walk more than about 100 feet before excruciating, searing pain starts in my hip and descends all the way to my foot. It's like someone is taking a hot poker and shoving it right down the center of my leg. I've been to the chiropractor, I've been to the doctor. I'm on muscle relaxers and anti-inflammatory meds. I am depressed because of the pain. I want to sleep because of the depression and the pain, and the meds don't help me stay awake. My husband is consistently mad at me for wanting to sleep so much. I can't even go to the grocery store by myself because I can't lift anything. So forget about cleaning. Washing clothes? Yeah right. When I wasn't injured I had trouble making it up that hill to the washroom. My house is a wreck. I just want this pain to stop. Meh.

What is it that I DO?

I suppose everyone has to evaluate their choice in profession at some point in their lives. I suppose historians do this more often than others do. So I've been asking myself lately, what is it that I DO? I mean, I know what I do when I come to work. I sit down at a computer, open a word document, stare at it blankly until inspiration hits me, and then in a burst of activity create from nothing a wonderful exhibit that will at some point be arranged neatly downstairs. But why? Why do I do this, aside from the obvious, Jennifer told me to? Well, I interpret. What do I interpret? The past? Who am I to tell people what their past was like? Everyone has their own unique past, even in a collective sense. Everyone experiences the same events differently. So why would a person choose to take time out of their day to subject themselves to my interpretation of their past? This is a question I think as public historians we have to keep near and dear to our hearts, because we are, essentially, doing just that. I think we have to make sure that we keep the avenue for self-interpretation open, and force as little of ourselves into our work as possible. Difficult? Very. But imperative? Absolutely. People will not want to come to our facilities if we do not engage them in their interpretations and allow them to absorb our work on a unique and personal level. Every person should get something different out of our work. They should be able to relate their own pasts or their perceptions of their past to what we tell them and show them. Now, I just have to set about the task of figuring out how to do that.

New Monitor

Angela finally has a new monitor! Yes. It is a very nice 22-inch widescreen flat panel LCD. I looooove it. It is so pretty. Now if I can just get the other hardware I need to have a badass computer again, I will be even more happy. Oh, and you can see my desk now. It's amazing what getting rid of 2 CRT monitors will do for your desk space.

Real Life, Or Something Like It

If you know me at all then you know I've constantly got some novel or other sort of fiction project on the back burner at all times. In the 15 years or so that I've been interested in writing I have yet to turn out anything significant. But I think that is all about to change. I think I may have found my niche. Well. Possibly anyway. I was doing research for my latest and greatest project and I began thinking to myself how cool it would be to write an historical fiction narrative. So I sat up late one night and hashed out a character list and a half-baked plot line. I am not issuing any details of the project just yet. I prefer to keep you all in suspense (all one of you) until I have something worth sharing. I suppose I'm as well-suited for the project as anyone. A fiction writer trained as an historian. We'll see how it goes.

Picasa and news

My picasa site:
http://picasaweb.google.com/lumberjill.angela

My shared items:
http://www.google.com/reader/shared/00160687882115769875

Writer's Block

I've been sitting at work for over an hour now staring at a blank word document. I've decided that when it gets to the point that I can't write text panels for exhibits, I really need to do something about it. So I took a minute and came here so I could just write without worrying too much about what I said. So, forgive me, but for the next few minutes you're going to be privy to the inside workings of my mind. If it doesn't make sense, then you'll understand now why you don't understand me.

The coffee this morning was terrible. Bitter. It was even almost weak. That's an accomplishment for dark roast. I wonder if the woman ever cleaned up the spill from where my lid wouldn't fit. Stupid lids. My hand still hurts from the burn.

Reading the news only makes this condition worse. I thought perhaps it would inspire me to be a better person but all it does is cloud my brain. I really am tired of the god-forsaken iphone. I'm tired of hearing about Obama's Veep search committee and how McCain tramples womens' rights. No doubt he does, but when I read it ten times in an hour I want to rip someone's eyes out. I got the message the first time.

Pain. Some people consider it the bane of human existence. I consider it a catalyst for growth. Living in constant pain has helped me accept a few things about myself. It helped me find the strength I thought I lost. Now if I can just find a way to harness that pain into productive thought so I won't be sitting here staring at a blank word document. I don't get paid to be in pain.

Is there such a thing as loving too much? I don't know. I've been debating this one a while. It seems to me that loving too much is only a problem for the person who does it. That person is doomed to live a miserable existence marred by recurring pain and dejection. Loving someone that loves you back is hard enough. But loving someone who never intended to get so close to you in the first place is torture. They never intended to be there for you when you were falling down drunk. They didn't mean to catch you. It just happened that you fell on top of them. And you, you were always there for them, even when they didn't want you. 3 a.m. runnings of the washing machine and all they can say for themselves is they are sorry.

Pins and Needles

If you ever wondered what it would feel like to take a thousand needles and shove them into your leg at the same time, I can assure you it is not pleasant. That's what my leg feels like on a daily basis these days. Apparently when picking Sierra up to put her in the Jeep, one of my vertebrae decided it didn't want to stay where it was. So it decided to put pressure on that nerve that I never can spell that goes down into your leg. You know, that major nerve that once injured causes a lifetime of wonderful burning effects all the way up and down your bipedal limb. Ok, so it's not all that bad. I'm told that spinal decompression therapy is going to relieve much of my pain. I hope this is true, for everyone else's sake at least. Because everyone knows I'm a poor sick person. I hate not being able to walk around and do things. I'm severely resenting the notion that for even a few days I might have to rely on someone else to do things for me. Perhaps it is a lesson in humility. God knows I need it.

In other news, I finally decided to get off my arse and do some work. So for the next few months there's a possibility that I will be buried so deep in the archives and other such referential materials that I won't notice you even if you come at me with a sharp object. So if I neglect anyone, please forgive me. It is certainly not out of lack of desire to speak to you. Oh yes, and my monitor died last week. So I'll be on the laptop for a while, which means if I disappear it's because I lost my power supply. That is all.

Summer days

So I've probably told some of you about my new summer job. Perhaps some of you I have not. Earlier in the semester I was hired on as a graduate assistant at the East Texas Research Center for the summer. So, you're wondering exactly what that entails, right? Well here's what it entails. For the summer I will be doing research for History Day 2009. (ZOMG - Real research people with USE?!?!?!) I hardly know what to do with myself. So basically, I get paid to dig through collections here in the archives and put together topic ideas for students who might be interested in competing in the regional history day competition. It's so exciting! It's like getting paid to treasure hunt. Or, well. Sort of. I'll also be putting together some exhibits with my researched material at some point. This is seriously the most fun job I've ever had. I love it. Do I really get paid for this?