Can’t shake this dream. Maybe writing it down will get it out of my head. One of those dreams where after you wake up, everything you see reminds you of it and makes your stomach do flips.

Dreamed I died, then was reincarnated. Remembered everything from my previous life, even though I was just a baby. Remember dreaming about being born. That was weird. Then jumped ahead to being about 5. Realized that my new mother was actually related to me in my old life … a neice, maybe? She appeared to me to be about 4 or 5, as that was the age I knew her as when I died. Knew I couldn’t tell her that I knew her as her aunt, as it would freak her out. Also lost a tooth and was mad she wouldn’t let me put it under my pillow. Eveyone saw me as a little kid but if I looked at myself, I saw me as the age I was when I died.

Ugh. I’ve already lost so much of this dream. It totally freaked me out. Didn’t even want to drive today. I think that was how I died in my dream.

I bought a house, and I’m finally starting to feel like it’s home. There are still strange smells sometimes, but slowly, this is turning into home. The bedroom with the oxygen-tank-green walls is now a more muted shade of green. The floors upstairs are still all painted. I’m thinking of carpeting my bedroom rather than refinishing it.

It’s frustrating right now, because I need to save money to buy oil. This means NOT spending money on a couch or an entertainment center or a sander to get the floors pretty or art to hang on my walls. I think Nate thinks I’m being lazy because I’m not working around the house.

My arm is still nearly constantly hurting. The neurologist I saw a couple months ago prescribed Elavil, which I did not start taking right away. However, after taking it for a month, I called him and asked him for something else. It didn’t help with the pain at all, but more than that, I’ve been so sleepy all the time, completely unable to concentrate, and just feel fuzzy in my brain. Instead of switching me to something else, like he said was the plan (try it, if I don’t like it, we’ll try another one), he said, “Follow up with your primary care doctor.”

I’m beginning to think that no one wants to help me with this, they’d rather just turf me to someone else.

Just to round out my complaints, I’ve had a headache ever since I stopped the amitriptyline, which a cursory Googling shows to be mainly coincidental, but annoying nonetheless.

More than anything, I want to get better at keeping this up to date. I’ve been lazy about writing. I’ve been lazy about a lot of things. I’ve gained almost all my weight back (I was at a high of 235, then I got down to 186, then back up to 213). Nate bought the Balance Board to go with the Wii, and I’ve lost 3 pounds again … we’ll just cross our fingers I can keep it up. Down. Off. Whatever. But if I keep insisting that I’m going to write, maybe I’ll do some interesting things worth writing about? We’ll see.

As much as I don’t want to date someone who is like me (neurotic, depressed, anxious, agoraphobic, et cetera), sometimes it’s frustrating to be with someone whose brain chemicals are in the right places. It’s like he won’t ever understand what it’s like in my head. But then again, I’m really glad he doesn’t know first hand, because it’s awful. I just get frustrated. That’s all I’m saying.

I also realized that Marcus’ inability to have other friends or depend on anyone but me was a huge stressor on our relationship and OH MY FUCK I’m doing the same thing to Nate and I feel like a shithead for doing it. And also for blaming it on [PMS, no meds, _______]

Rich people find people who knew them when they were poor; I wish Nate met me now, when I’m so discombobulated, and still could fall in love with me.

So here’s what I did on Wednesday. It was terrifying, but not because of the noise or the tightness (neither was as bad as I remembered), but more because I’m an idiot who knows just enough about any given subject to be dangerous. In this instance, it’s because I was scared of catastrophic quenching, when all the liquid helium heats up, expands, and suffocates anyone in the room because it displaces the oxygen.

That would blow. Hard.

Anyway, the MRI was normal, as were the shoulder xrays, so Dr Lauer wanted a bone scan and for me to get an orthopedic surgeon’s consult. I had the bone scan yesterday. It was a fucking disaster and I don’t want to talk about it, but it also came back negative.

I’m not making this up, people. It really hurts. I’m at my wit’s end, and I think it’s turning me into a craz(y/ier) person.

And it doesn’t help that I’ve turned everyone against me in the process.

I don’t know if I’m on edge because my arm hurts, or if it’s something more …

I can’t take any sort of criticism without taking it as a personal attack.

I can’t make any joke without hurting someone unintentionally.

Two days ago I cried because I couldn’t shake a feeling of complete and total inadequacy. I felt like I’m not good enough for my job, not good enough for Nate, not good enough for my family, not good enough for anything.

This afternoon I watched “Bringing Home Baby” on the Discovery Channel, and the woman was at home with a newborn and a three year old and called for the kids’ godmother to come over so she could take a shower. I cried because I realized that I could never be Kaity’s potential kids’ godmother, because I’m not Catholic. I mean, really. What the fuck does that even mean?

I’m tired of being two seconds away from going batshit insane. I’m not sure that I’m suitable for public consumption at this point.

I’m afraid that if anyone said anything to me, I might just lose it and do something terrible. I’m not violent. Never really have been. But I’ve always been socially awkward, and I can just see myself doing something absolutely retarded and losing everything I’ve made in the last four years.

I don’t even know what that means. I just feel like I’m carrying seven loads of laundry in my arms, and I keep dropping socks, and like if someone comes over to ask if I need a hand, I might scream in their face.

Pictures are up at flickr; let me know if things are fucked up over there. I was adjusting things with it last night when I was super jet lagged and I think I’d been up for like 27 hours or something, but my math might be wrong. Time zones confuse me.

I’ll add descriptions and stuff. So far the only real organizing I’ve done with them is added geotags.

This week was awesome. It’s nice to know that Nate and I can handle being constantly together for like 10 days or whatever it ended up being. The 16th around 5:30 after work until 10 last night. But it is also nice sitting around naked in my own apartment without him.

This place is a pit. I should have cleaned it before I left, but I ran out of time.

That’s not exactly true, but that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

I gave my cat to the humane society before I left, because I am always at Nate’s these days and I’m a terrible cat mommy. Even when I am home I was mean to her because she’s super affectionate and I have no patience for her. Don’t worry, I am never getting another cat again, so this is not the place to put me on a guilt trip. I am pretty sure I’m never getting another pet again, because I’ll just fuck it up.

Anyway. Hawaii was incredible. I loved every minute of it, except when I was paralyzed by anxiety over one foolish thing or another. Seriously, I am such a nutjob. But Nate was super patient with me, which gives him 50k bonus points. 1up!

Seriously, though, I am a freak. If I wasn’t intimidated by the crowds, it was the huge waves, or the sand, or eating food I didn’t know, or mispronouncing something, or getting lost, or Nate’s driving (OMG CONVERTIBLES WHAT IF THE CAR FLIPPED OVER I”D BE DEAD), or snorkeling, or missing my flight, or what if someone looks at me OR OH MY GOD I AM IN HAWAII WHAT IF HE HATES ME AFTERWARDS?

Luckily, I brought my xanax, but I am pretty sure it did absolutely nothing for my anxiety. It had a nice psychosomatic effect, though. I also put VZ Navigator (gps) on my phone, so getting lost was pretty much never a real option. And the way the Sebring is designed, you cannot see the speedometer from the passenger seat. And eventually I learned how to talk myself out of being an idiot and did fun things like snorkeling. Coping mechanisms, people. Coping mechanisms.

And the parts of the trip I was really looking forward to, we got to do with Ian and Tracy and their kids, so that was awesome. His son (like … 3 1/2?) kept calling Nate “Mr Nate”, and his daughter was just this amazing bundle of giggles and shrieks. I really can’t wait to have kids some day, even after getting a glimpse of how much work they are. Even after realizing I am no where near responsible enough for an animal. I don’t know. I’m stupid for wanting kids, I’m sure, but that doesn’t make my ovaries stop wiggling.

Let’s hope that the metformin I’m taking is doing its job and I actually can have kids someday.

Speaking of metformin, I need to do some medication reconciliation. Right now I’m taking 2000 mg metformin (which seems like it’s finally enough to keep my insulin in check — though I haven’t gotten the results back from my lab visit just before my trip) and it makes me poop SO GOD DAMN MUCH. So I hate taking it, but I do, because I feel better (less the pooping). I’m also taking prevacid, which doesn’t seem to do anything, but it doesn’t seem to have any side effects, either, so I’ll keep taking it when I take everything else. I have a PRN prescription for xanax, which I really haven’t needed until last week, and like I said, I’m not convinced it did anything. I’ve also got a prescription for wellbutrin, which I originally got to quit smoking (and now I only smoke when I hang out with Kaity — which sadly isn’t that often anymore — but I can definitely say I’m not addicted to it. I’m not even sure I could say I like it.), but I kept taking it afterwards to see if it would help with depression and anxiety. Evidently it doesn’t do much for my anxiety (at least, I hope it hasn’t, or I’m in much worse shape than I thought), but I haven’t been too depressed lately. Nate really would like to see me off of the wellbutrin, though he hasn’t given me a clear reason why yet. Then I just got prescriptions for a steroid cream and an antibiotic for my rosacea. I didn’t start them before my vacation, because they make you more prone to sun exposure, and hello, I was going to Hawaii. I got a 2nd degree sunburn as it was, I’d probably be dead of sun allergy if I’d started it before I left. The other thing is, antibiotics + birth control … scary. But everything says that Nuvaring is less affected by antibiotic use than oral contraceptives, so we’re going to go with that.

I’m sure that was incredibly boring. Sorry. I just had to write it all out so I could see it.

God damn this sunburn hurts. I should get dressed so I can get some lidocaine to put on it.

Fuck, with my mouse not working I’ve had to tab to links and I can’t see when I’ve tabbed to the save entry button.

I know, I know, the payoff amount will be affected by compounding interest and the like, but I couldn’t help myself. I always make a $400 payment anyway, so why not make it $405.74?

Kaity once knew someone who had a seizure anytime she heard Stevie Nicks. No joke. I couldn’t make something like that up.

Some people have auras before they have an epileptic seizure. They see things or hear things or smell things. I’ve heard of someone who smelled burned toast.

Kaity and I were in the cafeteria the other day getting breakfast, and someone was burning toast.

“Epilepsy is right up there with multiple personality disorder on my List Of Things I Never Want To Go Wrong With My Brain,” I told her on the way back to the department.

“Yeah, I’m afraid of Bipolar Disorder. What is it about people who are bipolar that makes them not want to take their medication? I’d be like, ‘Sign me up! Fix this shit!’”

I nodded in agreement, wondering if I should tell her my family’s suspicions of my grandmother, wondering if I have already told her, wondering if she knows how my mind feels like it’s breaking these last few weeks. Finally I say, “Well, when you’re manic, you feel great. You don’t want to medicate because you are finally getting shit done, you don’t want to feel ‘normal’ because that would be lower than you’re feeling already. And when you’re depressed, you don’t want to medicate because you just want to die. You hope that someday you’re brave enough to finally end it. And you spend your whole life oscillating between two extremes.”

I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. I was hoping she’d hurry up and respond soon, because we were almost back to the office and I really didn’t feel like talking about it in front of everyone else.

“I guess since I’ve never felt like that, I just have no frame of reference.”

And at that moment, I thanked God (with the obligatory question mark: ?) that she could say that, and wished that I could have.

I have posts sitting in my drafts, and I doubt they’ll ever be published. I thought I should disclose that, for some reason.

I hate thinking about money. It makes me sick. I don’t know if you caught that general theme of the last few days.

I think there’s something wrong with my medications, because I have not been myself this week. I cry at the drop of a hat. I say things that I don’t mean to people I don’t know. I have told bald-faced lies. I bought a pack of cigarettes – though I’ve only smoked two. I don’t want to eat, but when I do, I can’t stop.

My mind is breaking and my world is falling apart. I really do not want to fall down this path again.

Too bad my doctor’s wife died suddenly last weekend, so adjusting my medication again probably won’t happen soon.

Bring on the booze!

Dew, I guess you’re right that I couldn’t have found out about Marcus without trying it. I just find it frustrating that I wasted so much of my (and his) time.

I feel more like myself when I’m with Nate. Not so much like I might be able to stop taking antidepressants, but the same feeling they’ve been giving me (normality, calm, not feeling like a stranger in my own skin), all of those things are amplified when I’m around Nate.

It bothers me that I feel most like myself when I’m with certain people. It makes it far too easy to become dependent on them. That is not at all what I want to happen. Fuck fuck fuck.

I just want to have a brain that isn’t broken, a real life. I just want to be my own person. I want to be the one who doesn’t need fixing.

And for as nice as this weekend was in a lot of very good ways, it had some definitely bad parts. Maybe I’m whining, but I just don’t like being part of someone’s death pronouncement, I don’t like having to examine my own academic and mental flaws by encouraging someone to not follow in my footsteps, and I don’t like that I’m only capable of telling Nate some things when I’m intoxicated.

I wanted this time to be different.

I’ll never forgive myself for telling Marcus that I loved him before it was true. The thing is, I thought that by saying it, maybe the feelings would be true. And I wanted to be in love so much. I wanted to not be in love with Ian. I wanted to be done with dating and just get married and start having babies. I thought that since I found the person in the world who was most like me ever, it would be easy.

I don’t think I ever was in love with Marcus. We had some good times, sure, but the “fake it till you make it” motto of mine just wasn’t strong enough to bring a friendship into something more.

I’m not proud of this. I’m downright ashamed of it. Wouldn’t you be? Living three years of your life as a lie?

I remember a conversation I had with my mother after Marcus moved out. She asked if I was going to be dating anyone else soon, and I told her that Love and I had been fighting, and that we were On A Break. She sounded quite disappointed, but after lying for so long (to Marcus, myself, and anyone who would listen), I couldn’t even imagine trying to feel again.

Maybe that’s why it took so long for me to even date anyone afterwards. (The next date I had was about 9 months later, though he evidently thought much more of me than I ever did of him — but that’s another entry (and quite a dramaful/gossipy one, if I may say so myself)!)

It’s definitely why it was so fucking terrifying for me to come to grips with the fact that I love Nate. Well, that and the stupid Cosmo I read at work this week. On the one hand, it’s nice to get paid to sit around when I have no patients, but then I sit there for 10 1/2 hours reading Cosmo and Redbook and Rachel Ray and 8 000 different bridal magazines. By the time I get home I just want to fuck, eat, and wear pouffy dresses.

Sorry, tangent. Where was I?

Right. Nate. So I’ve been fighting with myself for at least a week now. Part of me has been saying, “You feel it! Just say it!” And part of me has been saying, “Don’t be an idiot! You don’t know what you’re feeling!” And part of me has been saying, “Duh. It’s obvious to both of you what’s going on here.” And part of me has been saying, “Well if it’s so obvious, it doesn’t really need to be said, does it?” And part of me has been saying, “Don’t scare him off!” And part of me has been saying, “You are all weirdos.” That part has the voice of Sam The Eagle.

I am pretty sure that if it went on much longer, my psyche would shatter and I’d end up with MPD or DID or whatever it’s called these days. It’s probably a good thing that as I was falling asleep last night, the tight grip I’ve had on my tongue was inadvertently loosened and I told him that I love him. And of course he knew already, but I felt better after I said it. That’s got to be a good sign.

So tonight on the way home from Nate’s/Uno’s/eclipse-watching, I realized that I have been so focused on how rotten I was feeling over the last week or so, that it had become pity. Ugh. I haven’t pitied myself like that since college & the whole suicidal Creighton fiasco.

[Tangent: I'm wicked dizzy right now. Like I get when I have a not-for-a-week cigarette, only I haven't.]

So I decided that I don’t have to feel like this. I can just take everything that’s been said about me in the last week or so in stride and not really care about how it was supposed to make me feel. And hopefully this will make me more fun to be around, since I have been absolutely rotten to people, and it’s just been getting worse.

Also stupid. It’s been an off-week.

But even if I can’t shake the stupids for a while (it’s even like my muscles got stupid – I missed veins left and right today), I can change my attitude. As much as I like being able to bitch about work with Kaity, I don’t actually like doing it. I feel … gossipy. And more than a little crass. I’m not going to stop, mind you. I think it’s good to have a place to vent, and also if Kaity needs it, I want to be available for her venting. But tonight it didn’t feel as good as it usually does.

But back to me for a moment, I decided that I would go ahead and read whatever it was that Marcus emailed me. If I don’t like what he has to say, it doesn’t much matter because he really is about as much out of my life as a person can get. Just like when people ask me what he’s going to be doing in Hawaii for money/car/living arrangements/whatever, I can tell them that it’s not my problem anymore.

Being afraid of getting hurt by something he said is not a good reason to avoid it. It’s like LETTIN’ THE TERRISTS WIN

What is it with today? I just want to go to bed and not be around anyone for a week. I don’t think I can process everything and not scream, let alone work, tomorrow.

It started out with dropping Marcus off at the airport this morning. After getting all his stuff out of the car (except the trombone I am to mail to him when he gets an address, and the air mattress I forgot that I even lent to him), I wished him luck and watched him walk away. Just as I put the car in reverse to pull out of the spot, I saw him walking back. He wanted to … give me his blessing, I suppose is the term for it. He expressed that he actually is happy for me, despite what he might have said the other day.

I didn’t really know what to say, and honestly can’t remember what I ended up saying. Probably something retarded, because that’s my general M.O.

Okay, drama part one is over. I then went to the gas station to get more gas and also buy myself some Verizon GPS to get me directions home. I am the worst person I know about getting lost. The last time I tried to leave Manchester unassisted, I ended up in Massachusetts. Granted, it’s not very difficult to do, but it’s rather unsettling to be in the completely wrong state, even if you can figure out how to get back to the right state.

I got directions to go to my grandfather’s nursing home assisted living facility. When I got there, I sat in the parking lot for a few minutes and wished I’d brought my xanax along. I left and drove down the street and sat in a different parking lot for a few minutes, still freaking out internally, but somehow the block between me and whatever lay inside made it easier. Then I said, “Fuck it. What’s he going to do? Kick me out? Call Alan?”

“Oh, God, what if Alan is there?”

“Then you can turn around and leave again. You don’t have to stay, you have to show up.”

I worry that I talk to myself argue with myself so much.

I drove over, went in, and was pleasantly surprised to not smell old people overpowering me as I came in. All I can remember from when my grandmother was sick was that awful smell. Like bleach and death and stale circus peanuts.

I looked around for someone who worked there. That was harder than it should have been, I think, but I did eventually find a woman carrying a hundred boxes and of course I interrupted her because I was nervous and I have no sense of social etiquette when I can barely keep my stomach out of my thoracic cavity.

She took me upstairs. There was someone in his room, and when she knocked on the door and said that he had a visitor, they asked for my name. I heard a woman inside say, “Diana?”, hesitate, and then tell me I could come in. Before the door opened the rest of the way, I thought I was going to be standing face-to-face with Darlene (Alan’s wife), but it was too late. The door was opening. Then there I was, standing there like a dope while my aunt rushed around the bed to hug me and my grandfather lay there getting his foot ulcers taken care of. And then, to make things worse, I started to cry. I don’t know why. It’s just what I do. I don’t know why it surprises me every time. I’ve cried during baby shampoo commercials, for pete’s sake.

Anyway. I stayed there for about an hour. Between Marcus and my aunt and my grandfather, I do not think there could be any more small talk ever uttered. Ever. We have said it all. ALL.

My grandfather has always seemed to me to be a man of few words, so I take what he does say very seriously. He doesn’t like that he’s lost his independence. I can’t even imagine how that must feel. His home is for sale. I am pretty sure he helped build it, so that can’t be easy. And when I apologized for having taken so long to come see him, he didn’t ask me why or tell me how awful a person I am. He just said, “Well, next time you come it won’t be so long.” Then he told me to get on the road so I’d get home before dark.

“Don’t worry, Grampa, I drive fast.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t drive too fast. Never more than ten over.”

“Is seven and a half okay?”

“Yeah, that’ll do.”

So I left and plugged in directions for home, then spent the next 3 hours thinking about everything that had happened today, wondering if when my aunt is going to tell Alan I was there. Also pooping. God, so much pooping today. Maine really needs to work on their rest areas. Never thought I’d miss Iowa for more than their bugfree-ness. Anyway, tangent, sorry, back on track. Half an hour before I finally made it home, I called my mom. It was nice to hear congratulations from her, for “getting rid of” Marcus. Eh. Not really something that needed congratulating, but anything that even remotely sounded like well wishes was well-received by me. Also at that point, driving was becoming difficult. No stations were coming in besides NPR, and even Marketplace was putting me to sleep.

So I got home, pooped some more (it’s either increasing my glucophage or nerves that made me poop so much today. Either way, I feel much better to be home), and then I wondered if I should even turn on my computer. I shouldn’t have. I’ve been staring at an unread email from Marcus that says, “A letter for you, to do with as you wish” as the subject line and the first few words in the body are, “I want to again a…” Written, presumably, after he read that little rant a few entries back.

Every time I think today is over, something else comes up. It does explain why he came back to the car at the airport.

But anyway. Now I’m sitting here, trying to figure out which pharmaceutical in my cabinet is best suited for getting rid of my awful headache, yet won’t give me an incurable hangover in the morning. Ugh. Can we just forget today ever happened?

I have been spoiled by Paulie not waking me up. I slept until 1030 this morning. Oh well. It was too good a dream to interrupt with silly things like productivity or initiative. Psh.

I had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon. Everything is awesome, except my insulin levels are still a little high, so we’re increasing my metformin again. My cholesterol is good again, so we won’t need to check that in three months. My LFTs are good, and he explained why the metformin is affecting them in a much better theory than my own. See, with lower triglycerides, my liver is less irritated. Also, he does not care if I drink. Excellent. And what else? Oh, and also I’m back on birth control.

I want to write about what I did not talk to him about, but I’m blushing halfway through the sentence, so I’m not going to. But all I was going to tell him — that I ended up not telling him — was that the Problem seems to be over. He probably doesn’t even remember that I had a problem! Which is good, because for several weeks after telling him about it (back in August, I think), I was afraid of going in public for fear that he’d see me and be reminded of what a freak I am. Oh, the drama of living in a small town. And the dumb thing is, I have never seen him anywhere but in his office. And maybe in the cafeteria at work. But anyway, That Problem is over, hopefully for good, and I hopefully don’t have to tell anyone ever again.

I like that he’s got EMR now. Now he’s hot, got a great voice, and he’s got an extra geek point.

Results for diana j
January 30, 2008

Your Total “Adultness” Competency Score is 88%

Love 89%
Sex 89%
Leadership 100%
Problem Solving 100%
Physical Abilities 33%
Verbal & Math Skills 100%
Interpersonal Skills 89%
Handling Responsibility 67%
Managing High Risk Behaviors 100%
Managing Work & Money 89%
Education 89%
Personal Care 100%
Self Management 89%
Citizenship 100%

The closer you are to 100 percent, the better. You needn’t have mastered all of the separate skill areas in order to be considered an adult, but if your scores are low in one or more areas, people might question your adultness or consider you immature. Your scores in each of the 14 different skill areas are as follows:

Love: 89%
Adults are supposed to know the difference between sex and love. They’re supposed to have experienced love, or at least to have some idea about what it means to experience love. They’re supposed to know the difference between parental and romantic love, and to know that there are many different ways of expressing love.

Sex: 89%
In theory, adults know a great deal about contraception, homosexuality, how to please a partner, and how to make babies. They’re supposed to know that condoms often fail, for example, and that masturbation is common among both males and females (somewhat less so among females).

Leadership: 100%
Adults are supposed to know about leaders and, to some extent, to be able to act as leaders—as leaders of other adults, of children, or at least of pets. They’re supposed to know that leaders must sometimes make tough decisions, that leaders are in some sense servants of their followers, and that leaders almost always must report to other leaders higher up a chain of command. Adults are also supposed to be somewhat brave—at least in defending their loved ones or in killing harmless insects—and they’re supposed to be able to defend their rights.

Problem Solving: 100%
Adults are supposed to be able to solve a wide variety of problems—financial, work-related, plumbing-related, and personal—and they’re supposed to know where to go for help when they need it. They’re also supposed to know the difference between right and wrong and to be cognizant of the consequences of their actions. They’re supposed to be able to think independently and even to be aware of their own faulty beliefs.

Physical Abilities: 33%
Adults, or at least healthy adults, are supposed to be physically self-sufficient. We make allowances when people are sick or injured. The infirmities of old age are handled variously: when elderly people become weak, incontinent, or otherwise impaired, we often revert to treating them like children, even though, in some sense, we still recognize the elderly as “adults.” In general, adults are supposed to be physically strong, to have intact senses, to be able to climb stairs without assistance, and so on. We expect far less of children.

Verbal and Math Skills: 100%
Adults in our society are supposed to have mastered the proverbial Three R’s (reading, ‘riting, and ‘rithmetic), and they’re supposed to know basic things like the days of the week, the number of days of the year, the number of days in February (even in leap years), the number of hours in a day, and so on.

Interpersonal Skills: 89%
Adults are supposed to know how to converse with, show respect for, forgive, apologize to, get along with, and assist other people. With children, we give basic reminders like “Remember to share,” but adults are supposed to have mastered such lessons in basic civility. Adults are also supposed to be honest in their dealings with other people, and they’re supposed to have the good sense to follow the instructions of police officers—in other words to recognize that people play different roles in society.

Handling Responsibility: 67%
Adults are supposed to be able to accept blame for their wrongdoing. They’re supposed to be able to make commitments and then honor them. When they begin tasks worthy of completion, they’re supposed to persist in completing them.

Managing High-Risk Behaviors: 100%
We try to keep children away from cigarettes, drugs, alcohol, guns, and cars, because, presumably, they’ll damage themselves or others if they have access to such things. Adults, on the other hand, are supposed to be ready to handle risky items and activities responsibly. Among other things, they’re supposed to know that driving under the influence of alcohol is extremely dangerous, that the heavier one is the more alcohol one can tolerate without ill effect, that mixing alcohol with certain drugs can be fatal, that smoking can ruin one’s health, that the safe use of guns involves considerable skill, that improper use of prescription medication is dangerous, and so on.

Managing Work and Money: 89%
Adults are supposed to be able to get and keep jobs. They’re supposed to know that it’s important to be on time, that “a job worth doing is worth doing well,” that we’re supposed to persevere when the going gets tough, and that it’s important to prioritize and complete the most important tasks first. Adults are supposed to know how to spend money wisely, how to save, how to invest for the future, how to plan for emergencies, how to manage debts, how to write checks, and how to balance a checkbook.

Education: 89%
Adults are supposed to have obtained at least a basic education, and they’re supposed to appreciate the value of education. They’re also supposed to know basic education laws—for example, that young people are required to attend school until at least age sixteen or so (depending on one’s state of residency).

Personal Care: 100%
Adults, unlike children, are supposed to practice basic hygiene, to comb their hair, to wear clean clothes, and so on. They’re also supposed to eat three nutritionally-balanced meals a day, to avoid between-meal snacks, to brush and floss their teeth, to get a good night’s sleep, to maintain a healthful weight, and to avoid too much salt or sugar or fat in their diets. They’re also supposed to be able to recognize a variety of medical and psychological problems—signs of cancer, asthma, sleep apnea, depression, bipolar disorder, and so on—and to know when and where to get help if they or their loved ones need it.

Self Management: 89%
Adults are supposed to be able to manage their own behavior—to use an alarm clock to make sure they awaken on time, to keep an appointment book to make sure they know why they set their alarm clock, to keep a list of things to do so they know what they’re supposed to pick up on the way back from the appointment, and so on. They’re also supposed to know basic techniques of “self-control”—counting to ten, for example, as a way of preventing their anger from getting out of hand.

Citizenship: 100%
Finally, adults are supposed to know some basic things about government and about how to be good citizens. They’re supposed to register to vote and to participate in elections, to pay taxes, to serve on juries, and so on, and they’re supposed to know most basic laws and to obey them.

http://drrobertepstein.com/EDTA-abridged/

Marcus said something incredibly insightful about geeks today, something I meant to write down right away so I could think about it some more. Unfortunately, I forgot about it until I just read something on WWDN.

It’s too bad, too, because you would have thought I was clever and shit.

Tonight, as I was driving to Kaity’s, I didn’t know how to drive. It was only for a few seconds, at the most. Only long enough for me to realize that I was in a car, driving, and I had no idea how to operate it. And then I did. It’s not like when you’re driving and ten minutes pass by and you don’t even remember driving during those ten minutes, you’re just ten minutes further down the road. It’s not like that at all. I just suddenly did not know how to drive. It’s not that I forgot. It was like I never knew.

I don’t know. It’s like I’m having some sort of slow-motion nervous breakdown.

It’s very frustrating when I am trying to explain a test to a patient or tell a story or have a conversation and I can’t stop tripping over my words. I’ve been stammering and stuttering more and more as of late. This last week has been particularly bad. A lot of starting a sentence, getting two words into it, and completely forgetting how it was supposed to end (or even what subject it could have been about), too. I don’t know what my issue is.

Getting abducted by aliens: pretty much my worst nightmare. I don’t know why I’m so afraid of it, but I am.

I thought of something the other day, though.

If you were abducted by aliens, even if no one ever believed you, at least you would know there’s life elsewhere in the universe. That would be a comforting thought.