I’ve been notably inactive on this blog. Hence, when I thought about it and had a spare minute (or sixty, as sleep is not my friend right now) I decided to take the time to write at least a little something.
Steve and I have been in the process of moving for the last few weeks. Most of that (as in except for what is technically yesterday as it’s four in the morning or so now) was sorting, packing, making runs to The Salvation Army to donate stuff, making runs to Half-Price Books or Planet Replay to sell things, and giving some stuff to a needy family. Part of it was actually, as I mentioned, moving – complete with real movers!
The new apartment is fucking awesome, if I do say so myself. I have plans for this place. The funny thing is that I really liked this particular unit, which is the model unit, the one that they showed us when trying to convince us to move in. We were slated for a handicapped unit because, other than the model (which they didn’t want to rent out for obvious reasons), they didn’t have anything else open. However, yesterday when I saw it, I hated it. The countertops were mismatched, the doors were one way on half the unit and another on the other half, there was no walk-in shower, and the layout was smaller and different than promised. All in all, I wasn’t going to have it at just that. There was something else, however. It didn’t feel right. It felt as if there was an air of gloom or sadness or a pall of depression that hung over the place. It was like the apartment we’re leaving now, in that sense. So I bitched, which bothered Steve, but in the end he called. I told him that the worst that would happen is that they moved us into the model, which is precisely what happened.
It’s big and airy and cheerful. :)
My biggest issue of late is sleep. Rather, I should say, it’s the lack thereof. Dr. Wallia set me up with a sleep specialist (like Dr. Arnecilla and Dr. Mandalapu each did a few years ago) and I have yet to call them because they haven’t called me. I know what’s going to happen with this. First, there’s an office visit. We’ll discuss sleep hygiene, which he’ll say that I’m doing it right (I’ve been over this I don’t know how many times and have perfected it to an art). Then we’ll go over all the sleep meds I’ve ever taken, how well or how ineffective each was. We’ll discuss combinations of medications, which will have the same course as single medications. Then he’ll ask me to do a sleep study, which I’ll oblige him because maybe it’ll provide him with clues the other doctors missed.
It’s just so damn tedious. I hate sleeping away from home, too. And multi-night sleep studies are the worst, so I’m praying that we don’t run into that. I did that for one sleep study and for the narcolepsy sleep series. Thankfully, I seem to have outgown the narcoleptic issue, despite the occassional "nap attack", as my Dad used to call them.
I’ve determined that I’m going back to school – not this fall, but next fall. I’ve been talking to admissions counselors at a few different schools, but I have my heart pretty much set on UT and then continuing at South Texas College of Law. I can’t wait to get my JD degree and actually take the state bar exam! Okay, so that’s years off. Hell, I still have to take my LSAT! I’m really excited about the whole law thing and think I’ve found my calling. I know it’s funny when I think about it. Both my mom and Dad used to say to me that I should think about law when I was a little kid. I used to come up with arguments for every angle of a conversation and play them out with them (more my Dad than mom because he was more logical and harder to best in a game of mental chess). It used to drive my mom up the wall and most of the time I’d run circles around her.
I really think that this will put me in a place, like it did last summer (which clenched my decision and steered me in the direction of law in the first place) when my brother beat up my Dad due to being off his medications for his various psychiatric issues. I worked my ass off in that case and pretty much built his defense from the ground up. I also got my Dad’s lawyer and my brother’s lawyer to agree – before court began – to a common desired outcome after presenting them with all the evidence, precedents, and documentation that I managed to gather. Eventually even the prosecution gave way to what we wanted because of the work I did. When it was presented to the judge, she asked to speak to me and asked me if I’d ever considered a career in the legal field.
I guess having gone to the High School for Law Enforcement and Criminal Justice (before mom died) was more than just some way for me to garner revenge against mom for having turned down my invitation to the High School for Performing and Visual Arts.
(ephemeral)