A Girl's Worst Nightmare

          Over the weekend, a girl’s worst nightmare happened to me. In the shower Sunday night, I felt flakey skin on my scalp while I was washing my hair. When I got out of the shower, I pulled on the flakey part of my scalp off and to my surprise a HUGE clump of hair came with it. It didn’t hurt and it didn’t itch. In an instant I had bald spot the size of my fist on the left side of my head. I’ve been through a lot health wise, so I didn’t freak out. I just went to bed because I had a big interview the next day and I wanted my rest.

          Monday morning, I took a look at my scalp in the mirror. I’ve already got my share of gray hair. What I found was a scary sized bald spot to go with it. I’m 26 years old.  In my grandma’s words, “You’re too young to have bald spots.” I went to the doctor today and he said the condition is known as Alopecia Areata. It’s a hair loss condition characterized by the rapid onset of hair loss in a sharply defined area. The cause is uncertain, but it’s an autoimmune condition where the immune system attacks the hair follicles. I don’t have any answers right now. I have to make an appointment with a dermatologist to get treatment. The dermatologist will likely take a biopsy of my scalp to confirm the condition. Treatment will likely require steroid injections in the affected area of my scalp (OUCH) to help promote growth. What I’ve read so far is that treatment outcomes are unpredictable as far as growth is concerned.

          Right now, I’m kind of in shock. I’m not in love with my hair, but I sure don’t want to go bald. I’ll be looking into buying a wig so that I won’t have to worry about covering the bald spot with what hair I have left. I’m emotional, I’m freaked out and I’m annoyed with my body. I’ll blog more about it once I get in to see a dermatologist. 

Top Twenty

          I had an interview today to be considered for the Financial Executives International distinguished student award. Last week, I got an email from one of my old professors, Dr. Sturm, informing me to send him a copy of my resume and cover letter to be considered for the award. I found out today that only the top twenty finance students and the top twenty accounting students at UCF received that email.  I am one of the top twenty finance students at UCF! Holy cave turds, Batman! Someone pinch me. From everyone that emailed him a resume and cover letter, he picked the top candidates to come in for an interview, that's me! Honestly, I'm flattered to be recognized as one of the top twenty finance students at UCF. It would be absolutely amazing to win the award, but I'll feel like a winner even if it goes to someone else.

               

              When I started college back in the spring of 2009, my greatest fear was failing. Along the way a professor taught me that the only way to fail college is to stop trying. I could have never dreamed of the amount of success I have had in my college career so far. I graduated with an A.A. having a 4.0 GPA. Now, I’m being recognized as one of the top twenty finance students at UCF. It’s unfathomable to me.  I truly believe that if I can do, anybody can do it. I’m here to tell you that hard work will get you far. Sure, brains help, but hard work has been to the key to my success thus far.  I’m not saying it’s easy. I’m saying it’s worth it. I hope that my success inspires someone to give college a try.

My Grandma's Hall

My computer is getting worked on to get some bugs fixed. While I was on my old computer I found this poem I wrote many years ago. It was inspired by my grandma's hall lined with pictures and the stories she tells about each photograph. I came up with a somewhat fictional story to go with it.

 

MY GRANDMA’S HALL

Walking down my Grandma’s hall

We went back in time

Her whole life is hanging on these walls

She said, welcome to the good ole days

It’s black and white and my hair looks gray

Ooh, but it was blonde

This is your granddad holding my hand

God, I’ll never stop loving that man

Yeah love is the best thing on this earth

May God bless his soul

The best will always go first

 

Every picture has a story

Every memory has a thousand words

We have history running through our veins

Stories that have never been heard

And hiding inside all these frames

Are lessons someone else already learned

Every picture has a story

Every memory’s worth a thousand words 

Turning to the other side

She was out of breath

And as she wiped the tears from her eyes

She said, it don’t seem that long ago

We prayed for rain and the crops to grow

But it was too late

That’s our house behind my mom and dad

I won’t forget the hard times we had

Yeah, some of the memories still hurt

But we made it through

I know it could have been worse 

Every picture has a story

Every memory has a thousand words

We have history running through our veins

Stories that have never been heard

And hiding inside all these frames

Are lessons someone else already learned

Every picture has a story

Every memory’s worth a thousand words 

Someday I’ll walk down my hall

And go back in time

Grandkids will see my life on the walls

And I’ll say, these were the good ole days

There was right and wrong and some mistakes

Ooh, but it was fun

This is my Grandma standing with me

She’s who I hoped to grow up to be

Yeah, the best line that I ever heard

Was when Grandma said

Love’s the best thing on this earth 

Every picture has a story

Every memory has a thousand words

We have history running through our veins

Stories that have never been heard

And hiding inside all these frames

Are lessons someone else already learned

Every picture has a story

Every memory’s worth a thousand words 

Walking down my Grandma’s hall

We went back in time

I Don't Know What Being in Love Means

          Last night, I saw the movie Endless Love. Trust me, I'd rather have seen The Lego Movie. Anyhow, it got me thinking that I have never been in love. I have no doubt that my family and friends know that I love them. However, I have never fallen in love, nor has any fellow fallen in love with me. Honestly, I've never given this much thought. So, these are my unfiltered thoughts on the subject. This confession would probably make most girls uneasy. I've known girls so uncomfortable with being single that they would rather be in an unhealthy relationship. That's not me. I'd rather be unhealthy and single.

          I have thought very little about ever falling in love. I'm definitely not a hopeless romantic. I don't have some dream to get married and live happily ever after. In fact, when I went digging to see what I have written on the subject, I found: "Love lives and love dies," "Whatever love is it's dead" and "I don't know what love means," written in blood red ink when I was seventeen. I want to like the idea of falling in love, but I find it difficult to believe in it. I think most of my skepticism comes from my view on the relationships my friends and family have with their lovers. Obviously, this is only from my point of view which may be completely skewed from reality. I dare to say that I don't believe some of the married people I know are in love. Isn't that the whole point of marriage? Why would I want that? Sure, they probably love each other, but I don't think they're in love. There's a difference, right? I know I don't know what goes on behind closed doors, but judging through the opened one isn't very convincing that being in love is one of the best feelings in the world. Other married folks who are possibly in love have some circumstances in their relationships that make them seem stuck in love. Again, not really something I want to desire. Of course there are a couple of good examples, but the bad ones certainly out weigh the good ones. I'm not sure if I'm making any sense, but it makes sense in my head. Even unmarried people get this idea that to be in love even if it's with the wrong person or when it has stopped creating happiness is better than being single. I don't get it.

          Perhaps, I don't understand anymore about being in love now than when I was seventeen. How could I? I mean is it something you have to learn with experience or is this something I can understand from observing the experience of others? All I know is that if being in love is what I see in most of the relationships I observe, I'm not sure that's something I want. I know just because you're in love doesn't mean you have to get married. However, that seems to be what happens eventually. The idea of marriage freaks me out.  Maybe that's why the idea of falling in love kind of freaks me out too. My first thought when I hear someone I know is getting married is that I wish they could have lived a little more first. I'm not even sure what I mean by that, but I guess I view marriage as some kind of constraint. However wrong that view may be I wish someone would show me otherwise.

          I want being in love to be liberating. I want to trust the lucky guy I fall in love with more than I trust myself.  I want being in love to challenge me in ways I can't even imagine. I want being in love to teach me to communicate like I never have before. I want being in love to be generous with no end. I want being in love to consume me with obsession like an addiction. I want being in love to breed positivity. I want being in love to convince skeptics like me that the real thing is worth it. I'm sure I could go on considering that I want being in love to be more than that. I want being in love to be endless. In Shania Twain's song From This Moment On there's a lyric that goes, "You're the reason I believe in love." Basically, I want to fall in love with someone that becomes the reason I believe in love at all. I'm afraid otherwise it may never happen.

          I found the following part of a poem I wrote many years ago and thought is was appropriate since this post is something I would have kept private if I didn't have this blog.

Every night I fill these lines

With thoughts of my heart and words of my soul

Emotions meet the pages 

As secrets form words I have never spoke

Oh, and after I compose 

I set down my pen, close my diary

Lock it up and hide the key

First Round of Exams Complete for Spring of 2014

          Every semester, exams usually come in waves or rounds as I like to call them.  This semester is no different. Each of my three classes will have three exams each. I survived the first round of exams this past week. I took an exam in all three of my classes in less than a week of each other. Rounds two and three will be the same way.

          I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage all of the information I had to learn at once. I was especially uncertain of how I was going to pound out the hours of studying between each exam without time to recover between them.  Somehow I did it! I survived the first round of exams in Business Law, Financial Models and Quantitative Business Tools II (Statistics) with a 90%, 88% and an 86%, respectively. I knew by taking three classes instead of two that my grades would probably be affected. Of course, I wish I scored an ‘A’ on all of them.  However, I know how much work I have put into juggling these three classes so far and honestly I’m happy with the results.  I’m one credit hour shy of being considered a full time student this semester. Plus, I’m working 30 hours a week. Oh yeah, and I’m training for my 4 half marathons in March. I’m trying to make some time for friends and family, but it’s difficult.  I’m already exhausted from this semester. I’m looking forward to spring break just to catch up. Some days I wish I could buy more time so that I could get all my work done. It’s like I’ve found myself in a sprint at the beginning of a marathon. The marathon represents this semester and the sprint represents the unrelenting progress of these three classes. Round one down and rounds two and three to go! I need a nap!

Short Story - Prompt: Babysitter and Photograph

Promt: A babysitter is snooping around her employer’s house and finds a disturbing photograph…

             Little Roy was supposed to be in bed thirty minutes ago. The babysitter lost track of time of time while helping Roy look for his first missing tooth. “Miss Sarah, will the Tooth Fairy give me money if we don’t find my tooth?” Roy asked trying not to stutter.

              Sarah said hesitantly, “Of course, the Tooth Fairy knows where every tooth in the world is, so she’ll know to leave the reward for you when she finds yours.” She was making this up as she was going along. There was nothing about handling Tooth Fairies and missing teeth in the book for babysitting 101. “Let’s brush the teeth you have left and get ready for story time before bed.”

 
             After reading Roy a story about Transformers, she tucked him into bed and whispered, “Goodnight, Roy.” 

             Once Sarah was in the Kitchen she replayed where Roy had been playing before she realized his left front tooth was missing. Perhaps he swallowed it. They had already searched around the bookshelf Roy claimed as the domain for his dinosaurs. She decided to double check around the toys where Roy made Dax the Dino bite her toe over by the chest of drawers.

              One thing led to another and somehow Sarah was no longer looking for Roy’s tooth. She found herself snooping around her employer’s house. She wouldn’t have stopped snooping after that first drawer had she not heard Mrs. Horn open the garage door. She wouldn’t have stopped snooping because of the photograph she found of children Roy’s age. The children looked alive. Why would Mrs. Horn have a photo of dead children?  These weren’t just any children. These were children with their eyes gouged out and bloody tears staining their cheeks. Sarah managed to control the fear in her voice when she said, “Good evening, Mrs. Horn.”

Miss Write

One of my hobbies is writing. I like to write anything that's nonsense to thought provoking. I use writing as a release. It’s another one of my endless therapies. Here’s a quote from Flannery O’Connor, “I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.”  I use writing as way to work out my feelings and thoughts about life.  I pen my feelings in poems. I scribe fictional short stories from prompts I find online to help satisfy my craving to be creative. I commit ink to a page in order to scream at the world without letting a sound escape my lips. I scribble about the people in my life.  Of all of the writing I’ve done in the past few years I don’t have much to show for it because I rarely save anything I write. The therapeutic part of writing for me is getting it onto paper and letting it go. Whether it goes by way of the delete button or a basketball shot into the trash can, it usually goes. My writing makes me feel vulnerable and I think throwing it out is the way I protect myself from criticism. I don’t make a habit of writing for others, I write for myself. Perhaps, someday soon I’ll throw caution to the wind and share one of my writings. In fact, I vow to share the next fictional short story I write using a prompt from the Internet. Let’s just hope I don’t forget to share it before it’s deleted from existence. 

It's Not My Fault, or Is It?

             Someone that means a lot to me recently implied that it's my fault for still having Crohn's disease.  I know once we talk this out we will work through it, but I will never be okay with getting blamed for this horrid disease. I was diagnosed about 10 years ago and ever since then I question my judgment of character. Not everyone understands what I go through, not everyone wants to understand. Most people I’ve opened up to about my experience with Crohn’s have completely accepted it and they have been supportive, which is all I can ever ask for. Others give off a false sense of compassion and it’s not until I’ve been at my worst, or they think they can cure me that things get sticky. I don’t know if the friends I’ve lost were ever really friends, but that’s what I considered them. They were at least friends when I was healthy. That’s usually the only kind of friends most people need. I am slow to befriend people because this has given me trust issues. I have different levels of relationships. Level 1: These people have proven that they will be there for me no matter what. Level 2: These people know about Crohn’s, but haven’t seen me deal with it. So, their true colors haven't had a chance to shine. Level 3: These people are in the befriending stage. This is where I learn about their values and make a judgment of their character to know if I want to open up to them.  Level 4: These are people who leave me with the feeling that they’re not worth my time nor are they worthy of my friendship. I will be friendly with them, but it doesn’t mean I will befriend them. The person that implied Crohn’s was my fault is in level 1! I'm still not sure why this pisses me off so much.

I think people mistake remission for a cure. Don’t get me wrong, remission is amazing, but it is not the same thing as a cure. Remission is the period of time during which the symptoms of a disease subside... meaning they will come back. A cure is something that stops a disease and makes someone healthy again for good. The accuser implied that a special diet will somehow cure Crohn’s and I only have Crohn’s because I haven’t tried more ways to find a "cure." Basically, if this can cure me, then this can cure you even if we don't have the same thing. Though I don’t appreciate someone implying that it’s my fault that I’m sick because I don't want to be healthy bad enough, I can appreciate someone wanting to find a cure to see my suffering end. Scientifically, Crohn’s is a chronic disease with no known cure, yet somehow I’ve heard numerous people claim to know how to cure me. It irritates me every time. Pills, diets, yoga to name a few samples of proclaimed cures. If that’s the case, why aren’t they making millions of dollars curing people? No one knows what causes Crohn's either. With Crohn’s something that puts someone in remission may not work for anyone else. Treatment is very much a case by case basis. Just like symptoms from patient to patient can vary widely. I want a cure as bad as anybody, but I am not on board with home remedy shit that will likely make me sicker.