Project: Legit Blog (not just a public diary)

Hey everyone!

I have not been very kind to Blogger or my 3 followers lately. I got a new laptop for Christmas and have been merging the two machines together. One laptop (a Dell named Half-Pint)is strictly for my iTunes and digital pictures. The newer laptop (a pink, unnamed HP) will hold all my legal research, law school outlines, and papers. Both need some security updates and junk...thus, I never really have the down time to blog like I'd like.

Though really...I haven't experienced much to blog about.

Actually...that's a lie. Life has dealt some big events lately: Hyde's surgery, a new baby at work, new bullsh*t at work, spelling bee drama, and the ever-ending drama of THE Boston trip. I guess I could muster up some interesting stories to blog about, but I can't generate the appropriate perspective and/or energy.

That brings us to....da da da duh....my NEW project.

I'm making a new blog - The Culture of Cora. I'm trying to figure out what makes me who I am. What music genre do I fall under? What aisle of Barnes&Noble do I live in? Am I ironically mocking hipsters or am I authentic in my hipster-ish interests and tastes?

All of my favorite blogs have a hook: new and modern moms, expats adjusting to new cultures, the grad-school experience, fashionistas, environmentalists, people who can actually cook. I'm interested in all these things, but I am an expert at none. I know what I like...but I'm not sure how it relates to each other.

So that's CoC will focus on: whatever interests me at the moment. :) Not terribly exciting or newsworthy, but I'm looking forward to actually writing. And that's kinda newsworthy for me.

So check back for updates. Honestly...I promise.

Lazy Morning

I'm still here. Doing nothing particularly fabulous or interesting.

Currently, I'm lying in bed at my bro's house. In front of me, I can see the expansive front yard and the cars passing by on the two-lane state highway. My bed is pushed up against another window; I can see the delightful dense woods to my right and hear cars bumping over the bridge. It rained yesterday. Everything is misty and drizzly and a few shades darker than normal.

I'm propping my laptop on my ribcage and knees. I slept in a tie-dye shirt and Victoria's Secret sweats (omg! The most comfortable sweat pants...EVER. I have two pairs and crave more). Mr. Big is stretched out near my ankles; I can feel his paws move when he runs in his sleep. :) I still have on my glasses even though I took Big for his morning potty walk, ate breakfast, and brushed my teeth.

I've been listening to the radio since 8:30am. After all the morning talk and crazy antics (this morning, especially), we're finally getting to the crappy pop music. Normally, I love pop music. But the last four songs are grating on my nerves. I just can't hear "Ain't no holla-back gurrrrrrrl" before noon...or three cups of coffee. Even then, I'd feel like punching someone.

I have my Jane Eyre paperback on my nightstand because my nook needed charging last night. The biggest downside to an e-reader is that, unlike REAL books, its batteries will go dead. I finished my fourth book in a row on my nook! I think I've read my nook every day since I got him! (Yes, my nook is a male. I'll devote a post to my new inanimate-object-tech-gadget-boyfriend). Don't think too highly of me. Most of those books were under 300 pages and pure literary fluff. And slightly trashy. But just as addicting as crack...or so I heard. Not like I know how addicting crack is. Just rumors.

ANYWAYS....I figured watching Jane Eyre on PBS one more time would be kinda pathetic. So I flipped to my favorite parts and read. In honor of "Banned Book Week", I'm reading "Lolita". I'll need a fully charged battery if I want to finish by Sunday.

So...yeah. I kinda want some coffee now. I suppose I should fold some laundry and shower before I go into work. Darn it. Stupid responsibilities.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Working at a pharmacy is more about working with patients than about working with drugs. Drugs don't yell at you. Drugs don't complain about insurance prices that you have little or no control over. Drugs don't try to forge prescriptions or fabricate sob stories to get their drugs early.

Nope, the pills and tablets are easy. It's the people that make life...interesting.

What's that TV channel with the slogan "Characters Welcome"? They should apply that slogan to a pharmacy. We see the best and worst of humanity, the high and lows of stereotypes in society. The "Regulars" are the patients we see weekly or have such a personality that they make themselves KNOWN. We know so much about such a small, small part of their lives...their ailments, their health, their spouses and children, their jobs and hobbies. Regardless, some of these people welcome us into their lives and consider us, the pharm staff, friends! Weird!

Here's a brief sketch of four of our "Regulars":

* Big Bob - has the raspiest voice on earth. Thick southern accent + years of smoking + loss of hearing = Big Bob's voice. Add a crappy drive-thru speaker and Big Bob's rattling rust-bucket-of-a-truck and you start to wish for the ability to read minds. Big Bob is always known as Big Bob. He has no last name. I'm pretty sure his driver's license only says "Big Bob". Like an endangered species, he only appears 10 minutes before closing (even if he called HOURS ago to check on his meds). He refuses to pay more than $30 for anything (although rumor has it that he has more money than God). He assumes you know what he needs when he orders his "salve". For anyone born AFTER the Great Depression, "salve" is code for any type of ointment/lotion/cream to rub on one's body. Nevermind that there are chemical and medicinal differences between lotions, ointments, and creams (thereby important information to the pharmacist) and hundreds of different TYPES of topical solutions for different things...you only need to know one word: SALVE.

* Silvester Silversmith - lost most of his jaw to what I assume was gum cancer. Given the demographics, I bet it was from chewing tobacco. Regardless how or why, the man has no real jaw. And while I'm changing names to protect the innocent (and my job. Hello, HIPPA), the irony of his speech impediment is not lost on his actual name.

* Abe Martin - had a double lung transplant and was sent home that night from the hospital. Apparently organ transplants are out-patient procedures now! I'm not sure how old Abe is, but he looks much older than his actual years. He's bony and frail and ghostly pale. Normally he rides on a Hover-Round chair with a surgical mask on his face (to prevent infection). He used to be attached to an oxygen tank too. Thankfully, he's much better now and doing quite well. :) He's the biggest flirt and most optimistic person I ever met! You ask how his day is and he replies, "Best day of my life! I woke up! I'm alive! And I'm here with my favorite people...you all!". He's always saying how lucky the guys are to work with "such beautiful women" and "pretty young ladies". I remember being intimidated of him in my earlier career (probably 'cause he was grumpy, on steroids, and couldn't breathe) but now I love to see Abe. He makes me grin with his sincere gratitude for life.

* The Duke of York - thinks his real name is the cleverest and funniest thing on earth. It's not. We all get the royal reference and joke. You didn't even come up with the name, dude. Your mama did. So shove it. To make matters worse, The Duke is a lover of bad puns and worse cliches. And he's a talker. And he comes by EVERY DAY. No kidding! EVERY DAY! Even holidays! Even on Sundays after church. EVERY flipping DAY the man has another horrible quip about something insignificant and pointless. Worse of all? He takes three minutes (we timed him once) to write a check. And he ALWAYS writes a check...ugh!

I'm Not Dead Yet! I Feel Happy!

(any Monty Python fans out there? Spamalot, anyone?)

Okay, I'm back. After...oh, I dunno...a week to 10 days of no cell phone and no wireless internet, I am back to my cyber-social life. I dropped my cell in the Kroger parking lot. It then went dead. Someone finally e-mailed me about it, but Jody doesn't have wi-fi at his house; therefore, I haven't checked e-mail or facebook in weeks! Apparently people thought I was really dead (or at the very least seriously hurt/lost/ill).

So now I'm back! Yay! I missed a lot of important news (looking at you, Ducharme!)and you, devoted audience, have missed a lot as well. We'll start with the most basic news and we'll work our way through the updates in future posts, shall we?


I'm now living with my younger brother...in HIS house.

Yeah...kinda humbling. He also makes more than I do and only has a tech-school degree. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Jody's BRILLIANT at anything mechanical and automotive. He has common sense and a sense of direction (two things I severely lack). I would never be able to do his job and be as successful. Just like he'd struggle to write a 15 page political science thesis. To each his (or her) own.

But...I'm the oldest. I'm the one who's "smart" and voted Most Likely to Succeed. And I'm the one paying my little brother rent. Again...pretty humbling.

Pros of Living With Sibling
* Cheap rent (or not at all this month because I'm giving the house a top-to-bottom cleaning!)
* He's letting Mr. Big (my dog) stay. :) He swears he doesn't like Big, but he plays fetch with the annoying chihuahua for hours.
* He wakes me up early! Trust me, this is a Pro because I've been 10 minutes EARLY to work instead of 10 minutes late to work ever since the move.
* He has a bad-ass $400 sound system (the better to hear movies with)
* He has two big flat screen TVs (the better to see movies with)
* Somebody to understand and join in when I need to vent about the parental units
* He's letting me decorate and re-organize his house...MY way! :)

Cons of Living With Sibling
* We share the same shower. Although he has a sweet bathroom attached to his room, the extra-large tub has no shower. And apparently boys only take showers. No bubble baths. Go figure. As long as there's no boxer or greasy tools in MY bathroom, I'm okay.
* Jody does not pick up after himself. I tend to pick up as I go throughout the day and do an all-day-clean-sweep sometime on the weekend. Jody only picks up after himself before guests come over.
* Jody enjoys farting for laughs. He thinks it's funny. Someone lied to the poor boy.
* He moved a REALLY heavy big screen TV from the 1990s into my closet. Why? 'Cause he didn't want it. Not cool, bro, not cool. It will take 3 or 4 people to move it out. Where? I dunno. But I sure don't care!

Really, I'm enjoying spending time with Jody. I can tell he enjoys it too. I missed him last year. I'd love to be elsewhere...Boston...and on my own and starting my own life, but it's nice to feel needed and wanted.

More posts later...promise!And a more detailed explanation about Boston and law school and how fate is not my friend right now.

Who takes care of the caretaker?

My morning started at the unholy hour of 7a.m. to the equally unholy groans of my mother. Until you hear your mother moaning and groaning in sincere pain, you don't know helplessness. So I fumble down the stairs in a foggy slumber with a chihuahua at my heels and four shih-tzus jumping about because they think it's time to play. I get the canines out the door and focus on Mom.

There she was...
Sprawled on the sofa. Drenched in clammy, cold sweat. Her abdomen was actually hot. She's basically begging to die because she was in such miserable pain. She had already thrown up during the night. TAB cans and Klenex are scattered on the floor.

What can I do? I just place cold washcloths on her head and stomach. Adjust the fan so it's blowing on her. Hand feed her ice chips. Bring new pajamas so she can change. And I wait until she falls back asleep.

Then I herd the pack of dogs back into the kitchen. I feed them, water them, pick up after them. I mop the floor (Okay...I used the Swiffer Wet-Jet. I am no domestic goddess by any means). I sort the laundry and start a few loads. Clean out the fridge of old leftovers. Take out the trash. Check on Mom and head upstairs to make a pot of much-needed coffee.

It was only 10a.m. College-Cora would have just woke up. Caregiver-Cora just accomplished Round One of her duties and preparing for Round Two.


I keep running into this dilemma: no one understands what it's like to be the twenty-something child of a cancer patient. There's camps and programs for CHILDREN of cancer patients. After you're over that troublesome puberty stage, there's no more support groups. I'm sorry, but you need your parents throughout high school, college, your first real job, your first serious relationship, your wedding, and your first child.

Charlie made the comment today that he was "sorry to hear Mom's doing poorly" and that "it must be real hard for such a young lady" and that I must "feel like running away sometimes."

Uhhhh..no shit, Sherlock. But his fingernail didn't even scratch the surface.

I'm proud to take care of my mom. I'd give her a kidney and a lung and a new car if it would make her healthy again. She apologizes for being so sick and needing my help; I can't help but see her staying up at night with me, putting washcloths on my head, and fluffing my pillows. At the very least, I owe her that much.

I love my mother...unconditionally. Just like she loves me.

I just feel torn between my carefree twenties when it's okay to make mistakes and take risks...and being cautious because I need to be the responsible caretaker and support system at home.

Sometimes...especially at 10:45am when I have to clean up another mess and tuck Mom into bed...that I wish I had someone to take care of me, too.