Pain.
It's a word we all know well, yet we all explain differently. Pain, for some, is emotional - it is intangible and somewhat unrestricted by the physical environment of a person. For others, pain is a physical response to an undesirable sensation. It is that searing tingle that creeps up our fingertips when we touch something too hot, or that jolt of fear that shoots up the arm when we cut our palm while slicing vegetables.
Yet, whatever pain is to you, there is no denying when it is present.
And all I feel, right now, is pain. It just seeps through my body like its using my veins as some sort of cardiovascular highway. And I feel like no matter how many times I take my Acetaminophen #3 with Codeine in the allotted times, it's still there. I feel it scratching at my insides and permeating my entire body, but there's nothing I can do about. I can't cough, I can't laugh, I can't bend, I can't do anything that involves my core. Do you have any idea how many daily activities use the core of the human body?
Nearly every one.
The abdomen acts as a connector between the two major sections of appendages of the body - the arms and legs. It acts as the midpoint of the body from which the body gathers all of its nutritional energy to actually carry out its basic functions. And mine has a giant hole in it.
The most frustrating aspect of this entire operation, though, is the fact that all of my professors are more than understanding about my situation, except one. One professor, who believes his class is infinitely more important and difficult than any of my other classes. Newsflash, buddy; your class is more appropriate for 2nd graders than college students. I could, quite literally, miss the entire semester if I wanted to, take the midterm and final, and still ace the class. It's not like it's challenging. I've taken real college level science classes, and let me tell you, this environmental bullshit is like a walk in the park without actually having to walk.
Today, I got a letter in the mail from Harrington saying I was in danger of failing the aforementioned professor's class. The reason? Not turning in my assignments. We don't even HAVE homework in that class, let alone assignments. Not to mention the fact that the only assignment we HAVE had is a test that I was EXCUSED from because of my medical issue. Trust me when I tell you, Harrington, I would much rather be in class and suffer through this stupid-ass science class than be lying prone on a medical bed while my naval is chopped off.
To top off this lovely letter, I receive an email from the professor in response to an email I'd sent out to inform all of my instructors of my upcoming surgery and absences. His response was
"Chris,
You have missed too may of my classes. I suggest that you drop the class.
****"
The classes I have missed were all excused absences. I have literally had it up to my eyeballs with the professional incompetence of some of Harrington's staff, so I simply responded as calmly but as firmly as I could.
Mr. ****,
I refuse to drop a class of such academic simplicity because of medical issues that are not only out of my control, but far beyond the control of the school or its staff. If there is an issue with my more than ample documentation, and you see it unfit to excuse my absences, please take it up with administration and Student Handbook. Otherwise, I will see you next Wednesday morning.
Thanks,
Christopher P Taylor
I'm trying to remain patient and not let this ruin my experience at Harrington, but I'm pretty much certain I won't be returning in the summer.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Friday, March 4, 2011
MI - My Insight
It all started with Avril Lavigne.
About 4 years ago, Avril popped back onto the music scene in a flamboyantly loud manner with her hit single "Girlfriend." The video skyrocketed to the top of YouTube's Most Viewed, and broke a bunch of other records and shit.
So what does that have anything to do with today?
Well, I'll tell you.
I love Avril Lavigne. Always have, always will. I acquired her most recent album, Goodbye Lullaby, and fell in love with it, of course. The reason I've loved Avril for so long is her ability to write songs that have some lyrical simplicity, but are backed by a raw emotion evident in her voice. The song "When You're Gone" is particularly emotional, but, that's only half of the point.
4 Years ago, I started the only healthy relationship I think I've ever had with a German exchange student. Great idea, huh? Date the one kid who is guaranteed to leave in half-a-year. When we started dating, neither of us planned on our relationship developing as quickly as it did; so 6 months later, when I found myself in Hamburg, Germany, I could hardly believe (let alone process) the situation.
So I know you're still wondering how the hell Avril Lavigne fits in here.
Well, I just mentioned "When You're Gone," so does it surprise you when I tell you the song became one of "our" songs? I mean, c'mon, it's about either losing someone or a long-distance relationship. We were the latter, in case you're still lost.
Now, if you're on track with my randomness, I'll put them all together for you. 4 years ago, I started a relationship, Avril's "When You're Gone" was one of our songs, and I've recently been listening to her new album. With me?
4 years later, I find myself remembering the exact way I felt that crisp South Carolina night. And now I find myself wondering why the fuck I was so young and stupid when I was actually granted a functioning relationship. No wonder God hates me; He gives me something good, and I screw it up.
I get the message, God.
Thing is, he and I are still friends...just about 4 thousand miles away. There's that fucking number again, too: 4. March 4th, 4 thousand miles, 4/4/07 (April 4th, 2007 - the first of many concerts we attended); I'm surprised it's not 4 PM or AM.
Anyway, my issue is that I keep waiting for someone to make me feel the same way I did then. And neither girl nor guy has even come close. And I mean, it's not like I can practically propose a relationship to him at this point - not with he and I being so far apart. We both knew the distance killed our relationship - or whatever I didn't kill, that is.
So, on top of the big MI and all the other stress in my life, I'm feeling this annoyingly-persistent nostalgia that just won't fade. So, to get it out, I wrote a song. And now I'm left feeling much better about getting it off my chest. Despite my weird feelings, I'm still extremely happy. For some reason, feelings brought on by him usually have that effect on me.
:].
4 Years
There is something I’ve been hiding
There is something I’ve been trying to get out
The truth is that I have been lying
But I can’t seem to say it out loud
I remember every single thing about you
I remember how the light shone in your eyes
I remember all the things we used to do
So what’s the use in trying to deny?
4 Years later, I still remember the way we felt
4 Years later, I still remember how we met
4 Years later, I feel nothing but regret
4 Years later, I finally see what you meant
4 Years later I can’t remember to forget
And 4 years later, we’d be perfect I bet
But 4 years later, I can’t seem to let it rest
Cuz I believe that 4 years later
Later when I can’t forget
I will still remember
How we felt
There was something in the way
Something beautiful in everything you did
There was something in your face
Something memorable right down to your lips
I remember every laugh we shared
I remember every tear you ever shed
I remember every wound left unrepaired
So what’s the use in trying to mend
4 Years later, I still remember the way we felt
4 Years later, I still remember how we met
4 Years later, I feel nothing but regret
4 Years later, I finally see what you meant
4 Years later I can’t remember to forget
And 4 years later, we’d be perfect I bet
But 4 years later, I can’t seem to let it rest
Cuz I believe that 4 years later
Later when I can’t forget
I will still remember
How we felt
Yeah, 4 years later, wish I could find a way to mend
4 Years later, I still remember when I left
4 Years later, I wish I hadn’t made it end
4 Years later, but I guess at least we’re friends
But I believe that 4 years later
Later has been for the best
So I could remember
How we felt
4 years ago, plus a month, I think
We saw Thunder as the stage lights blinked
4 years ago, and a month ahead
A timid night with so much to expect
The rising heat on the concert floor
Bonding us as we learn to soar
Guitars crashed loud and the bassline shook
The drumbeat peaked and that’s all it took
We flew in quick on the wings of our lips
And the room seemed to come to a full standstill
You were all that I could make as real
And somehow I knew you’d be all I’d feel
By far
I’d say
You were all that made me healthy
By far
I’d say
You were all that made me happy
But I was young and dumb
I didn't wanna let you go
And now I'm giving up
But I think you should know
4 Years later, I still remember the way we felt
4 Years later, I still remember how we met
4 Years later, I feel nothing but regret
4 Years later, I finally see what you meant
4 Years later I can’t remember to forget
And 4 years later, we’d be perfect I bet
But 4 years later, I can’t seem to let it rest
Cuz I believe that 4 years later
Later when I can’t forget
I will still remember
How we felt
Yeah, 4 years later, wish I could find a way to mend
4 Years later, I still remember when I left
4 Years later, I wish I hadn’t made it end
4 Years later, but I guess at least we’re friends
But I believe that 4 years later
Later has been for the best
So I could remember
How we felt
4 years ago, plus a month, I think
We saw Thunder as the stage lights blinked
4 years ago, and a month ahead
A timid night with so much to expect
The rising heat on the concert floor
Bonding us as we learn to soar
Guitars crashed loud and the bassline shook
The drumbeat peaked and that’s all it took
We flew in quick on the wings of our lips
And the room seemed to come to a full standstill
4 years later, I still know how I felt
4 years later, I still remember
How we felt
About 4 years ago, Avril popped back onto the music scene in a flamboyantly loud manner with her hit single "Girlfriend." The video skyrocketed to the top of YouTube's Most Viewed, and broke a bunch of other records and shit.
So what does that have anything to do with today?
Well, I'll tell you.
I love Avril Lavigne. Always have, always will. I acquired her most recent album, Goodbye Lullaby, and fell in love with it, of course. The reason I've loved Avril for so long is her ability to write songs that have some lyrical simplicity, but are backed by a raw emotion evident in her voice. The song "When You're Gone" is particularly emotional, but, that's only half of the point.
4 Years ago, I started the only healthy relationship I think I've ever had with a German exchange student. Great idea, huh? Date the one kid who is guaranteed to leave in half-a-year. When we started dating, neither of us planned on our relationship developing as quickly as it did; so 6 months later, when I found myself in Hamburg, Germany, I could hardly believe (let alone process) the situation.
So I know you're still wondering how the hell Avril Lavigne fits in here.
Well, I just mentioned "When You're Gone," so does it surprise you when I tell you the song became one of "our" songs? I mean, c'mon, it's about either losing someone or a long-distance relationship. We were the latter, in case you're still lost.
Now, if you're on track with my randomness, I'll put them all together for you. 4 years ago, I started a relationship, Avril's "When You're Gone" was one of our songs, and I've recently been listening to her new album. With me?
4 years later, I find myself remembering the exact way I felt that crisp South Carolina night. And now I find myself wondering why the fuck I was so young and stupid when I was actually granted a functioning relationship. No wonder God hates me; He gives me something good, and I screw it up.
I get the message, God.
Thing is, he and I are still friends...just about 4 thousand miles away. There's that fucking number again, too: 4. March 4th, 4 thousand miles, 4/4/07 (April 4th, 2007 - the first of many concerts we attended); I'm surprised it's not 4 PM or AM.
Anyway, my issue is that I keep waiting for someone to make me feel the same way I did then. And neither girl nor guy has even come close. And I mean, it's not like I can practically propose a relationship to him at this point - not with he and I being so far apart. We both knew the distance killed our relationship - or whatever I didn't kill, that is.
So, on top of the big MI and all the other stress in my life, I'm feeling this annoyingly-persistent nostalgia that just won't fade. So, to get it out, I wrote a song. And now I'm left feeling much better about getting it off my chest. Despite my weird feelings, I'm still extremely happy. For some reason, feelings brought on by him usually have that effect on me.
:].
4 Years
There is something I’ve been hiding
There is something I’ve been trying to get out
The truth is that I have been lying
But I can’t seem to say it out loud
I remember every single thing about you
I remember how the light shone in your eyes
I remember all the things we used to do
So what’s the use in trying to deny?
4 Years later, I still remember the way we felt
4 Years later, I still remember how we met
4 Years later, I feel nothing but regret
4 Years later, I finally see what you meant
4 Years later I can’t remember to forget
And 4 years later, we’d be perfect I bet
But 4 years later, I can’t seem to let it rest
Cuz I believe that 4 years later
Later when I can’t forget
I will still remember
How we felt
There was something in the way
Something beautiful in everything you did
There was something in your face
Something memorable right down to your lips
I remember every laugh we shared
I remember every tear you ever shed
I remember every wound left unrepaired
So what’s the use in trying to mend
4 Years later, I still remember the way we felt
4 Years later, I still remember how we met
4 Years later, I feel nothing but regret
4 Years later, I finally see what you meant
4 Years later I can’t remember to forget
And 4 years later, we’d be perfect I bet
But 4 years later, I can’t seem to let it rest
Cuz I believe that 4 years later
Later when I can’t forget
I will still remember
How we felt
Yeah, 4 years later, wish I could find a way to mend
4 Years later, I still remember when I left
4 Years later, I wish I hadn’t made it end
4 Years later, but I guess at least we’re friends
But I believe that 4 years later
Later has been for the best
So I could remember
How we felt
4 years ago, plus a month, I think
We saw Thunder as the stage lights blinked
4 years ago, and a month ahead
A timid night with so much to expect
The rising heat on the concert floor
Bonding us as we learn to soar
Guitars crashed loud and the bassline shook
The drumbeat peaked and that’s all it took
We flew in quick on the wings of our lips
And the room seemed to come to a full standstill
You were all that I could make as real
And somehow I knew you’d be all I’d feel
By far
I’d say
You were all that made me healthy
By far
I’d say
You were all that made me happy
But I was young and dumb
I didn't wanna let you go
And now I'm giving up
But I think you should know
4 Years later, I still remember the way we felt
4 Years later, I still remember how we met
4 Years later, I feel nothing but regret
4 Years later, I finally see what you meant
4 Years later I can’t remember to forget
And 4 years later, we’d be perfect I bet
But 4 years later, I can’t seem to let it rest
Cuz I believe that 4 years later
Later when I can’t forget
I will still remember
How we felt
Yeah, 4 years later, wish I could find a way to mend
4 Years later, I still remember when I left
4 Years later, I wish I hadn’t made it end
4 Years later, but I guess at least we’re friends
But I believe that 4 years later
Later has been for the best
So I could remember
How we felt
4 years ago, plus a month, I think
We saw Thunder as the stage lights blinked
4 years ago, and a month ahead
A timid night with so much to expect
The rising heat on the concert floor
Bonding us as we learn to soar
Guitars crashed loud and the bassline shook
The drumbeat peaked and that’s all it took
We flew in quick on the wings of our lips
And the room seemed to come to a full standstill
4 years later, I still know how I felt
4 years later, I still remember
How we felt
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
MI - Medical Issue
I'm a 21-year old male. Honestly, there shouldn't be much wrong with my body. Sure, I eat pizza rolls on a regular basis, stuff fries down my gorge, and chug Gatorade like nobody's business.
But otherwise, I've always been pretty healthy. My metabolism, according to the cardiologist and dietitians, is so fast that when I sleep, my heart rate rivals that of a perambulating human being. Awesome, huh?
It doesn't end there, though, because honestly, a fast metabolism doesn't bother me too much. I mean, other than the fact that I've weighed the same since high school and my size has limited my participation in sports like football. Aside from that, I don't mind too much.
What has actually collided with my everyday life in a cataclysmal, explosive, and resonating way, is the Medical Issue I've been combating to the fullest of my ability. I don't want to disclose it to just anyone on the internet, but in my future posts, when I mention MI, just know I'm not talking about Michigan. I'm talking about this ridiculously ill-timed and inappropriate condition that has been persistently attempting to devastate the small amount of progress I've made since my epically disheartening experience at DePaul.
The pain I feel on a regular, day-to-day basis, honestly radiates throughout my entire body in a nauseating wave of discomfort and strain. And the only thing I can do is accept it.
Go to the doctor, you idiot.
I'm sure that's what you're thinking. If I'm in so much pain, wouldn't it make sense to go to this iconic and world renowned position whose specialty is alleviating pain in an almost divine manner?
Trust me, I have.
I've seen 6 different doctors for one issue. I've had CT Scans, Ultrasounds (yes, ultrasounds on a male), multiple physicals, and extensive consultation. And not a single damn one of them helped anything.
I know I'm not a doctor. I took biology classes at DePaul and was studying to be a doctor for a bit, before switching to nursing, and finally settling on Biosocial Neuropsychology (essentially using biology to diagnose the mental issues of society). I have learned every bone, every muscle group, every major artery, every vital piece that contributes to the human body - yet I know I have a lot to learn.
So, could someone please explain to me why I have to diagnose myself? These idiotic doctors can't even type a simple report without "accidentally" stating that I experience headaches in my abdomen and pelvis. Yes, cuz that's ostensible.
I can't say I feel comfortable with the possibility of surgery looming in my near future - a little over 24 hours into my future, actually. But what else can I do? I refuse to live the rest of my life in pain - especially this particular pain. I have a life to live and it quite obviously has no room in it for back-to-back appointments with dimwitted doctors who don't even know how to properly prescribe medication.
That's another thing that pisses me off.
I know I'm not in pharmacology - my chemistry is rusty at best. But I have enough chemical experience under my belt to know prescribing 2100 milligrams of ibuprofen to a patient with a history of severe heartburn and acid reflux is a BAD IDEA. Ibuprofen literally eats away at the interior gastronomic lining of the upper stomach; thus, simply 800 milligrams (the maximum limit for over-the-counter usage of ibuprofen) ignites the ventral cavity in stomach bile and causes reflux. It's not a complex scenario.
The cherry on top, though, is the EXTREME lack of cooperation Harrington displays with any sort of medical issue. Last semester, I suffered from severe pain in my right wrist. I'm right-handed. I was taking Beginning Drawing, 2D, and Design 101 and 102. All studio classes. All requiring some sort of artistic ability. Have you ever tried drawing with your non-dominant hand? It is the most degrading, insulting, and ego-shattering experience when you can't even draw a circle when you're used to drawing fully-rendered, realistic faces. Nonetheless, some of my teachers were understanding, and I was able to skate by with an A-Minus. But this semester, with the most indefatigable medical issue to which I've ever fallen victim, I have been unable to even walk without feeling like I'm going spew vomit from every facial orifice I have. It is ridiculously inconvenient. So when the doctors actually DO make an educated call and tell me not to travel unless ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY, I'm going to listen.
But, apparently a forewarning isn't sufficient enough for Harrington's attendance policy. Even after speaking with my adviser (who will remain nameless) and revealing the bare essentials of my condition, I was contacted about a week later. Apparently, despite my ever-expanding collection of medical documentation and evidence of a temporary disability, I was required to attend my next class or risk being an "inactive student."
I'm sorry, but what exactly is inactive about writing until my fingers cramp, overextending myself in my written content, and trying my damnedest to keep myself from just dropping my classes altogether? What is inactive about continuously pushing back the agonizing discomfort that plagues my body? What the hell is inactive about taking responsibility for health?
It's not exactly like my classes are difficult. And I don't blame the professors. I blame the curriculum. As is obvious to most people, I need no further assistance in actually learning how to write. Sure, I love to read, and I'm always challenging my abilities to create something new and exhilarating to add to my syntax or my vocabulary or my grammar. My scientific knowledge, as is so adequately demonstrated above, is more than ample enough to breeze through an environmental science class that does nothing but partake in simplistic labs that consist of a DVD activity. I'm sorry, but I'm used to 3-4 page lab reports that are so tediously graded that an A is like a Godsend. And math. Really? It's not my favorite subject, but I get it. It's nothing but numbers working in a specific function to get an unwaveringly specific answer. I don't need a refresher. I'm paying thousands of dollars to get a re-education that I quite frankly do not need.
But I digress.
The real issue at hand is that even though I understand every minute detail of every single bit of rehashed information thrown my way, if my corporeal person is not present during these sickeningly repetitive and obnoxiously nostalgic 3-hour sessions of class, my knowledge means absolutely nothing. That's awesome, Harrington.
I pay over $7,000 for these classes.
I learn every senseless microcosm of the required material.
I give 150% in all of my content submitted.
Therefore, I should be able to recover from an intrusive, obtuse surgery in peace without having to worry about all of my time and money being wasted because my bullshit-ass school decides I'm not present enough.
In the end, it seems pointless to complain. But I'm the kind of person who fights for what I believe, and I believe Harrington has overstepped its boundaries. If they want to tell me I have to drop out because of a medical emergency that is beyond out of my control, we can have a nice little discussion with a lawyer present. I mean, hell, it's not like it could hurt to go a few thousand more dollars into debt than I already am - let's make it an even $60,000 in my name. Because it's not like I'm getting anywhere so far, and it's not like I can continue to fight this on my own - especially with my family 1000 miles away and no one to help me after my surgery except my roommate.
Alone or not, I refuse to back down from Harrington's professional incompetence nor from the annoying perseverance my illness seems to display.
But otherwise, I've always been pretty healthy. My metabolism, according to the cardiologist and dietitians, is so fast that when I sleep, my heart rate rivals that of a perambulating human being. Awesome, huh?
It doesn't end there, though, because honestly, a fast metabolism doesn't bother me too much. I mean, other than the fact that I've weighed the same since high school and my size has limited my participation in sports like football. Aside from that, I don't mind too much.
What has actually collided with my everyday life in a cataclysmal, explosive, and resonating way, is the Medical Issue I've been combating to the fullest of my ability. I don't want to disclose it to just anyone on the internet, but in my future posts, when I mention MI, just know I'm not talking about Michigan. I'm talking about this ridiculously ill-timed and inappropriate condition that has been persistently attempting to devastate the small amount of progress I've made since my epically disheartening experience at DePaul.
The pain I feel on a regular, day-to-day basis, honestly radiates throughout my entire body in a nauseating wave of discomfort and strain. And the only thing I can do is accept it.
Go to the doctor, you idiot.
I'm sure that's what you're thinking. If I'm in so much pain, wouldn't it make sense to go to this iconic and world renowned position whose specialty is alleviating pain in an almost divine manner?
Trust me, I have.
I've seen 6 different doctors for one issue. I've had CT Scans, Ultrasounds (yes, ultrasounds on a male), multiple physicals, and extensive consultation. And not a single damn one of them helped anything.
I know I'm not a doctor. I took biology classes at DePaul and was studying to be a doctor for a bit, before switching to nursing, and finally settling on Biosocial Neuropsychology (essentially using biology to diagnose the mental issues of society). I have learned every bone, every muscle group, every major artery, every vital piece that contributes to the human body - yet I know I have a lot to learn.
So, could someone please explain to me why I have to diagnose myself? These idiotic doctors can't even type a simple report without "accidentally" stating that I experience headaches in my abdomen and pelvis. Yes, cuz that's ostensible.
I can't say I feel comfortable with the possibility of surgery looming in my near future - a little over 24 hours into my future, actually. But what else can I do? I refuse to live the rest of my life in pain - especially this particular pain. I have a life to live and it quite obviously has no room in it for back-to-back appointments with dimwitted doctors who don't even know how to properly prescribe medication.
That's another thing that pisses me off.
I know I'm not in pharmacology - my chemistry is rusty at best. But I have enough chemical experience under my belt to know prescribing 2100 milligrams of ibuprofen to a patient with a history of severe heartburn and acid reflux is a BAD IDEA. Ibuprofen literally eats away at the interior gastronomic lining of the upper stomach; thus, simply 800 milligrams (the maximum limit for over-the-counter usage of ibuprofen) ignites the ventral cavity in stomach bile and causes reflux. It's not a complex scenario.
The cherry on top, though, is the EXTREME lack of cooperation Harrington displays with any sort of medical issue. Last semester, I suffered from severe pain in my right wrist. I'm right-handed. I was taking Beginning Drawing, 2D, and Design 101 and 102. All studio classes. All requiring some sort of artistic ability. Have you ever tried drawing with your non-dominant hand? It is the most degrading, insulting, and ego-shattering experience when you can't even draw a circle when you're used to drawing fully-rendered, realistic faces. Nonetheless, some of my teachers were understanding, and I was able to skate by with an A-Minus. But this semester, with the most indefatigable medical issue to which I've ever fallen victim, I have been unable to even walk without feeling like I'm going spew vomit from every facial orifice I have. It is ridiculously inconvenient. So when the doctors actually DO make an educated call and tell me not to travel unless ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY, I'm going to listen.
But, apparently a forewarning isn't sufficient enough for Harrington's attendance policy. Even after speaking with my adviser (who will remain nameless) and revealing the bare essentials of my condition, I was contacted about a week later. Apparently, despite my ever-expanding collection of medical documentation and evidence of a temporary disability, I was required to attend my next class or risk being an "inactive student."
I'm sorry, but what exactly is inactive about writing until my fingers cramp, overextending myself in my written content, and trying my damnedest to keep myself from just dropping my classes altogether? What is inactive about continuously pushing back the agonizing discomfort that plagues my body? What the hell is inactive about taking responsibility for health?
It's not exactly like my classes are difficult. And I don't blame the professors. I blame the curriculum. As is obvious to most people, I need no further assistance in actually learning how to write. Sure, I love to read, and I'm always challenging my abilities to create something new and exhilarating to add to my syntax or my vocabulary or my grammar. My scientific knowledge, as is so adequately demonstrated above, is more than ample enough to breeze through an environmental science class that does nothing but partake in simplistic labs that consist of a DVD activity. I'm sorry, but I'm used to 3-4 page lab reports that are so tediously graded that an A is like a Godsend. And math. Really? It's not my favorite subject, but I get it. It's nothing but numbers working in a specific function to get an unwaveringly specific answer. I don't need a refresher. I'm paying thousands of dollars to get a re-education that I quite frankly do not need.
But I digress.
The real issue at hand is that even though I understand every minute detail of every single bit of rehashed information thrown my way, if my corporeal person is not present during these sickeningly repetitive and obnoxiously nostalgic 3-hour sessions of class, my knowledge means absolutely nothing. That's awesome, Harrington.
I pay over $7,000 for these classes.
I learn every senseless microcosm of the required material.
I give 150% in all of my content submitted.
Therefore, I should be able to recover from an intrusive, obtuse surgery in peace without having to worry about all of my time and money being wasted because my bullshit-ass school decides I'm not present enough.
In the end, it seems pointless to complain. But I'm the kind of person who fights for what I believe, and I believe Harrington has overstepped its boundaries. If they want to tell me I have to drop out because of a medical emergency that is beyond out of my control, we can have a nice little discussion with a lawyer present. I mean, hell, it's not like it could hurt to go a few thousand more dollars into debt than I already am - let's make it an even $60,000 in my name. Because it's not like I'm getting anywhere so far, and it's not like I can continue to fight this on my own - especially with my family 1000 miles away and no one to help me after my surgery except my roommate.
Alone or not, I refuse to back down from Harrington's professional incompetence nor from the annoying perseverance my illness seems to display.
In My I
I have never been shy with expressing myself - at least, not to my knowledge; but the thought of sharing my most intimate thoughts - my own personal beliefs, opinions, ramblings, and ravings - to complete and total strangers that do not limit their numbers to a room, a household, a city, a state, a province, a nation, or a continent: it all leaves me somewhat timid.
This is my Mind's Eye.
I guess first things come first.
To my family, I am known as Christopher P Taylor. To my friends - the people I care about like a family - I am Patrick. I am the glue. I am the confidant. I am the support. I am the centripetal force that pulls in random assortments of people, places, details, and memories; I am somewhat a vessel of unending random knowledge who simply acts as the pathway from point A to point B. I am, quite simply, the middle.
Maybe it started with my family life; maybe it started with my birth on the second day of September on a plain old Saturday just shy of 3 months before the beginning of the last decade of the 1900s. Maybe it started with all of the obstacles I have overcome, the fears I have faced, and the multitude of places in which I somehow find myself. Or, maybe the start is infinite; maybe I am always starting something new, always reaching forward and thrusting myself into a whirlpool of activities to constantly keep myself going.
It's like I can't stop.
The real question, though, is "do I want to?"
I'd be lying if I said no, but I wouldn't be telling the truth if I said yes. So really, I'm just caught in the middle. And that's why my name fits so well.
MI - Middle Initial, is the potential name for the studio I hope to one day own. Stylized - MiddleiStudio. It comes from not only the importance I find in my middle name, rather than my middle initial, but from what I have deemed the creation of a new being - schizophrenic though it may seem. From the ashes of the person who struggled and failed; tried and lost; traveled and cemented; from the death of this unmotivated, unchallenged, uninterested shell of a person - an opposite, heralded form emerged in a dazzling infinite birth.
My name has since meant the world to me. It defines me in my entirety. Most people use adjectives to describe themselves. I use a proper noun.
Let me introduce you to Patrick, my middle name; P, my middle initial. Let me introduce you to my Mind's Eye: I.
This is my Mind's Eye.
I guess first things come first.
To my family, I am known as Christopher P Taylor. To my friends - the people I care about like a family - I am Patrick. I am the glue. I am the confidant. I am the support. I am the centripetal force that pulls in random assortments of people, places, details, and memories; I am somewhat a vessel of unending random knowledge who simply acts as the pathway from point A to point B. I am, quite simply, the middle.
Maybe it started with my family life; maybe it started with my birth on the second day of September on a plain old Saturday just shy of 3 months before the beginning of the last decade of the 1900s. Maybe it started with all of the obstacles I have overcome, the fears I have faced, and the multitude of places in which I somehow find myself. Or, maybe the start is infinite; maybe I am always starting something new, always reaching forward and thrusting myself into a whirlpool of activities to constantly keep myself going.
It's like I can't stop.
The real question, though, is "do I want to?"
I'd be lying if I said no, but I wouldn't be telling the truth if I said yes. So really, I'm just caught in the middle. And that's why my name fits so well.
MI - Middle Initial, is the potential name for the studio I hope to one day own. Stylized - MiddleiStudio. It comes from not only the importance I find in my middle name, rather than my middle initial, but from what I have deemed the creation of a new being - schizophrenic though it may seem. From the ashes of the person who struggled and failed; tried and lost; traveled and cemented; from the death of this unmotivated, unchallenged, uninterested shell of a person - an opposite, heralded form emerged in a dazzling infinite birth.
Patrick
My name has since meant the world to me. It defines me in my entirety. Most people use adjectives to describe themselves. I use a proper noun.
Let me introduce you to Patrick, my middle name; P, my middle initial. Let me introduce you to my Mind's Eye: I.
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