Peñíscola

Misc–karmic mistakes?, Travel

When I was working out what I would do in Spain between my two conferences, I came upon a brief mention of Peñíscola in a guidebook. I did my k-12 education in Pensacola, FL. Most people believe the FL version is a misspelled version of the Spanish one (misspelled ’cause Florida), so I wanted to check in on my namesake. Would their high school mascot be the Tigers too?

It should have been fairly simple to get to Peñíscola–a regional train could move me between stations, and I was assured there would be plenty of cabs.

But my regional train was delayed–and then the train went slower than usual, so I ended up getting to the train station 5 hours later than I should have. A station agent called a cab for the group of us hanging out by the station, and then each cab driver who arrived said they would radio in for another one, until the group was whittled down to me.

The station is not scenic, unless you’re into graffiti, and it was by an industrial plant with a weird smell.

After 45 minutes, it was finally my turn. My cabdriver was distressed when he learned my hotel was on the castle hill. Cabs don’t go there at night, when all the tourists are out. I had to listen to him complain about having to drop me off outside of the castle walls to his boss. “No,” he said in Spanish, “I can’t talk to her; she’s English.”

I was super cranky when we finally got there; navigating the steep little walkways didn’t help.

But the staff at Hotel Joanna was excited when I finally arrived. They showed me to my adorable room, and I ventured to their restaurant for food and this view of the moon over the Mediterranean.

Things were definitely looking up in the morning. First, there was this breakfast for hotel guests:

Second, I had realized I didn’t pack properly for Spain. All of the other women were going around in either shorts or sun dresses. Even women my grandmother’s age were rocking hot sun dresses! Naturally, I thought about how my culture wants women of my age and curviness to cover up. But when in Spain . . .

In Zaragoza, right before I left, I picked up a sun dress in a boutique by my hotel.

It wasn’t my usual style. The question I asked myself while shopping was “which one would my new boyfriend want me to wear.”

I put it on for my one full day in Peñíscola.

It was very hot, so I sweated all through my clothes, but I did manage to go to the Museum of the Sea and the Castle.

The Castle was built, centuries ago, by Templars, on the ruins of a Moorish temple they destroyed. After hiking up through the castle and not falling over, even though I and this sign were worried about it, I thought about going to the garden, but I just didn’t have it in me to make it down there. Both the castle and the garden have been featured in Game of Thrones.

on the way to the castle
view of Peñíscola beach, from the castle

I took a nap and graded my students’ work. Then I headed back out for souvenirs and a walk down to the Mediterranean, to finally get my feet in.

the house of shells

I had yummy fish for dinner, house-made strawberry and lemon ice cream, and a serving of a rice-based digestive.

Although I looked all over, Peñíscola just doesn’t have postcards. I guess they’re tired of the jokes?

The next morning, I had my last breakfast there, read the warnings about the extreme heat wave (they said trains might not work, since the tracks could warp, in addition to the regular awful things that heat does) and then left for Valencia.

2nd and last morning in Peñíscola

I got to the train station early, only to discover that the station was arranged weirdly. In most stations, platform 1 is right beside the terminal. Here, the signs all said that Platform 2 was–and then you got 1 and 3.

I asked the station agent if indeed the layout made no sense. He confirmed the weirdness, and I spent my remaining time there explaining, in Spanish, to Spaniards, how the station worked. It was standing-room only on the train for a few hours, but at last I arrived in Valencia, which I’ll write about next.

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Weekly Wrap Up

Chronic Pain, dating, Misc–karmic mistakes?, Movies & Television & Theatre

I got my final grades in today for Spring 2022–it’s the end of my 23rd year of teaching.

My 24th year begins on 6/20, starting with class 316. Over the next week, I need to finish putting the course page together.

And I’m starting to panic: in addition to teaching both summer sessions, I have to get ready to leave the country twice. I leave for Spain in three weeks: I have two conferences back to back there.

And it’s official: I’m going to Dublin at the end of September.

I need my brain to shut up about it all, though, so I can sleep. It’s especially worried right now about how to pack for over two weeks in Spain (while working) and almost three months in Dublin. It keeps reminding me that I’m not supposed to carry anything heavy.

In the past couple of weeks, I’ve introduced the senior comedy show, been to Jacob’s goodbye show, and hosted the extraordinary stand-up class final performance.

I got all dressed up for the senior comedy show: the theme was black tie, and I didn’t have an appropriate outfit, so I had to get a new one. I pulled some black heels out of the very top of the closet. The bottom of both came off before I made it out on stage.

Saying goodbye to my graduating comedy students is breaking my heart.

Last weekend, I saw three plays: a workshop of a new musical about Houdini, Henry V via National Theatre Live, and The Lifespan of a Fact at CapStage. I was especially interested in the latter, since I’ve met its subject, John D’Agata. His aversion to fact checking (and the play about it) is mentioned in Melissa and my sources textbook. One of the authors of the play and I got to chatting on social media after I posted about it.

I’ve recently started dating again. In fact, I was a very sweet guy’s first date from the internet ever. He seemed genuinely surprised when I told him how common it was to find someone there. I had an awful second date with someone too.

Dating is always anxiety producing, and I think of Margaret Atwood’s quote in Cat’s Eye: “I’d been reading modern French novels and William Faulkner as well. I knew what love was supposed to be: obsession, with undertones of nausea.”

The boy and I saw Bob’s Burgers: The Movie, which was great.

My colleagues and I got together at the park–someone missing how I used to spoil them at the grading sessions I ran asked me to make something, so I treated them all to rum cake.

My son’s new girlfriend gave me farm-fresh eggs, and I made quiche, scrambled eggs, and pound cake. She also brought me a new whiskey: so good!

I’ve also been writing a lot of letters of rec, I got a dental cleaning and filling fix, did my yearly eye appointment, and ordered new glasses. I also wrote a furious letter to UCD, after a shot nurse there decided she was done giving me the asthma drug I desperately need, without telling me (I was still on the schedule and still showed up for my appointment, though she was nowhere to be found), and without making sure I could get the shots with my new allergist. So I guess I’m just going to miss this month’s doses.

I watched the first day of Congressional testimony in the January 6th investigation and cried.

I didn’t get Covid, though I feared I would. It’s a matter of time, I know. It’s just too contagious to avoid it forever.

In closing today, I’ll leave you with the best compliment I got from a graduating student: “Yours was the first class at UCD that I couldn’t bullshit my way through.”

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Weekly Wrap Up

Misc–karmic mistakes?

Since the last wrap up, I’ve celebrated Whacking Day, seen Tootsie, and made a couple of great dishes, including air fryer pork tenderloin and brussels & a fig and ginger upside down cake. The Kids in the Hall is back!

The best thing, though, was Davy’s goodbye show. Davy is a wonderful comic, and I’ve greatly enjoyed working with him these last four years. I got to open for him, and I will cherish that memory.

The worst thing, though, is that I might have Covid. Lots of my students have been sick, and I was definitely exposed to a friend’s illness on Friday. Today, my throat hurts, and I have a fever. The former could be regular allergy problems, though.

Week 9 of the quarter starts tomorrow, but I may have to move us online, based on what a rapid test and the symptom survey says. This will also delay a solid return to dating, which I’m considering, now that I’m all healed up from my surgery.

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Monthly wrap up

Chronic Pain, Family & friends, Misc–karmic mistakes?

My goal to do a catch-up at least once a week just isn’t happening this quarter. I’ve got four classes, and I’m doing a couple of informal independent studies.

To complicate matters, my back went out just over a week ago, and then Dante got sick (ER sick), with lingering symptoms.

And here’s what else has happened since I last did a wrap up:

My phone died, but eventually I got another one.

I went to Chicago.

Where I saw Vanessa.

Selfie with pisco sour

And Denise, who got to be taller than I for once.

I had Nando’s. (And other great food, but Nando’s is special.)

Will I be hitting Nando’s in Dublin at least once a week? Yes!

I got to go to a museum.

He’s about to throw some shade. That is the face of a snarky man. With great eyelashes!

The government said they were transferring my loans to FedLoan (which I requested in December), so they could determine where I was on the loan forgiveness payback calendar.

I got teary-eyed at the start of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds. Not for the reason I would have expected–but for one I’ll try to blog about soon.

I served on an honors defense committee for a student at another college, who wrote an almost 100-page thesis on Atwood.

I gave a talk on asexuality in Sherlock and bit my tongue when a giant asshole in the audience started in on how he was going to shoehorn an asexual character in his not-yet-published (because he doesn’t want to publish it now, since he doesn’t have the second book done, and he knows when the first book is published, the public will DEMAND the sequel, and he just doesn’t need that) sci-fi series, even though he had not heard of asexuality until he entered the room 20 minutes before. Luckily, the other panelist, who is ace, politely suggested he do some research first.

I got a bottle of wine from a former student, who said if she hadn’t had me as her workload teacher freshman year, she wouldn’t be graduating now.

I got to go to wine country for the first time since the pandemic–and a rock shop!

I got certified in CPR, since Dublin is happening.

Several of my students have Covid.

I didn’t get to see people close to me because of Covid, and a member of my chosen family has been diagnosed with aggressive breast cancer. So I’m still masking, and I’m doing my version of atheist prayer, and I’m rallying the troops.

Stay safe, my friends.

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Weekly Wrap Up

Chronic Pain, Misc–karmic mistakes?, Teaching

The third week of classes is almost over. Most of my students are going to be okay. A couple are not. A few are awesome.

In addition to the usual course load, I’m working with two of my former comedy students to produce half hour “goodbye” sets (they’re graduating): something I used to do before the pandemic. It’s a lot of work, but I’ve known these kids for years, and I want to give them a proper sendoff.

Anubis just got his stitches out, after yet another bladder surgery. An unfortunate bout of diarrhea means we need to rent a carpet cleaner soon.

I saw John Mulaney at the Golden One Center. I love him, but I don’t ever want to see comedy in a venue like that again. It’s too big. And I was seated in the front row balcony–a really narrow space. Every time someone had to pee, I worried one of us was going to fall over to our deaths. Is there a little bit of plastic to protect your drink from falling? Yes. Protection from YOU falling? Nope.

After almost four month, I was finally able to re-start my allergy treatment, at a different clinic. Because it’s been so long, they had to take my dose way down, and I have to go in every week now. On top of that, I still go to my regular UCD place to get my Xolair shots twice a month.

In other words, I used to have two shot appointments a month. Now, because UCD can’t seem to find an allergist, I have six. That sucks.

I got to see the National Theatre Live production of The Book of Dust, at the Tower Theater. They did a really beautiful job with it. It was the first time my friend and former Oxford assistant and I had seen each other in a long time.

I have discovered there’s a technical term for another way in which my body is weird.

I saw my ENT last week, because ever since Covid, or whatever I had at the very end of 2019, my right ear has been off: feeling stopped up, with low level pain. My ears have never been great: any change in elevation, even going to the foothills, is painful. It also makes me look awful: my eyes start to water uncontrollably.

In his exam, my ENT asked me to pop my ears.

I explained I couldn’t do that. He assured me I could. So I plugged my nose and blew.

“Oh, wow. You actually can’t. Nothing in your ear moved at all.”

He used a complex scientific term for what I was supposed to be able to do, one I can’t remember now and which isn’t coming up when I search for it.

I honestly hadn’t realized that everyone else could just pop their ears at will; I just thought my painful ears were part of everything hurting when it shouldn’t.

The good news: there’s apparently a treatment we can try, after we run a few hearing tests. As much as I travel, I hope it helps.

Finally, the Dean said a couple of week ago that if I only had 11 students for Dublin in the Fall, we couldn’t go. I did one last push. And it paid off. My 12th student has enrolled, so Dublin, here we come!

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Monthly Wrap Up

Misc–karmic mistakes?

I haven’t had the chance to blog in a while, so this is going to be quite the catch all. Here’s what’s happening / what happened recently, in no particular order.

After taking off my bra in the ER on 12/2, after falling and fucking up my shoulder, I finally put a bra back on on 3/2.

I discovered The Mitchells vs. the Machines, which is now one of my favorite movies of all time.

I visited Indy and Chicagoland, which allowed me to see Vanessa, Tiffany, and Denise. Along the way, I got to meet V’s “committee” at her neighborhood bar, have four servings of lamb, visit three breweries; have a private whiskey tasting, watch Turning Red with my niece, get asked about cussing by my nephew, get spoiled with great food by Tiffany; watch Labyrinth with my niece and Vanessa, guard my food from my kitty nephew; explore stand-up with Ben and Kevin; watch my niece learn to make cocktails with Vanessa, visit a horror store, a science and surplus store, and a bookstore with Tiffany, get kicked in the back by two different boys on two different flights, meet a new friend, Eugene, spring forward for hopefully the last time, and introduce Denise to her now-favorite action / superhero movie.

All the while, I’ve been struggling with allergies. Due to problems at UCD Health, I haven’t been able to get my allergy shots since December, and I feel it. I still have to wait a few more weeks before I can start treatment again.

Anubis has had yet another health crisis. Crystals and stones in his bladder resulted in a cat ER visit. And as I write this, he’s in surgery to get them removed.

I’m still trying to figure out my student loans. The DOE finally fixed their paperwork to say I just had the original, de-coupled loans back in December. I immediately filed for loan forgiveness again. They haven’t acknowledged receipt of the application. I emailed them, but the reply ignored my question completely and simply gave me a pat answer about loan forgiveness for teachers who work in k-12.

I’m worried that they’ll simply ignore my application until the temporary access to forgiveness goes away.

My break became less restful when I was given an exciting opportunity: taking over teaching this Fall’s inaugural Dublin program. I had to swing into action to create a new syllabus, videos, and other outreach materials. Not sure if it’s going to work; in this climate, enrollments are low, so the course may not make.

I’ve started the quarter now–most of my undergraduates are wearing masks. Most of my graduate students are not. While on “break,” I was able to set up every aspect of my four courses and to answer my former students’ queries, of which there were many.

This year also saw the latest day a Christmas tree came down: 3/21!

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Weekly Wrap Up

Chronic Pain, Misc–karmic mistakes?

Springtime is officially here, which means allergy season is in full swing. What’s making it worse: I haven’t been able to get my allergy shots this year. My new allergy doctor quit (or something, not sure), so none of us can get the treatment we need. My system is going to farm me out somewhere else, but they can’t see me until the beginning of March, and even then, it won’t be for treatment, but for an evaluation. And I have to go without any allergy medication for a week beforehand. See, they want to treat me like a brand new person who didn’t have a working treatment plan to keep me out of the ER.

I’m using my rescue inhaler every day already. God help me when I have to go off my daily zyrtec and claritin (yes, both: I’m that allergic to every. fucking. thing).

In other news, I’m getting ready for my show on Saturday: I’m headlining at 8 p.m. on 2/19 in Kleiber Hall. I rehearse* every day, and I’m happy with how it’s shaping up.

*Rehearsal consists of me saying the routine out loud while taking a brisk walk around the neighborhood. I carry a pen and paper to write down new tags. I probably am getting a reputation.

I’m still doing pretty well, post-surgery, but I still get fatigued really easily. But it’s hard for me to rest. The boy catches me doing things I shouldn’t and yells at me to go lie down. The file cabinets have been cleaned, I’m trying new recipes, and working on my syllabi for Spring, though.

I’ve also been watching one short film every day this year. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it up when I’m back in the classroom, but it’s been a good New Year’s Resolution so far.

Finally, it’s Valentine’s Day. I’m going to have a quiet one here at home, with Jack.

The green light in the pictures? That’s just a bright bulb on the Christmas Tree.

Yup. It’s still up!

Happy Valentine’s!

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Weekly Wrap Up

Chronic Pain, Misc–karmic mistakes?

It’s my half birthday! (Yes, I had cake.)

It’s been a little over two weeks since my surgery, which went well, though the immediate recovery didn’t. The doc and I were both relieved the surgery didn’t get cancelled; the nurses hadn’t even been told that was a possibility. I asked the anesthesiologist to use a smaller tube, due to the malformations in my neck and to my TMJ–she did, and I didn’t have a scratchy throat for days or major flaring of my TMJ. Instead, when I woke up, my back was absolutely killing me for some reason–and I was terribly nauseated. For hours.

Even though I was the first surgical patient, I was the last one out. The doctor expected them to admit me, but the nurses decided to send me home at 5 p.m., even though I was puking in the wheelchair down to the car. A little while later, I was on my hands and knees, with bile coming out into the bushes in front of my apartment.

All in all, the boy and I were at the hospital for 11 hours.

Once the nausea cleared, things were much better. I started getting an infection last week, but antibiotics cleared it up quickly. And I’m up and about and off the pain meds faster than anyone anticipated. I think it’s because I’m in pain all the time. If I lay in bed all day every day I hurt, I would be in bed all day every day.

That said, I’m being careful with what I lift and taking it as easy as possible. I get fatigued really easily, so I’m trying to let myself rest.

My shoulder is still messed up, two months after falling. It’s much better than it was, but there are still certain positions I can’t put it in, and I scream when I accidentally try to stretch it above or behind my head.

My friends made sure I had lots of yummy food the first week after surgery.

In other news, I’m sad Louie Anderson died. He has been one of my favorites since I was a kid.

The boy wanted to eat all vegetarian this week, so we’re doing that, including trying some new meat substitutes.

My car reached the unfixable point (more money to fix than I paid for it), so I had to buy another used car–in this market. Still, I got a decent price, all things considered.

It doesn’t have a working CD player, which means the hundreds of CDs, mostly burned into themed playlists, have to be replaced by an MP3 player, which is basically just going to be on shuffle forever. This upgrade hurts my OCD.

I’ve been slowly digitizing some of my old pics. Somehow digitizing apps make things fuzzier than just taking pictures of pictures.

Mostly, of course, I’ve been reading and watching tv. I recommend: Framed: A Sicilian Murder Mystery, Acapulco, Invasion, and Silent Sea.

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Dreaming of Serena

Misc–karmic mistakes?

Last night, I dreamed I was Serena Joy–the one played by Faye Dunaway in the movie adaptation. I was in my step-father’s dining room (lots of my dreams are set in his house). The Commander was dead, and Gilead was trying something new: it was dissolving all marriages and redistributing partners, to increase the chance of successful baby-making.

For some reason, I was going to be married off to a very young commander. I told a confidant that I suspected something would happen to make me a widow again soon after the wedding.

I woke up and told myself to remember this dream, so I could tell you about it today.

As I slipped back into sleep, Serena/I was retelling the dream story to help me remember it. Of course, it morphed into other things. I was all of a sudden Serena beset by suitors, other commanders who had always wished I was theirs instead of Fred’s.

I was trying to decide which suitor would allow me to be freest–for a woman in Gilead.

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My Womb’s About to Wander

Misc–karmic mistakes?

Next Friday, if I don’t get Covid and if my medical team doesn’t get Covid and if the hospital isn’t completely overwhelmed by Covid, I’m going to have a hysterectomy.

All of the pamphlets warn that I might be depressed, because I won’t be able to have children anymore, but aside from the general concern about having a major surgery, I’m elated to lose it.

When I started birth control after my son was born, I told God (I was a believer then) my terms: I would faithfully be on hormonal birth control until I wanted another child. If I got pregnant beforehand, I would have an abortion.

I expected that at some point I would want another. I expected to get married and build a family. Let me be clear, though: I was a kid myself, and I didn’t know myself very well.

A few years on, I knew I did not in fact want another child. Every time I pictured it, I pictured all of the hard parts: the sleeplessness, the not being able to go to the bathroom by myself for a few years, the arguments over pickiness. I love my son, and, even more importantly, I like him, but motherhood as a practice and vocation didn’t appeal to me enough to start over. Many relationships have either not really started or have ended because I won’t budge on this.

I was also afraid that since my son was so great, I couldn’t possibly get another child I liked. Would another child share our humor? Our affinity for reading and learning over sports? Our intellect?

Having another seemed like hubris, tempting the gods to temper my good fortune.

Having been abandoned by my son’s father when I was seventeen, two weeks before I gave birth, I was also wary to have another child unless I wanted one enough to do it completely alone. I didn’t think I would necessarily be abandoned again, but divorces and deaths happen. Now, too, I know that I don’t ever want to live with a partner again.

Being a single mother is really fucking hard, and I have no desire to repeat it.

So I’m thrilled that I don’t have to worry about an accidental pregnancy anymore. Excited that I can tell all the men my age and older who are just now ready to have children, as women their age approach menopause, that I’m not the one for them and that they won’t be able to think they can talk me into letting half their genes take up residence in my womb.

That’s not to say there isn’t sadness, though; it’s just not the kind the pamphlets warn about.

I’m sad when I think about how my one and only pregnancy, birth, and motherhood should have gone.

It should have been planned.

I should have been an adult.

I should have had even one person say, “Congratulations.”

I shouldn’t have wondered where I was going to live as I held him in the hospital.

I should have known more about who I am.

I should have been able to live as an adult for a while without also being someone’s mom.

I should have been able to date for a while without being a single mom. (So many men were jealous of my son and the fact that I’d carried someone’s child.)

I should have been more financially secure.

I should have been more in step with my friends as they were having kids, so we could have gone through this together.

I should have had fewer people assume I’m my boy’s sister, or sometimes now, even worse, his girlfriend.

I won’t be able to have another child at this time next week, but it doesn’t change anything fundamental. I’m still a working single mom; he’s just an adult now.

And I’m still the woman who wants to hold all the babies. Until they’re gross or crying. I’m still the woman who loves my son and my nieces and nephews. Even when they’re gross and crying.

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