Everything Hurts

When I crawled into bed last night at 9:30, I expected to fall right asleep. After all, I had been sleeping on the couch for 45 minutes before I extricated myself from the clutches of the futon. I clawed my way up two flights of stairs, peeled the scratchy contact lenses out of my bloodshot eyes, and blissfully pulled on my PJs. Half in tears, I climbed under the blankets and realized that I was just too tired to fall asleep.

How does something like this happen? Well, we had a long stinkin' weekend, that's how. Let me give you the timeline:

Friday
5:30 PM -- Met the running club for a easy, 3.5-mile pre-race jog.
6:30 -- Dashed home to clean up and head over to Celtic Fest. (This festival probably deserves its own posting, but I don't have time for that now.)
7:00 -- Found our friends and walked around all night eating kettle corn.
10:00 -- Marched back home and dropped into bed (walked 1 mile on Friday).

Saturday
6:00 AM-- Alarm went off way too early.
7:00 -- Hubby's parents arrived and we walked to Celtic Fest for the Celtic Classic 5K.
8:00 -- On the road to my 5K PR of 25:00. Woohoo!
10:00 -- Scurried from the race awards ceremony to grab a bagel for breakfast. Hubby was the 1st place kilted runner and 7th overall finisher, an award that earned him $50 in Celtic Fest food and drink tickets.
10:30 -- Ballet class after a 5K race isn't a good idea.
Noon -- Hubby picked me up at ballet, got me a coffee, and took me home to ice my foot and shower.
1:30 -- Walked back to Celtic Fest where we ate lots of food, listened to music, and watched Irish and highland dancing exhibitions.
4:30 -- Dragged ourselves home again (walked 2 miles on Saturday) for a nap.
6:30 -- Collapsed on the couch with WaWa hoagies and House, MD season two.
9:45 -- Back in bed for another too-short night of sleep.

Sunday
5:45 AM-- Up bright and early to get ready for our 21.1-mile Red Cross Relay Race.
7:30 -- Race started. One of my teammates led the first 4.2-mile leg by several minutes, so I had the unique experience of being in first place for almost half of my first leg. Hubby ran all 21.1 miles and I ran two 4.2-mile legs.
10:30 -- Hubby finished his iron run a few minutes before my team finished. He ended up finishing third in the iron run category and we finished second in the mixed men-women team category. We all got medals...woohoo!
12:30 PM -- Came home, showered, and hobbled down to Celtic Fest to spend the rest of hubby's winnings on two beers, a basket of fish and chips, and two ears of roasted corn.
3:30 -- Gave up on being fest-acious, so we limped home (walked 1 mile on Sunday).
5:30 -- Rented another disk of House and picked up steamed chicken and broccoli from the Chinese takeout next to Blockbuster.
9:00 -- Fell asleep on the futon while hubby played Lego Starwars on his Gamecube.

So, to recap, this weekend I ran 15 miles, walked 4 miles, survived two races and a ballet class, and managed to consume my own weight in food. By the time Sunday night rolled around, my whole body ached so much that I just couldn't fall asleep. I couldn't even get comfortable on my own pillow.

But, so you don't think I'm as miserable as I sound, I should clarify that I had a lot of fun this weekend. All the soreness, grunting, and whining today is just a reminder that I was able to do things this weekend that I didn't think I'd ever be able to do. That's pretty exciting, and you know what? I'd sign up to do the whole thing over again in a heartbeat.

Of Mice and Endless Degrees

If you've ever read my blog before you know I'm a graduate student. This is my fourth year working on a MS/PhD in engineering and I'm hoping to finish everything by the summer of 2008. My time here is beginning to feel endless, even though I have a theoretical goal date to complete my degree. Occasionally, my husband and I start to dream of life on the outside where people with so-called "jobs" make alleged "salaries" for doing supposed "work" after which they have fun with their theoretical "social lives". Then we laugh and say, "Ha! We're going to be in school forever. Life out there can't be all that great anyway, right?"

I realized just how long I've been in school when the mouse on my computer started making funny noises. I started hearing a dry, scraping noise when I move the mouse. In an effort to diagnose the problem, I checked out my mousie undercarriage. I've got an optical mouse, so the only thing visible on the bottom of the creature is a bright red laser spot and three raised pads that let the mouse slide around smoothly. I scraped away the grime that had collected around the pads, but that didn't help the scratching noise, so I took another look.

Upon closer inspection, I realized that each sliding pad fits into a little molded ring on the base of the mouse. I assume the molded ring is there to help the monkeys in the mouse factory stick the pads in the right places. Anyway, as I looked at my mouse sliders, I realized that the pads have been worn down to the level of the molded rings. WhenI slide my mouse on my desk, the rings scrape on the laminate surface and make that dry, scratchy noise.

Then I looked at my desk. The whole mouse region is worn and rubbed so the color is a little lighter than the rest of the surface. In retrospect, I suppose using a mouse pad could have prevented all of these problems, but the point of this story isn't to educate you on the merits of a mouse pad.

The point of this story is that I have now realized that I've spent way too much time sitting at this desk, rubbing a mouse back and forth on a table. So much time, in fact, that I wore away the sliding pads on the bottom of my mouse and scratched the surface of my desk.

My only consolation is that when I finish (maybe, someday, possibly, potentially, eventually, perhaps) people will have to call me "Doctor". Too bad I won't be able to do much of anything useful, like saving people or delivering babies. That's the problem with getting a PhD. You toil, you suffer, you sacrifice your 20s for the good of "science" or "art" or "society" or whatever, and in the end, you're still a pretend doctor with no actual skills.

You know what? I'm okay with that, I think. Just don't ask me how much longer I'm going to be in school...

What is a narp?

I have recently discovered a common, yet unpopular and therefore obscure creature. It is known as a narp. In case you are unfamiliar with this creature, let me give you a little more information.

A narp is a short-lived creature with an average lifespan of 2-3 days. Actually, the 2-3 days is merely the active adult phase of its life cycle. The inactive larval phase lasts a few weeks.

Narps are parasitic pests that prey on post-adolescent females. The adult narp appears on the skin of its host as a small raised lesion, varying from the size of a pinhead to the size of a lentil. Even after the narp has been removed from the lesion, the inflammation may take days to subside. If the narp is large, removing it may damage the skin and lead to formation of a scab and possible scarring.

It is almost impossible to predict where and why a narp chooses to invade its host. That is because a narp does not really have cognitive abilities. In fact, the narp isn't really a creature in the traditional sense. In reality, a narp is nothing more than a No Apparant Reason Pimple.

Yes, that's right. I'm talking about that dreaded, monthly, unavoidable, embarassing, unwarranted, and painful affliciton, the NARP. Ladies, you know what I'm talking about. The NARP is that little reminder, "Hey guess what? It's just about time for you to make a trip to the 'Feminine Products' aisle in the grocery store."

NARPs are frustrating. I'm 25 years old and I have relatively dry, clear skin. And yet, once a month a NARP pops up out of nowhere. It reminds me how little control I have over my life. The NARP is like the sudden silence when a roller coaster reaches the top of the first big hill. When the chain drive disengages, all you hear is the collective inhalation of a couple of dozen people. You know the ride will be over soon, but that moment of terrifying silence seems suspended in time.

On a morning when I wake up with a NARP, I can say to myself "Well, it'll all be over soon," but I know how miserable the next few days are going to be. I can't stop the process; I can't get off the ride. I just have wait at the crest of the hill and then endure the g-forces for a couple of loopdiloops. When I finally hear the squeal of the brakes at the end of the tracks, the NARP will be gone, but then I'll get to stand in line for another couple of weeks until I get on the roller coaster again.

If you're a guy reading this, you may not understand what I'm talking about. That's okay. Just remember, the next time a woman in your life shows up with a not-so-successfully-disguised NARP, remind yourself how lucky you are NOT to be a woman.