Update: Iritis

New drugs seem to be working... Quebec here I come!

Oh wait... Ethics Presentation here I come!

Then Quebec... then Quebec...

Iritis.

Evidently, Pink Eye is not a big deal.

However, when you go to the Doctor two days after treating for Pink Eye with no improvement, and in fact a deterioration of the situation, that is a problem. The Doctor looks at you much more seriously, takes you much more seriously, and is concerned... much more seriously.

Maybe all a little too seriously.

I went to the Doctor again. Yes, yes, I know I had a mid-term that night (last night) but, I couldn't sleep because of the pain and really I couldn't see much because the light hurts too much. I hobbled to the pharmacy and clinics near me only to confirm what I already knew, they would not help me. I then decided that the mid-term could piss off, and that I needed a Doctor. It was still too early to call for an "after-hours" appointment, so I went for a consolation McMuffin.

I made it home and made the call. My appointment was at 1:45. I tried to study a little, with my one eye open, and then packed my gear, hopped on the bus, and went Uptown... again... I asked the very kind bus driver to let me off at the closest stop, and the did.

200 metres later brings us to the situation with the Doctor.

I showed him what the other Doctor gave me, and he said that is what he would have given you. Then with a much more severe ambiance, the Doctor told me that it was not Pink Eye, but in fact Iritis. Sure... Iritis... Ok.... Anyways, he gave me new drops, and he said that if there is no improvement in 24-48 hours I really really need to see a Doctor.

What does this mean for my Quebec trip this weekend? It means that there is a chance I cannot go.

Next stop was the pharmacy, and the Pharmacist had something to add... if there is no improvement in 24-48 hours (48 at the very very latest) forget going to the Doctor. Go to the Hospital. At that point I will need a specialist, and topical treatment likely be ineffective.

Great.

Back home, back to studying, to the mid-term, and home.

I wore sunglasses everywhere, but even they do not block out enough light.

Iritis sucks.

I Want Light to Die!

So. I woke up Thursday and went about my usual business. Get up at 10ish, do Physio for an hour, eat some breakfast while watching an episode of Farscape, and then get on to homework. Everything is fine, oh, then its time to go to school to train and then to go to my messed up ethics class (which is a repeat of many other classes I have been enrolled in), so I pack my bag, don't need much since I can't use my computer, and then get into gear. Door locked, shoes on, door open and BBBAAAMMM!!!

It was like in one of those poems, you're living your life in this dark tunnel that is your awareness and then all at once you get to the end of the tunnel and are embraced by this all encompassing white light. That was exactly what happened, except replace "embraced" with "slapped in the face" and "all encompassing" with "excruciating explosion of."

...then all at once you get to the end of the tunnel and are slapped in the face by this excruciating explosion of white light.

Yeah. That's about right.

So, my brain feels like its about to blow, but really, I thought nothing of it. In a few minutes my eyes have adjusted to the light off the snow and then I was good to go. Went to school, trained, went to ethics, sat there, and went home. No incident.

The next morning I noticed a change in my eye. Now, it was not just the obscene brightness of Saint John in the wintertime that was bothering my eye, but all light. Not only that, but evidently it was now turning red... or maybe pink...

Still. I had stuff to do, so I went on with my life. And so went Friday. And so went Saturday. And so went Sunday. Plus, it is hard to see a Doctor here, and even harder on a weekend...

Today. I woke up, and you know, my eye felt better. I was up getting ready to go to school. Door locked, shoes on, and BAM! Damn that light! So, it was not better. Still... I did not think much, I would go to the Doctor on campus, and get it looked at.

I arrive at my group meeting. The first thing said to me. "What happened to your eye?" Well, I guess it was that noticeable. Maybe I couldn't notice because my vision isn't great right now with my one-eyed squinting all day. Well, it so happened that the first thing to come out of the mouth of the next person I spoke with was: "What happened to your eye?"

Ok. Perhaps this is a problem.

Off to the Student Health Centre. I'll get an appointment with the Nurse or Doctor or whoever. I get there, and the Receptionist greets me.

Me: "I'd like to book an appointment with the Nurse or Doctor or whoever."

Receptionist: "The Doctor is in today and Thursday but she is all full."

Me: "Yeah, I just need to see someone about my..."

Receptionist: "Eye?"

Me: "Yeah, I just want to get it checked it out."

Receptionist: "Yeah, that might be a good idea. You might consider the After Hours Clinics..."

So, I guess it was noticeable.

I had class all day so there was no way that I could get to a Doctor today. I went to class and all I heard as I went through my day was "what happened to your eye?" There was also a whole lot of squinting going on. Well, a certain someone suggested that I skip class to go to the Doctor. Novel concept, as I had not thought of that. I do know that some of my classmates were concerned that I had pink eye (if my eye is pink then technically its a pink eye right?) which is ridiculously contagious. I thought about this concept, and though my class this evening was strictly mandatory, I thought I might be able to cut out after the quiz.

Right before class I went to the professor to explain my situation.

Me: "Professor I know you told us to tell you if we had to leave class, and I think I will leave after the quiz."

Professor (Looking Down): "Ok, what for?"

Me: "To see a Doctor, I am having trouble with my eye."

Professor (Looking Up): "Oh! You should get that checked out. After all, you only have two."

And that Ladies and Gentlemen leads me to this evening, walking down Union St. alone slowly stalking an elderly man... Our steps weren't in sink. He knew that I was behind him and that I was not far. I knew that I had slowed to match his pace and that I was staying behind him.

All of that is true. The one thing that I did not mention is that I may or may not have been... misplaced. To say lost is such a strong word... misplaced is far better. Eventually he became too suspicious of my presence and he stopped to let me past. At which point is said...

Me: "Uh Sir, is Crown Street this way."

Sketched out Gentleman: "Right up ahead."

Me: "Thanks."

And all at once I was no longer misplaced. I found Crown Street, and I found the clinic. I waited, the Doctor stabbed my in the eye with a beam of light and then I was free to go. Pharmacy, walk to the bus in the rain (what kind of winter is this?), bus, home, then here to you.

As I write my one eye is half-shut. I hope that after this ill-mannered adventure I will be able to write to you both eyes open.

We will see.

Snowstrom

I opened the door to the World,

And the World pushed its way inside.

Snow and ice where whipped and hurled,

As I emerged with no place to hide.

The door I pulled shut behind me,

As I turned to face the storm;

Knowing full well that I'd never be free,

Chased forever like by a woman scorned.

And sure enough, in a step or two,

I could see nothing but the white.

But still I stepped, trying to break through,

Fighting it, for my life.

Another step and my spirit broke,

As the storm brought me to my knees.

My face touched down, ice freezing mt throat,

With my furs quivering in the breeze.

With a feat of strength I pushed and rolled,

Turning my eyes unto the heavens.

I watched the snow like falling gold,

Finding freedom in my reverence.

Mark this Day in History

Let it be clear, this day ought to be marked in all history books from now until the rest of time. An incredible event occurred that could potentially be the first of a horrifying trend sweeping across the nation. It is as disgusting as it is outrageous, and there is no way to possibly console the victims marred by this tragic event.

What event could be this shocking, this obscene, and this obtuse?!!?

I ate a vegetarian meal... by choice...

I wanted to take a photo, but I just couldn't.

I would write more on the subject, but its simply too painful... I cannot bear to face the event again...

Niban

So, there is a series called Afro Samurai. In this series Afro is the second strongest warrior in all the land, called Number Two, or, Niban. It is demonstrated that he is Niban by a headband that he wears that has "II" written on it. Afro's Father was Number One, or, Ichiban, but when Afro was a boy, the old Niban killed his Father and stole the Ichiban headband. Only Niban can challenge Ichiban, but anyone can challenge Niban.

Through a set of circumstances and the process of elimination I have determined that I am Niban. The student in our class with the highest grades was given a certificate - she is Ichiban. We were told that four students had 4.0 or higher, and I knew one of them, that meant that I was Number Two or Number Three. Looking at one more piece of information which was a leaked group listing with the high academic performers highlighted puts me at Number Two.

So. I am Niban.

Why did I bring up the story of the Afro Samurai and of the story of how it is the goal of whoever possesses the Number Two headband to try and defeat Number One to take their headband and to achieve godly strength? Because though there is no real incentive in the MBA, I am Niban, and that makes it my duty to try and become Ichiban.

Am I going to try and expend all of my energy on this? No? I have many other things taking my time, like work, and writing, and trying to remain sane. But... if I can, and if I have the energy I will make a move for that Number One headband.

Ichiban... I am coming for you!

Mired

I feel stuck in a mire,

So thick and full I cannot see.

Its black, and it burns like the smoke of fire.

I simply must be free.

And yet the sky is clear;

The wind 's upon my face.

But still I feel a fear,

That the mire will give chase.

Perhaps I cannot see it;

That's not to say it isn't there.

Its clear to me my path 's not lit,

And none can say how I'll fare.

All I know is that it's real,

It clouds my body, mind, and soul.

If I get a chance away I'll steal,

And break free to my goal.

So its thick and full and I cannot see,

And my path is lost to fire.

But I'll stand tall; it won't defeat me,

I'll break free of this mire.

Student

Student [Stood-nt, Styood-]

-noun

1. when cheap-gourmet is not an oxymoron, but a way of life.

Sure, we eat a lot of KD, and wieners, and beans, and chicken noodle soup (but only when it is on sale for $0.89 or less because $1.12 is toooooooo much), but that does not mean that we cannot appreciate the finer things in life. No, in fact, by being subjected to a student's diet we actually have a greater appreciation for the finer things that one might imagine.

Just think, if you are used to eating well, though you thoroughly enjoy each meal, it is just another great meal. Now, imagine the contrast that we face. KD. KD. KD. KD with wieners. KD. KD. Scallops and Bacon in a Cream Pasta with a starter of Fois Gras. KD. KD. KD. KD...

So we don't get to appreciate that gourmet lifestyle every night, but still, at least we get to live like that sometimes...

I've Made it to Saint John... Again...

We rose with the sun earlier than God to see the beautiful sunrise nothing (it was dark ok!). I hobbled downstairs, groggy and disheveled, looked at the computer, typed in my flight number and... my flight was delayed. Back to bed.

We rose... again... to get ready to go. Somehow we made it into the car with all my bags, and to the airport. Great. We were there early, no problem, I just needed to hop into the baggage check-in line and I would be good to... problem... The line stretched from the Air Canada desk back around, more back more around, doubling back and around, finally passed two different Timmy's and to the end. Actually... I was amazed we ever found the end. Thus began the wait. It was a little entertaining because every once in a while you would see someone trying find the end and you could listen as the other line-waiters said "the end is that way" with a dismissive point.

If you were to ask someone else in the line when their flight was, you would find that most of them were not leaving for hours... they would say "I knew there would be a line so I decided to come 4 hours early." Excuse me... miss... there would not be a line if you came on time!!!

Moving on. Air Canada people were coming through calling people who were on earlier flights, and when they came for me I was too happy to go with them. They checked in my bag (without weighing it, meaning I could have had that damn 74 lbs in there like I did originally before I reduced it to 50ish... grr...) and sent me to oversized baggage for my weapons.

Totally eventless. I hope someone from the Toronto Airport reads this... in TO they always try to call security on us or some kind of chaos... thank you YYC for your support in transporting my SPORTS EQUIPMENT.

Baggage done. Over to securi... crap. Another line. Another long long line. I was in the line and it was here that I parted from my highly attractive chauffeur. Don't get me wrong, this parting was not easy, but it did seem easier than the first time though maybe that is because the gap is shorter. She was gone, and I was alone, with about a zillion disgruntled people waiting to get searched.

Line.

Line.

Man picking his nose one up and one over.

Line.

Boarding pass check...

Line.

Line.

Line.

Security... So. Laptop out. Bags down. Pockets empty. Belt off.

One hand clutching my pants I hobbled through the little scanner... machiney... thingy... and for the first time ever... I was not searched. Not only that, but most of my bags went through right away. Alright, I did say most, because I could swear the look on the x-ray guy's face was "TNT" "TNT" "TNT" while my humidor went through, but it did eventually come through, and I was not questioned.

Through the terminal then onto the plane. Then sitting on the plane. Forever. Wait, the plane is not moving. So we wait. And wait. And wait. And finally we are moving. We get to the de-icing pad and wait. And wait. And wait. And FINALLY we are on the runway and into the air.

It was a decent flight featuring "Surrogates" "Nine" and one episode of "Flashpoint" as well as mediocre service and no food. I could have sworn that my itinerary said Breakfast Included, but I guess I was wrong. We touched down in Montreal, unloaded, cleaned, reloaded, and... waited. Over to the de-icing pad... and we waited some more. So, when we did make it into the air I though I had better check my boarding pass for my next flight. At this time it was about 6 pm and my next flight took off at 6:45 pm...

It was not that bad. We landed. Hopped off, and when I spoke with the Air Canada ground personnel they told me my flight had been delayed... undoubtedly because half of us had not yet landed. Eventually they did start loading... we took the stairs down to the tarmac and onto the runway. We got the the plane and boarded. Looks like the plane held 20 people including pilot and co-pilot. I have not been on a plane that small since I flew to Winchester, Indiana. The safety features were... minimal... the instructions were in English only... and though we had no beverages or bathrooms if we had a problem we were told just to walk up to the cockpit and ask the co-pilot. Fun!

In the plane. Loaded. Luggage loaded. Waiting. Waiting. Waitin... what is with all this waiting anyways? Aha! Moving, quickly... Oh my this is not a pilot... this is a race track driver... and we are all on a race... Hmm... I guess the little planes are quite maneuverable on the ground... and "errrch." De-icing... again...

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Then... RACING!!!

Actually we taxied for so long I was confident for a few moments that we were driving to Saint John. I do not think it would take long though, that pilot was really givin' 'er.

FINALLY. In the air.

FINALLYER. In Saint John with my lovely landlady to pick me up. Baggage is unloaded. People grab there bags, and then... about half of us keep looking at the conveyor belt expectingly. Evidently they did not all fit.

So, I tell them the colour, they write down the bag number, and write down my address. Which leads me to this moment. Sitting at my keyboard... naked... and alone...