ISleepInADrawer.com

Independence

Zach's job has taken him to the state capitol for a few days. Thus, from tonight on, it's been kitty and I alone in the apartment. I've managed to keep myself busy... but, with my living quarters sans Zach, I've discovered a few functions he's served in this family that I never noticed before:

1. Zach cooks: As luck would have it, he also cooks plenty. So, I've been picking my way through leftovers for meals to prevent me from exercising the smoke detector's batteries.

2. Zach keeps the cat busy: I had to let her outside earlier this evening, as I was unable to get any item of school work done with her moping around, meowing, and this adorable (yet disruptive) curiosity. Apparently, while I usually churn away with papers and readings, Zach's usually kept the cat occupied.

3. Zach keeps me from hitting the panic button: When Suzie didn't come back to the door to be let in after being out for four hours, I spent a half hour walking around the neighborhood looking for her. I considered the matter urgent enough to dash out of the apartment in 28ºF foggy weather wearing sweatpants, a t-shirt, one glove ("No time to find the other!!!"), a knit cap, and leopard-print flip-flops. And what I lacked in cell phone and apartment keys I made up for in a mobile phone with a dead battery and a bag of kitty treats. I found her two blocks from home, carried her squirming and scratching home (she obviously enjoyed herself tonight), and discovered to my simultaneous relief and horror that I'd left the door unlocked. After getting the cat in and eating five or six Oreos, I picked her back up (with one gloved hand and one ungloved hand), looked her in the eye, and said, "I can't say for sure, but I'm willing to bet that you're the smartest mammal in this room."

All-in-all, the sooner Zach gets home, the better.

Tender Moments

Zach is pretty religious when it comes to watching his Sunday morning news programs.

While watching ABC's "This Week with George Stephanopoulos":
Me: "It's so good to be home."
Zach: "Sh!"
Me: "Okey-dokey."
pause
Me, sliding up next to Zach: "Did I mention how good it feels to be home?"
Zach: "Uh-huh."
Me, nuzzling Zach: "It's too bad you couldn't come with me."
Zach: "Ah! Noooo! Your nose is tickling my ear!! Now I can't concentrate!!!"
Me, playfully: "I guess Russ Feingold just isn't holding my attention much this morning."
Zach, frowning and defeated: "But I want to see..."
Me: "Poor baby."
Zach: "Can you go back to Chicago for a little while longer?"
pause
Me: "I missed you too, dear."

Publicity

I'm torn when it comes to commitment.

Don’t get me wrong: I'm all for it. I adore Zach, particularly when he gets so excited that his sentence structure disintegrates to a series of slurs, purrs, and mumbles (this usually involves candy or a rather dull Meet the Press interview).

Here's where my brain is thrown into a twisting, convoluted overdrive: public expression of commitment.

This holiday weekend, I journeyed to Chicago to witness the wedding of two terrific friends from college. I'd even been asked to be a groomsman, for the first and perhaps last time (as I proved to be a rather inept one in a few instances that are not currently relevant). Aside from being deeply honored to be asked to participate in (what I view to be) a union more perfect than the More Perfect Union envisioned in the federal Constitution, I was tickled by the fact that this beautiful couple sought to have their relationship recognized by law and community.

To me, beautiful and healthy couples should do this. I don't view marriage as something all must do to be successful, or an institution set up to define the core unit of family (as I can think of seventeen examples of families existing and thriving sans marriage… and that’s just in the past thirty seconds). Instead, it's an affirmation of mature couplehood (coupledom), and a core unit of one of the numerious types of families that can exist. It seems quite straightforward to me: two folks in love (in that sort of healthy, supportive, reassuring way), whether or not they've already integrated their lives domestically, economically, and financially, decide it's time to put out a little All Points Bulletin and say, “Hey, just so you know, we're going to make this officially official. I want [spouse] to get my stuff when I die, decide whether to pull the plug, wipe my butt when I can't, hold my hand, stand by me when no one else will, and dry those tears when I need it. After all, [gender pronoun of spouse] will love me in all the above situations.” Life isn't always a bed of roses; the strength of quality coupledom lies in the partnership - in times both good and bad, we'll get through this together.

Of course, that's easy to do with state-supported legalized unions (read: straights only, except in a handful of countries and U.S. states). So, for my friends this weekend, I must admit I found myself a little green with envy when, as they walked down the aisle, I realized that they, for the cost of a marriage license from the great State of Illinois, obtained more legal rights than Zach and I, for a few thousand dollars and the trouble of a gay-friendly attorney, could obtain through putting one other in our wills.

My thoughts failed to evolve much further beyond that initial pang of envy, however, as I suddenly realized it was my turn to escort my corresponding bridesmaid down the aisle.

"But hey, a will isn't half bad," my pragmatic side says, "Something is better than nothing." I'm to the point where I want to make sure Zach gets something rather than nothing, in the event of my untimely departure. I want something more than the cheap no-legal-rights-whatsoever certificate issued by the City of Seattle when we registered our "domestic partnership" (besides, I lost the certificate in our move during the summer).

I'm starting (ever so slowly) to crave something more substantial than the phrase, "Oh, I'm living with my boyfriend."

But, what's a troupe of "Godless sodomites" to do in such a situation?

I can hardly accomplish what my friends pulled off this weekend: a near flawless Catholic wedding. For one thing, I'm not Catholic. For another, do any religious denominations permit the blessing of a homosexual union these days? Granted, I haven't done my homework, but I doubt it'd be something for the two of us to accomplish with any ease. The religious services we've attended recently have been Catholic and Anglican, which will probably induce eye-rolls among a variety of readers (Do I even have a variety of readers?). And how exactly would two men walk (prance) down the aisle? Particularly when both Zach and I have bulging handfuls of family members (some closer than others) who either remain in the dark or did not exactly react with open arms and loving support in regards to our respective sexual orientations? Thus, services would largely be confined to friends, of which we have a varied and light Diaspora scattered across the continent. How many would make the journey to Seattle to witness a service in which no legal rights were obtained and the consent of a religious or spiritual authority is at best a nod of "Well, at least they aren't pedophiles"? I can’t wait to see how I phrase that little slice of reality on the engraved invitations.

On the other hand, is it pure Blind Arrogance to even assume that
1. My relationship is as stable and supportive as that of the countless married heterosexuals and "committed" homosexuals out there? Perhaps our late-night ponderings of political maneuvers in the Knesset, the fate of President Roslin on Battlestar Galactica, our cat’s once-persistent urination on the now-infamous orange chair, and Seattle’s persistent mass transit woes just don’t make the cut compared to marriages across the globe.
2. Our family and friends would see such an endeavor worthy of their attention? One of my biggest fears, after all, remains: what if I threw a party and no one came?

Such considerations make an already stressful situation (being a part of the wedding party this weekend made the stress heaped upon bride and groom, even with the support of family and friends, a much more obvious) much less appetizing. As my cravings for recognition grow, no doubt I'll merely satiate them with some minor legal action: drawing up a will, for example. Something more substantial than that will have to wait until financial, cultural, familial, religious, and logistical constraints are eased on all fronts.

In the meantime, we have a cat, a messy apartment, and two friends who, when I saw them off Saturday night at O'Hare to begin their Scottish honeymoon, caused Three Things to pop into my head:
Thing One: "Man, I love these guys."
Thing Two: "Boy, I sure am glad they got married."
Thing Three: "Someday, I want what they have."

And I don't mean a red-headed bride.

The Lesser of Two Evils

While watching season one of Queer as Folk and browsing the news headlines simultaneously:

Me: "My God, I don't know what's worse."
Zach: "What?"
Me: "Well, those abysmal lines between the ho-bag guy and the guy from Talk Soup... or..."
Zach: "Or what?"
Me: "Or the fact that Ariel Sharon's new centrist party is called 'National Responsibility'."
pause
Zach: "Probably a draw."

Sovereign

I thought I could resist posting snapshots of André Boisclair, the new leader of the Parti Québécois.

But, obviously, I can't...

I seem to have a knack for picking out attractive politicians.

But, while I had to go searching through the online media for news of Stansilav Gross, I did not for André Boisclair. The latter made at least "minor waves" in the United States due to his status as the first openly-gay person to head a major North American political party. But, while it might've been an issue down here, it thankfully was not up in Québec. Nor was his past admission of cocaine use (while a provincial minister). Instead, the real controversies center around, as usual, PQ sovereigntist aspirations, and the ability of a Duceppe-Boisclair rule over the sovereignty movement to turn aspirations into a third referendum on Québec independence.

Ah, a political controversy surrounding actual policy, not personal matters... How refreshing! After all, how many media outlets reported that Jim McGreevey admitted to being gay, but omitted the corruption within his administration? Enough said.

So, take a glance up north, and - sure - marvel at Monsieur Boisclair's incredibly handsome face. But, take note at his policies, rather than who he might sleep with at night. I, for one, am not thrilled by the thought of an independent Québec; but, I do tip my hat to our neighbors to the north who, again, appear to give two flips about private lives, and devote attention instead to more pertinent matters.

Tragedy

I've already previously confessed to a shameful infatuation I once had with a fictional character... a certain fictional character from a J.K. Rowling novel named Cedric Diggory...

And now, just after seeing this character thrive and die on the big screen... let me tell you...

...the infatuation is back.

Respectfully submitted,
Mrs. Cedric Diggory

Buffers

About ten days ago, I completed my first graduate school course: a half-quarter course in molecular biology. I've been told time and again by students further along in the program: "Don't worry about grades... just pass the classes."

So, I wasn't worried when I discovered that I'd received a "B" (3.0) in my first class.

But, then I started listening to my fellow classmates, and heard comments like, "Oh, I got an A-... thank God... that's really low..."

Really low?

I rushed up to a program administrator's office and asked her, "Just what exactly is passing in this program?!"

Apparently, a B- (2.8).

I mumbled something along the lines of, "I thought I'd done better than 'barely passing'..." and left.

Passing ("D-" back in college, right?) has been moved up to a B-. A 2.8.

And I earned a 3.0.

Wow. So much for an academic buffer zone, eh?

A Burden's Burden

Here are the five words I didn't enjoy hearing after being rear-ended in a fender-bender this evening:

"Oh, I don't have insurance."

She said it so matter-of-factly. As if it's the norm. As one would say
1. "Oh, of course I don't eat meat," at a vegetarian party.
2. "Oh, I hate Bush, too," at a Democratic Party fundraiser.
3. "Oh, I was guilty, too," at a maximum security prison facility.
4. "Oh, I like dogs," at a meeting of the American Kennel Club.
5. "Oh, I use oxygen as a final electron acceptor, too," at a meeting of Aerobic Respirators Anonymous.

The one-word reply I wanted to give: "Bitch"

Instead, I left matters of yelling and cursing to my very-capable Spine: Zach. God, he comes in handy all the time.

Machine Compatible

Thursday, after my phone had what can only amount to as a dropped-it-one-too-many-times psychotic episode, I turned to Zach and said, "I need to get a new phone this weekend."

Granted, upon moving to Seattle some two-and-a-half years ago, I'd chosen the cheapest (read: free) phone available with my plan. So, as anyone knows who's tried to call me for the past two-and-a-half years, I get what I paid for - poor signal, archaic number system, dull keypad. But, for the most part, it served the purpose of a phone: dial a number, talk to person. That's all I wanted.

But, I guess they don't make phones like that anymore.

Saturday morning, we ventured to my local mobile provider...
We enter...
Twelve cheerful employees simultaneously: "Hello and welcome! How can we serve you today!"

As many of you might recall, groups larger than four or five tend to give me the willies. But, I resisted the urge to run screaming back out into the street, and instead marvelled at how a technology shop barely bigger than my living room could harbor twelve employees prepared to tackle a couple of gay guys who happen to walk in on a Saturday morning.

I walked up to the one nearest to me, a spritely youth who looked like she used several illegal substances to make her spritely:
Me: "Uh... I need a new phone."
Her: "Okay!"
pregnant pause
Her: "What sort of features do you want?"
Me: "Features?"

Apparently, phones are now used to e-mail, organize data, play music, grill tuna steaks, and file your taxes.

I wouldn't be surprised if coronary bypass features are also an option.

Me: "Uh... I want a phone that will... you know... just let me call people..."
Her: "No cameras, palm pilots, or instant messaging?"
Me: "No... I have a camera already?"

(When I get really confused, I make statements in question form.)

Her: "Do you want speaker phone?"
Me: "Uh... Yes?"
Her: "Here's a nice model that comes cheap if you renew your contract with us for two years."

(Finally! Words I can understand!)

Her: "And it comes in all of these colors."
Me: "Blue, too?!?!"
Her: "Yes, blue as well."
Me: "Then this is awesome! I'll take it!"
Her: "Oh, well we also have a model upgrade that comes with a camera and expanded keypad just over here..."
Me: "No, I want this one."
Her: "Or, you can change your number and I can bring the cost down further."
Me: "No, I need to keep my number. Ring me up for a blue one."
Her: "Are you sure you don't want our palm pilot feature?"
Me: "Just a blue phone with speaker."
Her: "Any other colors?"

At this point, I was ready to cry. Especially since my primitive brain had only fixated on the phone's color, and I had taken visual cues from Zach on the other features she'd tried to pass my way. A half hour later, after both she and her manager had tried to sell us the Shroud of Turin, I finally walked out of there with my brand new blue "flip" phone.

An hour after that, I was horrified to discover that I loathe all of the ringer options.

Epiphanies

1. Basic Cartography: "Wow! Brazil is big!" - U.S. President George W. Bush, upon being shown a map of Brazil, South America's largest country (in both area and population) by Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva. I hope the rest of you at least had an inkling of Brazil's scope and magnitude.

2. Animal Husbandry: "Maybe we should just move." - Me, upon discovering that the cat had, for the upteenth time, peed on the orange chair. Since I believe in karma, I'm pretty sure I'm being punished for some past misdeed.

3. Rapid Eye Movement: "Do you know what he did the other night?! He woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me that Peres had been ousted by Peretz as head of the Israeli Labour Party!" - Zach, describing to friends at dinner on Friday night just how difficult it can be to get a good night's rest when the possibility of early elections in Isreal looms.

4. Head of State: "Some chick." - An anonymous guy on the bus Friday, telling his friend about the apparent victor in Liberia's recent presidential run-off elections, Harvard-educated grandmother and former World Bank economist Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf. She will be Africa's first elected female president, by the way.

Fantasy

I can't say for sure, but I'm willing to bet the farm that my new physician is hotter than yours.

Critics

Last Thursday, just before I became ill, Zach and I attended a pumpkin carving party. It was my second year going, so I was determined to up the ante in terms of creativity.

Which means that I cheated and used a pattern, carving a menacing kitty in my pumpkin; thus, I had plenty of time left to gorge myself on Halloween-themed refreshments.

Zach, ever the artistic one, was inspired by the host's flag collection, and spent most of the party delicately carving the UN seal into his pumpkin.

Lo and behold, at the night's end, Zach had won first place in the competition, and I tied for second.

Triumphant, we ferried our jack-o-lanterns home and displayed them proudly outside of our sliding glass door. A day later, I was quite ill, and Zach was quite busy taking care of a difficult patient. But, we did manage to prop ourselves in front of the window in the den long enough to see what the real critics thought of our work:

Squirrels, one-by-one, ran up and devoured our jack-o-lanterns.

A piece of kitty's face ripped off here. One of kitty's legs there.

The really fun part centered on the meticulous dismantling of Zach's geographic masterpiece. First, the Great Australian Bight and the Timor Sea; then, the Arctic Ocean; next, the Mediterranean Sea.

By Halloween, there was nothing left of the United Nations seal except for a few pathetic fragments of an olive branch. The menacing cat looked more like a discarded corpse.

As luck would have it, however, our mauled jack-o-lanterns, the army of squirrels devouring them, and our own cat licking her lips as she watched the rodent armies through the window all combined to repel trick-or-treaters. Thus, in addition to the prizes we obtained from the pumpkin carving party, we are now gleefully devouring our way through two bags of candy, as the squirrels devour their way through our creativity.

Ex Post Facto

When I agreed to see what my cerebrospinal fluid looked like, the ER staff spent some time going over the procedure and its risks.

They must've glossed over the fact, however, that one rare side effect is an odd headache, brought on by general perpendicularity.

It first hit Tuesday evening at a most inopportune moment. In what should have been a young (hack) scientist's time of triumph, I was mere moments away from submitting my first complete grant application online when, suddenly, I was overwhelmed with one feeling and one urge:
- Feeling - "James, the world is sitting on your head."
- Raw, Instinctive Urge - "You must lie down NOW."

Oddly enough, I somehow ignored the instinct to lie down, and instead mustered every ounce of strength I could, though in general cognitive agony, to muster a feeble call:

"Z-z-... Z-Zaaach?..."

It should be noted that Zach has been a tremendous trooper through my now three ER visits in six weeks. I joke to folks in the lab that he's been "a good wife who takes care of his husband." But, let me pause for a moment and admit this (just between us girls): I get choked up when I think about all he's done.

We pretty much know our way around there now. The nurses recognized us from Saturday night, which means they sent in an ex-Marine to obtain blood this time. My head was still pounding me into the dust when suddenly, the nurse asked, "Do you feel an overwhelming urge to lie down?"

"Y-yes..."

"Well, why don't you?"

I'm persistently amazed at the instincts I hypocritically shun while embracing others. Especially since, as I sat in the ER cradling the worst headache my 25 years have ever seen, I ignored the raw urge that accompanied it: "Lie down. And so I did.

I've never feld a million bucks. I'm not horribly religious about huge sums of money. Whenever I'd watch Duck Tales as a child (basically: every day), I'd turn my nose up every time Scrooge would go for a swim in his fortune. Sometimes, whenever I'd vaguely think, "Hey, it'd be fun to swim in money," I'd immediately teach myself a lesson by running up to my piggy bank, emptying it on the floor, running my sweaty plump fingers through it, and smelling my hand, recoiling in horror at the stench of coins. Naughty Scrooge: quit stroking your First Dime!

Though I've never felt a million bucks, I'm pretty sure I've now felt like a million bucks. As soon as my head hit that hospital pillow, I turned to Zach and pathetically slurred, "This feels soooooo good, honey! You should try it!!" Apparently, the perpendicularity of my head [body-perpendicular-to-ground: head feels wrapped in barbed wire... body-parallel-to-ground: rapture], made for an easy diagnosis: post-spinaltap headache.

Alas, I traded Ease of Diagnosis for Vague Prognosis. Sure, I'll live. But, for now, the head pain has actually been deemed "a mild version" of this side effect, and I was thus deprived of two treatments available for more severe cases (which, apparently, are pain levels high enough to leave patients numb with feelings akin to, "I want to die."). Instead, I was pumped full of fluids, told to see my physician on Monday, and given a prescription that has made the past few days of graduate school quite interesting: vicodin.

I've had to take it "as needed" as the pain returns. Zach says vicodin, when he took it in law school, made him "irrationally talkative." A labmate says vicodin made her sleep for twelve hours at a time. I have been neither talkative nor sleepy.

But, at the most random and inappropriate moments, I've had the urge to laugh (for hours on end) at nothing whatsoever.

My labmates have become used to it. But, for classes, I've had to rush out of the room, feigning a sudden bathroom emergency.