one month ago today

Jari and I were tootling around Safford Arizona taking in the sights.

I had missed a cemetery tour in Phoenix the Saturday morning we left because

I had my nose in a paper writing experience rather than behind the camera lens.

Safford had  terrific opportunity for walking an ever so old cemetery.

Today, a month later, I would much rather be out with a camera flung over my shoulder.
Alas, there are things I must do today.
School seriously cuts into a life. Seriously.
Before I started this bachelor's program, I had asked someone how many hours a week they were spending in their program at a different institution of learning.
Ten hours.
Okay. I could do ten hours. I couldn't do 20. I could do ten.
I don't tend to waste too many minutes of a day and now I know that ten hours includes many minutes.
Like, my oatmeal cooks for 2 minutes in the microwave in the morning while I hit my hair with a curling iron.
Ten hours in a week (if that is what I'm actually spending) takes the place of a lot of things.
I'm not telling you that I won't be glad when it's done.
I certainly will be ... and I'll even be glad I did it.
And in the next few weeks I am going to get very good at writing a APA format paper really fast.
Just so I can take this camera of mine out of the house, fill the gas tank with gas, and snap some photos.
In the meantime, my stomach is growling for oatmeal and ....
I have some discussion posts to write on the levels of management in the place I work.

On the bright side, I called about Brock's follow up appointment on Monday.
He has been at home and going stir crazy.
I had no clue who this doctor was that he was suppose to follow up with and found out that it was the first trauma doctor who saw him.
Me: "What do you do when you see him in the office?"
Office: "Look at him."
Me: "I'm a nurse. I'm looking at him and he is doing great. Are you going to do lab work or another CT scan?"
Office: "Not unless he is having problems."
Me: "Then do we need to come in?"
A day and several phone calls later, they assured me that he didn't need to be seen.
So ... we established that he could go back to work next week.
Then, pulling the little ol' mom card, I told him he couldn't play sports for 2 months.
Hah! That went over like a lead balloon!
Tell a 19 year old active person that they can't play sports and see what kind of reply you get!
I caved and told him not to play anything where he is going to get slammed in the gut.
And then I told him what to watch for so he doesn't bleed out on the volleyball court.
I'm thinking he'll behave ... for the most part.
And when July 1st comes around and he hasn't been readmitted, I'll breathe a little easier.

I've inhaled my oatmeal. Off to practice writing skills. With complete sentences.