How Many Miles To Babylon?

You know I'm not really too upset about losing my job. It's embarrassing, but I am mollified.

THE BAD THINGS ABOUT WORKING IN A GROCERY STORE:
1) No weekends off
2) You have to work holidays, and I didn't get holiday pay
3) They kept giving me 36 hrs a week, the bastards
4) Minimum wage
5) Physically demanding job
6) After traying, baking, and packaging something like 15,000 cookies, they will start to haunt your dreams

THE PERKS:
1) Free cookies! But wait I don't really like cookies
2) You get to make cakes! But I suck at this and hate cake. Seriously. Cake can suck my balls. Similarly, icing makes me gag. I once ate an iced cupcake at work (it was extraneous! And the light-brown icing looked delicious!) and I felt sick for the rest of the work day
3) ???
4) PROFIT!!!

I mean, it wasn't really my thing. And I'm not kidding about the sucks-at-cakes thing. Every time I got near a cake it was a cake wreck. It's not because I don't have any training, it's just a fundamental aspect of being me. I'm - I can't - When I'm - I'm a little dyslexic, okay? So this one time (and it was only the second time I wrote on a cake, because I avoided doing it at all costs) I had to write "Happy Birthday" on a cake and as I was doing it I got so caught up in forming the letters and making sure I got them in the right order that I switched from cursive to block lettering without realizing it. Can you even write in block lettering with icing? Well, I did. And half were caps and half were lower-case.

Which isn't a disaster on the scale of Happy Falker Satherhood but it looks like crap, especially if you consider that the spacing was all wrong and then I couldn't really fit the person's name on the cake. (It was a small round layer cake.) I know y'all are thinking, "WTF? Why would a person do that?" I know it's weird, but a typical page of my handwriting looks like three or four people wrote it because I switch styles so much. (Alternately, like I'm channeling dead folks.) And if you're like, "Well, just don't do that" or "Try harder" ... it really doesn't work for me. There's a part of me that is fundamentally sloppy. This doesn't stop me from making art art, but it's how I know I will never be a professional draughtsman or a graphic designer.

Or a cake decorator.

( OMG I SHOULD EDIT MY JOURNAL ENTRIES THIS IS TOO LONG )

BUTTHOLE

Things I need to do:

- call insurance and find out if ADHD testing is covered
- when they say no, call psychologists and find out what they charge, pick cheapest one
- find new therapist
- schedule appointment for Thursday, only day off
- call pdoc, reschedule appointment for ... well, Thursday, only day off
- schedule post-surgical follow-up appointment to find out what happened during surgery, better make this one next week or so
- find new job
- get new career STAT
- move to other side of continent
- kill self

I got a negative performance review at work. I'm stressed. I started crying when she gave it to me, not because it alone upset me but because I've been a bit highly strung.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do about this doctor's appointment. I might be able to reschedule but my doctor is going on medical leave soon and then I won't be able to see her! For months! So I guess I have to see another internal medicine doctor or something, but they won't be as awesome as Dr. Awesome. I just need some trazadone, so I can sleep.

I don't feel like I can take off more time because I got dinged for attendance because I called out twice and left early once for illness. I'm having trouble working this much though. Even if I don't get fired I will have to quit because this job is too exhausting for me. Plus my boss scares me and that stresses me out.

All in all, I am grateful I had the (apparently unnecessary) surgery. This is my first experience with general and narcotics, and you guys know I love experiences.

Slept on the couch last night because I didn't want to walk up the stairs (I can and I have, I'm just lazy). I usually sleep on my side, so I wasn't comfortable. I slept until 2 o'clock with my hands on a pillow on my abdomen, then I woke up when my sister was leaving for the airport. My arms were cold and semi-asleep. I moved my arms under my pillow and slept until 6, when my dad got up. By then I was getting sore and in pain again but I couldn't sit up to reach my pain pills and didn't have any water to wash them down. But it didn't really hurt, though. It's just uncomfortable and I can't really use my abs at all, plus my stomach is bloated in weird places so I can't really bend in the middle either, so it was more that I couldn't sit up rather than I was in too much pain to sit up.

My little brother Ben visited with me and insisted on borrowing my pillows so he could "warm up." (I put my feet on him, he was freezing.) I asked him to get me a drink of water, and he yelled, "Mom, can you get Rebecca a drink of water?" Ben! I said. You are so naughty. I took one naproxen sodium 550 mg and two hydrocodone-APAP 5-500 mg (generic Lortab) and my brother helped me sit up and prop the pillows behind me. One Lortab doesn't do much more for me than regular Tylenol, but two make me feel kind of pleasantly drowsy, but not at all buzzed. I was shocked to find out it was like 8 o'clock because I figured it was about 12. Whatever.

Also, I'm totally hungry all the time but I figure it's better not to eat. It's hard enough to pee and I don't want to even think about having a bowel movement.

I have either a much higher tolerance for pain than I expected, or I grossly overestimated the amount of discomfort I would be in. I've had menstrual cramps, gas pains, sinus infections, and burns that hurt worse than this. However, I'm immobilized to a surprising extent, though still not as much as I've been laid out by gas pains, which are my IMMORTAL ENEMIES. They give you kind of a stabbing pain in the abdomen and you CANNOT MOVE. I hate that!

On the other hand, though, I am mad that I had the surgery because my boss is, by second hand account, totally pissed at me for missing work. She's kind of a mean boss, I'll admit, but I'll still be as fired regardless. It's frustrating because when you're ill, you really cannot do anything about it to make yourself more of a valued worker. My parents kind of brought me up to be the kind of person who believes if one fails, one should just work harder to make up for it, and nothing short of the best is acceptable, and it kind of kills me to realize that I can't live up to my expectations for myself no matter how hard I try. I literally can't work; and I know that there are laws protecting me from, like, discrimination and shit, but they are also kind of useless. I'm stuck in that three-pronged situation that most people with chronic diseases in America are stuck in: can't focus enough on health while working to recuperate, can't stop working because then I can't pay for healthcare, can't get better job because I'm sick.

It's not as bad as it sounds, though, because honestly, my health is actually pretty good and I am blessed with many resources to help me with these problems. It's hard to feel sorry for myself when I know there are other people, some of them my friends, who are much worse off than me. Right now I just want to take care of myself so that I can eventually help them out. I figure it's the least I can do.

(If this seems kind of loopy, well, I am on painkillers.)

I don't know for sure because anesthesia and Valium does weird things to a person, not to mention hydrocodone, but I think that what happened in surgery today is that when they looked inside my ovary, they found that the cyst had gone away on its own. So I'm kind of bummed about that.

I feel kind of like someone was punching me in the stomach all morning, but I'm not in very much pain. They only made two little incisions.

I'm drinking Pellegrino mineral water. This is the last thing I'll consume before I go under the knife in about nine hours.

I'll probably have a wicked headache tomorrow, from the lack of meds, caffeine, and the food I normally consume. I'm not looking forward to this whole thing, but I might as well get it over with.

The operation is this: they will put me to sleep, insert little cameras on sticks, puff my abdomen full of air, and poke at a little cyst in my left ovary until it disintegrates. Then they will sew me up again. My doctor said he had "no intention" of removing my ovary, as I'm "young", but it's a remote possibility. I would not be too upset if I lost an ovary. I have two and anyway, they weren't really doing anything.

I don't know what I'll do post-operation, though. I guess I'll sleep or read a book or something. I expect my mom too be mean to me about this, but whatever, hopefully I'll be anesthetized for that too.

I guess this feeling of indecision, uncertainty, making it up as I go - it never really goes away. As a kid, I thought adults always had it together, that they mysteriously knew what to do in every situation. I didn't know that when I grew up, I would still feel as unmoored and directionless as a ghost ship.

My cousin Steven got married yesterday. This is my cousin who is almost my age exactly, just one month younger than me. We even look a lot alike. I identify with him strongly, and we were best friends when we were 10-13. I feel weird that he's married. It just seems to grown-up for him. He's a kid! He still looks like a kid and everything. Oh, I know that he's old enough to do it, and I don't doubt his maturity or sense of responsibility, but beyond anything I know that I'm not ready to get married. I don't know if I'll ever get married, and I walked around sad for a while wondering if anybody would ever throw a party for me if I don't get married. It seems pretty random. I'm not less a person if I remain single, am I? Yet nobody would spring for me to get a DJ and a sweet dress and a catered meal. Maybe I am less a person if I remain single. I made the wedding all about me and was in a bit of a funk, but that was mostly because I realized I would probably get to talk to Steven for all of forty seconds and I haven't seen him in ages. I mean, I know him well enough to realize that my being there or not being there would matter to him, but I've seen him so little lately that I'd met his fiancee like once before so it didn't really matter how I acted at the wedding because no one was paying attention to me. I was right about how much I got to speak to Steven, but I managed to talk to the bride. ("Hi," she said. "Hi," I replied.)

My point is that I'm realizing how much my path is taking me away from the stuff that the rest of my family seems to be doing - early marriage, college degrees, fancy churches (you should have seen this motherfucking church), getting a "good job" (earning a middle-class income workin' for The Man!). I'm not saying that I'm a special snowflake or anything, but I've always been the odd one out and I still am. I don't know if they'll accept me. It makes me sad.

My grandmother in particular kept talking to me and she was full of advice. I was telling her that I don't want to live in Murfreesboro, that I want to move to California, and she said I shouldn't go. Things cost too much over there, she wouldn't get to see me again, etc. Okay, thing is, I don't really know what I want to do. I have some ideas about what I don't want to do. Everyone has advice for me, saying do this, don't do that. I don't really trust what they say. I can't listen to anyone. All this talk from other people has drowned out my voice, and even I can't hear myself anymore. I don't know what I want anymore. I can't remember what are my fears and what are others.

But in a way that's normal, right? I'm confused and conflicted, but heck, who isn't. I have some ideas about what is important to me and what isn't and what I'm willing to risk, and maybe I shouldn't talk to anyone about anything because it confuses me. I'm beginning to realize that I'm never going to have everything figured out, and that if I try to wait until I do, I will wait forever and never do anything.

(Regardless I think I need to do a few sessions of therapy. I've got a lot of issues to sort out and I'm getting the feeling I should talk to someone professional. *Sigh* It's unfortunate that good therapists are so difficult to find, not to mention that the crappy ones are just as expensive.)

I think I'm going to go red. With blonde highlights. This red, which is described as "copper shimmer" but does not look like copper to me. Well, red hair is really orange in color, not red.

Today I went to the doctor's for the pre-op stuff, and I remembered that I promised myself I would make enough money to dye and cut my hair by the operation, you know, in case I die so I can look pretty in the casket. I am happy to say that I have earned enough, but I don't think I'll go to the hairdressers. I probably don't have time! I'll just use the box dye, once I've got over my hesitation. (You've always got to get used to the idea first.) I'm not sure how I'm going to do the blond highlights though. I know I can use foil to partition dye, but I'm not sure I can do that on myself and I don't think any of my siblings would help me. Because they are crappy!

I shaved the cat a little yesterday, to everyone's consternation. Most of all to the cat's consternation. I'd like to finish the job but she's hiding from me (big surprise). I wasn't hurting her at all, she just found it uncomfortable and expressed that by chewing on my fingers. It's not so much that I can't afford to take her to a groomer as it is that I don't have time to do so! My schedule is inconvenient. And no one will do anything about it! Mom promised me she'd take the cats to the vet, but she hasn't bothered. It's really starting to bug me. I know she's quite busy, but you've got to make something a priority before it gets done.

I do not know who will drive me home from the surgery. Mpom says she might be gone by then, and dad is working, and Susanna will be ona tryip with mom. Those are the only drivers in the house and I don't have any friends to ask. I think I may have to hire a propstitiute off Craigslit.

I think I will go buy that hairdye now to cheer me up. I wasted my day off waiting to see a doctor who never showed up. I think he was delivering a baybee. Stupid OB/GYN.

My molluscum contagiosum has gotten all inflamed and gross. Check it out. It's really itching, too.

My sister the fading flower told me it was REALLY REALLY gross, but she's exaggerating. I think.

Just got home from an eight-hour shift.

GDI I really want the Sims 3. Or a copy of the Sims 2 that works.

Ben is crying because he can't have ice cream. I don't care why he's doing it, it still makes me feel bad for him. Bon-Bon has glasses now and I wish that I could post of photo of them because they are awesome frames, but I don't have the camera fired up. I got the camera out.



My Fafa is here tonight. He's taking one of the girls down to AL for a weeklong visit.



Still feeling sick. Sinusitis is absolutely ridic. There's no reason for it to suck this much! But I think I will sleep better tonight because I still have a couple sleeping pills left. I wish I made more money so I could afford better healthcare.

I don't really believe that beauty is anything other than a way of looking at something. Dying flowers aren't very pretty in gardens, until you really look at them. They're so complex, drying and decaying a little, the colors fading and re-blending, and the thing I like best about them is the veins in the flowers become clearer. They somehow look more living as they're dying.

In other news, our garden needs more work, and flowers are super-easy to photograph. Just fill the frame with the flower, squeeze the shutter, and boom. You're done!















That last picture is a prickly pear blossom and you can't really tell in that picture but there is totally a bee in that flower.



It's either sleeping or dead. I have no idea, but it was just nestled in there and that's really cool.

ときどき, pronounced /tokidoki/ (rhymes with "Okeydokey!"). Means "sometimes" in Japanese. Actually a lot of Japanese is like that, it creates new meanings by repeating root words instead of adding suffixes or prefixes like English does. Gives Japanese a real sing-song feel.

I MADE THIS FOR DINNER AND IT WAS AWESOME



IT'S CHICKEN, Y'ALL!

GRILLED CHICKEN WITH STRAWBERRIES AND NOODLES TOSSED WITH BUTTER, PARSLEY AND/OR CILANTRO, PARMESAN, AND YOUNG BASIL LEAVES, TEA WITH MINT, BEER

DAY BEFORE YESTERDAY, I MADE THIS



CHICKEN

WITH BARBECUE SAUCE I MADE MYSELF, WITH PASTA, ARUGULA, PARMESAN, TOMATOES, LIME, AND ICED TEA

IT WAS AWESOME

I AM AN AWESOME COOK

I EAT ON THE COFFEE TABLE

I WENT TO WORK AND THERE WERE SOME WEIRD CLOUDS IN THE SKY AND I TOOK A PICTURE WITH A STREETLIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF IT



THAT ... ISN'T SO AWESOME REALLY

BUT I BOUGHT AN ICED COFFEE MOCHA CREAM DARK AND WHITE CHOCOLATE FROZEN WHIPPED THINGY ON THE WAY TO WORK LATE SHIFT



AND IT WAS AWESOME!

Every single person in my family is on vacation or in some other ridiculous situation, and I am home alone. I've been by myself since Friday, and I'll be by myself until this Friday. I have made a few observations about being alone.

a) I think that without having anybody to take care of, I obsess over the cats. I bought them a catnip mouse, got them new beds, flea collars, etc, and have been petting with them and playing with them constantly. They showed their appreciation by peeing on a bedspread and then pooping in the corner. *sigh* OKAY I CLEANED THE LITTER BOX! SEE? ALL NEW LITTER! YOU CAN POOP IT THIS - WAIT - HOLD ON - WHAT THE HELL - SEE THESE BLOODY TATTERED REMAINS? THEY USED TO BE MY LEGS! I KNOW YOU DON'T LIKE TO BE PICKED UP BUT I WOULDN'T HAVE PICKED YOU UP TO SHOW YOU THE LITTER BOX IF YOU HADN'T oh forget it, poop wherever you want, you incontinent kitty, I'll just clean it up like I always do

b) I can get so much more done when I'm alone! Does this happen to y'all too? Tell me the truth because I don't know why this is. Today I did the following: Mailed two books that I sold on Amazon.com, called for a doctor's appointment and found out that Dr. Candy Cane, aka Dr. Awesome, is booked til July 17, what the -- made dinner, changed the cat's litter, washed and dried a bunch of comforters as part of my attempt to rid the house of fleas, transferred money to savings, and even bathed myself. I mean, I'm wearing makeup and a complete outfit. Even a bra! Look at what I'm wearing:



There's no way I would have been able to do this if my family was here.

So, you guys - does productivity nosedive for you when you live with a bunch of people?

Because on paper it doesn't look like I do much for them - pick Ike up from school, do supper dishes twice a week - so I'm not sure why that is, but I've noticed it before.

c) I've reverted to my college schedule. I generally keep later hours, getting up later and going to bed later, and though I've been lectured on this a hundred times about how it's a bad habit, etc., at this point I really believe this is my natural rhythm. I'm able to get up early whenever I want, of course, but I naturally tend to be a night owl. I don't want to beat myself up over it.

d) Since I found a camera - more pictures:



When I took the picture of my wounded finger, I was shocked to see how much it's healed in the last day. It's much less red than it used to be, and a significant portion of the skin has grown back. The redflesh bit has scabbed over, I guess, because it's not sticky the way it used to be. I added the dotted line to show how much I originally cut off. You can't tell the depth of the slice from this angle, but it was about the thickness of a carrot peel.

Beg pardon for the ugly picture, butt (heh) here it is anyway:



A mysterious bruise appeared on my butt/thigh/hip conglomerate this morning. I have no idea where the hell it came from or why it's on my BUTT of all things. It looks like somebody hit me with a poker, but that didn't happen. I'm so clumsy (see finger above) that this happens a lot. Shoot.

c) Speaking of the camera, my mom said to me a couple weeks ago that she thought the pictures I took of the Grand Canyon were awesome and she wanted to know more about the camera I took them on. I was kind of speechless for a minute, because I took them on the extremely crappy camera I was borrowing from my little sister, because they wouldn't let me use their much, much better camera, claiming I would drop it or that I take too many pictures of stuff or something. So she had just inadvertently complimented my photography skills in overcoming the natural limitations of that particular digital camera yet still expressing an artistic vision that was compelling enough to make her view them as higher-quality images than the ones she and Daddy had taken. But she had no idea that she was saying that. It was weird.

I tried to say that it was the photographer, not the camera, but I realized that would be really rude considering she was the other photographer, so I stopped halfway through and made a gurgling sound.

Okay, the crappy camera? 2 Megapixels. If you don't know what a megapixel is, this is not very many megapixels. This camera also tends to reproduce colors incorrectly and only works well in outdoor lighting. Also, the memory card only holds like 24 pictures. It was very tricky to get good pictures with it. I had to review and edit them as I took them, deleting the ones I didn't want, so I didn't use up all the space on the card. At night I emptied them into the computer, and that's the first time I could really see if they were crap or not.

I don't know, it's kind of emotional for me, because everyone hates on my occasional photog hobby and I'm often officially banned from using the equipment, but I guess that mom does like the pictures after all.

d) I won't be talking about the Tiller thing. I will tell you some memories I had, when I was about six or seven, participating in an pro-life picketing: It was hot. The sign read "Abortion Kills Children," and it got real boring holding it up.

EDIT: The Grand Canyon pictures, which I took on the 2 megapixel camera.

Man I have been so stressed out the last two days. Yesterday I had a freakout over one of the cats disappearing. But she spends a lot of time outdoors, she's an active cat, I had no reason to freak. I'm stressing for no reason.

I seriously have to get a doctor's appointment.

I got my paycheck today, and since I was out of a bunch of shit I've already spent $25 of it. $132 for a little under 20 hours of work. I did some math in my head and figured it was for four days of work, and I will probably make more this week because I'm working like six days out of seven, but then I got confused about what week my paycheck is for and gave up. Even now I'm just staring at it, not making any sense out of it. It's a weird sensation, feeling stupid and frustrated with an undercurrent of disbelief because I know I'm smarter than this. I felt like that when I took math. Any math. Also globalization and most of economics.

Anyway, I bought a lot of combs that I realize, in retrospect, were probably intended for black chicks. It's called "Amber Waves," for one. But it's a comb, you know! Why are those race -- racially -- race-coded or whatever. You know, the racial equivalent of "gendered." I wanted a wide-tooth comb and it was literally the only wide-tooth comb available in the store, for $3.99, in a pack with a comb type I already have (but who cares) and a weird kind of pick/narrow tooth comb that I'll probably use for parting. I'm actually pretty excited about this, considering it is just a bunch of combs. It's "ionic anti-static" and supposed to reduce frizziness and prevent breakage.

The combs are something I actually need. I've basically stopped combing/brushing my hair altogether unless I have to go to work, and then I wander around looking for someone else's comb/brush to borrow. Sometimes I can't find one. My combs have all disappeared into the Void. This $3.99 purchase doesn't count as a splurge to me. What does count as a splurge is the face massager-cleaner thingy I bought. A strange device, battery powered, that holds a little pad velcro'd to it, and you're supposed to clean your face with it. I picked the Dove SkinVitalizer and then there was a bottle of face wash next to it that I also picked up (needed item), so that altogether cost me $25.

Revlon Amber Waves ionic combs
Dove SkinVitalizer facial cleansing massager
Dove Gentle Exfoliating foaming facial cleanser

So, yeah. I spent $25 on soap, combs, and a vibrator. Kill me dead.

I cut of a good bit of my finger today. I was making ginger tea, which in this case means I was putting fresh sliced ginger to steep with the tea, but instead of actually using a knife to slice the ginger, I was using a peeler to make thin slices of it because the increased surface area would allow more ginger flavor in infuse with the tea. Well, we have this fucking peeler that has the blade perpendicular to the handle instead of parallel, and it's really sharp and peels pretty well but I have cut myself with it many, many times. I tend to accidentally peel my knuckles along with the carrots. (But then I'm generally clumsy. I also grate my fingertips and slice my thumb.)

Well, this time, as I sliced off a bit of ginger, I also sliced off part of my left index. It didn't hurt - I didn't even feel it - but immediately after, I felt like stop. Rewind. Undo. Go back, I've changed my mind, I'd really rather have that flap of skin attached to my finger. Then I thought, Where did it go? It's not on the peeler, not on the stove - where did it go? My finger started oozing blood and then it started bleeding quite heavily, so I grabbed a napkin (the last napkin) and held it in my hand, so it would catch the blood but not rub against the skinless part. I remembered first aid class and held it above my head.

( Details and a chat log )

It finally stopped bleeding after like an hour or too. It's only hurt intermittently, though, and pressure seems to help. I put some anti-bacterial stuff on it and a band-aid. I had held my arm up for so long that it got very numb and cold.

The cut itself, like I said, is about one square centimeter in area, and in depth - well, it's about as deep as a carrot peel. Because it was a PEELER. So not too big or anything, but the biggest I've had. Also I saved the little bit that I cut off because, you know, it's the first piece of my flesh that I've accidentally cooked. In ginger tea. I may post photos later.

Anyway, if any of you doctor-types want to give me free medical advice you're welcome too.

Am I really pretty or not? It's a hard question to answer, isn't it. The answer will probably not make much difference in my life because I am already intuitively aware of how many social boobie points my looks can get me, if you pardon the expression, and I know that physical attractiveness doesn't seem to really have any major effect on one's chance at romance, intimacy, and breeding. But still, I dwell on it.

I think I figured out why listening to this TED talk. (By the way, what a terrible acronym!) Delivered by Dan Ariely, whose scars make him look bad-ass, the lecture explained why having a less attractive person near one can make one seem more attractive. I've encountered that idea in fiction before, in a short story called "Complements" about a service that provides unattractive female escorts to accompany more attractive stylish ladies around Paris, so I'm going to call the slightly uglier in this situation the Complement, ok? The Complement has to be less attractive, but not that much less attractive. And the Complement needs to resemble the Attractive. In those circumstances, the Attractive will look a lot better than they do on their own.

I think this was basically my problem in my teens. I was uglier, though only slightly, than my sisters. I mean, that's not really the right way to put it, I was less attractive than they were and it's still true today, but I also highly resemble them. Now, if somebody, like a dude, was interested in a Johnson girl, he would be presented with several options. And naturally nobody's going to go for the ugly sister. They all would rather waste their time throwing themselves at Itty-Bet, and it's too bad for them because the large selection presented to her has made her really picky. Meanwhile, I got no action even though I was hungry for it. Now the same thing is happening with Suki at her school, but that's more about her friends than her sisters.

Anyway, I'm just saying I was hit on a lot more at Memphis where my only familial competition was totally engaged. Even when she wasn't, she was. Dated the same guy for like eight years before she married him. So, one of the benefits to moving out will be that I will become hotter by comparison!

The other day I was reading about early puberty and the deleterious mental effects it has on girls. I was thinking about ways to make early menstruation easier for girls, including giving them a little kit or basket well before average age of menarche (maybe around ten) filled with little stuff they'll need like tampons, pads, razors, whatever, maybe one of those little books about menarche written for girls, when suddenly I realized that I should totally do that for my sisters. I, excited, promptly told K. about the idea, and she scrunched up her nose, shook her head, and said, "Nah."

"... But why not?"

"Rebecca that's GROSS."

"No, it's not, and the idea is they can keep it and use that stuff whenever they need it so they don't have to be embarrassed by asking for it. And you know Mom, she won't just drive to the store and get anything if we're out of it." (I once ran out of pads so I passed menstrual blood into a cloth diaper. TRUE STORY. But I didn't leave the house that particular time or anything, I just hung around and eventually we got some more pads.)

"No. No."

"And also so they can try both tampons and pads and see which they like better or --"

"STOP TALKING! Aaaah!"

So she's a little ... I was going to say sensitive, but I think squeamish is the right word. But whatever, I'm totally doing it myself. I got my cusp-of-puberty 11-year-old sister small packages of the following: tampons, pantie liners, pads (with wings, cause the ones without wings suck), and moistened wipes. I was going to medicated wipes but they cost too much. I left it on her bed and according to her and her roommate, she was initially surprised/embarrassed but she's cool with it, and she'll definitely use it if she needs to but she doesn't really need to yet. I count that as success!

I'm not done yet, though. I think I'm going to buy the hair removal paraphernalia, but I'm not sure what exactly to get. I don't think I'd buy her those cheap one-bladed disposable razors, because those are the only kind I've cut myself with. I cut my ankle quite badly once, and I still have the scar. I also want to get her a book of some kind, sort of a book on puberty, menarche, and maybe body image for girls, but I don't know what yet. Also a red pen to mark a calender so she can track her cycle.

What else should I put in the kit?

Also: first menstruation story to get it out of the way, because I know everyone has one. When I first got my period, I was too shy to tell anyone for three days. I stole my sister's tampons, but I didn't know how to use them, so I sort of spread them out and used them like pads, to catch the blood.

EDIT: I bought her The Period Pocketbook which met my criteria: it has drawings and diagrams, information on anatomy of boys and girls (which I know my sister needs in particular), lots of practical how-to stuff about periods, not too much information on sex or anything overwhelming for the 10-14 crowd, and absolutely nothing on weight loss or exercise. There were a couple others to choose from at B&N, but the weight loss thing knocked a lot of books out; I just feel that 10-14 is way too young to worry kids about their weight or body shape.

I was standing next to my car, keychain embroidered with my name in my hand, when I saw the clouds. The backdrop dome of the sky was white glowing overcast. Toward the east sunbeams poked a few holes in the cover, far away from me. The clouds were black.

It was break time. As I did for all my breaks, even during high school, I headed for my car so I could sit still for fifteen minutes and be alone. A moment to catch my breath. Indulge in solitude. I feel uncomfortable around people all the time, their glances are sticky, eye contact exhausts me, my thoughts get tangled up. Besides, they make us help customers who approach us during break, and we're wearing uniforms, so it always happens. I'd sat down, scrounged around for some change while wondering if it was worth it to spend a dollar on a bottle of water, and listened to the classic rock station. A woman wearing the uniform dark collared polo shirt was parked a few spaces from me, smoking with the window cracked.

I stood up to go back into the store when I saw the black clouds in the sky. Filling my entire range of vision. In a way, larger than anything I'd ever seen. Varied with gray patterns, complex shadows, swirls and counter-swirls. In the distance, lightning struck silently. The clouds visibly writhed in the wind, slowly crawling forward, disgorging over the green landscape I knew was behind the grocery store, out of my vision.

As tormicious as they appeared, I felt unthreatened by them. I could read the clouds, and I read that they wouldn't spin out a tornado, just rain and thunder. I wasn't afraid of the clouds. I realized I had been staring at them slack-jawed for longer than was reasonable. If anybody saw me, they must think I was simple.

A heavy drop of water wet my hair. I locked the door to my car and jogged back to the store. A cloudburst was coming and I didn't want to be stuck in it. I had my calm restored, though I was about to go back into the closed-in bakery. I'd just seen one of the few sights in my life that encompassed the true meaning of the word awesome.