From Today’s Sunday Instagram Post and a Comment Elsewhere

I’ve been fully vaccinated (2 weeks after dose 2) for over a week now. I still wear a mask in public, because I just don’t know who is vulnerable and/or high-risk. The other day I was at a store, and about half of everyone there wore masks. (Honestly I was surprised that many wore them.) This was the day after the CDC announcement, but I still wore my mask because my allergies were acting up, and I didn’t feel like dodging death stares for my symptoms. Anyway, I was paying for my things in a self-checkout corral. One of the masked workers walked up to me as I was heading out with my cart. He solemnly looked me in the eyes and said, “Thank you.”

What a bizarre and interesting year it has been. COVID isn’t over yet; the world at large needs relief.

It’s the middle of spring, so I decided to join Z and wear a dress. We’ll be back to church starting next Sunday. Should be fun.

Happy Sunday, y’all.

From Instagram, 25 April 2021

To go with the vaccine post from earlier today.

You already know this, but this coming Saturday is May 1. You know how excited and obnoxious I can get about my month.

I got my 2nd dose of the Covid-19 vaccine this past Thursday evening. Those who experience side effects, those hours are rather bothersome, but then those hours are over, like a switch flipped, and you’re feeling normal-ish again. Except now I’m immune. Well, in two weeks I’ll be fully immune.

Before my vaccine appointment I had a checkup with my doctor. My first one since 2017. A nurse and a med student were with him in the exam room with me. The nurse took my vitals: BP 123/79. HR 60. Wt 99.2. O2 96%. [By the way, I’m 4’10”, in case my weight happened to concern you.] The doctor looked at my bloodwork and said I was super healthy; that my cholesterol levels were better than his; that I was one of the patients he didn’t have to go to med school for. He had the med student give me a breast exam, which, at the time, was sorta comical, like maybe it felt like she was spreading and poking pizza dough with her fingers? She also gave me a pelvic exam, and she couldn’t find the strings to my IUD. The doctor checked and located them, but the IUD had shifted nearly into my uterus. So he inserted a clear speculum and showed the med student how to resituate the IUD. And I hummed a little tune as this was happening. And this caused cramps the same time as the vaccine side effects. The re-placing the IUD, not the humming.

Oh, is this too much information?

Throwing Back to 2009

Once there was a band called Mechanical Violet. They were a group of four ladies who loved the hell out of life. They covered a single song, “Postcards from Italy,” by Beirut. Becky had vocals and tamborine; Eleece had trumpet; Alicia had ukulele; I had clarinet. We had fun putting it together. A really fun memory from a much-cherished time.

The other day on Instagram I posted part of Mozart’s “Waltz Fantasy,” a piece I played on the clarinet in 9th grade, when I felt most in my prime. A friend from the Mechanical Violet days more or less commented on that post about hearing some Beirut for my next video.

So I got to work.

Found some sheet music for ukulele, flute, oboe, piano, and percussion. I also had to look up ukulele fingerings to convert from the tabs on the sheet music. (I also played lines from two strings instead of all four, because clarinets can only play a single line and not chords, and because this was already turning out to be a lot of work.) I kept everything in the key of C, since only I would be playing with…me. Me and my shadows.

Recorded the parts, put them together. Not perfect editing-wise, but definitely recognizable. As I rewatched this a small sob got caught in my throat. Damn you, nostalgia. Miss you, Mechanical Violet.

From the Instagram Archive: November 12, 2018

I’m exhausted, so I’m recycling content from another social media platform. And maybe because I’m so épuisée, I’m especially emotional. Which is okay to be. But I’m seriously about to fall asleep. Good night.

This is a newer article than the original post. It seems a pretty good general overview of stuff I read for work. This image links to the PDF of the article, if you’re interested in reading.

Helpless.

I read about cancer every day.
It’s my job, curating data for a database for an app that pathologists use to help diagnose cancer.
I hate cancer. I hate what it does to families, friends. I hate how it crushes them. I hate how helpless I feel, when I see friends whose parents have passed on because of it; when Reilly’s mom feels so nauseated and has to stay in bed after a round of chemo. That it has become a new normal over the past two years. But she gets up and lives the best she can. She takes a deep breath and finds the strength to smile despite everything. Nausea. Weakness. Mouth sores. She makes Sunday dinner and we eat together and laugh. And before we head home we ask about the upcoming week’s treatments or tests—another new normal. We make sure to pray for her.

While my job has no direct impact on her situation, I make sure to do my best at it. It’ll help someone.

So, not completely helpless.

Fangirl Introspection

Some public figures are incredibly generous engaging with their fanbase. I need to be careful with this, as it can turn pretty quickly into delusion. On my part. Like we’re friends or something. We’re not. I’m just a fan.

Take Instagram. And take violin superstar Hilary Hahn. Her account. I’ve been a fan for over 20 years. She (or her social media manager) has liked a few of my comments lately, and it’s been easy to crank out really lengthy responses to her posts. I mean, there are boundaries, right? A point when it’s too much? And I’ve just kept pushing, seeming the biggest weirdo. AND I DON’T EVEN PLAY VIOLIN.

Here are some of the comments I’ve made, from the most recent to three weeks ago. (These are not counting the ones she hasn’t liked.)

Pretty embarrassing. Yeah, it’s too much. Ultimately, participating in social media gives me the opportunity to come to terms with my fanaticism. Also, perhaps I realized too late that I’ve stopped commenting cold, and instead I have been using her posts as writing prompts. I haven’t been respecting her space. I’ve been trying to perform and practice writing in her space. Pretty rude.

So I’m trying to dial it back.

We’re not friends: I’m a fan. She’s an icon. There’s obvious distance.