Mr. Jason Lubin. He was my 7th grade English teacher and I was at a critical point in my life. I was feeling alone and friendless and didn't think my writing was any good. He thought otherwise and invited me to join his Writer's Club, a group (not so coincidentally, I suspect) of misfits who loved to write. We got our own table in the cafeteria, and we published a collection of writings for the school. I've had other great teachers, like Mr. Marc Hartline in high school, but it was Mr. Lubin who profoundly changed me. He made me feel valued, more than my parents could as much as they tried. They had to love me, I reasoned, but he didn't. He didn't have to reach out to us, the geeks of his Writer's Club. But he did. And my life is better for it. I cringe now to read the stuff I wrote at 12, because I've matured as a writer, but it was good for a 12 year old. A 12 year old who was hurting and found herself pulled into a loving environment at school. For years, I've been meaning to track him down and say thank you, 15 years later, as I write my second screenplay and have published work in college publications. I finally figured out what middle school he's at, thanks to the Internet, and someday, I'm going to make that drive to Maryland to see him in person and let him know that the help he gave one child made all the difference in the world to the adult she became.
- Current Mood: reminiscent
I'm bipolar and currently in a mixed state, What was the last thing that didn't? (Or make me want to.)
Of course, I also do have legitimately horrible allergies.
- Current Music:Manic Monday
Well, I'd always declared the intention to go into some sort of medical career (veterinarian, then pediatrician, eventually pediatric RN) and my parents were cool with it, so wasn't really "expected" to do anything. However, my dad once told me he was pretty sure my kids would end up leading the second Free Speech movement at Berkeley. A few years later, he revised his estimate and said I'd do it myself. Does that count? :)
- Current Mood: amused
- Current Music:Don't ask. Just...don't ask.
I don't normally sit at the kitchen table with my laptop, but I'm waiting on the UPS guy and so want a clear view of the outside so I don't miss him. And while Radka normally settles herself on my chest (or next to me) while I recline or sit with the laptop, she found a solution to the obvious problem of me sitting all the way up in a normal chair. Thus, she reclaims her rightful place.
I love my girl.
Silly computer. You should know that if you move off my Mommy's lap, I'm gonna take your spot.
- Current Mood: Kitty love!
- Current Music:What's New, Pussycat?
"I'm Going Slightly Mad," by Queen. I think it pretty much explains itself.
Of course, it may also make for a good summary of my college and later years, in which I volunteer to do things like work 9-5, get a nap, work 11-7, get a nap, then work 1-7, all on different cases. To be fair, one of them is a friend, though, and I could use the overtime.
- Current Mood: calm
- Current Music:The gentle hiss of a ventilator at work.
Me, if only so she could text me constantly going, "Where are you? I WANT SCRITCHES."
- Current Mood: amused
- Current Music:Garfield cartoon in background
This popped into my head last night right before bed, and I absolutely could not resist it. So, I give thee: House fic. I apologize for the title. I simply couldn't resist. Also, I was experimenting with a different format. One-time thing, but it was fun.
Title: Peekaboo, ICU
Rating: PG, because House is 12.
Summary: Wilson comforts a itty-bitty patient and gets a very minor but very irritating foreign body in his eye. House is predictably unimpressed.
Spoilers: Set mid-season six, but no spoilers whatsoever and no knowledge needed of any specific episode.
Disclaimer: Not mine, but I'll take Wilson off David Shore's hands for a few hours any time he likes. We'll get to the root of Wilson's metrosexuality yet.
- Current Mood: working
- Current Music:Dicen Por Ahi, by Pedro Jesus, on Mojito TV. No, I don't understand it.
Until gay marriage is legalized here in the States, I'm not going to be able to marry my car, because Dixie (1996 Chevy Lumina, blue) is definitely a she. Spirited, stubborn, dependable, and most definitely a girl. :)
And why? Because you just can't marry a plant. (My sincerest apologies to anyone who wasn't on the Lost Colony set and therefore is subjected to the inside joke. ;))
- Current Mood: mischievous
- Current Music:Some Disney channel thing in the background
Sirius Bizness answer: My laptop, as it contains photos and generally half my life; its brick as it will need a power source; my cell phone and charger (same reasons); Radka (my beloved cat, for those not on my f-list) because she's mah baby, my birth certificate, driver's license, and other ID because I'd kinda need them too. If I had time after grabbing these items (which should take about 2-3 minutes) and stuffing Radka into her carrier (we kinda have it down to a fine science but the time varies when she's determined), I would try to find my copy of Imzadi that has accompanied me on all evacuations (we used to live in hurricane country).
Just for fun answer: The "Wrapped Up with a Bow-inator," which will wrap all my possessions neatly in a little white box. With a pretty red bow.
- Current Mood: calm
- Current Music:Radka, purring, as I try to type around her.
For me, that one is "Imzadi," by Peter David. My copy is battered and abused. Yes, it's a Trek novel, but OMG the raw emotions the author taps into...that was the book I brought with me during hurricane evacuations from Biloxi in my teens years and the sort of writer I wanted to be when I grew up.
- Current Mood: nostalgic
- Current Music:The really, really horrible sci-fi flick roomie is watching. Brain bleach plz.