Old Soul, Young Heart

I must say that thus far into my graduate school career I am disappointed in my peers. Discussion in class is much more worthwhile and insightful, compared to undergraduate. It's relevant and useful. Most of the time comments do come from the same little cluster of people, which is pretty representative of any group, since there are always going to be people who don't like talking in class. (I can't yet give myself brownie points for discussion in class, as I have yet to find my confidence and speak up when I think of something.) Group work is what gets me, though. It's so exhausting worrying about the quality of the work others are doing and trying to make up for them because your grade depends on it. But then you feel like a weinie if you say anything to the group or to the professor. I don't even know if that would be appropriate in grad school to tell the professor. I guess I'll figure it out.

I just love that my Grandma Scheffert wrote journal entries for years. When I first moved up here I had intentions of reading them. At first I was a little reserved about doing it, because I was afraid it would be too personal and I felt as though I might be invading her privacy. But then I realized that if she didn't want someone to read them that she probably wouldn't have written them in the first place, so I decided that she'd probably be okay with it. Some of what I've read already is so fascinating. I've learned a lot about her through her entries. Sometimes I've found myself laughing out loud at some of the things she's written. So tonight I decided to bust out her journal from 1984 because tomorrow we're having my birthday celebration at work and there are three questions we get asked on our birthday. Well, four, I guess: 1) How old are you turning? 2) What's the story of your birth? 3) What was the best thing that happened in the past ye

It's amazing how the littlest things can set you over the edge. A few hours ago this morning I got a phone call from a pastor. I didn't know what he needed, but I took his phone number to have the person he needed call him back. I got the number wrong when I read it back to him because he said it too fast. Here's how the rest of the conversation went from there... Him: Can you tell if a patient has been discharged? Me: No, I'm not able to look that up, but... Him: Nooooo [very denigrating tone]... What I asked was... Can you tell me if a patient has been discharged? Me: I can connect you to the switchboard and they can do that. Him: What's your name? Me: Sara... Him: How long have you worked there? Me: Two years. Him: Oh, it seems like you're new. Either you're new or you're really busy. Me: Uh... sorry? I'll connect you to the switchboard. First of all, what is the purpose of saying that to me? He might as well have told me

I'm feeling rather unspecial lately and it makes me sad. I realize that I'm not the center of the universe, but my birthday is the one time of the year that I like to feel at least a little more special than usual. Maybe I put too much emphasis on other people's birthdays and then when it isn't reciprocated for my birthday, I'm disappointed. My uncle and I have always shared our birthday celebration because his is the 22nd of June and mine is the 27th. This means that we celebrate early, usually the weekend before my birthday. Doing this makes my actual birthday so anti-climatic because all of the celebration has happened already. I'd almost rather have the celebration after my actual birthday, that way I at least have something to look forward to. No one seems to get that having my celebration that far away from my actual birthday is kind of depressing for me. So, with all of that being said, scheduling the celebration this year has been frustrating for a n