EMT class has been going on long enough now that I'm completely comfortable with my classmates. Still, we don't really know each other all that well. Sometimes I wonder what sort of impression these people have of me. Thinking back to last week's classes, there are three scenes that stand out in particular as moments that may illustrate how I'm viewed by the class.

*****

Class begins, and I immediately raise my hand and say, "I have a question." I then pause for a moment before adding, "I don't know why I bother to preface my question by stating that I have a question, given that I always have a question." The class chuckles at this BECAUSE IT IS TRUE. And then the instructor says, "How about from now on I just start the class with, 'Kelly, do you have a question?'" I laugh and say, "And I will. I WILL."

*****

A classmate asks if anyone has a cough drop, and I respond that I think I have one in my handbag. I proceed to plop my purse onto the table and dig through it in pursuit of the cough drop, muttering "I know I have one somewhere..." and "I swear I saw it just the other day." I have officially become my mother. No, my grandmother. As I search, someone says, "Yeah, she'll have one. She's got everything in there." I find this comment curious since I can't recall ever having produced, for this group, anything from my purse except a stick of gum, and who doesn't carry gum in their bag? Still, as I sift through the contents I conclude that their assumption is accurate. I encounter several pens (one broken), tissues, lotion, restaurant receipts, empty candy wrappers, list-laden Post-It notes, multiple over-the-counter drugs, a year's supply of tampons and pantyliners, lip glosses galore, countless coupons, a cell phone, an iPod, a flash drive, two passports and, finally and triumphantly, one lint-covered cough drop!

*****

Paula and I are practicing scenarios in class, and our "patient" is a person who has slit her wrist in an attempted suicide. She is, for obvious reasons, not cooperating. When Paula starts to put an oxygen mask on her, the patient shoves it away. Paula looks at the instructor's assistant, unsure how to handle this. "Be a little more forceful," he suggests. As she tries again, I look at the patient and say in my take-no-shit voice, "Put it on and SUCK IT UP." (This has since become the motto of the class.)

Apologies for lame update post but there just is no time right now....

1. Last week I went on my first rescue squad call. Lights and sirens and everything. Wooo!

2. The godawful motherfucking wallpaper is gone! I've finally finished, using the iron/DIF/wine method. (Remove top layer by steaming with iron and bottom layer by squirting with DIF. Throughout process, guzzle wine.) And this week is spring break, so I'm working my ass off on the rest of the kitchen.

3. I'm back on track with the dentist. No cavities! And the hygienist says we can just forget that one ever happened. And I got brownie points for my choice of gum. She asked if I chew gum, and I told her I chew sugarfree. "Do you know which brand?" she asked.

"Orbit."

She smiled and nodded her head in approval.

"Is that a good one?" I asked.

"A very good one," she praised.

In other words, I get an A+.

(Which reminds me of a recent mini-story. We were having a conversation with my family about blood types. I asked Rob what his blood type was, and he said, "I think I have A-plus." And I chuckled and said, "You mean A positive?" And he said, "I guess. All I know is the card says A-plus." My brother laughed, then rolled his eyes and said, "Geez, even Rob's blood is really smart.")

On my desk at work is a daily tear-off calendar that has Italian phrases and their English translations. The phrases are delightfully random, and I decorate the fridge at home with the ones that particularly suit me, like "I drank too much champagne."

Monday morning I tore off the pages from the weekend and was struck by how the two phrases perfectly portray the personalities of Rob and me, each describing a distinguishing characteristic of one of us.

I brought them home to share with him, and he laughed out loud at how fitting they are: "I thrive on a challenge" and "It is important that plans be made well in advance."

I will not say whether or not these traits also apply in bed.

Yesterday UPS left a package on our porch that wasn't for us. It was supposed be delivered to a house down the road. The discussion that followed regarding what we should do with it demonstrates just how anti-social we are. Rob even sorta knows the man whose name was on the box. They used to work at the same place, although they didn't work together. So he mostly knows of him. Still, we were completely uncomfortable with the thought of interpersonal interaction. Note the many avoidance tactics we think up and how we somehow manage to justify these to ourselves.

"Should we take the package over to their house?"

"I don't know."

"I'll just call UPS. Because they should be informed of their mistake, right?"

"Yeah, they should know."

"And besides. If the Joneses aren't there, then what would we do? It might start raining before they get home, and what if they don't have a protected porch? I don't want the box to get wet."

"Yeah, and if they're not home, I'd feel like I was trespassing or something, poking around their porch. Plus, is it even legal for us to move their mail?"

"I'll just call UPS and they can take care of it."

We examine the box for a UPS phone number, and in doing so discover that the box is addressed to "The Children." The return address is Martha Jones from Sarasota, FL.

"This is clearly a package for the kids from their grandmother. I mean, Martha? From Florida."

"It has to be."

"If I call UPS, it might take days for it to be picked up and delivered to the right place. I don't want the kids to have to wait forever to get a gift from their grandma!"

"Yeah, I know."

"What if I take it by his work on my way to the office in the morning? I can just leave it with the secretary and explain why we had it."

"But that's not really on your way to work."

"It's not that far."

"Well, if you don't mind... Or I could drop it by their house on my way to work. I know they won't be there at that time in the morning."

"But then we still have the rain problem."

"True."

We end the discussion, having decided that I will take the package to the guy's work in the morning and leave it in the main office. Rob calls his mom about something else, and since she also knows Mr. Jones, he confirms with her that Mr. Jones is still employed at the same place.

"Okay, Mom says he still works there. So that's good."

"Did she also say we should suck it up and take it to his house?"

"Yeah, she was like, 'OR, you could just take it to them now.'"

I sigh. "That's probably the right thing to do. I mean, think of 'The Children'!"

"I guess."

"I can call to see if they're home, so we don't have to worry about it raining on the package."

"If you call, I'll drive it down there."

"You will?"

"Yeah, I guess."

I call. Mrs. Jones answers, and I explain to her about the package. I hang up and tell Rob that they are home.

"Alright, I'm going to go."

"Good luck!" I say, admiring his bravery.

When he gets back, I pepper him with questions. What did you say? What did she say? Was she nice? Did she smile? Did she thank you? He says that everything went fine, and she was nice, and it's her daughter's birthday.

I really don't know what we thought would be so awkward. But at least we are making progress! Maybe in another couple months we'll have worked up the nerve to give our neighbors the barn photos...

At a conference last week I was introduced to Flocabulary, which is a resource that uses rap and hip-hop to teach vocabulary words. This shit almost makes me want to be an English teacher again. (Almost.) Even better than playing the songs would be having the kids write their own.

I keep listening to this one, totally wishing I could download it to my iPod. Because I am a major nerd. I mean, it's definitely no Eminem in musical or verbal prowess, but still. A song that uses "ameliorate" and "amalgamation" in its lyrics?! Holy fuck.

"The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live."

Over the weekend I watched Sliding Doors. It's one of the few movies I own. I adore it, and not just because of John Hannah, with whom I would be absolutely smitten if Doreen hadn't already claimed him as her future husband.

The film, if you're not familiar, explores the concept of how something seemingly insignificant can affect one's life immeasurably. One of the first scenes is the critical determining moment in the main character's life - in one instance, Helen misses the train she is trying to catch, and in the other instance, she squeezes through the closing doors at the last minute. The film then follows the two divergent paths of her life that result from the difference in that split-second, playing out what happens to the Helen who misses the train and to the Helen who catches it.

We've all read the stories of people who should have been in the Twin Towers the morning of 9/11 but weren't because they slept through the alarm or had a doctor's appointment. As a control freak, stuff like that should scare the shit out of me because it is proof that trying to control the fate of my life is ultimately futile. And yet I find myself fascinated, not frightened, to consider that my day may be significantly affected by whether or not the stoplight ahead is red or green. Or to wonder how many close calls I may have had that I never even knew about. Or to ponder how my life would be different if I'd been born on the opposite coast.

Rob never intended to be a geek genius by trade. Although he's been writing computer code since elementary school, his true interest growing up was science and, particularly, the environment. He majored in biology. During college he applied to be a summer intern at an environmental agency. To save Rob a long-distance call, his mom called the agency to get the address for where to mail the application, and when the lady recited "Fifty-Eighty-Three Main Street" his mom jotted down 5083. Except, the address was actually 50803. They never received his application. His dad suggested he get a job with a family friend instead, which he did. He wasn't terribly excited to spend the summer working with computers, but it was a job. Turns out, it was a job that completely changed the course of his career. That one insignificant number in the address, a zero no less, was Rob's sliding door.

The end of the movie suggests that the various possible paths of our lives eventually converge, and that no matter which side trail we take (or are taken on), we still get to where we're supposed to be. Although I like the idea of a little magic in the universe, I don't believe everything happens for a reason. I believe things just happen. But still, or maybe because of this, I find the film's ending comforting. The closing scene doesn't actually give us a Happily Ever After, but just presents the possibility of one. In the moments after the hospital's elevator doors slide shut, whatever happens will happen. The comfort is in knowing that the characters will adapt. They may make sense of things by seeing a pattern in the chaos that isn't really there, or they may accept that life is random and all they can do is enjoy the ride. But, they will work with whatever happens next, and it's that ability to accept and adapt that is entirely within our control.