Plasma "Donations"

So I've been selling my plasma.  Isn't that something?  Remember how I've had bad moments with needles in the past?  Like that time Annette walked to the health department with me and held my hand as I tried not to cry FOR A TB TEST?!?  Yeah.  That needle is nothing compared to plasma needles.  But sometimes, you need to pay rent and also tuition and also buy food and gas and then you end up having to pay for something for school that is really expensive (website usage = $345).  So, when loans don't cover everything, your parents are poor, and your Target income hasn't really kicked in, you sell your body.  I've become that girl.

This post is not so much about the fact that I sell my plasma, and more about all the weird stuff that happens during my plasma selling experiences.  Let's begin, shall we?

The first time I went to donate plasma they put a tourniquet around my biceps and told me my veins were unsuitable.  They actually said that.  They said, "you are being rejected for unsuitable veins."  Can you say anything more rude to a woman?  So they told me to drink a bunch of water and come back in a few days.  

I came back three days later.  One of my veins was decent enough to pass.  So they pricked my finger to check my iron and protein levels.  It hurt.  I passed.  And then I passed my blood pressure and temperature checks.  But not my pulse rate.  Because I was freaking out about the needle they used to prick my finger and I didn't know what to expect in general.  I had to sit down for 15 minutes to see if I would calm down.  I got my heart rate down 30 or 40 beats so they passed me.  Then they gave me a physical and asked a bunch of weird questions, including a list of all the countries my dad had gone to while in the military and when he was there (because you're supposed to remember that stuff from when you were 3), and then they checked between my toes for needle marks from drugs.  Weird people were in the waiting room, including a guy who told us he donated while high all the time.  Then it was my turn in the chair.  The way plasmapheresis works  is they take out your blood, cycle it, take out the plasma for collection, and then return the red blood cells to your body.  This happens four times.  I was doing fine until the first time the red blood cells started being returned to me.  Then I asked if I could have some water.  They told me that while we were in the chairs we weren't allowed to have anything in our mouths.  Then I said I was getting light headed.  And then I started seeing spots.  And my heart rate started to sky rocket.  I started sweating.  I almost passed out.  They had to elevate my legs and fan me.  It was crazy.  But that convinced them that I should have my water.  The rest of the day was uneventful.  Except for the $50 they paid me.  

The next time I went things were fine.  Until the end when they pulled out the needle and I was left with a two inch bruise that lasted for two weeks.  Which is a problem because...

The third time I went for a donation they checked my arms for bruises.  Apparently if you have a bruise they won't stick you.  So remember that only one of my veins passed initial inspection.  So they called someone over to check my vein and the guy was like "I mean... it's decent..."  Then they told me that there was a 50% chance of something going wrong and me not being able to donate for two months as a result of what could go wrong.  The employee told me that personally she wouldn't do it, but professionally she would.  So I did it.  It was fine.  The girl who set up the machine for me turned out to be in her first semester of nursing school at ETSU.  So we talked about it for a bit.  Then I asked her where she was from because she didn't have an accent.  She was from Salt Lake.  I yelled, "SHUT UP, I'M FROM PROVO!" and we were both the happiest people ever.  We talked about Cafe Rio and Zupas and all the things we missed.  I awkwardly asked her if she was Mormon (I was hoping I'd see her at YSA events) but she wasn't.  

The fourth time my phlebotomist was training someone.  He saw my bruise (which was still there) and apologized to me for his coworker maiming me.  Things went fine again.  I liked this guy (oh, Dustin).  And I couldn't feel when he took the needle out because I was laughing so hard.  There was a woman in the bed next to me who said (in reference to the phlebotomist she liked): "Oh, he's going to stick me, but it won't be with no needle."  She was referencing his penis.  

The fifth time my phlebotomist was the same girl who had to deal with my fainting episode.  She was pissed about the bruise.  I looked away as she inserted the needle.  And then she said, "shoot.  Don't look over here."  I asked what was going on as she called over a coworker.  She told me to keep breathing and not pass out on her.  I was real freaked out.  I thought she had blown my vein.  Turned out she just hadn't put the needle in far enough so she hadn't gotten any blood return.  Things went fine after that.  Also, I got a bruise on my finger from the finger prick for iron testing.  

The sixth time I got Dustin again.  My bruise was gone so he did my left arm, which was supposed to be superior.  He put the needle in and it burned.  But I didn't want to get poked again so I pretended I was fine.  While in the waiting room a girl asked me if I worked at Target.  I thought she had looked familiar.  This happened as I was waiting 15 minutes again to see if I could bring my pulse down.  It was racing because I was nervous they would notice I was sick and not let me donate.  

The last time I went I got Dustin again.  Things went completely fine.  The thing that was awkward happened while I was in the waiting room.  I got to listen to a guy complain that he couldn't get a job because of his third DUI.  And then he talked about how Mexicans were stealing all of "our" (white people) jobs, but he didn't blame them because their government sucked and they were doing what they needed to do.  Then he said, "it's not the race I don't like, it's the people."  Uh, what?  

I'm assuming something weird will happen when I go again on Tuesday.  I try to go every Tuesday and Friday afternoon.  I'll keep you posted.  

Mr. Darcy

Em and I were talking about alcohol.  She said that she knows several people who don't drink and not just for religious reasons.  But growing up it was a given:  you'd go out to drink on your 21st birthday and would continue to order an alcoholic beverage every time after that.  She said that drinking brought people closer together.  You'd sit on a porch with a cooler full of beer chatting about life and getting to know each other.  I could see that.  And I could see how drinking would make you feel safe enough to tell each other personal things.

But... I think there's something to be said about sharing personal things when you're not drunk.  When you've got all of your faculties intact.  When you have consciously decided that you trust the other person enough to share something big and important.  I think it's beautiful.  And it makes me know how Tom felt in [500] Days of Summer, when Summer starts telling him about her dreams and he realizes that he's the only person who has ever heard her say those things.

I've been thinking a lot about trust recently.  There are so many things I never want to forget, and the conversation that spurred these thoughts is one of them.  But I don't think I have the words or the ability to share the experience.  But... do I trust people?  I do, obviously.  There are lots of people I trust.  If I let you read my blog then I trust you.  But... do I really?  I think there's a difference between trusting someone enough to share with them your past or your present and sharing your future with them.  I don't know if there's anyone I trust enough right now that I would give them my future.

Which brings me to... men.  Good men.  Christ like men.  And how I worry that there are very, very few men in my life that I think of in these categories.  It's not that I think men are bad.  I just don't know how to trust them.  It really bothered me that when I thought about the men that I would classify as "good" that I came up with two names.  After thinking about it for a few more weeks I came up with a third name.  And I'm debating on a fourth.  Why is this so difficult for me?  How do you let someone in enough to trust them?  And what makes someone a good man?

Oh goodness.  I'm Mr. Darcy, who knows very few women he would consider "accomplished."  If I have to be Mr. Darcy, then I'd like to be the Colin Firth one.  Just sayin'.

On Autumn and Bucketlists

Oh, goodness.  It's been a week.  It's been a very long week.  I don't really know what happened, but I've started experiencing some anxiety again.  It's been so long and I was finally getting settled into thinking that maybe it wouldn't come back.  But it has.

The last few days have felt like fall.  Leaving my house in the morning the air is crisp.  Some trees have started to drop their leaves.  At night it is sometimes too cool to have the windows down in my car.  My cardigans do not have to come off whenever I step outside.  There's been some rainy drizzle.
I think this may be a cause of my anxiety.  Oh, beep.  Did I not expect the seasons to change in Tennessee?  It makes me so so so crazily homesick for Provo.  Fall has been my favorite season since my first Provo fall.  The air got cooler, the trees became beautiful, the rain brought out the smell of the earth and it was lovely.  October is just around the corner.  I'm having flashbacks of wearing my favorite coat and riding my bike up 100E to bring something to Marie.  The street was wet and the leaves were starting to rot because of the moisture and everything was beautiful and happy and chilly.  Fall makes me want to wrap up in my grandpa sweater, bake an apple cake and eat a roast chicken while watching a movie and listening to the rain.  I feel lost in this oncoming Tennessee fall.  I crave an autumn party but the concept is lost on my friends and no one understands the idea behind an autumn themed potluck.  I miss the Provo canyon.  I miss eating whipped cream on top of risotto and everyone warm and cozy around the fire.  I miss the solitude football games would give me.  I miss my meadow.  Oh, my heart.

In conjunction with this, the other day I read the most beautiful bucket list of my life.  It made me yearn.  The concept of bucket lists has been floating around me all summer and I have yet to really write mine.  Mostly I've wondered if there were things that I really and truly wanted that I could write down.  Catch a falcon?  That would be cool, but not essential.  What do I really want?  Today in Sacrament meeting, as I listened to a speaker share a story about Provo Canyon (Vivian Park, to be more depressingly precise), I began to write.  And I realized that what I want most in life, if I'm being one hundred percent honest, is not a doctorate.  It's to be a mother.  I think that I can live and be happy and fine and well adjusted without ever getting married.  But I really don't think that I will ever feel complete without raising a child.  This life that I have is a placeholder until I can have what I really want.  And this finally came together and made sense as I tried to write down exactly what I want out of life, and as a baby sitting in the pew in front of me kept looking at me and laughing whenever I smiled at him.  And then he started playing peek a boo.  And I died.   I would happily give up continuing my education and having a dream career in order to be able to be a mom and to play peek a boo all day long.

Pathfinder

"Wanna come watch Pathfinder... with the nerdlings tonight?"

Thus began my descent into the subculture world of table top gaming.  My ideas of this group of people centered around socially inept, sweaty obese men who live in the basement of their mom's house and only lead lives through the internet.  And through Dungeons and Dragons.  Maybe I also pictured capes.  You know, the ones with hoods and maybe a leaf clasp the held it together across your chest?  Lastly, I fully expected for this to be one of those things where people live out their secret fantasies that will never happen in real life because dragons aren't real and it's socially unacceptable to run around carrying gold coins and a sword strapped across your back.

Monday night I joined Kyle, Jerianne, Matthew, Melissa and Dave for what can only be described as an eye opening experience.  We sat at a kitchen table and not in a basement.  If you exclude me, as an observer, the male to female ratio was pretty good.  I wouldn't describe anyone there as a "sweaty obese man."  Or socially inept, for that matter.  Instead, we ate dinner with Melissa and Dave's family and while they were putting the kids down for bed, we watched funny Youtube videos.  Then, with someone shouting, "get your nerd on," things started rolling (this is a pun, as there is a lot of rolling in table top gaming).

A dry erase sheet with squares on it was rolled out on the table.  Then everyone brought out their dice collections.  Seriously.  I've never seen that many dice in one place in my entire life.  There are 5, 6, 10 and 20 sided die.  Each player has multiple of each.  And if you're really serious, the dice match your personality.  Matthew, the game master (GM) for the night, had dice that looked like stone.  Jerianne's dice were stone, purple and green with leaves.  According to my research, serious players carry their dice around with them.  Kyle assures me that he has never met anyone that has done so.  Next people started telling me about their characters.  There was Colette, a short tempered, coquettish thief.  There was another player with a weird name that was a priestess who prayed to a female deity and would also throw fireballs.  There was Bowen, who I took to be brooding, introverted and kind of boring, who had a bow with flame throwing arrows.  And there was another guy who said he was over 6 foot but had a character piece of a dwarf and was able to turn himself into animals.  There were no dragons involved.  While all of this was a bit out of my comfort zone, things got weird when the GM announced, "we call each other by our character names while we play."  For the record, I abstained from this practice.

The group has been playing this story line for awhile.  When they started back up they had been walking across spiderwebs to find the spider crone that a witch had led them to.  And then they were attacked by something that looked like a spider.  This is where I got lost.  The group started battling which involved a lot of dice rolling.  The GM was behind his little wall rolling away to determine the success of each move of the group.  WHAT WERE THE DICE SAYING AND HOW DID THEY KNOW?!?!?!  Seriously the most confusing part of the game.  I still don't understand how the dice reading works.  It's like tarot cards or tea leaves.  It's a complete mystery.

Eventually the group finds out that they're fighting an enchanted piece of armor, and after a valiant and entertaining fight, they are led to the spider crone.  Colette tries to steal some things but the priestess forbids her.  So she tries to buy some of the spider crone's woven items, but the spider crone refuses.  Instead, she gets offended and starts saying weird things about how they're destroying the forest.  The best part of this is that the GM is playing the part of the spider crone (and all other non group characters) and has this weird, mysterious voice to go along with it.  The spider crone demands that the group give her 3000 pieces of gold for some valuable information that she has.  Colette, perturbed at having to part with her gold, throws her gold at the feet of the crone.  Which surprised everyone, including the GM.  Apparently she had 12,000 pieces of gold in her handy sack or something, which amounts to about 180 pounds.  It didn't appear like the GM even expected this bill to be paid so quickly.  And at some point in all of this, Dave starts some weird, very in character speech about the forest and equality that escapes me right now, because instead of listening to what he was saying, I was too busy being awed at what was transforming in front of my very eyes.  And this is where the game ended for the night.

To summarize, it took 2 hours for the game to progress an infinitesimal amount.  There were some weird things (calling each other by character names, Dave's speech) but also... it was just like playing Final Fantasy or any other RPG video game.  There's a set story line and you choose what your character does.  That's it.  That part is not so weird.  It's more structure than I had imagined, as the GM tells you everything that is happening around you.  You just play your part.  It's also kind of like those choose your own adventure books, where if you choose one option you go to one page, and if you choose another option you flip to a different page.  It's really not that crazy or out there.  EXCEPT FOR THE DICE.  The dice are crazy.  No idea how anyone understands them.  I guess it would be kind of an interesting experience to create a character.  Like, how do they get certain traits?  Also, there's talk of training and going to school.  How does that play in to the game?  And the timing of the game is weird, too.  Like certain spells last for 8 minutes or 8 hours, but how is time determined in the game?  Because there's no way the game's plot line lasted two hours while the group played for two hours.

Basically I expected to go, sit on a couch behind everyone doing their thing, get bored really fast, start reading for a bit while loosely paying attention, and then leave.  Also I expected this to go well into the night (we left at like, 9pm).  But instead, it was pretty entertaining.  As an observer I was able to just watch the game unfold like I was reading a book (or, more like listening to an audio book).  It was The Hobbit all over again.  No one treated me like I was an idiot for asking questions.  It was nice.  And I'd happily watch again.  It was cheaper than the movies and just as entertaining.  Would I play?  Eh... I don't know about that.  There were certainly parts where I wanted to be like, "Jerianne, don't say that, you'll upset the spider crone," or "ATTACK!" (as that was always what I would choose to do during Super Mario RPG).  But also, I don't know if I'm able to "get my nerd on" in front of other people to this extent.  ALSO WHAT DO YOU DO WITH THE DICE?!?!

Can someone just tell me, please?

I owe a post on Dungeons and Dragons.  I am fully aware that you do not casually mention that on a blog without a follow up.  But... not today.  Instead we get reflective Jessica.

I've been thinking a lot about how much I fight against my Heavenly Father and the gospel.  Like He's a parent that is trying to lead me step by step down the aisle at the grocery store and I'm the toddler flinging around and trying to drag myself on the floor because I don't want to do it His way.  Oh gosh.  That is literally how it feels.  Like when I'm fighting I feel the inside of me twisting in every direction and raging against the machine.  And then He finally just has to make me feel like He's given up on me before I'll pick myself up and walk with Him.  But it takes a lot to get to that point.  Like to the point of moving mountains.

And this leads me to wonder:  If I'm feeling that way, does that mean that I'm letting Satan guide me?

I've been doing some scripture reading.  It's a relatively new thing for me, as we know I ping pong back and forth about everything all the time.  And so often I read something along the lines of Satan "leading them down into carnal security" or something similar.  Tonight at Institute it was two things that stuck out to me.  One was, in regards to Satan, "He hath deceived you."  And all I could think was, "Am I being deceived?"  And just before that I had read, in regards to corrupt and naughty people, "they will not ask of me."  And I had wondered, "is this me?".

Let's bring this together.  Often when I'm struggling like a toddler these days, it's about my place in the sphere of womanhood.  Does that make sense?  I hear about women who should stay home and raise their kids and I squirm and I fight.  I hear about another engaged 19 year old woman and I want to pull my hair out.  I think about Kate Kelly and I want to make a fireball of anger and throw it at something.  And it makes me wonder, maybe I am wrong in all of this.  Maybe my big trial in this life is learning that I need to just lay down my wants and desires and hopes for a say in my life and an equal partnership in marriage and duties not defined by gender and just humble myself and be willing to take a back seat and be the supporting role to men for the rest of my life.

Is that it?  Is this what I was sent here to learn?  Humility?  I don't really even know how to express this thought process.  I just... wonder if it's time for me to lay down everything, stop hoping for a career, and start telling everyone that I want nothing more than to be a stay at home mom who follows the lines of strict gender roles.  It depresses me beyond anything.  And I wonder if that's what the big toddler fight really is about--the fact that HF is trying to drag me (or lead me, for positive connotations here) to what really is my station in life.  Or is that the devil?

Can someone just tell me, please?

D&D

Last night I told Kyle that if he wanted to hang out today, then we should, as I literally had nothing going on.  I told him if it was weird that would be especially awesome.

So... somehow I'm now going to go watch people play Dungeons and Dragons.

It shall be an interesting night steeped in subculture.

Is it appropriate to wear a Lord of the Rings themed costume or are jeans the preferred mode of dress?