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Husband worked his magic and turned the furniture pieces into a real functioning desk.
Here it is in all its glory.
What’s even more amazing is that he was able to finish the assembly in about 15 minutes.
I didn’t know whether to be envious that he could complete the assembly in such a short time (it would have easily translated into 2 hours of Tootie time) or just be content that the project is done.
I picked neither of those options and decided instead to be completely overjoyed that we have a real, live desk in our office. Our computer and printer finally have a home instead of being nomads shuttled from place to place.
There’s only one slight problem. The chair is a little too short for the desk. In Husband’s very diplomatic way, he told me that when I sat at it I looked “like a kindergartener at an oversized desk.”
I would gladly keep the kindergartener look, if I knew it would guarantee me snack time, followed immediately by nap time.
But, since it won’t, we’ll be shopping for a new chair soon.
Thankfully, I’ve learned a lesson from the frustration known as desk assembly, and I’m happy to put Husband in charge of any assembly (and/or humiliation) that will be required for the chair.
Today I ran 9 miles! It’s my longest run ever.
(I guess every long run from now on, including the marathon itself, will be my longest run ever. It sounds very dramatic, yet it’s true.)
I was so jazzed that I ran the 9 miles (especially after a few small doubts last night) that I e-mailed my mom about it this morning. It went something like this…
“I ran 9 MILES! That’s OVER AN HOUR AND A HALF of running!”
I’m sure she would agree that accomplishing a 9-mile run calls for the use of all caps.
After all, we both still remember when I decided to join the military how the thought of the 2-mile run brought me to tears.
My running experiences at that point consisted of: 1) tripping and nearly falling off a treadmill in a crowded base gym, 2) throwing up after a run at the track in front of a group of people I had just met, and 3) throwing up before a timed run out of sheer nerves.
I try to remember these experiences sometimes. Not because I enjoy recalling my most embarrassing moments, but because it reminds me that I’ve come a long way.
And it reminds me that anything is possible. Even training for a marathon. For a once-hopeless non-runner like me.
So I’m taking this hope and running - literally.
There comes a time in almost every person’s life when they sadly realize that they are not smarter than the assembly instructions on their newly purchased piece of furniture.
That time, my friends, came for me yesterday.
Husband and I purchased a much-needed desk last week, and yesterday it arrived. Up until then, our poor substitute of a coffee table had been the home for our laptop and my mound of books.
The desk came in a large box, with pieces requiring assembly.
[Note: The box says “quick and easy assembling” as the #1 reason to buy the product; the #4 reason is “clear instructions.” These words will be important later in the story.]
Husband dragged the box to the office, and he left for work. Though I can’t remember our exact conversation before he left, I think it went something like this.
Delusional Desk Assembler (me): Hey, maybe I can put this together while you’re at work.
Too-Hopeful Husband: Sure. I bet you could put it together with no problems.
Delusional Desk Assembler: Ok, I’ll go for it.
I started without any trouble. I breezed through the first few steps, which gave me a false surge in desk-assembling confidence.
In fact, I talked to my parents in the early stages of assembly, and I scoffed when they suggested that maybe Husband could help me later. Why would I need his help? If I can handle marathon training and Master’s classes, I can certainly handle the assembly of a cheap, simple desk.
But, then it started getting ugly. The pieces weren’t labeled correctly, and the poor excuse for a drawing did not help. The instructions taunted me, “It’s easy! Just use screw #111.” Except that none of the screws nor their packages are labeled, so all their numbers (“S2!” or “111!”) are completely meaningless.
The rest of the afternoon was a blur, mostly involving: sweating, cursing and yelling at the desk, picking up the instructions and then promptly throwing them on the floor in a fit of frustration.
After three painful hours, the electric drill finally stopped, and I couldn’t find the charger for it. (I won’t even go into how any project that requires the use of an electric drill might not be the project for me.) I decided to end my masquerade as a furniture assembler right then and there.
So, I’ll just say it: I am not smarter than the assembly instructions. It’s humiliating, but it’s true.
The “quick and easy assembling” proved neither quick nor easy for me. Just as the “clear instructions” were anything but clear to me. (I imagine the instruction-writers sitting around their already-assembled desks roaring with loud and evil laughter when they wrote those parts.)
The good news is that I put the overworked electric drill and the partially-assembled desk in Husband's capable hands. And I can safely cross “Rosie the Riveter” off my list of potential jobs.
My neighbor and I went to base on Saturday to run a 5K. I was so fast on this one that I got pulled over by the cops.
That’s not the punch line to a bad joke. I really did get pulled over by the cops.
I drove onto base when, not more than two minutes later, red and blue flashing lights greeted me in my rearview mirror.
I thought it was a misunderstanding because the speed limit was 30 mph, and clearly I was going less than that.
But apparently, I was a dangerous menace to the entire military installation and to US national security by going “26 mph in a 15 mph zone.”
I could have disputed that there was no sign saying that it was a 15 mph zone. Instead, I gave him the requested items (my military ID, driver’s license, registration, and insurance) as well as a pitiful look, and prayed he wouldn’t give me a ticket.
He didn’t. (Phew!)
We still made it in time to start the 5K. The race itself was fun, and we made a couple new friends afterwards. Sadly, I didn’t go as fast during the race as I did on the drive to the race, or else I would have gotten a t-shirt instead of just a potential ticket and a somewhat entertaining story.
1) Thank you to every single person who left an encouraging comment about my exam. I read (and re-read!) all the comments, and I immediately felt calmer and uplifted. So, thank you for your kindness and support!
2) I learned something really important through this test-taking experience. (Besides that a peanut butter sandwich makes an excellent pre-test snack...)
The night before the test I started to go through another bout of worry and nerves. Then I realized that worry was the product of looking at the situation negatively. Worry meant that I was looking at the situation as a chance to fail.
Instead, why not look at it as a chance to succeed? I usually try to look at the positive side of situations in my regular (non-academic) life, so why wouldn’t I treat this situation the same?
That switch of mindset definitely helped me. I still got a few nervous jitters before the test, but I felt much better.
3) So, yesterday morning I sat with the test in front of me and I took a deep breath. I collected my thoughts and dove into the essays, scribbling (hopefully legibly) as fast as I could.
So far, so good, I thought.
And then the lights went out. I sat in a completely dark and windowless room, ready to panic. Will my test be disqualified? Is there a flashlight near me? Am I allowed to scream like a girl in the testing room??
Then the lights came back on. Thankfully, they stayed on the rest of the time, and everything else went ok.
But, it’s an experience I’d rather not repeat anytime in the near future. It was 6 hours total (with a lunch break between the morning and afternoon sessions) and 4 essays. I wrote 25 full pages until my hand was sore and cramping.
4) I feel so relieved that the test is finished. I'll find out how I did in a few weeks. I still have 4 more weeks of class work, but I don’t think any of it will compare to the exam. Hopefully, the only hard part will be deciding which restaurant to celebrate at when it’s graduation time.
The title of this post could also be “longer running times than my favorite TV shows,” “spending more time running than cleaning,” or “using running as an excuse to talk about sea turtles and Hawaii.” (You’ll see…)
I’m now measuring my long runs in hours, not minutes.
It started last week when I passed the hour mark, running my longest run at that point: 6 miles.
This week my long run was over an hour. (Actually, 1 hour and 17 minutes, but who’s counting?) It was a tad over 7 miles, and my longest run to date.
So, some days I’m putting more miles on my legs than on my car! I’d take myself in for an oil change, but I’m scared to know what that might involve.
Regardless, as my mileage is increasing, so is my confidence. I tell myself each week that I have to run only a few more minutes than last week, which is true.
And by pushing myself, slowly and steadily, I will somehow finish the race, just like the turtle in the old tale.
Speaking of turtles, below is a video of a sea turtle that we saw on the beach in Hawaii. Yes, this might be a shameless excuse to talk about something Hawaii-related, but I’m posting it now because I’m not sure when the subject of turtles will come up on my blog again. (Probably not anytime soon, unless turtles suddenly started eating our landscaping.)
Oh, and though the video doesn’t show it, the turtle eventually made it back to the water. My little camera didn’t have enough memory to film the whole thing.
I guess the lesson for all of us is that we, too, can slowly make it towards our goals. The other lesson for me, specifically, is that I should buy a larger memory card before going back to Hawaii.
…it’s because I’ve self-destructed from intense nerves.
Friday is the day I take the big (6-hour! all essay!) cumulative exam for my Master’s program.
I usually get a sizable amount of nerves for regular exams, but this
exam has an additional minor detail. You know, the whole “if-I-don’t-pass-it-I-don’t-graduate” thing, which makes me want to 1) run far away, 2) find a bag and hyperventilate, or 3) run far away and then find a bag and hyperventilate.
There might be a few things I’m good at (like scouting out bargain souvenirs or boiling water), but handling stress simply isn’t one of them.
Husband and my Mom have given me a number of pep talks with very sensible advice.
When Husband heard that the pass rate was 80% for first-time test takers, he said, “Are you kidding me? Of course, you’re going to pass. In fact, I bet you could take the test right now and pass.”
My Mom said, “If I passed my comp exam, then you can definitely pass. Don’t even worry about it!”
I definitely appreciate their encouraging words.
But, I find that they’re lacking in more constructive advice, like what to do if I faint while taking the exam or how I discreetly throw up in a quiet testing room without causing a scene.
Ok, I’m joking (a bit).
I know that things will work out ok. I know that somehow I will get through the exam. And I’m hopeful that I will pass.
I’ve just never been so excited to see Saturday.
