Inspiration in the Form of a Compounding Watchtower

Like I've written in the few times that I've actually gotten my enthusiasm to post anything recently, I really wish that I were keeping up with more frequent and more substantial updates to my blog these days. Still, I'm sure that if I had all the free time in the world, I still might be able to find some other distraction that I can blame for preventing me from my one, true, really great passion for the written word. There's always something more important and far more pressing than what I can only consider a leisure activity these days with everything else that I have hovering over my head. Classes and homework and recopying notes and reading and research and writing papers and Nightingale newsletters and LASN/SNA/SGA meetings and fundraisers and special events and volunteer time and trying to quit smoking and trying to deal with the often overwhelming pain in my back and prepping for surgery and trying to get everything completely and totally ironed out and tucked away and wrapped and ready to submit... life is tough and I definitely always seem to be able to make it a little tougher and a little more time consuming and a little more expensive and extensive than what it may otherwise be.

But I have to write this afternoon. Of course, I really should be working to ensure that I've got the best possible definition of nursing paper ever written or reading the textbook on assessments and evaluation and treatment and implementation and everything that's anything in the nursing process or recopying notes for the lingering Pathophysiology exam or reading the chapters associated with pulmonary function and valvular issues and renal disorders and neurological deficiencies. There's reading for Family Dynamics and Sociology, discussion board posts that need to be compiled and submitted and replied to and participated in. I have the other paper, the one for Tech Comp that I really just refuse to consider either an issue or a necessity or something that I really ought to put to the forefront for the time being. There's a final issue of the Nightingale that I should be busier finishing. I have an issue of Horizons that'll be due before I know it. I have bills that I need to work a little harder to pay. But all that stuff is going to be there regardless, and the most pressing and important thing, this paper that describes my personal definition of nursing may not write itself, but if I don't get any other topics that tug at my attention out of my mind and posted here, then I'll never be able to focus and really give the research and composition my best efforts.

So, there's this thing that happened last week; well, started, really. And it comes in the form of somebody who (has and continues to) pique my interest. Out of left field and from across the universe, but I guess that's where the better things in life usually arrive: from out of nowhere and when one least suspects or hopes or anticipates or figures. When I think of situations like this, for some reason I always think of that Emily Dickinson verse... "because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me," but to make such an analogy is totally grim and subversive and the exact opposite of everything that is great and wonderful and amusing and completely warm for heart and health; however, the general meaning is somewhat similar. Just upside down and reversed.

It's a guy. Ding! Ding! Ding! Of course. I'm sure that anyone reading this would've smelled that one coming from a mile away, but I really didn't expect that I'd seize an opportunity and take a chance and go for broke and... hey, pop a question just to see whether or not something possible was possible.

Here's what happened... This summer, one of the many activities with which I was first involved with the Student Nurses Association was orientation and registration. I had to get up early and head up to campus and wear SNA attire and plug in my laptop and compile a long list of contact information for the incoming ASNers and BSNers who were all about to embark on the first levels of their individual programs. I actually think that I spent the majority of that day on my knees adding correctly spelled names to a long list for name tags and tape measures and clip boards and all the other stuff that I have yet to require for my personal use as my first level won't begin for another two months (two months from today, that is -- at the time, it would've been... what... ? ... closer to six months?). It's an all-day for two days event where students get to find out everything they've always wanted to know about the crucial, clinical phase of education. If you've made it to that point, then you better be prepared to live up to a bunch of really high expectations because not everyone gets in and not everyone will be able to make it through and beyond into the wonderful world of nursing as a profession.

BSN went well. Quick. Easy. We had a bit of a break before the ASNers showed up, and one of the students arriving for his spot on the list of those in need of clinical imperatives caused me to do a bit of a double-take and smile. It was one of those situations when you're thinking to yourself... hey... you're new... And then you make a note of the name that you're typing into the list and decide that maybe this is somebody you'd like to talk to (Hey, Baby! What's your name? What's your number? What's your sign?), but will likely not have much of an opportunity. Ya know, a momentary fantasy that plays out for about forty-five seconds to a minute in your head during which you take note of the eyes, the teeth, the smile, the scrubs, the height, and you blush a little when you hope that there's not a mind reader mixed into the crowd somewhere and honing in on your current mental framework.

So, things go along their merry way. For the weeks that followed, life took over. As one can infer from reading my blog and making certain assumptions in the lengthy time that exists from one blog post to the other, I've been busy. To list out anything and everything that I've been doing would be beating a dead horse. I have very little social life. I have a limited number of friends who are not also nursing students. The "fun" activities in my life are social obligations involving one organization or another, and most of my thrilling Friday and Saturday nights are spent at my desk, rubbing the corners of my eyes after several hours or staring at the hard glare emanating from my laptop's haunting gaze. This is one of those situations, however, where you kinda bump into that dude that you saw at registration every now and then. Passing in the parking lot and prepping to acknowledge the other person (...should I smile? should I nod? ask, "how's it goin'?") or serving them chicken strips or some other fast food at an SGA luncheon (...ah, there he is again... I wonder if he's single. I wonder if he plays for my team or for their team or if it even really matters 'cause I seriously doubt he'd be interested in giving me the time of day regardless).

And then, one morning last week, I was letting my coffee get me going and looking through the Facebook news feeds and I noticed that a fellow overachiever had accepted a friend request from the individual whose name I had noted and tucked away that day at registration. I took a gamble, going on the sole assumption that, based on the list of mutual friends (mostly acquaintances, really), maybe, just maybe this guy plays baseball for the same team as me... or at least regularly operates as a special guest star. It went something along the lines of me thanking him for accepting my friend request and asking him if he had any interest in grabbing a cup of coffee sometime in the future.

Now, allow me to make a momentary, secondary aside as I relate the information contained in his response and my glib reaction to his reply. I had imbued my initiating message with as much self-deprecating uncertainty and unassuming courage as possible, allowing for the possibility that the object of my interest may be a perfect Kinsey zero, totally uninterested, and perhaps even a bit offended. Therefore, I sprinkled the message with plenty of self-titled "pansies," "douchebags," and accepted the idea that I may be completely and totally wrong in having gone out on a limb and basically asking out a man whose sexuality was only slightly certain. I was prepared for him to deny my request, remove my link to our friendship through the all-time most popular social networking site, and for him to jaunt up to campus in a matter of hours to tell the world that some homo bro hit on him. Luckily, nothing could be further from his response, yes, he would be interested in coffee, but there was a caveat on which I feel the express need to ponder. Being very busy and in no way ready for a relationship, he said, there should be no expectations.

I was left to wonder why one would automatically assume that I'm grasping at something when I really just thought: he's cute... hell, he's better than cute. He's an attractive, great looking, hot guy. Tall. Nice teeth. Nice smile. Really alluring eyes. The kinda eyes that are always smiling at you. Happy. Consistently pleasant and generally easy to be around. The kind of person one only has the opportunity to run into every few dozen lunar cycles, the kind that makes you want to snatch up an opportunity. He looked interesting, and I wanted to know him better. So, I discounted the sideways advanced directives and proceeded to re-state my interest. And the guy one-upped me on coffee. Seeing that coffee and raising me one Shakespearean tragedy: Macbeth.

So Macbeth begot texting and texting begot tentative post-Baton Rouge trip plans and post-
Baton Rouge trip plans begot a spaghetti dinner and spaghetti begot apple tarts and coffee which begot Saturday Night Live which begot increasing interest which begot a long afternoon and evening study session which begot more texting which begot more interest which begot obvious, non-mutually exclusive interest which begot one of those late night conversations that sought some discussion of what all this begetting and texting and discussing really means.

Who knows. All I can write for certain is that this tall guy with the piercing eyes and the great smile and the warm heart and the pleasant disposition that really puts the writer at ease while concurrently inducing excitement and really makes me want to change my Facebook status. I guess we'll just wait to see what happens.