Haiti

Disasters happen. They happen. I mean I wish they wouldn't. I wish that writing a blog, or saying a prayer, or even just living a really good life could stop them from happening. Unfortunately I am not God and I don't really have the power to fix anything, I can only contribute.

Clothing drives, money collections, prayer circles- I'm all there. I'm not as rich as Angelina Jolie and I can't take my private jet over to being people essential goods while posing for tabloid pictures, but I'm pretty sure that they don't want anyone else coming over and using their resources anyway.

There are some things that I can and should do in response to a tragedy like this. I can hurt. I can feel horrible. When other people are in danger or are having serious problems I should want to do whatever I can to help. I can't even begin to imagine right now how horrible it must be to be going through what they are going through, but it certainly breaks my heart to think about it.

I'm not sure if that's the "right" way to respond to something like this, but it sounds about right to me. However, I guess if there's a right way to respond to this there is also a wrong way to respond to it.

Enter Pat Robertson (a.k.a. Mr.-biggest-jerk-in-the-universe-face). I just made that nickname up.

His response wasn't just not normal; I would go as far to say that his response was wrong.

According to ABC News at , Robertson blames the disaster in Haiti on a pact that they supposedly made with the devil. Said Robertson:

"(Haitians were) under the heel of the French. You know, Napoleon III, or whatever. And they got together and swore a pact to the devil... They said, we will serve you if you will get us free from the French. True story. And so, the devil said, 'OK it's a deal'."

So I'm not really if Robertson is just a bad person, if he has no soul, or if he's just a delusional old man that doesn't know what he is talking about. But saying something like that at a time like this sounds like pure evil to me.

I'm pretty sure that Robertson is the only person in the world that believes that, because that's one of the most ridiculous and plainly stupid sounding stories that I've ever heard. But even if there were truth to what he was saying, why bring it up now?

I truly cannot comprehend what it is that makes him want to say something so terrible and to condemn people that are already hurting.

I know that I shouldn't wish ill on anyone, but he'll get his. One day that man will get what he deserves.

Niche Assignment

I have opinions, and really good opinions. I have a lot of things to say and I have a lot of interesting perspectives things like life, people, and a whole bunch of other stuff. Not that that matters. All that matters now is one of those few things that I don't have anything to say about.

I was really proud of myself when I concluded at the end of my blog last semester that I don't have a niche and that that's okay. I felt empowered. I felt good about being seemingly alone and lost in the world. But apparently it's not okay.

For this blog I am supposed to be writing about my niche. You know, the niche that I don’t have. I’m not going to sit here and make one up, although sometimes I feel that that is exactly what this assignment entails. I’m just going to tell you the truth. I don’t want to grow up to be a blogger and in the meantime I’m not going to blog about a niche that I don’t have.

It’s frustrating, you know? I want to have a niche. However wanting something and having something are two completely different things. Or maybe I do have a niche and I just haven’t figured it out yet. Is that wrong?????

It took me until my second year of college to be completely sure about what I wanted to do with my life. Before I came to that decision, I was frustrated. It’s hard to not know exactly what it is that you want, or that you’re good at. It’s hard to not feel particularly special.

Now I’m immersed in that feeling all over again. We have so many writers in our class that are passionate about what they write about and they are exceptional writers in their specific fields.

I’m not like that. I’m all over the place sometimes. If you were too look at all of the articles that I did for the Banner last semester you would laugh because I was basically in a different section each time. As they say, I go between the tribes.

If you ask me a question that I don't have the answer to, it doesn't matter how you ask the question, I still don't have the answer. I still don’t have a niche. Now with this assignment I feel really guilty about that fact.

Maybe next semester?

Christmas Break

I suppose that it's easier to write about my Christmas break by talking about "the holidays". Really, It all started on Thanksgiving.

I wasn't with my family for thanksgiving. I should have been, but I had work. Anyway, my grandpa was having serious problems breathing that day. The next day my grandma rushed him to the hospital.

Fifty-five years of smoking catches up to you eventually, and for my grandpa that was the day that it all hit. It felt like everything that could possibly be wrong with him was wrong with him. The most unpleasant thing about this happening during the holidays is that I had finals coming up...I was really busy. I guess that thats sort of selfish thing to say.

My mom, her sisters and my grandma were there every day. They had everything organized into shifts so that he was never alone at the hospital. I came when I "could".

My grandpa was always an outspoken man. Now he had a tube down his throat. He was sedated for what felt like weeks. Every now and then he took what the doctors affectionally called a "sedation vacation", they would wake him up and give him an update about what was going on and make sure that he was okay. Soon enough they let him go home.

He wet home and had a stroke. It was a "minor stroke", whatever that means. I guess that that means that he didn't die.

Back in the hospital, he was doing terrible. I wish that I knew medical terms. I've never been sure how much prayer really helped, but he started doing well and they let him out of the hospital and into a rehabilitation clinic. My mom was a mess, she had hardly slept. She spent days worrying that she had picked the wrong place to put him into.

He could identify letters, but he couldn't read words. Since he had had the tube down his throat he couldn't talk. He had some motor skills, but his strength and endurance was at a minimal.

Rehabilitation went well, and on Christmas day he was allowed to leave for three hours to spend time with the family. He could say words but it was really difficult for him. Sometimes I felt like I was the only one who could really understand him. I guess that that was a blessing. Still, I can't even imagine being in a position where you can't dictate basic things to people that are close to you.

On new Years Day, they let him go home. He does sort of an outpatient thing now. Call it a New Years Day miracle.

There are still problems now. He can't always communicate the things that he needs to to my grandma. A few days ago he told my mom that he felt like he was "high". My mom talked to my grandma about the medications. He was taking WAY to much anti-anxiety medication. That's been settled.

Today I went to go visit him. he's doing great, but he's not perfect. Maybe I want too much.