The Perils of Decorating... with Mom

My little house in Columbia's version of "Pleasantville" needed some tender love and care. The bare walls were beginning to mock me. Every day after nursing school classes, I'd come home to the beige naked walls staring back at me and declaring -- "You can't do it all." Oh, I can't? Guess not.

So some time passed after finals before I got enough energy to even consider doing something with the little place. Consider? That I could do. It took minimal effort in between my naps.

Then my mother arrived.

All that goes into hanging pictures, the fussing, the aggravation, the hammering -- we were doing it all. So what if I'm 25 and still need my mother to help me with hanging pictures? Trust me, for those of you who know my mother -- this is something I must go through to avoid the impending sighs of disappointment if I attempted to hang anything myself.

After a few hours of emotional turmoil involving nails and a hammer:

Check out the great accent cocker spaniel

I'm thrilled. Couldn't be happier. But what is even better is the fact that she approves. Now there will be no conversations involving, "I just don't know where you failed to learn how to hang pictures... or even decorate for that matter."

Who am I kidding? There will be no conversations of such in that room. That was just the living room.

Resting, Cleaning, and Lady Gaga??

Needless to say, it's been one heck of a semester (if you didn't already know from my Facebook posts). And I'm exhausted. Not just tired, not just need some rest -- but the kind where my mind, body, and soul need to completely recharge. So at the advice of both my doctor and therapist, I am to "rest and recharge." What?

Resting and recharging -- here I come -- whatever that entails.

The first day was somewhat OK, but I still felt incredibly unsettled and restless. No resting on that day. And then, that brings me to day two being today.

My ailing grandmother (Nanny) may come visit me next week and this is her first trip outside of the Charleston area since my early UGA days. Needless to say, I'm stoked. And of course, anxious. So what's the best way to deal with all this? Clean!

I finally cleaned out my guest bedroom while listening to Lady Gaga. Really? Did I really just admit to this? I mean, I'm a Ryan Adams kinda girl and in love with the Dublin delight, Damien Rice. But, I needed that kinda pick-me-up music to keep me cleaning. And amidst my cleaning, I found a beautiful picture taken of my grandmother and I from when I returned from Keystone Camp in the early 2000's. So when Nanny finally walks through my door, I'll be able to show her not only a clean house, but a photo from better days.

Geeze, this blog just took a downward turn.

NOTE: For those of you who don't know, Nanny is battling bone cancer. She had a relapse of breast cancer from 16 years ago and now it has spread to her spine. She's done with radiation, but not done with life. Her spirit is something of awe. Something to write about. Something to talk about. She's amazing.

(Nanny and I during Christmas lunch in 2008)

The "Little Bit" about Me

In case you didn't know, I just finished my first nursing clinical semester in upper division. And I say that with great relief. But while I have returned home to take care of my grandmother and mother, my mind continues to race with each thought fighting for the most attention. Where does that leave me? In a constant state of strife.

As I sat here with an increasing pulse from growing anxiety, I decided to work on a statement of interest for a summer program. I was getting absolutely no where when I remembered what my Medical & Health Journalism professor once said -- "You write better on your blog." And so, I created another blog and here I am.

I'm supposed to be writing "a little bit about me." A little bit? How in the world am I supposed to write a mere "bit" about the past 25 years? I've had too many experiences, good, bad, and wonderful, to sum up into one paragraph. How is one paragraph supposed to adequately represent me? The hardest part about writing is the beginning. Heck, that's what they say. There isn't an easy part of anything in writing -- not even the title. But then I remember it's never how much you say, but how you say it. And that is the challenge.

I was raised in a small rural town in Georgia and it was this experience that has defined who I am and what I believe. Through a series of missteps and backups, I've landed in Columbia, SC looking to start my nursing career. But from public relations to nursing, two things have always remained constant: my compassion and empathy for the sick and the intense desire to empower others.