Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Things Disney Taught Me About Being Eco-Friendly

I work for an environmental company and as those of you who know me personally may know, I write for the company blog as well as for my personal one.  The other day I was at work thinking about things I could blog while simultaneously pinning environmental things on pinterest.  This got me thinking about what kinds of things people most often repin from my personal account (aka what I should write about for work if I want our blog to take off).  And then it hit me, Disney.  Once the idea got in my head it simply would not get out which leads me to the following list of:

Things Disney taught me about being Eco-Friendly:
  1. Keep your fruits pesticide (and poison) free.
  2. Make sure your shoes are recyclable, just in case you lose one.
  3. Be kind to animals, they may be royalty in disguise.
  4. Woodland creatures are generally trustworthy, be nice to them, they may even do your dishes for you (with biodegradable soap of course).
  5. Make sure your mode of transportation is low emission; choose a flying carpet or an elephant over a sports car.  Alternatively, make your vehicle out of an over-sized vegetable.  
  6. Use the smallest amount you need to get the job done; one cannon can be enough to stop a whole army of Huns.
  7. DO NOT pollute the oceans, apparently some sea creatures have access to magic and they can be pretty vindictive. 
  8. Every rock and tree and creature has a life, has a spirit, has a name.

I decided that maybe I should not put this as a post on the company blog (although I’m still really tempted) and instead I put it here with this lovely, and blatant, plug for my company’s blog, it’s right here!  It’s about environmental things and is somewhat spectacular.  Check it out, you know you want to.

Also, 5 points if you can identify all the movies I referenced! 

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

My Last Creative Writing Assignment

By: Kyley Shinead Eagleson

I never thought of myself as a bad person.  I always tried to do what was right.  I tried to help people.  I thought I followed the rules.  My name is Lila DeMarcus; I used to be honest.  My name is Lila DeMarcus and I am a liar.  You can trust me on this; I’m a doctor. 
I’m a psychiatrist.  On Monday’s and Thursday’s, I see Sylvia at 8:15.  Sylvia is a young mother, just 19; her husband is in the military.  She brings the baby with her to every appointment.  Generally, we will talk about how her week is going.  She tells me that she misses her husband who is deployed, that the baby won’t eat and that she is worried he is ill.
“You’re a doctor,” she implores, “Could you just take a look at him and tell me if something is wrong?”
“Sylvia,” I say, “we’ve talked about this before, I’m not that kind of doctor.”
Although I’d rather keep the focus off of the baby, the pleading look in her eyes finally gets me to look over him.  After all, I don’t need an M.D. after my name to figure out why her cabbage patch doll isn’t eating.
- - -
Jonas comes in on Tuesday afternoon, every Tuesday, without fail.  A few years back, when Christmas fell on a Tuesday, we were both here. 
Jonas likes order and consistency.  He’s an obsessive-compulsive patient whose life and mental state would probably improve greatly if he would just accept his homosexuality.  Jonas is an attractive man; we often discuss his dates from the previous weekend and why things always go bad when he tries to take a woman home with him.
“I met her at the bar, she was a 10, blond hair, blue eyes, the whole thing.” He tells me with false bravado.  “She was all over me so I took her back to my place.”
“And then what happened?” I ask.
            “I think I’m broken,” He tells me dejectedly, “there’s just something wrong with it.  Why won’t my body do what my mind tells it to?”
- - -
I know I should not have a favorite patient, but I do.  Her name is Joyce and she is an older woman.  Widowed, her children are all grown and off, living lives of their own.  Joyce is lonely.  She comes in on different days but always at least once a week.  I think people need human interaction to stay sane.  That’s why I see Joyce; she just needs another person to talk to, to prove to herself that she is not totally alone.
            “So how has your week been Joyce?” I ask.  She ponders my question for a moment and I just let her take the time she needs.  That’s partly why I like these sessions so much; they allow me some time for personal reflection as well.
            They give me the time to think about whether or not I’m totally alone, to think about how my week has been.  It gives me the time to think about the call I got from Sylvia during dinner last night.  She was hysterical because her baby wasn’t breathing and she didn’t know what to do.  I could hear the panic in her voice; almost see her pacing back and forth across her living room, wringing her hands, desperate for answers.
            “I think,” said Joyce stirring me from my reverie, “that my time here is drawing to a close.”
            “What do you mean?” I ask, “We still have 50 minutes left of the session.”
            “No dear, not the session, just here, in general.”
I like that she calls me dear, it makes me feel safe somehow, like nothing can get to me, like nothing can break through the cracks.   Joyce closes her eyes and I suddenly understand her meaning.
            “Joyce,” I say, “Joyce wake up!”  But she does not stir.  I try and try to rouse her but she’s gone.  That’s when I start falling, and I keep on falling and falling and falling.
- - -
When I woke up I had no idea where I was.  I kept asking about Joyce but no one listened.  They tell me that my cleaning lady found me, semi-catatonic, in my townhouse, alone.  They keep stressing that, that I was alone.  Now I’m at the Clear Springs Mental Institution, I’ve been here for a week.
  The doctors here say I talk to myself.  They hear me throughout the day and just assume that’s what I’m doing.  They don’t know my patients though.  I try to tell them about conflicted Jonas and disturbed Sylvia but they won’t listen.  They don’t see them like I do.  Just like they could not see Joyce.  They don’t believe me.
            “Please,” I say, “Please listen, these people, they need help.”
            “Don’t mind her,” I overhear one doctor reassuring another as they walk past, “That’s just Lila DeMarcus; she’s a liar.”  

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Fast Times in Kyley’s Life

Well, my life went a little bat-shit crazy there for a minute.  Here’s the scoop:

1. I moved out of good old Rupert’s Corral (AKA my house at Butler for the last year) and got an apartment of my very own!  I plan to take photos and stuff later in the summer when I have it all put together, so watch for that.

2. I finished my last semester and graduated from college.  I still can’t believe this one is true but they tell me it is.  I have a shiny new diploma and everything.  I set it up in my room to remind myself that I’m old.  Or something like that.

3. I’m working.  Like a big kid.  40 hours a week.  It’s hardcore.  I applied for my first real grown-up job on Monday and hopefully will know if I get it by the end of the month.  

4. I went to my first company sales meeting. It was so many things.  Some kind of dull but informative (day long meetings), some hilarious (like meeting a woman who is basically me in 20 years and getting to put a face with the woman who emailed me saying she loved me), some awesome (like a V.P. telling everyone I was the best thing since sliced bread), and some just downright absurd (e.g. drunk co-workers).  All-in-all, it was great, I got to meet people from the company that I knew through email but had never actually seen in real life.  Good times.  

Other than all that I’ve just been acclimating.  I have real bills now.  I can DVR shows I like and watch them later.  I have friends leaving the country soon.  I have friends still in school and some starting grad school in the fall.  My sister is moving next month and it will be the first time in 4 years that I won’t be able to hop over and see her whenever I want.  And last but not least, next month I am getting a real dining room table to replace the super cool card table I’m using now.  I guess it’s time to go out and buy those big girl panties.  

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

A Day in the Life: My Inability to Speak

Recently I have been having some serious issues with choosing the correct words while talking.  The only other time I have had this was last year when I had somewhat addled my brain by contracting the flu.  It’s like I know what I want to say but then these other words come out of my mouth.  For example:

I was out with my roommate the other night.  A friend texted me something really long and, aloud, I said “Man, he sent me back a small novel.”  Except that’s not what I said, that’s not what I said at all.  Instead I said, “Man, he sent me back a small llama.”  Llama? Where does that even come from?  I guess the words maybe sound a little alike? Novel…llama… kinda?  But I digress.

Take two, the other night I was sitting in my living room and one of my roommates asked me to text one of our friends about getting dinner on Friday.  I said, “Okay I will, I just can’t find my phone.”  Except I did not say phone.  I said pants.  Which was absurd because I was wearing my pants.  I was in the living room for goodness sake.  I was totally wearing my pants!  But apparently I could not find them?

Anyway, that’s about all I’ve got.  Maybe later today I’ll say something else absurd and have to edit this.  Only time will tell.