Today was, in fact, a good day.

But I was relieved to finally get home so I could cry for a while.

I had Yet Another Medical Procedure today after work.

And everything went fine. Fine.

But, both during and after, I couldn't seem to avoid the fears that always seem to come up.

Is it going to be okay?

What if it's not okay? What will I do then? Is it supposed to hurt this much? Am I being burned? Will I be scarred?

The tears are the only way I know how to deal with the fear right now.

I'd already paid, in advance, an amount roughly equal to, at this point in my life, about a year's worth of food. Yet somehow my appointment disappeared from their appointment book. It wasn't a problem, but it didn't help my confidence at all. Thank goodness I called in the morning to double-check.

And, like I said, everything went fine. This is just one of those Scary Things that my life seems to be filled with right now.

At least this time I managed to avoid getting anesthetic up my nose. That happened last time, and it took all night for the feeling to come back to the tip of my nose.

And Yet Another Medical Procedure won't need to happen again until November.

The next Scary Thing will be on Friday. I'm not really worried about that one right now. Most likely outcome: nothing. Very slight chance of: here's something to worry about, but don't bother, because we have no idea if this is a problem or not, and if it is, there isn't anything we can do about it that's less dangerous than your current situation.

* * *

The weekend was a good one. Sunday I was supposed to go meet with some people about the trials and tribulations of being an alien, but my brain just sort of refused to cooperate, so I skipped it. I feel kind of guilty about not going. I would have liked to go. But the notion of getting dressed halfway decently, and then spending several hours on several buses, made the whole thing seem like too much work.

It was also very hot and sticky and unpleasant over the weekend, so I didn't feel like doing much.

Last Friday was a mostly good day; I had a nice nails-and-hair conversation with someone I don't know very well. I just asked her if she'd heard about my "situation", and she smiled a little and nodded, and that was it. I'm an alien, and that was just fine. I got some good hair tips from her, too.

I had a second long conversation on Friday with an old friend I hadn't talked with in a while. She had heard a while back about my being an alien. I had a lot of fun talking with her.

But I also goofed something fairly badly on Friday, I think.

I went to the Post Office to check my PO Box. The clerk there is very nice, and on Friday he said hi to me, by name. Unfortunately, it was the wrong name.

I figured I should explain the situation to him while I'm feeling brave enough to do it; otherwise, he'll be calling me the wrong name forever, and it will be more embarrassing for me as time goes on!

So I just went up to the counter, said, "um, there's something I need to tell you..." and proceeded to explain that I'm Sarah. An Alien.

And he became very flustered and embarrassed. He turned bright red. He apologized repeatedly.

I felt really bad. *He* didn't have any way of knowing I was an alien! (Well, I guess he couldn't tell...) *I* wasn't angry or offended; quite the opposite, I felt like I should have made the situation clear much earlier than I did.

So, one Alien explanation botched. Guess I can't win them all. I'll have to try to apologize the next time I see him, or at least say something to let him know I'm not angry or upset.

Here's how my big day went.

I left my apartment early enough to get to the bus stop more than ten minutes ahead of time, but as I got near the stop, the bus showed up, and I ran to catch it, not realizing that I was in fact so early that this was the bus that came before the one I had meant to catch. During the ride I wondered if it had been a mistake to catch such an early bus, because I'd have to stand around outside the whole time.

I arrived at bureaucracy #1 about 25 minutes before they were supposed to open, and I was 37th in line. Ten minutes later I was in the middle of the line, and by the time the doors finally opened, I couldn't even see the end of the line. Moral: a half hour early is NOT too early.

Once they opened the doors, the line began to move quickly, and I started to get scared. Before I knew it, I was at the check in counter.

I handed over my special form. "Hi, I hope you know what to do with this."

She looked at it. "This is a medical form; you have to file this with your employer. We can't help you." Apparently she thinks it's some other form that she's familiar with.

"Um, no... this is your form. My doctor filled it out, and now I'm supposed to bring it here."

She looks at it again. "Oh... oh... okay. I'd better give you a number." She gave me a ticket for their automated number-calling system, a clipboard, and another form to fill out.

I sat down to fill out the new form, while also trying to pay attention to the numbers being called. I was trembling from fear and stress.

The first box on the form was "Name", so I filled it out. "Sarah", "Ann", "Alien". Oops... that's not actually my last name, but somehow I've written it on the form anyway! I giggled and scratched that part out, and tried to concentrate a little harder.

My number was called fairly quickly. It was a bit of a search to find which of the 30 or so desks I was supposed to go to.

"Hi, I have this form, and I hope you know what to do with it...?" I handed him my special form, plus the form from the front desk.

He looked at the special form a moment. "No, we can't do that."

"Yes, you can; it's an unusual form but this is the way it's supposed to work." I tried to remain calm. This was more or less what I had expected.

"No, we can't do that, we need X,Y, and Z in order to do that."

"No, you don't need X,Y, and Z for this form."

"No, we can't do it!" He was friendly, but insistent.

"Yes, you can! I promise I'm not making this up, can you please go look it up or ask somebody or something?"

He walked away to consult a very big, centrally mounted manual. I watched from across the room as he searched.

The clerk came back. "No, we can't do that."

"Yes, you can, really, you can! Can you please check with a supervisor or something?"

He left again, stood waiting for the supervisor, and then spoke with her briefly. She came over to his desk to talk with me.

"We can't do that," she said. "You need X,Y, and Z to do that."

"No, I'm not supposed to need that for this form, this is all I should need to do this."

"Well, maybe someplace else you don't need X,Y, or Z, but here, you do."

"No, really, this is all I need, I *know* this is all you need!"

"Well, who told you that?" she asked me.

At this point, I had to bend the truth a tiny bit. See, I *knew* that this was the correct procedure from doing some research and getting tips from other people who have had to use this form. But Bureaucracy #1 doesn't seem to want to advertise this procedure openly. I think this is partly political, and partly to protect aliens like me.

So I told her that someone at Bureaucracy #1 had told me... or something. I tried to be ambiguous about where the information actually came from.

The supervisor went to consult the manual again. She was joined by another woman. Much conferring and flipping of pages.

The supervisor came back.

"You're right," the supervisor said. "We *can* do that!"

Yay! Whew.

Then she said, "I wouldn't have known if you hadn't told me; it was hard to find the right part of the manual." She actually went back to the manual again, and came back and handed me a post-it note with a list of the relevant sections of the manual! How nice of her!

By now the clerk was working with someone else, so I had to wait for them to finish. Then the supervisor explained to the clerk how to key everything in. I signed my magic form. The clerk signed it. The supervisor signed it.

He got it all typed up and handed me a piece of paper. "Can you check all of this, please, and make sure it's correct?"

I looked at it. It was all fine, except for one item. The most important item.

I pointed this out. "Shoot!" he said. He had to go get the supervisor again to correct it.

He handed me another, corrected sheet. I checked it over. Correct. I had a little difficulty signing my name; I was still trembling.

I had to pay. $7 more than I expected. But I had enough cash.

It looked like we were almost done. "So, did I really have to fill out that other form?" I asked. Oops, yes, I had to sign that form, too.

I asked the clerk to make copies of everything for me, which he did.

And then, after a very brief stop at another window, I was done.

The first part of my ordeal was over, and hadn't taken more than an hour.

I went to use the restroom. It was safe for aliens. I looked in the mirror. Wow, I can't believe I did that!

I was a bit giddy as I got back on the bus, heading for Bureaucracy #2. So giddy that, five minutes later, I didn't notice I had missed the stop where I needed to change buses. I ended up on the wrong side of a deep canyon, and it took a ten minute walk and a ten minute wait for another bus to take me back in the right direction.

Then there was a 15 minute wait for the transfer bus, but it showed up on time. I told the driver I needed to visit Bureaucracy #2, and asked if he knew where it was.

"You mean, downtown?" he asked.

"Um, no... by the airport I think."

"Bureaucracy #2 has an office by the airport? That's news to me!"

That made me a little nervous, but I had a map, and I was pretty sure I knew where the office was. Sure enough, eventually, we got to the right spot, and I could see the office from the street.

It had taken me an hour and a half to travel between the two offices. I would have saved about a half hour if I hadn't missed my stop.

I stood in the check in line at Bureaucracy #2 for about 15 minutes. I was a worried because there were about 40 people in the room, but the digital sign said "Now Serving #1"! Eventually I realized that they weren't using the digital sign, they were just calling people's names over the P.A. system.

When I got to the check in window, I explained that I had just come from Bureaucracy #1, explained why, as best I could, and showed the copy of my special form, and my slip of paper from Bureaucracy #1.

She looked at the documents, asked a couple of questions, and keyed some stuff in. "Well, we can only do part of this," she said, "for the other part we need to see your... other paperwork."

She wasn't specific, but I knew what she was talking about, and I didn't have that paperwork. "That's ok," I said, "just do the part you can, and I'll do the other part later."

That was okay with her. She keyed my name into the computer and told me to take a seat in the waiting room and wait for my name to be called.

As I was waiting, I heard another name called. A familiar name. And watched a friend of mine stand up and walk into the inner office. We'd been sitting in the waiting room together but hadn't seen one another. When she came out a few minutes later, I waved, and she came over and said hi. After a brief chat and a hug, she left. She was headed to Bureaucracy #1 with the same form I had! She was there for the same reason I was, but was doing things in a different order.

I waited another ten minutes or so. My name was called. I went up to the window and explained everything again, and handed over the same stuff again.

"Well, we can only do part of this..." I told her that was fine. At least Bureaucracy #2 had it's story straight!

She keyed stuff in for a little while, then handed me a sheet to check over and sign. It was mostly correct, except for the parts they weren't going to do today. I signed. She gave me my receipt.

After another brief potty stop (and by the way, Bureaucracy #2 has MUCH nicer bathrooms than Bureaucracy #1) I was out the door. Total time: less than an hour!

I was astonished and doubly giddy that I had managed to visit both offices in the same day, and with two successes! And through it all, I didn't get any "you're an alien" looks from any of the employees of any of the bureaucracies. They were all really nice and professional!

But this time, I wasn't quite so giddy, and managed to get on and off the bus in the right place.

Eventually I was sitting at another bus stop, waiting for another bus, the transfer bus. The last bus of the day, hopefully. I was happy and relieved and a million other emotions all at once. Clearly, it had been a very good day.

Then, it started to get scary.

Two guys walked up to the bus stop. I don't usually like to judge people by appearance, but they looked like they might be the sort of people who don't like aliens.

The taller of the two was wearing jeans and combat boots. No shirt. Lots of tatoos. Very short hair. And there was just something about him that made me apprehensive, even at a distance. Big Scary Guy was scary enough that I didn't really get a look at his friend, who at least was wearing a shirt.

I tried to relax and keep an open mind. Big Scary Guy sat down *right* next to me. I listened to him talking to his friend.

Lots of casual conversation about: Prison. Fights. Parole officers. How to cheat the bus company. Stuff like that.

Big Scary Guy turned to me and asked me a question about a cell phone store, of all things. I didn't know the answer to his question, and told him that. I tried not to get into a conversation.

He didn't seem to notice that I was an alien.

They kept talking. F-this, F-that. You can't sit in the front of the bus anymore because it's reserved for the F-ing old bats. I'm glad so-and-so got shot. Blah, blah, blah... isn't that right?

That last question was directed at me. I hadn't really been paying attention to the content of their complaints and abuse, just the tone.

"Pardon?"

Big scary guy rolled his eyes. "Forget it!"

A bus arrived. Not the bus I wanted, but an option I could take. Big Scary Guy and his friend were apparently getting on it, though. I was relieved, and decided to stay put and wait for the bus I really wanted.

A moment later, and the bus was gone... and Big Scary Guy and his friend were still at the bus stop, arguing about it. "No, that F-ing bus doesn't F-ing go there." "Yes, it F-ing does, we could have got on that F-ing bus". Big Scary Guy's friend was right: the bus would have taken them where they wanted to go. I decided not to point this out to them.

"Besides," ranted Big Scary Guy, "that F-ing (racial epithet) bus driver didn't want me on his F-ing bus. And I'm not a big fan of F-ing (racial epithet)'s, anyway, personally."

Okay, Big Scary Guy most certainly does NOT like aliens. In fact, it's not clear if Big Scary Guy likes *anyone*, but he's definitely the sort of person who's likely to take my mere existence quite personally. I'm probably in danger. Strangely enough, this is the first time I've ever had to confront this.

The seconds dragged on... was the bus ever going to come?

Finally, the bus showed up. Big Scary Guy and his friend sat in the back. I sat up front with the old bats.

About 20 minutes later, we arrived at the mall. I could hear Big Scary Guy and his friend arguing about whether we had arrived at the mall or not. As the bus left the mall, they concluded that we had, but were now confused as to why the bus seemed to be leaving with them still on board. They marched up front, where I was, to ask the driver if they were at the mall, and if so, whether they might get off the bus.

I was relieved when the driver stopped well past the official bus stop in order to let them out. As they left, I noticed that Big Scary Guy's friend had a prosthetic arm, and a hook instead of a right hand. For a moment, I wondered how this might have happened, and then I just decided not to think about it.

This is the true challenge ahead of me. Not learning to deal with Bureaucracies. Learning to deal with Big Scary Guy and his friend, and other people like them.

After that, everything was smooth sailing. I got off the bus near my office, went to the post office and checked my mail, bought a cheeseburger as a small celebration of my achievements, and went back to my office. Several people asked me how it went; I told them everything had been just as difficult as expected, but that everything had gone well. Everyone congratulated me.

I did not mention Big Scary Guy and his friend. I didn't want to ruin my upbeat mood by dwelling on the scary parts.

So in short, a great, wonderful day, victories achieved, lessons learned, and a lifetime more lessons left to be learned.

Yay for me!

Yay for me!

Yay for me!

The paperwork? Um... yeah, it went pretty well... mission accomplished, and I even made it back to the office by lunchtime!

Yay for me!

(More details later, when I'm not at work.)

Yay for me!

Tomorrow's the day to tackle the paperwork. I should really stop typing right now and go to bed early! Oh well.

I'll need to get an early start; two bureaucracies in one day, and an assortment of long bus rides, will probably be a bit of a challenge. On the other hand, I could be finished before lunchtime. We'll just have to wait and see. Maybe they'll all *like* aliens! Hugs and cookies for everyone! Yeah, right.

My cutest jeans are ready. My favorite t-shirt is ready. I have clean underwear. All of the necessary bits of documentation are collected into a folder, ready for transport. I think I've scraped together enough money for the fees. I have change for the bus.

I'm ready!

It turns out I really should have done this several months ago.

I'm moving. I found out, oh, about three hours ago. Sigh. Apparently they're planning to convert my apartment building to condos.

So the wonderful palace I've been living in for the past ten years, complete with spotty old carpet, moisture damage and mold in the bathroom due to a complete and utter lack of ventilation, AND entertaining recurrent plumbing problems... all of this can be mine to own, for a mere (impossible amount of money).

Yep. Moving. Definitely.

There are an assortment of problems with this.

First problem: Moving is very scary for aliens! Some people don't seem to like us. They'd prefer that we live... elsewhere. (This is, in fact, illegal where I live, which makes things slightly easier on an alien. Slightly. But not much less scary.) But hey, maybe they won't notice I'm an alien. Not everyone does. Except...

Second problem: in order to even see a new apartment, everyone wants to see ID. And, at the moment, my ID may as well have I'M AN ALIEN printed on it in big, bold letters.

Third problem: any potential landlord will probably request a credit report. The credit report will probably have SHE'S AN ALIEN printed on it in big, bold letters. (I'm not sure how to deal with this.)

Other problems: Where will I live? What can I afford? Who will help me move? These are perfectly normal problems, though.

As frightening as all of this is... it's a good thing. I've been sort of thinking about moving for almost a year, mostly because the person who picked out this apartment wasn't me, and the reasons she chose it are no longer applicable.

But, oddly enough, her picture is still on my driver's license.

I've showed the picture to a lot of people. They usually laugh. I've even been told we don't even look related!

And that is why I need to go do some paperwork. Because I can't move on without it. I can't move to a new apartment, and I can't finish moving to my new self. Everything depends on tomorrow.

I think I should be nervous, but I'm not. Weird.

Oh, and just to keep track of the technical side of life: the build system really *was* just sulking yesterday; it was fine today, and I didn't touch a thing. But now, after a wipe and rebuild, the QA server is being difficult. I can sympathize, though; being torn down and rebuilt is always a challenge. For a server or an alien!

So, how long does it take people at the office to notice that the resident alien has new holes in her head?

It depends. For most people, one to two seconds seemed about typical.

One friend casually said hi as she walked past my office, then immediately stepped backward, looked at me, and smiled. She asked me where I had it done. I giggled and said, "Guess!" From the way I was giggling, she could tell. Yep. Head-Holes-R-Us, with the 12 year olds! She was the one who had recommended the more grownup place. I explained my choice. She understood.

Another friend took less than a second. I walked into her office, she looked at me, smiled, stood up, and gave me a hug. And said I looked great!

Some people took longer, sometimes they'd even go an entire sentence or so, on some other topic, before commenting!

I was relieved that everyone seemed to say that I looked very nice. I hope they weren't *just* being nice!

Then I had a meeting with my boss. He didn't say anything. I suspect he noticed but decided not to say anything.

I also talked with my boss about the paperwork I need to do. I may take a day off on Thursday and see if I can get that done; he said it would be okay.

I'm also tempted to wait until next week to try to do the paperwork. It's very hot here at the moment, and next week will probably be cooler. But I really think I need to get this taken care of. Actually, I probably should have done it several months ago, and not having dealt with it has become very, um, socially awkward. Besides, all the pieces are in place now. It's time.

Oh, and I'm happy to report that after several days of rest, my brain has remembered how to program again. But, sadly, during the three day weekend, the build system apparently got very lonely, and now it's sulking and refusing to do distribution builds. I'll have a talk with it in the morning.

I almost managed a quiet three day weekend. But I decided to have some holes poked in my head, too!

On Friday night, I decided, after more than a year of waiting and debating, that the right time for the head holes had finally arrived. There were two alternatives: a big department store someone had suggested would be best for a grownup, or the little store at the mall down the street, where the 12-year old girls go. After thinking about it quite a lot, I decided the best alternative was the second one; as an alien, I've already missed out on far too many 12-year-old-girl-ish experiences, and I should take advantage of the few left open to me!

Saturday morning, I got up early, took a long shower, and then did the best job I could on my hair. Put on my cutest jeans, and a t-shirt with flowers on it. Walked down to the mall. Marched right up to the Head-Holes-R-Us store. Glanced in. And marched right on by.

I was too scared to go in!

I went over to the food court and sat down to think.

Why was I so scared? I was reminded of another scary time at the same mall: going to buy my first bra. That time, I had walked right into the store, and right up the escalator. At the top of the escalator, the bras were to the left. I went right. I stood there in the store, staring at nothing, trembling a little, trying to find some courage, and failing. And then I discovered I was actually staring intently at a Barbie Boom Box. I took the escalator down, left the store, and sat outside for a while, trying not to cry.

It was too scary to do by myself! I felt very alone.

But, ultimately, I needed a bra, and nobody was going to help me, and I had to grow up and get past this, so I took a deep breath, stood up, and went to another store that was somehow less scary, and managed to not only walk into the right section, but actually find a bra out of the bewildering array they seemed to have in stock, take it up to the counter, and pay for it.

Of course, when I got it home, I discovered that it didn't fit. But that was really beside the point.

I sat in the food court, remembering that day. It wasn't that long ago. A year? Maybe less?

I managed to do that. I can do this, too. And why does the Chinese restaurant in the food court have part of its menu in Japanese? Hmm.

I noticed a few people staring at me. The "is that an alien?" look. But only a few. Most people didn't seem to pay any attention to me.

I walked back to Head-Holes-R-Us. Thankfully, the place seemed to be almost entirely empty. I walked up to the counter, and told the girl there that I was interested in some head holes.

She didn't give me the "you're an alien" look. A minor victory in and of itself, particularly since she looked not much older than a teenager, and teenagers are often a problem for aliens. She sent me to the front of the store to look at a card with a list of options. I went up and stared at the options and tried to guess what I wanted. How am I supposed to know? I've never had head holes before!

I went back up and told her I had decided, which I hadn't, really, but I was hoping she'd sort of help me decide as we talked about it.

She said she needed to see ID before installing the holes. I showed her one of my recent victories, my newest ID card, issued just a week or two ago. She explained that, no, she needed to see my driver's license.

"Well, ok, but you're about to learn more about me than you probably want to know..." I said with a smile. I opened my purse, took my license out of my wallet, and handed it to her.

She glanced at it and let out a giggle. I giggled too.

Hi, I'm an alien. Sigh.

We sorted through the various options one more time, I picked something different than what I thought my first choice would be. I filled out the paperwork. She cleaned and sterilized and just generally got everything ready. She handed me some clips, and I clipped my hair back. As she worked, she explained the procedure to me, and I tried to explain to her about being an alien.

I'm not sure she understood entirely. Heck, I'm not sure I understand it entirely! It's so hard to explain, even given an infinite amount of time, that a short explanation is really just doomed to failure. On the other hand, she did say, "Well, it's never too late!" which is actually very profound, so maybe she understood more deeply than I'm giving her credit for. She seemed very young to be so wise.

She also said "I wouldn't have known if you hadn't told me!" Which is pretty much the nicest thing you can possibly say to an alien! And most importantly, she simply accepted it, and acted as if it was perfectly ordinary, and aliens came in for head holes all the time.

And then, she put holes in my head. It was a lot like having staples put in, I suppose, although I've never actually put staples in my head, I think that's what it would sound and feel like. Ker-chunk! Ow.

By the time all this had finished, more customers had wandered in, and there were probably ten people in the small store, which made me more nervous than I had been before I went in! And there were about six people in line waiting to pay for things.

The girl finished cleaning up and went to work the register. I got in line. After a few minutes it was my turn to pay.

She explained a few more tidbits she had left out, and gave me my copy of the paperwork, two bottles of head-hole-disinfectant, and a frequent shopper card marked with extra credit for being the proud recipient of new head holes. She rang everything up and told me the final price.

I explained with a giggle that since she already knew my deepest, darkest secrets, I could now safely pay with a credit card. She laughed a little. And accepted the card. And didn't ask for my ID again.

She handed me a bag containing everything I had purchased that wasn't already attached to my head. I thanked her and told her how nice and wonderful she had been, and what a nice and wonderful experience it had been.

I was actually a little sad to leave. Everything had gone so well!

I don't think Mom ever had pierced ears. I wonder what she would have thought of all this?

After such a big adventure, I needed to sit down and rest, and besides, it was lunchtime. I went back to the food court, to the Chinese restaurant with the Japanese on the sign. "Would you like to try a sample, ma'am?" the girl behind the counter asked. No "you're an alien" look here either!

The sample was tasty, but I ended up picking something else to eat, which turned out not to be as good. I took my food and sat by the skating rink, and watched children take skating lessons. The teacher would gracefully skate backwards out onto the ice, and a few moments later the little kids would try to follow like wobbly little ducklings. Very cute.

I ate. And rested. And felt relaxed and blissfully un-alien.

Such an amazing achievement could only be followed by shopping, I decided. So I headed off to shop.

By now the mall was quite crowded. The little kiosks jammed in the middle of the sidewalks some years back were, as usual, making it a little annoying to get through the crowds.

"Excuse me, ma'am, mumble, mumble, mumble?" Over the noise of the crowd, one of the kiosk vendors was talking to me, but I couldn't hear most of what he said. He gestured at me with a white ball with wires sticking out of it. I could not identify the object, nor guess it's intended function. I smiled and shook my head, and walked on.

He hadn't given me the "you're an alien" look either! Another victory! The day was going amazingly well.

I hadn't gone more than a few steps when another kiosk vendor had spotted me. "Hey, alien, want to buy some goop from my cart?"

Ow. Oh well, if things had continued to go that well, it might have gone to my head!

I told her no, thank you, I didn't want to buy any goop. I didn't stop to look at what sort of goop it was. Although, in retrospect, she may very well have been the same woman who stopped me a couple weeks back and said, "Excuse me, ma'am, are your nails natural or acrylic?" Hmm. That day, I wasn't an alien to her, but today, I was. Funny, but it works that way sometimes.

I made my way to one of the big department stores. After what seemed an endless amount of browsing in a sea of unwearable clothing, I managed to find a couple of okay-looking tops. But they were expensive. Expensive enough that I really needed to try them on before buying them.

Trying clothes on in the store is terrifying for an alien. It was not something I had planned on doing. Maybe not ever. Just too scary.

But hey: I have shiny new head holes. I've gotten relatively few "you're an alien" looks. The day has been filled with victories! Maybe I should try it. Or would that be pushing my luck?

I picked three different tops, tossed them over my arm, and walked hesitantly up to where the dressing rooms were. I peered inside. It looked sort of safe. I dashed into one of the little dressing cubicles and locked the door. But, oops, the door wouldn't lock. Aren't they supposed to lock? Grr.

I could hear mothers with small children in adjoining cubicles. had a brief vision of a toddler wandering up and innocently flinging the door open, leaving me standing there in my bra and jeans for the world to stare at. Hey, look at the alien!

I decided to go for it anyway. What was the worst that could happen? Well, best not to think about that.

The first top was... ok. A little cute, even. Second one... also pretty good. Third one... heck, I think I'm on a roll today. But wait... hmm, too big? Yeah, probably. I hadn't noticed at first, the result of a previous lifetime of wearing baggy clothing, trying to hide myself. Better try the others again. Hmm, I think maybe they're too big. Wish I'd brought some in a smaller size. Why didn't I plan for this possibility?

I put my own t-shirt back on. Brushed my hair. Wondered what to do next.

I decided to go get the next smaller size for all three tops, and repeat the whole exercise. I was definitely pushing my luck at that point! I took a deep breath, grabbed the three I had just tried on, and quickly left the dressing room. Went out into the racks and found the next smaller sizes for all three. Went back into the dressing room, back into the same cubicle. And realized, belatedly, that if I had picked a different cubicle, maybe the lock would have worked. Oh well.

I tried on the three smaller tops. Two fit much better. One was worse. I had almost decided to buy the three that fit best, when I noticed that one of them had a little defect in the cloth, right in the front. I decided to leave that one, as well, and just get two.

I put my t-shirt back on again, brushed my hair again, gathered up all six tops, took a deep breath, left the cubicle, and tossed four of the tops onto the no-thank-you rack provided. My two prizes I took up to the cashier to pay for.

And one of them turned out to be on sale!

The cashier finished the transaction by saying "There you go, ma'am. Have a nice day. You look very nice today!" Sadly, the last remark turned out to be directed at the woman behind me, who did, in fact, look nice. But at least I hadn't gotten any "you're an alien" looks. And I had two new tops! And I had tried them on.

I left the store to wander around the mall a little more. The woman with the cart full of goop looked at me, but didn't say anything. I just smiled at her. The man with the white ball gadget had apparently located a victim, and appeared to be shoving the strange object into some poor woman's head. How odd. Her companions stood around and calmly watched this procedure, so I suppose it must not have been harmful. The purpose still escapes me. Head massage, maybe?

I did a little more shopping. I went back to the store where I had attempted to buy my first bra, way back when. These days, it's no longer even vaguely frightening, just a place to shop for underwear. I was a little annoyed that they still don't have the bras I like in stock in my size, and resolved, yet again, to order a couple more online somewhere. And I went into Expensive Store, the store that doesn't have anything I can even vaguely afford, and, oddly enough, found something I could afford! But decided that since I had been shopping for several hours, I was just too tired to bother. Some other time.

On the way into Expensive Store, I ran into a woman from work! I showed off my sparkly new head holes. She smiled and was happy for me. She knows I'm an alien, but it's ok. (Everyone at work knows. I wonder what everyone will say tomorrow when they see the little sparkle around my earlobes. I think they will be happy for me.)

And so, finally, I dragged my tired little alien self home from the mall. I didn't shop until I dropped, but I was definitely getting a little wobbly!

All that was on Saturday, the "eventful" day of my three day weekend.

The other two days were, in fact, mostly uneventful.

Sunday I spent recovering from Saturday's adventure. Between the hours of walking, the crowds, the amazing personal achievements, and the stress of just being an alien, and on top if it all, having holes poked into my head, I was quite wiped out! I took ibuprofen and naps, and both helped.

Half of Monday was spent deliberately goofing off. The other half was taken up by paying bills, and trying to figure out how to get money back from my Health Care Reimbursement Account. As near as I can tell, the procedure works something like this: stare at form, sort through piles of inexplicable looking paperwork and receipts, wonder why I'm not more organized, get stressed, cry a bit, stare a little more, find some items that kind of look plausible, paper clip them together, and decide to worry about it later. Being an alien involves many medical expenses, most of which are not blessed by the IRS. Or health insurance, for that matter.

Taken as a whole, though, this has to be considered a wonderful weekend!

The next thing I have to tackle is going to be a big challenge. I have to take the paperwork that Dr. S filled out for me last week and file it with the powers-that-be.

There are two basic scenarios as to how this might work out:

Scenario #1: Good morning, ma'am. Oh, yes, we know what to do with that form. Sign here please. And there's a fee of (small amount of money). Okay, now look into the camera and smile! Ok, you're all set, don't forget to take this form to (other bureaucracy). Have a nice day, ma'am! (90 minute bus ride, multi-hour wait.) How can I help you, ma'am? Oh, ok, do you have... ok, let me just key that in... ok, you're all set, have a nice day, ma'am!

Scenario #2: You're an alien? What the...? No, we've never seen that form before. No, you have to go to (other bureaucracy) across town first, No, we can't help you yet. (90 minute bus ride, multi-hour wait.) What, you're an alien? No, we can't help you. You have to go to (first bureaucracy) first; we can't do anything unless they do their bit first. No, I don't care what they said, No, go back and do that part first. (Another 90 minute bus ride back, another multi-hour wait.) Oh, the alien, back again? They told you what? No, that's not right. No, Go back there and get them to do their part first! (Cry.) Repeat, and repeat, and repeat again.

I'm trying to keep a positive outlook on everything, but just in case, I'll try to remember to bring plenty of kleenex. Only time will tell whether this next big step works out or not. And if I'm successful? Then what?

The next time someone asks for identification before head-hole installation, they will simply see Sarah. And not know immediately that she is an alien. And not know that she used to be a big fat hairy monster.

That will be a very big step.

I feel like the last entry left the story incomplete:

By 2am, I realize that I'm not going to sleep well. I'm worried about the impending doctor visit. I have medicine that would help, but 2am is too late to use it.

The lights in my bedroom come on automatically around 5am. I feel awful. I drag myself into the shower. As I get out of the shower, I hear something beeping. I forgot that I set the alarm last night in case the lights failed to wake me. I run dripping wet into the bedroom to switch the alarm off. It's only been beeping for a couple minutes, apparently. I say a silent apology to my upstairs neighbor; I hope the sound doesn't carry. Back into the bathroom to finish drying off and add anti-frizz stuff to my hair.

I stare into the closet and try to figure out what to wear. The peach t-shirt? Ok. Jeans. Get dressed.

I head out to the kitchen to blow-dry my hair. The kitchen? Yeah, the bathroom in this apartment has zero ventilation; the ceiling fan is a non-exhausting exhaust fan. I leave the door closed to minimize moisture damage to the rest of the apartment. Pots of chemical drying agent in the bathroom help reduce the moisture over the course of the day.

I'm too tired to try anything other than simply drying my hair. I'd skip that, too, but back when I started growing my hair out, I skipped drying my hair one day. When I got to the office, someone asked, quite seriously, if I had been mugged.

Hair dry. Next step: food? I decide to eat a small bowl of cereal. I'm probably supposed to fast for my physical. I decide it's probably not important. I think about having a small glass of pink lemonade and remember that I'm out of lemonade, and the towels from last night's spill need to go into the dryer. Later.

As I finish eating, nature calls, loudly. Oh no, the bathroom is full of steam! I rig the window fan in the dining room to ventilate the whole apartment to compensate. Do I have time for all this? What will happen to my hair? I'm sure it will be okay. Maybe. It seems okay. My hair's not that great anyway, which is a definite plus this morning. But at least I don't think I look like I've been mugged!

Okay, what else? Make the bed. Get ready to leave. Do I have all the paperwork and letters and test results? Yep, everything's ready. Remove the window fan and lock the window. Grab my purse. Out the door.

Oops, it's windy. Is there a storm coming? Back inside for an umbrella. And a canvas bag to hold the umbrella, and all the paperwork. And a hair clip. Out the door again.

Two buses go by as I approach the bus stop. My secret psychic power is the uncanny ability to consistently miss the bus, despite leaving at a random time every morning. I wait ten or twelve minutes for another one.

I manage to make it into the office. I only have about a half hour before I have to catch the shuttle bus down to the neighborhood where Dr. S has his office. I sit down to check my mail.

Nature calls again, loudly. Oh no, does my tummy have to have a fit today? It's probably the stress. I head to the known-safe bathroom at the office.

There's a guy outside the bathroom with a ladder and a drill with a screwdriver bit. I open the door to go in.

"Uh, ma'am?" The guy explains that he, er, has to do something or other in the bathroom, probably involving the stuff he's carrying. But I can use the other one. He looks a little puzzled as to why I'm here.

I have to *go*; I don't have time for this. I explain that I'm an alien and I'm not sure I *can* use the other one. He doesn't seem to get it.

I decide to let him do whatever he's doing with this bathroom and use one in the other wing of the building. I head outside. Oops, problem: the doors to that wing are still locked, it's too early in the morning.

Oh dear, now what am I going to do?

Bathroom #1 is having obscure technical difficulties. Bathroom #2 is in some sort of quantum indeterminate state. Bathrooms 3 through N are locked behind an impenetrable force field.

I contemplate trying another building. Fortunately a woman appears on the other side of the force field and lets me in. I rush into no particular bathroom; it's an emergency now and safety has become a secondary concern. It's early, though, there shouldn't be a problem, and there isn't. But now I don't feel well.

I get back to my office and send out an email to the appropriate people to explain the problem I just had. I worry about the consequences of even bringing it up, and I hope it's the right thing to do. As an alien it's sometimes hard to tell when to mention things and when to keep quiet.

It's time to go now. Off to the shuttle stop. I leave with plenty of time to spare, walking quickly. As I get close, something odd: I don't see the shuttle bus. As I get closer, I see something ominous: temporary signs with lots of text on them. Due to construction, the shuttle bus stop has been moved to a random location. There is a map. The previous stop, where I am now, is clearly marked with a blue dot. The new location has apparently been marked in red, but has faded from being in the sun. I look for the red dot and find a likely faded splotch. It seems far away and I'm not sure where it is exactly. How much time do I have? Eight minutes. Can I find it in time? I'm starting to panic. I start to run.

Four minutes gone. I might be halfway there. Is it this way or that way? Take a guess; if I'm wrong I'll be late. Four minutes later I arrive out of breath and feeling sick and still panicked. A miracle: the shuttle hasn't left yet! I get on the bus and try to calm down. I want to cry. It's only 8am and things are not going well, and the hard part is ahead of me.

The bus ride is uneventful, except for the ripply section of road near the end of the ride. The little bus bounces up and down. I feel really sick. I try not to think about it.

The shuttle arrives at it's destination. I still have a fifteen minute walk, but that part, thankfully, is not a problem. I get to the doctor's building. I have to look up his office number yet again. He's still on the fifth floor. I take the elevator.

I need another bathroom. Which one is safe here? I choose almost at random. Everything is fine; I don't see anyone, so no complaints about aliens.

I arrive at the doctor's office and check in. Has anything changed? I want to laugh, but that's not what she means. Yes, new address. Form to fill out. Then shortly, into the exam room. Weight is good; I'm briefly happy. Blood pressure good. Put on this gown and the doctor will be in shortly. The gown is more like a paper towel with arm holes, plus a small plastic strip to use as a belt. I undress and put it on. The shoulders of the gown are several inches above mine. It reminds me of a Dr. Who episode, but I can't remember which one. The gown is too big and the belt is too short. One size fits none. I use the mirror in the room to check my hair. I'm almost too tired to care. Almost.

Dr. S comes in and asks how I'm doing. I tell him I'm doing fine but the morning has been a difficult one. We chat. He pokes and prods me for a while. I decide to save the difficult part of the visit until after I'm wearing clothes and feeling less vulnerable.

Everything seems fine, says Dr. S. He tells me to put my clothes on and meet him in his office. He leaves. I get dressed, check my hair again, and go into his office.

For a while, I stand in his office and look at his books and pictures. He went to med school in the same place where my Dad studied architecture! There's a framed ad from TV Guide, which looks old, but apparently Dr. S has been a regular on a local TV program at some point in the past. He looks much younger in the picture. Actually the picture looks like Tom Selleck in Magnum, P.I. Am I imagining this? Or dreaming? I'm very tired now. And apprehensive.

I sit down. Dr. S comes in and shuts the door, and sits down. We start to talk. I tell him I have a list of five or six things to talk with him about, and ask him not to let me leave until I've covered all of them. I don't want to chicken out. I'm trembling a little. My voice is wobbly. I'm very nervous.

I tell him about Dr. M and the secret I've been keeping, and why. He understands, but says not to worry, it's not a problem. I'm relieved he feels that way, and that I've got the hardest of the items out of the way.

I try for some of the others. Um, I've been taking a higher dose, and here's why. He says okay and writes me a prescription for the higher dose. I've been experimenting with such-and-such and it really seems to help. Another prescription with no argument. And I've been thinking about maybe making some changes for safety reasons? He doesn't completely agree with me but has no objections in principle. He wants some labs first, and I agree. We'll revisit the issue after the labs come back. He hands me a lab slip.

Just two more items to go. Can I have the lower dose of this? Another prescription without complaint.

Ok, last thing... the paperwork. He's surprised I haven't done it already. I hand him the form and ask if he knows how to fill it out. He chuckles a little and scribbles a moment. Done.

My birthright and my destiny as an alien, enshrined in an official document of bureaucracy. Wow.

And then we're done. All of the items on my list. Wow. A sharp contrast to my last doctor, whose favorite word was "No".

I tell Dr. S how nervous I've been and how relieved I am that we got through everything. He shakes his head. "You women are all alike!" It's actually a joke and a compliment. We both laugh.

We leave his office together. He says followup in three months. I don't want to wait that long; I'll see Dr. M in two weeks or so, and I want to keep the ball rolling on everything. I ask if I can come back in a month. He says it's fine.

Up to the front desk. I schedule a followup for about six weeks. I also hand the receptionist my paperwork and ask if it's all ok. It gets an official rubber stamp added to it, but otherwise it's fine.

And then I'm out the door. Total success! Or as close as I could possibly hope to get.

Back to the bathroom, uneventfully, then down the elevator and out of the building. Now, where is that lab again? I think it's the next block over and head that way. Oops, no, that's an apartment building. So's that. Am I on the right street? Maybe further down? That's not the right building either. And that one's still under construction; they didn't tear down the old building since the last time I was here, did they? Oh, there it is. Oops, wait, there's a big STOP sign on the door. What does it say? No admittance? No, it's "No Public Restroom". How odd. That's ok, I just went!

Into the lab office. Sign in. Someone has signed in ahead of me. Her name is Sarah too! I use my Other Name just to simplify things. That's what's on the lab slip anyway. I sit down and wait. Someone calls, "Sarah?" I jump. No, silly, you put the Other Name down! Finally I get called. Other Name feels weird now. A quick and painless blood draw, and I'm out of there.

My psychic power fails me this time, thankfully, and I manage to get back to the shuttle stop in time to catch the next shuttle.

A little bit of the stress begins to lift on the trip back. I've made it through and everything's ok. I want to cry with relief. I try not to, the shuttle bus is crowded and nobody would understand.

I'm deposited back at the relocated bus stop. I decide to check my mail box and head to the post office, only to find a "back in a minute" sign on the locked door. I realize I'm starving and go buy a bagel nearby. It tastes like... burning. Hot pepper bagel? My tummy doesn't need that today. After a couple bites it goes in the trash.

The post office is open again. I collect my mail. Mailbox rent is due? That's not right. I bring the slip to the front desk. He checks: oops, sorry, you're paid up for a year. He tears up the slip.

Back to the office around lunchtime, sit down in front of the computer. I realize that I am now super-tired, and as the stress of the doctor visit slowly diminishes, it gets worse. A sandwich, a bag of chips, and a diet coke from the cafeteria seem to help, but not for long. I open some code and try to write, but I'm fading fast. String? What the heck is a String? I've apparently forgotten how to program in Java. I manage to declare a few variables, and then get lost halfway through typing an html tag. I manage to get the code into some kind of executable state, but I'm not sure how. I decide to check the code in, and type the CVS log message: "Workin gong etting..." what the heck? Apparently I've forgotten English, too.

This is silly. I need to go home. I go tell my boss and he says ok. I grab my stuff and head out.

I get about two blocks. Nature calls again, loudly. Oh no, not again. I head in a direction that will lead to bathrooms. Why is this happening? Did I take a double dose of something this morning? Maybe, I'm pretty tired. Is that a problem? Probably not serious.

I head into the first bathroom I come across. Wasn't there some kind of problem with this? I'm too tired to remember. Someone else comes in. Oh yeah, I'm an alien. Too tired to panic, I cower in the stall. Other person spends what seems forever in front of the bathroom mirror. Finally she leaves, and after a moment, so do I.

On the way home again. I make it to the drugstore and hand over my three little prizes at the pharmacy counter. Are you so-and-so? No. I give her Other Name. She says she remembers me. As usual I wonder if that's a good thing or a bad thing. There can't be too many aliens here.

Generics ok? Yes, fine. Do you want to wait? Yes. About 15 minutes then. Ok. I grab some Kleenex and Tylenol, then sit to wait. I hear my name called from somewhere over the counter. Other Name. It's the pharmacist; let's go over the meds. Four of these a day. No, two, twice a day... yes, I know the doctor wrote it the other way, it's ok... I don't want to get into a long discussion. Have you had this before? Yes. And this? Well, sort of. Another long story I don't want to get into at the moment.

I finally get into line and get everything paid for. $65. And that's with my insurance. Credit card time. Actually, I think I spent my last dollar on that sandwich at lunchtime.

Another fifteen minute walk and I'm home. Somehow. I finally look at my new pills. The white spheres have been replaced with peach ones. They match my t-shirt! I remember to check my pill organizer to see if I double-dosed on something this morning. No, apparently not, the tummy trouble must just be stress.

I crawl into bed. Sleep still doesn't come, but I listen to my iPod and zone out. After about an hour and a half I feel relaxed and somewhat coherent. The stress has apparently been worse than the lack of sleep. I sit up in bed and look into the mirrored closet door. Yep, definitely an alien. But it's a good thing. I smile at myself in the mirror. Even on the bad days, life is very good.

I evaluate the dinner possibilities and decide I can manage to boil water for dehydrated soup. Setting the kitchen timer seems to fail repeatedly, though; I keep deciding to set it and then forgetting to do so, despite standing in front of it.

I look for lemonade. Still out of lemonade. Oh right, towels. Later.

I eat the soup, and then decide to finish my story. It's been a big day. I might not remember all of this stuff tomorrow.

The three-day weekend will be quiet, I hope; I'm considering a special effort to make it comparatively uneventful. Being an alien is very tiring, and I need some rest!

Or maybe I'll have some holes poked in my head instead. I haven't really made up my mind yet.

So here's today.

I get to the office in the morning; I know I only have three hours today. I start by checking the configuration of the test server, and trying to remember how to run Mozilla via X so that I can see the right port despite the firewall. I sort it out, but the test server install is badly out-of-date given the changes to the build system, so I decide to reinstall tomorrow. I work on some relatively painless servlet code instead, and make good progress until it's time to leave.

I set off on my periodic spiritual journey. One of the marks of my alien-ness.

Into the bathroom at the office, apply sunblock. Wander out to the bus stop. On the first bus, a ride, a wait, second bus, ride, wait, third bus, ride, arrive at my destination. An hour and a half has gone by. 20 minutes by car, but I don't have one, and don't really want one. I spend the travel time reading The Economist.

I get a little bit of a weird vibe from two girls at bus stop #2, but not the "you're an alien!" vibe. I think they're speaking Chinese. Cantonese? They don't seem unfriendly.

On bus #3, there are two drivers; is one a trainee? The younger one gives me a longish look and a smile. Does he remember me from two weeks ago? Or is that a "you're an alien and it's ok" sort of look? Or is he checking me out? That seems unlikely. After the look, he seems to ignore me for the rest of the trip. Probably not the alien vibe; people tend to look repeatedly in that case. Near the end of the ride on Bus #3, I shift in my seat a little, and the bus slows down. "This stop?" the older driver asks me from half a bus length away. Has he been staring at me in the rear view mirror? "Oh, no, the next one," he answers himself. He remembers me. It occurs to me that I'm the only passenger on this particular bus. The driver stops in the right place. "See you tomorrow!" he says. No, it will probably be two weeks, maybe three. It seems like too much to explain while getting off of the bus. I'm still dealing with the potential consequences of being remembered.

I have to pee... I go into the library. Experience has shown that the library has the safest bathroom in the neighborhood. Well, second safest.

It's time to look for lunch, so I head for the strip mall. I run into a half dozen teenage boys behind the video store. They ignore me, but I worry anyway. Later, I see them again, and avoid them, just in case.

As usual, I choose the Mexican Food Place. It has another name, but the carved wooden sign over the door just says "Mexican Food", so that's how I've come to think of it. I order the usual without problems. The diet coke has the usual messy little dribble down the side. The carne asada burrito comes quickly and is almost too hot to eat.

I sit next to the window, under a buzzing neon sign, and eat my burrito while listening to the wailing Mariachi music and trying to finish The Economist, a weird combination of inputs that only sort of works. There's no air conditioning, and it's very hot. The half dozen ceiling fans don't seem to help much.

I like the Mexican Food Place because the food is good and affordable. It's never crowded; it's a place even some locals don't seem to know about. Originally I used to go to Fast Food Chain #1, but then one day I listened to the manager having a long, loud argument with one of her teenage employees, which was followed by said employee ripping off her drive-thru headset and stomping out. I decided I didn't need the drama. Then for a while I went to Fast Food Chain #2 for salads, but discovered that small children and teenagers respond too well to their marketing machine, and the place is always packed, particularly when school lets out, which is usually the time I'm there. Now I go to Mexican Food Place, which is cool, but not on tv. Not hyped. Most of the kids stay away.

Aliens are often recommended to avoid small children and teenagers. Small children will walk up and ask questions adults consider embarrassing, but really aren't, or shouldn't be. Teenagers will sometimes stare and giggle; they're still finding their place in society and are sometimes hyper-aware of people that don't seem to fit in.

I also like Mexican Food Place because I've never been hassled for being an alien. Not by the employees. Not by the regulars, like the postal carriers who are there every week. Not even by the few teenagers who do stop in. Maybe they can't tell. Maybe people who eat at Mexican Food Place, which seems like a family business, aren't as attuned to you-must-fit-in marketing messages as fast food customers.

Except today, one woman appears to be staring at me. She's giving me "the look". The "is that an alien?" look.

I consider staring back, or looking at her and smiling, but I decide to leave her alone. I don't want to make her uncomfortable; let her consider the question by herself without pressure. I don't really consider it rude. People are naturally curious. It's a good thing. As long as I don't get harassed.

Eventually the staring woman leaves. She doesn't look at me as she walks out, and I'm sitting right next to the door. Perhaps she's reached her own conclusion. That's ok too.

I have plenty of time to spare, so I sit and read; I feel safe at Mexican Food Place. I finish my diet coke. The Mariachi music continues to wail. The neon sign continues to buzz.

I decide it's time to get moving. I rummage around in my purse and find the sunblock, and put some on my arms. It's too hot to wear my long-sleeve sweatshirt, so I've taken it off, and now my arms are exposed.

My next stop is the drugstore. I spend about a half hour wandering around aimlessly. Eventually I buy a bag of skittles and some gum. I eat about a half dozen skittles then stash the rest in my purse.

Now it's time to go see P. My guide. She helps me learn to cope with being an alien. But everything is going pretty smoothly right now.

As I walk to her office I reflect on the last year and a half. Sure, there have been some difficult times, but that's to be expected. It's not easy to be an alien. But on the whole, so far, it's been easier than I thought.

A year and a half ago, when I first came to see P, I only had a suspicion that I might be an alien, but considered it improbable. Even so, I cried most of that first hour.

Three years ago, I had no idea I was an alien. Surprise!

I arrive at P's office and immediately head for the restroom. This is *the* safest bathroom in the neighborhood. Today, though, the fluorescent light is experiencing technical difficulties. The stroboscopic effect makes the room look weird. It stops by the time I start brushing my hair. I hear P arrive, and I finish fiddling with my hair.

I go into the waiting area and ring the bell. P appears. She goes to use the restroom before we sit down to talk.

Everything has been going smoothly, so there are no tears this time. I show her my latest prize, my latest little token of achievement and yet another piece of evidence of my alien-ness. She congratulates me.

After our chat, I use the bathroom again. Did I mention I pee a lot? Also: safest bathroom in the neighborhood. Cleanest, too. And it has flowers.

The return bus journey won't start for another half hour or so. I go back to the library. More aimless wandering.

I find a book on cross-stitch dragons. Oddly enough this particular combination of concepts has never occurred to me. I contemplate my mother's cross-stitch supplies, which I rescued a year ago and stashed in a plastic bin under my bed. Another token to remember Mom by. She died five years ago this month.

I briefly contemplate cross-stitch software. I remember vaguely searching on the net last year. It didn't seem like cross-stitch and open source blended much. Many "send me money and don't steal my designs" pages. I wonder briefly if it would be fun to write my own cross-stitch design software.

I decide that I'd rather have a butterfly than a dragon. I go to look for books on butterflies. I only find fish and birds, but by then, I've run out of time.

One last stop in the second-safest bathroom.

On the way out of the library, my phone delivers a late voicemail notification. It's Heather. She's on her way back from L.A., and after a couple different coordinating phone calls, she meets me at the mall. We eat Chinese food and catch up. We haven't seen each other in person in a couple of months. She seems to be doing well. She has a job interview tomorrow. She gives me a ride the rest of the way home.

As I'm washing off all the sunblock, Dave calls. I put the phone down to finish washing my face, and then we chat for a while. We talk about MD5 being broken, and life in general.

And then I sit down with my iBook to chronicle the day. And spill pink lemonade, but miss the iBook. And clean up. And put a half dozen pink lemonade scented towels into the washing machine.

Thank goodness I missed the iBook. I wonder if AppleCare would have dealt with it? I imagine having to call them: "No ma'am, not for pink lemonade... now if that had been *Apple* Juice..." giggle!

Tomorrow should be really interesting and scary; I'm having a physical at 9am with Dr. S, the same doctor who did the "are you an alien?" test for me. I have to ask him to fill out some fairly scary paperwork. And I have to decide whether to share with him the current situation with Dr. M, and the tests he's been running on me. I don't want to tell Dr. S about it; I've kept it a secret from him for almost a year. But it's probably time. There's stuff he probably needs to do. And it seems silly to ask someone for professional advice but not share all the facts with them. But being an alien is like that sometimes.

Last weekend, I decided to write another entry in my Slashdot journal.

What followed was much soul-searching. Many tears. A six-page rough draft. More tears.

I don't think the Slashdot Journal is supposed to be this difficult!

The root of my problem is that my life is cursed with a sort of irreducible complexity right now. When I try to share one tiny little thread of my life, I wind up pulling in more, and more, and more, until I'm staring into the infinite complexity that is me right now.

That's when I get scared and start to cry.

In case anyone was wondering about the results of the lab tests checking to see whether or not I'm an alien: the results were, well, disappointing.

The following tidbit is from the lab report:

CERTAIN CYTOGENETIC ABNORMALITIES SUCH AS MOSAICISM, SUBTLE STRUCTURAL REARRANGEMENTS, AND SOME ARTIFACTS INCLUDING MATERNAL CELL CONTAMINATION, MAY NOT BE DETECTED. TESTING PERFORMED IN THE ABSENCE OF AN ACCURATE DESCRIPTION OF THE PATIENT'S CLINICAL INDICATION MAY BE COMPROMISED. CHROMOSOME ANALYSIS IN GENERAL IS NOT USEFUL FOR THE DIAGNOSIS OF CONDITIONS WITH MENDELIAN, MULTIFACTORIAL OR ENVIRONMENTAL ETIOLOGIES.

In short, we asked the wrong question ("...absence of an accurate description...") and got an answer that wasn't useful, and if we had asked the right question, there is no possible answer that would tell us the "right" thing to do.

Well, at least it was expensive!

I knew deep down that the test wouldn't tell me anything useful, but back then I was so scared and desperate for answers that I was ready to try anything that might possibly offer a clue. Since then, I've grown a little, and I'm a little bit better at coping with the uncertainty.

Unfortunately, life continues to add additional uncertainty that must be coped with.

For now, I have to learn to be content as an alien.

So yet another lab tech was doing yet another vampire thing on me yet again. He was explaining how none of the people in the lab had heard of this particular test I was having, and how they had to look in their procedures manual just to find out how to collect the samples, and use a special kind of tube to suck my blood, and how weird it was.

He asked me what the test was for. And he seemed cool, so I explained it to him.

When I finished telling him, he said, "So you might be an alien?"

And that's how I became SarahAnnAlien!

Now the next thing you're going to ask is, "Are you really an alien?"

I don't know... the results aren't back yet!