Ah, American health care. Truly, you are an admirable foe. One of your many mysteries in the Flex Spending Account. Supposedly at the beginning of the year we intuit how much money we will spend on health care the following year, and if we predict correctly, we get to use it tax-free. If we guess incorrectly, the money is gone. You, my friend, are like a Japanese game show. My Flex Spending Year was winding down, yet money remained. A lot of money. Which begged the question, which part of me to fix? I made a list of what was wrong with me and then played MASH until one thing remained. Which is how I ended up in physical therapy.
My first day of PT I filled out a questionnaire and I swear, it's like they were reading my mind:
Do everyday activities make you dizzy?
Do you find yourself walking into walls, furniture, and and other large objects?
Have others mistakenly thought you to be inebriated?
Amanda, my physical therapist, rocks. Her assistant, Adam, not so much (ha! That's just a joke in case any of the fine people at Performance West read this). After a few visits, I realized I was bringing down the house with my mad skillz, yo. Never before had I felt so coordinated. Then I spied this brochure in the office:
If you'll note the couple in the above picture , then multiply it by 10, you'll get an idea of Amanda's clientele.
And me. So the rock star.
In other rock-star-but-not-really news, I am featured in the latest issue of the ALAN Review, a journal for the Assembly on Adolescent Literature of the National Council for Teachers of English. The article, titled "An Intersection of Meaning: A Conversation with Emily Wing Smith," is by the lovely and talented April Brannon. April is an English professor at Cal State Fullerton who chilled with me at my first ALAN conference two years ago. Thanks, April. Enjoy your month.
And you enjoy it, too.