coffeesweats

How does one set their pets on fire? I mean, animals are not

2008-01-29T22:22:00.000-08:00

How does one set their pets on fire? I mean, animals are not usually flammable, right? Jeez. If I take away but one thing from working at the mental house it’s this: I am so fucking normal. My life is a piece of bland. And that’s okay. I am lucky and blessed to be such a crumb covered sloth, and with peace I bring you. I am not supposed to talk about my patients but dammit, I have to. Have to. Hafta. But here’s the deal, I am going to switch up the story a little bit so let’s play make believe. Pretend you are in a mental hospital, you know just kicking back after a long day of having your vital signs taken like 30 times and maybe you got a blow job from some chick who is on another floor outside in the smoking area when no one was looking. You want to play a game of checkers or something, it’s been a rough day. So you are all, king me, right? And then some girl comes over in a fit of self destruction and picks up your checker and eats it. That kind of sucked, didn’t it? The next night you might play a game of Sorry. Same girl comes around just when you have three of your pieces at HOME and you are feeling pretty good about maybe winning the game. She eats them. Coloring a picture but you can’t find the green crayon? She swallowed that, too. It’s non toxic, so that’s okay. I feel for this girl, I really do. Her whole life has been a complete and utter filthy ashtray with a piece of pork gristle right in the middle of it. It sucks. But everything sucks for those other people just trying to live their lives and play board games, too. It would appear that someone is always falling completely apart. Like holding a glass filled with orange juice that slips from your hand to shatter upon the kitchen floor. That is what I see every day. Don’t walk in here with bare feet! There is broken glass all over, sticky sweet juice droplets splattered on the cabinets and appliances. You know that you will never find all of the glass, that one day when you least expect it you are going to get a sliver or shard of glass in your heel. It will hurt and probably get infected. If you aren’t very lucky, it will become septic and you could die. And you could very well become a zombie and start eating brains, but that’s not too likely. Zombies prefer thighs. That juice that got all over the place? Sticky forever. The mind is a sticky thing. It collects bits and fuzz from old sweaters, dust bunnies that hide under the bed, closet monsters that flash inside of your lids as you are falling asleep. Once it gets stuck, it needs a lot of elbow grease to get it unstuck. Maybe a piece of that delicate lace tore apart while you were trying to pull. Lace doesn’t mend well. It just remains ragged and imperfect, if there ever was such a thing as a perfect mind.

Dudes. I never write twice on the same day ever anymore but I

2008-01-21T21:56:00.000-08:00

Dudes. I never write twice on the same day ever anymore but I just saw the penultimate "you know you are a child of the '70's" item in the bathroom cabinet. Are you fucking ready for this? Okay, imagine yourself taking a bath when you were a kid, maybe a little Mr. Bubble thrown in the water for good measure, right? You have your Barbies swimming, or sinking like they usually did, or perhaps some blue Crazy Foam caked all over the place and then you see it, there it is. It's always there. Mom's pink Flicker razor. You remember, it was round and it had a textured wheel in the middle that when turned would reveal a new razor? The little window would show which number you were on? Girls, seriously, how many of you shaved your first hairs off of your body with a Flicker? I know I shaved my forearm hair in the sixth grade with my mom's Flicker. It got all clogged up and all of the blades were rusty, I turned the dial to find the one that was the least rusted. Of course you never told mom that you shaved. I just found an ancient Flicker razor in the cabinet still in it's original packaging. What in the hell? Shit, that thing HAS to be as old as my orange sled. Wow.

Life in the big house ain’t so bad. All of my patients are

2008-01-21T17:52:00.000-08:00

Life in the big house ain’t so bad. All of my patients are lactating, but hey, you got to do what you got to do. Last week was interesting, to say the very least. I spent most of my time in computer training, it was my own personal hell. I like to think that I am well above average when it comes to using computers and I was right. It was mandatory and so whatever. At first glance my patients seem rather normal, and then you read their charts. Oh, that’s why they are locked in, I get it now. I already have my own personal stalker, he’s neat. As soon as I walk onto the ward there he is, making a bee line towards me offering me bubble gum and asking me if I like reptiles. He has a very intense gaze and I was warned to kind of stay away from him, he’s in a manic phase. I am seeing more patients for medical issues rather than the psych stuff, which is good because that’s not my area of expertise. As I hear it, many of the psych patients hone in on problems regarding their genitalia, I have already seen one scrotum and heard of a vaginal bleeding issue. My classmate was confronted by a woman demanding a pap smear in the elevator on like his first day (I don’t know if she wanted the pap done in the elevator or if that was circumstantial). Tomorrow they are mine all mine. Every medical complaint will be sent to me for evaluation. Yea. I stayed late on Friday, chatting up my preceptor for a bit when we got word that a patient was bitten by a squirrel while on grounds privileges. I googled the CDC all quick like and saw that out of 1100 cases of rabies, only one was transmitted via squirrel. Huh, I said, I am not sure. Then we saw the bite, it was big. I interviewed bite victim about said squirrel and was told that squirrel was messed up, all skinny and cut up and I guess it had rubbed its face on the fence? Consider the source who also told me that the squirrels wink at him, okay? He was sent for rabies prophylaxis, that was pretty much my call having had a former intimate history with rodents. Meanwhile, another patient had gone unconscious on the floor for about five minutes, my first emergency. That was kind of cool. I got to linger around the squad that was poking and prodding patient, yelling for this and that. Both of these incidents occurred at the same time, my first chaos. A week of firsts. I am enjoying myself, I think. So far.

I got the long weekend off and I am due back at my parents soon. Living with mom and dad is pretty alright. Mom has dinner ready when I get home and we watch American Idol and the Jane Austen marathon on PBS yelling at the television the entire time. Especially the Jane Austen stuff. I have read all of the books and seen a few of the movies, mom has, too. But we can’t keep the stories straight, I mean come on, they all end the fucking same. Sad Girl gets the Ugly Guy. So we are like, is this the one where they go to Bath and…oh wait, that’s all of them. Okay okay, no, it’s the one where she runs through the field and gets all wet and then they set her to dry in front of the fire. No wait, that’s the other one. Oh! I know, so and so gets the letter from the uncle and…no, maybe that’s next week. All we know is that there is supposed to be a big fucking party with dancing and someone plays the pianoforte. So we yell, “Where’s the party? Fuck, where is the fucking party!” My mom swears, too. Good times. And then dad yells at us to shut up, he can’t hear his Western. I feel like I am reverting back to childhood a little bit. My bedroom is an icebox, I forgot all about that. No heat. Three blankets, a quilt, my old sleeping bag, and flannel pjs. The covers are so heavy I don’t move all night long. I missed that. I also went sledding (or sliding as we used to call it) down the unplowed street on Monday morning. I was all alone out there, where are the damned kids these days? My old sled was still in the cellar, it’s a plastic orange toboggan and I guess it’s almost thirty years old. Still fast. My parents live on top of two major hills, it is not uncommon to see cars stuck at the bottom or going down sideways. Well, I have to get going. The cookies my mother has been buying in bulk for me aren’t going to eat themselves.

I am in the final countdown days of relaxing and strangeness

2008-01-10T14:34:00.000-08:00

I am in the final countdown days of relaxing and strangeness until it is time to work my ass off for a full year. I won’t miss the days of school, sitting on my ass every day in a tiny classroom trying to learn everything possible about medicine. Yet, I am starting to panic. On Monday I begin my first rotation. At a mental hospital. I guess I should look up the proper name, is it mental institution? Whatever. My preceptor gave me a list of books to read and told me to brush up on schizophrenia, schizoaffective disorder, bipolar disorder, addictions, and eating disorders. With these I must also trudge back into the world of pharmacology and the many drugs for each. You know, honestly, I thought my psych rotation would be a piece of cake, something to ease into like the vast freezing ocean, body part by body part. I thought I would just sit and listen to the doctor-patient encounter and that was all. Nope. This is as hardcore as psych gets. I have all sorts of irrational fears about these five weeks of jumping into the ocean without testing the waters first (if you couldn’t tell, I am the sort to ease in very very slowly). So you know how many kinds of schizophrenia classifications there are? Jeezus. I went to my school last week to fax some paperwork and to pick up my new white coat I had ordered. As an aside, the white coat? Bullshit. I hate that fucking thing. Sure, we had a big ceremony first semester about how important and what a rite of passage the white coat represents. In my school everyone has one but only the pharmacy and for some strange reason the nursing students (yeah, like why do they even have one in the first place?) wears theirs on a daily geeky basis. We wear ours only if we a) are cold, b) have a lab practical, or c) have simulated patients. They are cheap and pilly when washed, if washed ever, most looking rather gray-ish and stained with highlighter or coffee (apparently my coffee has stained many a coat sitting on the backs of chairs in my vicinity, not just my own). Anyway, I went to get my new one, in the next size up because my old one is a half shirt because sitting around for an entire year tended to make most of the class gain anywhere from five to twenty pounds, myself included. I chatted with my rotation experience coordinator for a bit about my upcoming rotation. The good news is that someone from last year’s class liked it so much they went back as an elective. I then spoke with my favorite professor about it and he had quite a bit to say. “Memorize the entire DSM IV.” I said, “Are you serious!?” “No, but know it very well.” Shit. He told me he went on a site visit there this past spring and that my preceptor was very into reading and assigning reading (which I gathered) and she was somewhat of an existentialist. Okay. He also told me that I was going to be like the ambassador for the program, the first student from our class to go to this site and I must present and achieve the proper standards, basically to beat out all the medical students that rotate there and show them all that the PA is of the highest caliber and ready and eager to learn and accept all challenges with ease and grace. Something like that. I said, “Great. No pressure.” Medicine is not just a science, it is an art. When you hear hoof beats think horses, not zebras. So many mantras, so little time. The one we hear most is that we need to prove ourselves, show them all that being a PA is no less than a medical student, intern, resident, doctor, or any well educated person of authority. We are supposed to be humble and scared, not cocky. We are to be well dressed and professional. Being a professional, for me, is the biggest challenge. I am a goof who curses way too much. The wardrobe thing is also an issue. I have been wearing the same pair of socks for no less than five days straight. Oh god, I think I am going to vomit.

Life has been relatively mundane over these past weeks. I did have a rather surreal experience the other day, and believe me, not even I can make this shit up. I went out on Tuesday to vote in the New Hampshire primary. How fucking cool is that? I had watched the four hour debates on tv, alternating between screaming at fucking Romney (I hate that flip flopping bastard) and sneering at Obama (who in my opinion is a joke with not enough experience). I had to stand in a huge line to register, New Hampshire being somewhat of a backwater state where applying for your drivers license doesn’t automatically register you to vote. So there I am, standing in the line from hell, and this guy behind me starts chatting me up. Usually I put up the ignore screen, like listen buddy, I am so not into you, okay? I don’t know why, but I played along. He seemed friendly enough, a total Manchester local. I do regularly have conversations with these types in and around my ghetto apartment building. He told me he hadn’t voted in over eight years. I was aghast, I vote whenever possible. Anyway, as he was standing in yet another line to get his ballot he told me he was going to vote for Edwards. I yelled out, “You are throwing your vote away!” I mean, come on, how many times have we seen Edwards running for election to see him lose? Seriously. Local guy asked me to wait for him while he cast his vote, and I am happy to say I swayed him to vote for Hillary, thank you very much. Very much unlike me, but I did wait for him. As a note, he didn’t seem like a serial killer or anything and I guess my self-induced isolation was getting the better of me. He had interesting stories, I like stories. We walked out into the parking lot and of course he tried to ask me out. He had at first glance thought I was all of nineteen years old but the fact that he was a mere five years my senior seemed to persuade him that I was datable. “I’m a lesbian.” He didn’t care and rattled off every gay person he was ever friends with and asked me if I wanted to have a cup of coffee at his mother’s house, which was down the street. I went, after asking him if he was going to kill me. He asked if I was going to kill him. I found out that he is Greek and his mom is 81. We went to this old triple decker, wood paneling and out dated family pictures everywhere. His mom was a sweetheart, I loved her. She made us Greek coffee (I fucking love Greek coffee and I haven’t had any since I was in Greece) and I got the tour of the house, saw all the prom pictures from 1985, the family history, pet the dog, the whole nine yards. He told me that his mom had “the gift” and could tell your fortune by reading the coffee grounds left in your cup. She didn’t want to read my fortune, but after about an hour of convincing her son made her (personally, I didn’t want to have my fortune read, that shit scares me). I drank my coffee to the point where you have to stop otherwise you get a mouthful of grounds and was instructed to turn it over onto a saucer and wait. She picked up my cup, cleaned her glasses and started to speak rapidly in Greek. My translator told me I had three roads ahead, a road to money, one to a house, and one to a new career. I asked if they were separate roads and if I had to pick one. No, they were all to be traveled, I did not have a choice. I mean, I could have predicted that, too, but she did not know of my current schooling or career path. And then she said I would have a problem with “W” and suddenly she slammed my cup down away from her and said, “No more.” Uh oh. See? That’s why that shit is scary. You have a nice lady reading your fortune and then she sees something so horrible that she stops and won’t tell you. Now I am staring at that w I typed and thinking terrible things, Wilson’s disease? Wernicke’s encephalopathy? Since I don’t drink alcohol all that much, that one is kind of safe. Worcester? It’s probably women, fucking women. I want to sleep with you but I can’t, that’s okay let’s be friends, okay, what the fuck, you can’t be friends with me because you still want to fuck me? Whatever. Anyway, so Local guy and I leave his mom’s to go to his friend’s house, home of “they are breaking up and she’s bi and he can’t deal with it but I am best friends with both of them and I can’t help one but not the other.” Awkward. They smoked some pot, I didn’t. Eight years ago I would have been like this is the best voting day ever, but I am just not that girl anymore. I sat around petting three dogs and watching Hillary sweep the elections, gave out some medical advice to the girl who has endometriosis, laughed at their follies and drove the Local guy back to his apartment. He told me I had beautiful eyes, lips, and teeth and we should hang out and maybe have a threesome with the bi girl. I don’t do that either. It was a very strange evening, I remember why I put up that shield when guys start to talk to me. It’s there for a reason.

In an old and far-off place There was a lowercase N. Lonely

2007-12-29T00:15:00.000-08:00

In an old and far-off place
There was a lowercase N.
Lonely and cold, she would stare off into space
And it was known that she would cry now and then.

Lowercase N, standing on a hill!
The wind is very still, for the lowercase eh-en...

Then one day a rocketship,
Came racing from the sky.
It landed on the hill and there opened up a door
And somethin' started comin' outside...

A lowercase N!
(She's not lonely anymo-o-re)
They are standing on the hill
(There are two that stand for su-u-ure)
The wind is very still
For the lowercase eh-ens!

This is my new favorite song. It was a sad sad Sesame Street cartoon that touched me when I was five and touches me still. Not down there. Well, maybe down there, a little. I swear I am putting this on my mp3 player.

The continuing saga of shopping for big fat daddy is not going

2007-12-23T14:51:00.000-08:00

The continuing saga of shopping for big fat daddy is not going well, not at all. I went to the mall last night, oh the horror! When I am in public places I talk aloud to myself. It is what it is. I mutter and look harried and stressed, I could be in the grocery store bitching about the high price of soy milk or at a chain store saying things like “would a 72 year old man wear a John Deere shirt? What the fuck is this, this shirt is fucking huge!” without a care in the world as to what people think of me. Most of the time I am not even aware that I am speaking. I have had this crazy person habit my entire life, I care not. I went to Sears remembering that I had bought things for my dad there before that were really large. Maximum size everywhere I went was 2 XL, so I said fuck it and went with it. I got him pjs and a shirt from that shit ass Old Navy. I really want to write them another letter of hatred, I always bitch about them not ever carrying pants in short or tall lengths, they just don’t care and don’t sell any of them anyway, but the shit they have in the store right now? Oh my god, I haven’t seen uglier clothing since the late 80’s! Pastels? Why not throw some shoulder pads in that shit? I swear to jebus, I stood in line with my one t-shirt (it’s blue, it will bring out the color of dad’s eyes) and not one person was buying anything from the women’s section and most people had just one or two items to buy. Enough of the boat neck sweaters made from cheap material. Whoever came up with the design and color of their winter line this season should be shot at close range without a blindfold. Hideous. Oh, and this was fucking lovely, I am standing there in the store staring at the mounds of t-shirts not knowing what to do and this guy says to his girlfriend, “Oh, we got a lesbian right here!” I looked at him and said, “I can hear you.” He ignored that. Fuckwad douche. Is it rare to see lesbians in public? Not here it’s not. Maybe he’s not that good at spotting them so he’s made a game of it. Fucking guido, nice faded jeans, loser. Moments earlier, I was power maneuvering through the crowds and some other guy was all hey, how’s it goin’? to me. I am totally confused. The last time I went to the mall mere days ago some other guy told me I had nice tits in Spanish. Thanks. I fucking hate this town.

At least mom only wanted a bathrobe this year. It’s fleece mom, and you are going to have to like it! She said no fleece, I need a zipper and it has to be long and preferably a velvet-like material. Yeah, you go find one of those. I saw one but it had shorter sleeves and it was powder blue or something and I know she would bitch that if she spilled something on it she would have to wash it all the time. Usually she sends me off looking for a pocketbook (it’s not a purse, not from where I came from). I told her never again, over my dead body was I buying her another pocketbook. She’ll say things like she saw one at K Mart for $12 that she wanted. Try to find that, it’s not happening. She tells me it must have these specifications: Long strap, no metal rings on the handle attaching it to the bag, it must be sewn to the bag, I need a zipper for the top so no one can reach in and steal stuff, I want a brown one but not an ugly brown, don’t get one that comes with stuff like a wallet because I won’t use it, it has to be big enough (big enough? Okay.), I like compartments but not too many, and don’t get suede or anything and don’t spend too much. My mom carries at least fifty dollars worth of quarters around with her at all times. Sometimes she is looking for the quarter with the stalks of wheat on the back that may or may not be upside down or whatever. The woman is a collector. Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents. Yet, they drive me so fucking crazy. Merry fucking Christmas, bitches. This is some bad PMS.

This no school thing is fantastic, it has been one week now and

2007-12-21T23:37:00.000-08:00

This no school thing is fantastic, it has been one week now and if I had enough energy I would be climbing the walls. Finals were a bitch, but they always are. I cannot believe that one year is done and gone, only one more to go. How fucking sweet is that? It’s Splenda sweet. We had the obligatory end of the year bash, much revelry was due. I am totally blaming the game of beer pong as what did me in. I got really wasted off of cheap beers and as doctrine would state, I made an ass of myself. It has to be done, what can I say? And who would have thought that I, me of all people, would suck so hard at a simple game such as beer pong? I usually can hit a target with precision and accuracy like an autistic child plays the piano. It didn’t help that my opponents were on a roll and psyched me out with a profile naked beer belly with hair. It still makes me shudder. It was fun, drunkenly hugging all of my classmates telling them love you, going to miss you over and over again sloppily hanging on to their shoulders. I have a month of nothing to do and when I start school again it will be my rotations, so basically I will only see my classmates once every five weeks. I am lonesome and bored without a schedule to follow, bad head is starting to creep inwards. I already cleaned my apartment for the first time in so many months. I put away my papers and my books, found a bunch of stuff underneath the piles I had forgotten, like bills and old fortune cookies. I even cleaned the refrigerator and I never do that. I kind of forgot about this whole Christmas thing. I realized like two days ago that I have less than what, three or four days left? Oh shit. I got my mom the required collectible kitchen dish towel calendar so that’s done and done. The problem is my dad. So he’s been losing a pound a week due to the radiation and cancer but my dad is like a 3 XL. Holy cow, literally. My mom suggested I try for flannel pajamas, t-shirts with “sayings” on them, and a new baseball cap, since he has fifty of them. Whatever. I went to Wal-Mart, I am not too proud. I am thinking that the average low brow chain store shopper would be at least a 2 XL but I was wrong. That size was the maximum. I got some stuff I needed that was way over priced, what the fuck? Hair mousse for $4.88? You bastards! Lucky for you I have straight and low volume hair and needed that shit desperately. The cashier was a cunt when I argued about a price check, I could have bitch slapped her right upside the mullet. I lost the challenge, too. And the fucking vending machine ate my fifty cents and did not produce the promised Sam’s Club pure water I ordered. I hate Wal Mart, they can fuck themselves. Perhaps I am a little tense, I think I have the PMS. Next I went to TJ Maxx, thinking that maybe the big sizes could be there, they seem to have cast-offs, right? I found some t-shirts, like all five of them, but I can’t see my dad wearing some pdiddy shit or the sleeveless tops. Okay, say you weigh 300 lbs. I suppose you would be hot all the time and require sleeveless t-shirts, but seriously? No one wants to see that. Really. No, I am telling you. Please, don’t. Serendipitously, Casual Male XL was in the same plaza and yes, I did yell “Serendipitous!” out loud to myself. I walked in and I have never felt so small in my whole life. I am 5’1” and these clothes I saw were like taller than me, or is it longer? Bigger? How about huge? I felt like a fucking midget and I do believe everyone in the store turned around and stared at me like they have never seen anything as small as me before. They gawked. And I guess the “casual” male wears dress clothes. Hmm. They did have pajama pants, which are also called “lounge pants” which is nothing but a trend, people, a trend. No tops for the bottoms. Why can’t we have matching pajamas? For the love of god, a top and a bottom, just like the good old days? The man has arthritis, he needs a long sleeved pj top. Man, I am getting so pissed. The t-shirts were way to expensive for my grad school budget. Thirty bucks for a 50/50 blend? Come off it. Why can’t dad be a 2 XL? He could have anything he wanted. I mean, what is the difference? How much could it be? I did buy him a shirt from the internets that has the name of my school on it, I think he would like that but it’s backordered and oh my god, it’s a 2 XL. It’s the thought that counts. I don’t know what to do. I did look at the baseball caps but I don’t know what he would like, I am sure he has a Patriots hat and a Red Sox hat. The Celtics? Fuck that, they suck. Dammit, I just looked at Target online and do they have pajama sets? Fuck no, just pants or shorts. I need an old man store. Why is there not a store for the older gentleman, exclusively? Corn cob pipes, suspenders, and those plaid paper boy type hats that were all the rage during the Depression. I am fucked. That’s where I stand right now, kind of bored and a lot fucked. To Be Continued….

Let’s see…gnawing burning ulcer? Check. Feelings of

2007-12-07T22:45:00.000-08:00

Let’s see…gnawing burning ulcer? Check. Feelings of hopelessness and impending doom? Check. Over amplified fatigue? Check. One pound of French roast coffee consumed in the matter of less than a week? Check. Frequent bouts of napping on the floor with face pressed against that one string of Christmas lights that still remains on the floor? Check. Must be time for finals. Today (hear that word echo in the distance like a monster truck show commercial) was the last day of classes. Ever! Motherfucking ever! I can’t believe it, yet it is true. I have eight finals, which seems overwhelming, and yes, it really is overwhelming. I did get one out of the way today. So now I have seven. My final was doing a presentation on that research paper proposal thing I had to write in like a day. I showed huge glorified pictures of vulvar disease and apologized for doing so, but I still did it. I threw a penis picture in there to add balance. I guess it was okay, my friends told me it was good, but of course they would. And I did answer the question, the mandatory question, correctly and intelligently. I’ll take the A and run with it. So yeah, Monday I have to sit through the second half of the class’s presentations while secretly studying other things and I have a practical exam on suturing. I am required to approximate two wounds using different suturing methods and I will be graded on the basis of technique, knot tying, and neatness (as not to create hideous scars) on a piece of foam with moleskin covering it. We did use pig legs in lab, their skin is fucking tough and thick, I almost stabbed myself with my needle. It is kind of fun to suture, using forceps (excuse me, “pick-ups”) and a needle grabber thing instead of my fingers. On Tuesday I have my last pharmacology exam ever (hated that class) and another lab practical, which I am sweating over already. After months of not touching a stethoscope or penlight, we suddenly have to be able to do a head to toe exam given a problem and smoothly putting the parts of the examination together. Using my special powers of seeing into the future, I see myself standing in front of my simulated patient mumbling things to myself while drumming my fingers on their knee in thought while the egg timer ticks away. I will say things like “tactile fremitus?” and “looking for cotton wool spots and drusen, uh AV nicking and cupping of the optic disc?” while my proctor stares at me blankly and marks zeroes all over my exam. At least I know what to expect, failure. I practiced in lab yesterday and I was trying to look in my partner’s eye for the red reflex and I couldn’t see it because I had the light focused on their forehead, instead of the pupil. I am so blind. If I have someone read the eye chart I have to lean over them and put my face up against it to see which line they are reading. I think from now on I will just say, “very good” and move on. Wednesday I have geriatrics and surgery exams. Lots of reading needs to be done, lots. The final finals are on Thursday, emergency med and heme/onc, which I haven’t even started to look at, let alone study. I have a funny feeling that one is going to be a real bitch, too. But when it is done and over, I have a month of freedom. A month of sleeping 16 hours a day and wearing the same clothes until they get stains. Wow. Okay, I need to focus. I am so tired, though. So goddamned tired. If my tummy didn’t hurt I would drink some more coffee. Maybe I’ll start studying tomorrow. Maybe. Shit. Must study. Ooh, a catalogue! I’ll study after I look at this. I wonder if I still have that old sweater I used to like, maybe I’ll go through all of my packed things and see if it’s still there. And then I’ll study. The kitchen floor needs to be scrubbed. Okay, catalogue, sweater hunt, floor scrubbing, and then I’ll study. Sure. No problem.

I am relearning how to tie knots. Yes, this is school related.

2007-12-02T14:47:00.000-08:00

I am relearning how to tie knots. Yes, this is school related. If I have to sew someone up I have to learn to tie a decent fucking knot, I guess. The manual is blowing my mind. I can’t use the descriptions, I have to use the pictures. Here’s why: “Purple strand rotated beneath the white strand by supinating pinched thumb and index finger of left hand to draw purple strand through the loop. Right hand regrasps purple strand to complete the second throw square.” What? Want to know what you just tied? The first thing you do with your fucking shoelaces. Uh huh. That’s language I can understand, pretend to tie your shoes and then do the same thing and make a knot. Done. It’s all about making the knot lie horizontal. I feel like a moron. I suppose that is how they want me to feel, and they succeeded. Bitches. One more week of school! How dandy is that? One week of classes and the next week are finals. Eight finals. I have a presentation to do on a disease of the vulva (yeah, I picked it, of course) which I will be getting out of the way on Friday, so that makes seven finals in four days. I have a bad case of senioritis, I don’t want to do anything and I don’t care. I hardly study these days, if I look at something for an hour the night before an exam I am doing great. Fabulous. Actually, I have found this to be the best method for getting decent marks on my exams. Now I figure it out, after all this goddamned time. I pretty much have the attitude of fuckthisshit. I feel like I know nothing and I am having nightmares about my clinical rotations already. Apparently, that is how we are supposed to feel at this point, like retards. It’s a healthy outlook. We are told that it’s better to be pissing our pants than to be cocky. Personally, I am wavering on the side of I knew more about medicine before I started school. Give me a run down of your symptoms and I am just going to stare at you like you are a nutcracker doll with blood running from your giant toothed mouth.

Since it’s Christmas time I bought a strand of 100 colored lights and half assed an attempt at decorating. The lights are literally arranged in a diagonal line across the carpet with one end looped over the pot rack. I have to step over them every time I walk to the other half of my apartment. It’s quite festive. I just like to look at them lit up, that is all I need. I was pondering getting a few more and scattering them about my bedroom and maybe the bathroom, like a college aged hippie keeping them there year round. I like them that much. I will note that a strand of 100 does not get you very far. It’s rather deceptive. Like a hundred pennies only making a dollar. That buys you shit but you think it’s a lot. Speaking of buying, my mom has put me in charge of shopping for my own presents this year. She wanted me to get a digital camera so I did. I have never had one before and it came in the mail so I played with it yesterday. It is fucking amazing! It’s so small and it’s shiny and it has a three inch LCD screen and it makes movies. I am totally blown away by it. Call me crazy but I have never seen anything like this thing before. I know, I am crazy. The battery is even tiny! It feels like it should belong in a dollhouse. It is a Canon PowerShot SD 750. I got it for 50% off! Seriously, I do not need this much camera. I was playing with the buttons and menu screen and all I could say was “wow!” It is the shit. It is my new hero.

I guess it’s time to get back to my piece of string. We are getting like a foot of snow tonight and tomorrow. Guess what that means! Snow day! My last snow day of my life, it has the power. Pray for it. Please God, don’t let there be school tomorrow. I didn’t do my homework.

I should never be idle, it’s bad for my soul and my mind. I do

2007-11-25T17:49:00.000-08:00

I should never be idle, it’s bad for my soul and my mind. I do crazy lazy shit when I have time. I downloaded a new Tony Hawk game, hey its what I am all about, don’t poke fun. So I usually set my grind button to F on the keyboard and now I can’t grind for shit. I keep doing these badass yet inappropriate lip tricks instead. Do I tap the key or hold it down? I have experimented both ways and still I have no idea. How the fuck am I supposed to medal like this? I become obsessed to the point where I am driving around town and I look at shit and say “that’s totally skateable.” I would ollie off of that fucking concrete thing and tailslide like a motherfucker into a revert and a frontside manual. I am 35 years old. Did you have a nice Thanksgiving? I don’t want any more pie, thanks. I went to mom and dad’s, did my laundry (mom did my laundry, sweet), and listened to them arguing about my dad’s fanatical “March of the Penguins” viewing. He’s all “Sis, your program is on channel 205.” And what would that be? I guess the penguin movie is my program. You know your parents are senile when they start shouting out triple digit channel numbers at you like you know what the hell they are referring to, and tv is the most important thing ever. The TV Guide is the bible of the household. It’s bookmarked and in a very prominent place. My favorite? My mom calls Cinemax “Maxie.” Quite entertaining. Dad is also suddenly a big fan of the Lifetime channel. What the fuck? No wait, it’s worse than that. It’s the Hallmark channel. He likes to watch, and I quote, “tearjerkers.” I giggled but he was dead serious, he got that far away look in his eyes just thinking about it. I guess that is what happens when you turn 72, you get all soft. He sits there in his faded Harley t-shirt and tells me about the hippos and piranhas, his sandwich plans for the evening, and how much he has to pee. Mom points out the pictures of me as a baby and tells me the story behind each one. “You were four weeks and three days old in this one, wearing a summer dress and a wool hat. Everyone thought I was crazy.” Yeah mom, you are crazy. She used to use baby oil on my hair to mat it down, so in this picture of me I have greasy bangs and a pink wool hat with pom poms on the end of yarn strings, a huge birthmark in the center of my forehead, and my eyes are like crusted slits. “When people saw that they said ‘Oh how tired she was!’ and I said, no she’s wide awake.” I was a hot looking baby. My first communion picture is a work of art. It totally makes me look like a little angel even though I was far from being one at that age. I asked mom if that was a normal sized candle in my hands because my tiny paws make it look like it should be two feet tall. I confessed that I remember having that taken and all I was thinking about was damn, that candle wax dripping on my hands fucking burned. Ah, memory lane. Speaking of lanes of memories, I am none too proud to announce that I will be moving in with mom and dad for a total of five weeks in January. What? I have my first rotation in Worcester, which is like two fucking hours from where I live. Nice. To avoid two rent checks, I get my old bedroom back and lots of fringe benefits. My mom is so excited. She has already planned out everything and she says she will iron my clothes for me. I hadn’t even thought about the ironing, it clinched the deal. I suck at ironing. Believe me, I am dreading living with my parents after all this time. If I had a dime for every time I told my classmates that there was no fucking way in living hell I would live with them ever again, I wouldn’t have to. It should prove interesting to say the least.

In other banal news, the bible spouting guy in my class sent a group email about God to all of us. It’s basically a Thanksgiving type email yet it is wrong on so many levels. Shit, I am not anti-religion but I don’t want to open my inbox from my state affiliated school to find a message telling me to thank God for granting me a life without misery? Um, life is kind of miserable sometimes and it affects everyone, religious or not. It was good for a laugh and there is a brief mention of him forgiving me for disagreeing with his myopic views. I am so glad school is almost over. I know you want to read the email…

Greetings to everyone from Wisconsin. I am home visiting family and friends with my best friend, Fayth [his wife’s name, scary isn't it?]. Today is a day our country set aside for giving thanks; it was actually started by the Puritans and Pilgrims who were happy to have entered their new world. I am thankful for many things, most of all the blessing of being a Christian. Many of you know of my background, and some of you have expressed quite openly that you don't care for it. To that, I say thank you. We may not agree on everything, but at least we agree to disagree. I am thankful for the men and women who gave their lives so you and I can express our views, share our thoughts, and live in a free land. God's sovereign grace allows us to live every day and without thankfulness, we would be a miserable people [sic]. I want to encourage all of you to have a spirit of thankfulness today and to thank God that we live in a free land. May all of you enjoy time around a table filled with more food than we need! I do appreciate all of you and for the chance to know you all. God truly has given us a wonderful school, and I am grateful for the mind, resources, and ability God has given each of us to study.

May today be a day of Thanksgiving where we truly know where true freedom came from!

In sincere thanks,
Completely unaware that freedom was a homo sapiens thing. Oh, and our school is not so fucking great, trust me.