yay again

yay yay
hooray hooray
i don't have to work today
i have gone far far away
gone with puffintoad to play!

yay

yay yay
hooray hooray
i don't have to work today
i want to go far away
anybody want to play?

this morning

• i am exceedingly pleased that my office is neither too hot nor too cold.
• i am also pleased that my hot chocolate is "just right" in this way.
• i am entertained by the fact that the top of my bagel spread is labeled "neufchâtel cheese" instead of cream cheese.
• i am happy to report that reconciliation has occurred on several fronts about which i was concerned.
• my entire place is a mess and i can do nothing about it, for i am stuck here at work for 16 hours, and when i get home it will be bedtime and yet there are so many things to do, things to do, wait, that's not about this morning is it. (period not question mark)
• i have already worked diplomacy in two situations that were initially outside my sphere of influence.
• the muzak is killing me— slowly, torturously making me die inside.
• i found the sweatshirt i was searching for last night.
• i have discovered that a major problem is that it is very irritating when people fuss over their opinions of my choice of words instead of listening to me. especially on the phone, where people say things they wouldn't say to your face. especially since i already choose words carefully. (sentence fragments and i don't give a flying flip)
• i have learned that my still-developing skills as an actriz have fooled many a person in the morning, and on this day when for some reason i feel much less obligation to be sunshiney-sweet people have noticed the difference in my demeanor.
• i am glad that a blog is supposed to be a place where one can write whatever and however one pleases (i suppose that would include "lol" and emoticons and whatever word usage errors they would commit) and that they are not designed to be venues for critical appraisal. (unless they declare themselves to be such. in which case, open season, man.)
• i am exercising my love for parenthetical statements. i would have used the word "penchant" but recently i laugh at the use of that word because the last time i heard someone say it they said pan(gh)-shon(gh) with great overemphasis and it sounded so incredibly affected i nearly laughed and vomited all at once. and i don't want to do that on my blog for it would be a mess to clean up.
• i have re-discovered how hot chocolate makes everything better.

blog apologies

the internet is super great because you can take care of all sorts of things without ever having to get up from your chair or even pick up the phone.

how-eeeeever,

internet communiqué has a huge ol' limitation, and that is that its raw and unpolished nature usually carries along with it an inability to convey a writer's tone. it can therefore be a medium by which one can hurt someone's feelings.

and so here is an official apology to ms. alleycat IF it was i that made you feel burned with my comment so difficult to interpret without vocal inflections. and by "unless what you're saying... that's mean and sucky" i intended "unless one were to say... which would be mean and sucky," without reference to you in specific. i make this a separate post entirely because it is always a big deal to me when i hurt someone's feelings. and IF it was someone else, then i feel relieved that it wasn't me, but i'm still sorry something happened.

to the other person who has gotten hurt: i will talk to you tonight.

sakura

yesterday was sunny. i went to the gardens with saara and suomies (how cool is that?) and that itself was very nice.

however, i had a problem as we rounded the corner and the blossoming cherry trees came into view. they were absolutely gorgeous. it made me feel intensely sad, in the wistful sort of way.

i know it's not an uncommon phenomenon, but why the sakura inspire this sort of feeling i have yet to define precisely for myself.

bummer

the forecast for my vacationette:

people who should have blogs

when i started doing the blog thing i'd think to myself, "i wish _____ had a blog. i bet it would be good." fill in the blank with

1. saara. and now she does. and it is.
2. camodidi. he won't though. he hates words. even if he is my friend he won't even read my blog because he sees all the words and it turns him off.
3. felix. because he's a funny little guy with an unique sense of humor. but then i found his blog. he erases his posts a day or two after posting them, so on many days you could visit his blog and find zero posts. i don't get it and am mildly disappointed.
4. my blogstalker. because any blogstalker/lurker worth his/her salt ought to at least have a blog of his/her own.
5. cat. but she won't because she finds all the technology overwhelming.
6. j.s. bach. but he's dead.

that is all. you can see that i keep it small. i don't think i'd read celebrities' blogs or politicans' blogs or even famous writers' blogs.

work

i really really really
really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really
don't, don't, do not, repeat, do not
want to go out on a trip today.

wish me luck.

according to merriam-webster

the word of the day for march 27 is:

götterdämmerung \gher-ter-DEM-uh-roong\ noun
: a collapse (as of a society or regime) marked by catastrophic
violence and disorder; broadly : downfall

götterdämmerung, that's pessimistic. why would they choose that for the word of the day?

report

50.4 kg

which is + 1.1 kg

yay.

kids

i really am starting to fear them.

they have germs.

nah

i take it back.

sometimes pink and green do go together.

i would argue that it is primarily when they are of the shades found in nature.

how

how does one earn a link on someone's blog?

who links to you? what does that say about you?

what do your links say about you?

just thinkin'.

today

today i

• got hooked up to wires
• wore a baseball cap
• saw a friend i haven't seen in over a year
• found out that someone's throwing a party for me
• found out someone thinks i'm a good leadership candidate
• ate croissants
• accidentally cut someone off while driving
• got noticed for my "bad girl boots"
• drove to a place to arrive ten minutes after it closed
• cruised through the ghetto
• talked with someone about voltron
• bought new makeup
• found a new address just by driving in the directions i thought i might need to go
• did my dishes

and it's only 2 PM or so. i have a whole day ahead of me (that will last until 7 AM tomorrow) during which all sorts of other exciting things will happen.

i'd better go eat my wheaties now.

unintelligible

i forgot to celebrate post #333. ('#' is '3' with the shift key held down). that was last post. blah. that post was sub-par.

whatever. that's over.

whooooooooooeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrghaaaa!

gha! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

uuuuuuuuuurgh, urrrrrrooooooo! aaaaooooooooh! awooooooo!

arooroowoowoo.

i don't knoooooooooooow!

aaaaaaaah!

and that is how i feel.

(but not like this. ew, no no.)

to sum up

i think that

perhaps

this blog can be described with two key words

somber

and

bothered.

i don't think i'm pleased with that.

rude

"well i think you're too skinny."

at the doctor's office today one of the techs was doing a test on me, and she felt completely free to give her opinion on my body habitus.

i explained that my body mass index is well within normal limits. even though it is at the lower end of the range, it is in a healthy range. i pointed out that since most people in our country are heavy, we have gotten used to seeing heavier people, so that i may have seemed unusually thin to her despite being, actually, normal.

"well, normal for what? i still think you're too skinny."

she was just bound and determined to make her point.

now, if i were too fat, would she have mentioned she thought i was too fat? even though that is THE very problem that usually sends people to that office? of course not.

i don't think she was trying to be rude, but i think that what she said was rude.

what do you think?

addendum: while posting this i called the office and spoke with the manager in complaint about the interaction. i hope she doesn't get in trouble though.

addendum: now i'm actually mad about this. i'm glad i called and left my opinion.

betrayal

murder is killing someone dead forever.
betrayal is killing someone's trust dead for a lifetime.

i'm not sure which one is the greater loss.

explanation...

... of the previous post.

that was my built-in admonitrix (see future post) talking.

i have some major tasks to take care of that i've been putting off just because i'm afraid of a little hard work and because of some other irrational fears as well.

that's all. i need to get to work, and step up to these responsibilities.

i'm not afraid anymore.

now, no more blogging. back to work i must go.

so here's a chicken-related link, so you can entertain yourself in the meantime.

http://www.subservientchicken.com/

byok bok bok bocbocbok.

a little self-abuse

dear camobunny,

you are a coward.

(i especially hate and have no respect for cowardice, in case you were wondering.)

you are a lazy procrastinating cowardly coward. you coward!

you are a slovenly hypocritical coward, coward.

aaaaaaaand your fear is irrational. irrational cowardice. that's just awesome.

where's your spine? last time i checked you were complaining about other people not having spine.

what's the matter, coward? you chicken? oh wait, of course you are!

byok bok bok bocbocbok

(stands up straight, squares shoulders)

nose to the grindstone, coward.

(cracks whip)

just get to work.

love, your friends,

camobunny and reality

**

okay, fine.

FINE!

i'm out.

the conspiracy against karaoke

(but this one isn't from the vault)

most people actually like to sing. we sing when we feel good. we sing when driving in the car. we sing in the shower. we sing to ourselves without even realizing it.

so why has karaoke gotten such a bad rap in the united states?

the pariah of social activities, karaoke has become a "last resort", something people will only do if they can't think of anything else to do and if they can be drunk while doing it.

why? what is it that makes people scoff at karaoke?

i think that deep in their heart of hearts, people actually like it and are afraid to say so for fear of being persecuted.

huh? huh? admit it. you like it.

it has to be a conspiracy. an anti-karaoke conspiracy.

what's your theory?

duke

my favorite bartender is named duke.

actually, i don’t drink or go out enough to truly have a favorite bartender. he is the only bartender i’ve really ever actually spoken to. i haven’t been to the place he works in almost a year.

but duke is great because his name is duke. what other job do you grow up to have when your name is duke? and he is bald. he sings along when the piano player plays a song he likes, in a loud, clear voice, with good pitch. and good rhythm. he sings well and he knows good, sophisticated music. he will make up a drink if i don’t know what to order, which is often, because i don’t know anything about drinks. he will make all types of drinks, not just froufy girly ones. he isn’t sleazy and he doesn’t hit on me. he smiles a lot, and he takes pride in his work.

one night after a particularly long and ballady set of mine—i don’t know, maybe seven or eight songs, which is a lot considering i was a patron and not an employee of the bar—duke asked me about my acting experience. i asked him to please say again because i didn’t think i’d heard him right. he asked again if i was doing any acting anywhere currently. perhaps some musical theatre? i got a kick out of that, but more so out of the look on his face when i told him, “oh, no. i am a doctor. pediatrics.” so after a short stall, he switched gears. duke has a little daughter. i can’t recall if she was four months or four years old, but he really lit up talking about her.

that’s all i have to say about duke.

yup

i have a "vault"-- a file of things i could post on here saved away for a rainy day. like today.

so that is why i am posting and posting and posting— because i feel like it.

and because the tone of my blog has been rather negative lately, i'm going to go dig around in the vault for something not so negative.

but actually

but actually,

i know how to do it.

each weekend, plan the meals for the week. go grocery shopping on Sunday afternoons.

on weekdays, get up, stretch, groom, have breakfast. get a few things ready for cooking dinner (marinades, defrosting frozen things, etc.). go to work. get home, where your ingredients are ready. cook dinner according to meal plan made on sunday. clean everything. pack lunch for the next day. iron outfit for next day if indicated.

before going to bed every night, take 5-10 minutes to tidy up your living space and put away all clutter.

separate your laundry as you put your clothing into your hampers, pre-treating all stains as indicated.

have a place for everything, and keep everything in its place.

of course it goes on and on. it’s never done, right?

but actually,

i choose not to do any of these things.

sometimes there is guilt associated with that choice. mostly it is the guilt of having knowledge and not applying it. it is the guilt of underacheiving. it is a false guilt, but it is guilt nonetheless. and then there is the frustration of being a slob and dealing with the consequences thereof, such as not being able to find your keys or your stethoscope, or always having at least one dirty dish in the sink, while all the time you know better than to do that to yourself.

i don’t know. i’m just not a hausfrau. and being one does not appeal to me at all.

continued

my brother and i talk almost every day. we call each other for no reason all the time, much in the same way my mom and one of her sisters do. we talk about God and life and humanity and stupidity and race and cars and cartoons and food and dating (actually, not-dating) and work/school and poop. it’s good.

my other brother tells me nothing. he only calls if he needs something or if it’s my birthday. what of holidays, you ask? nope. not even christmas. although he did call on new year’s eve after i made a big deal out of him neglecting to call on christmas. he didn’t even tell me that my niece was being baptized yesterday. he treats me more like a stranger or business associate than a family member.

it’s really too bad. it bothers me. yet i cannot think of anything to say to him, for it bothers me so much it’s the only thing that comes to mind when i have the opportunity to contact him. i have nothing else to say. and if that’s all i have to say, he won’t want to hear it. i wouldn’t want to hear it either.

by now you may be wondering,
1. “does he read her blog?”
2.”when IS her birthday, anyway?”

okay not really. but,
2. it’s in early june.
1. sometimes. and sometimes his wife does.

one solution that has been proposed is that i ought to reciprocate, to shut him out in return. i cannot do this, because i still happen to care. it would be convenient not to care, because then things wouldn’t bother me. unfortunately i can’t be that way.

is it wrong that i post private family matters on a public blog? yes, it is. but it is an anonymous blog with minimal traffic, after all. i have kept this post limited to "just the facts, ma'am," without any name-calling or condescension or even any of the real emotions i actually feel. and it’s sort of the only thing i can think of to do at this juncture that might possibly get the point across. he may see it; he may not. if he sees it, so be it. because it is the truth.

possibilities

my brother is, i think, my best friend.

my other brother is very nearly a stranger to me.

i wonder what it is like to have a sister.

i wonder what it is like having me as a sister.

though it sounds simple, the possiblities blow my mind.

soy un perdedor

really.

i'm falling apart.

i have been so distracted (or sleep-deprived?) that i have done weird stupid things over the past 36 hrs.

i messed up singing my solos at church this morning. a little. it is still bugging me. a little.

when making dinner from a box (bad enough), i dumped in the wrong packet (even worse) and let simmer for 7 minutes prior to noticing i'd done it wrong.

i was way overly nice to icky-guy, i think i may have used the words "totally sweet" completely out of context because i was trying to escape.

i missed claude's birthday party. but this was not on accident; i actually did decide that i would not be functional after staying awake for 27 hrs, sleeping for three, and then getting back up.

twice i missed the phone today because i couldn't find either handset; they were calls from old med school friends. dangit.

and

i forgot to zip up my fly. twice.

yikes. just yikes.

i'm an ick magnet

icky-guy did ask me out today.

i had a feeling he would.

before you get onto me about being snobby and saying that beggars can't be choosers, let me explain. believe me, i know. beggars can't be choosers. i know. because of this i will give almost any guy who asks a chance (= one date), because there's no good reason (usually) to pre-judge (that is, be prejudiced). but also you must believe me that icky-guy is icky. men and women alike find him icky. he is just not socially normal, and interacting with him leaves you with either a question mark over your head or a general feeling of ick. i can't define it well; it's something about eye contact, shiftiness, strange topics of conversation, affect, etc.

there are two dudes at my church that are demonstratively not mentally normal. we are talking serious problems. medication-worthy in one case. icky-guy is exceedingly mild compared to them. both of them have asked me out or hit on me at some point. at least, i think it was their way of asking me out. "you can come if you want" isn't the most conventional way to invite a woman on a date.

then there are the old dudes. why old dudes think that it is appropriate to be with someone young enough to be their daughter is beyond me. this is also icky.

the point i am trying to make (since it isn't clear) is that i seem to be an ick magnet.

lest one assert that all types of guys hit on me and i only remember the ones that i find icky: i can count on one hand the number of socially normal dudes who have ever approached me. the rest have proven themselves to be psychotics, schizophrenics, stalkers, megalomaniacs, or even of the autistic spectrum. in addition to this, i get asked out so rarely (about once a year, perhaps twice if it's a particularly eventful year) that it is all the more distressing for me to note that the population of men willing to pursue me is comprised primarily of the psychologically or socially impaired.

my last disclaimer is that i do realize that i am not normal either. i do know, however, how to interact in society, and because i have this ability, i require that any would-be boyfriend of mine has it too. i don't think it too much to ask.

oh i'm not asking for pity. i don't feel sorry for myself, and there's no reason anyone should feel sorry for me. i am just intellectually curious about this ick magnetism i seem to possess. ladies, are any of you experienced enough with this phenomenon to have advice to give? how do i turn it off? (somehow, i don't think pointing with one hand and holding my nose with the other and saying "ick! eek!" while running away is the correct solution, effective though it might be.)

i don't know what else to say, except that i sincerely hope icky-guy hasn't found my blog.

work

owwwwwwww.

ow.

and sometimes the end of a shift leaves me feeling unfulfilled.

1. i bought a pedometer to see how far i actually walk at work. in the leisurely first two hours of the shift i had walked 2.5 miles. after that i was excited to see how much more it would be at the end of the night. i suppose that's what i get; the night was busy, busy, busy, and i did not get to rest or sleep. at the end of the shift i checked my pedometer reading. it said 0.96 km. i am so disappointed because that is so wrong on multiple levels, the wrongest being that i was on my feet all night long walking and going up and down stairs and when not walking, standing, and i did not get the gratification i had planned on getting from knowing how much distance that actually was because my stupid pedometer reset itself right at the end of the sixteen-hour shift. it had to be a lot of distance. this would explain why my body hurts all over the day after a long shift, and why i am in pain now.

2. i needled a pneumothorax on a baby. i cannot begin to tell you how psychologically unpleasant this task was for me. even though it is a small needle and i gave pain medication to the baby first, i cannot justify in my mind treating a baby like a pincushion with seemingly random poking of needles (as opposed to trying to draw blood or start an iv). a lumbar puncture bothers me less. i don't know why. probably because this particular baby had been through a lot already what with my intubating him and all. and since it yielded only 5 cc's of air i do not feel a sense of accomplishment after having done it.

3. i hate telling parents "something is wrong with your baby." hate it. haaaaaaate it. but i have to. and then they cryyyyyyyy, because they are scared and sleep-deprived and hormonal. what is even worse is telling parents something is wrong with their baby but but we don't know what it is. like the baby last night who kept on turning blue. we can have our suspicions (it's called a differential diagnosis) but that is not satisfactory either to me or to families. i want an answer, so i can make a plan and make it happen. that is supposed to be my job.

4. i pronounced a baby dead. i've never had to do that before. not that babies haven't died, but it's never been my job. the baby was extremely premature and was born four and a half months before the due date. this is considered "pre-viable." he was a boy. he did not cry or move or even breathe after being born. his heart beat for two hours despite this. he pooped and peed a little. at this gestational age this patient could be called a fetus or a baby. both would be correct. he had fetal physical features and also did things that babies do. this is because fetuses are babies. anyone who denies that should come see for themseleves. they can gasp, and cry, and move their arms and legs, and use the bathroom (which, if you think about it, is a large percentage of what term babies do). once born, if they survive birth, they are alive, and then they die.

once again my mind returns to the man at that party who said being a pediatrician must be fun and easy and you probably don't have to do much, because babies are so simple, how much could you have to do?

i maintain that he is an idiot.

party

so evidently, there's a biga** party going down in spain this weekend.

"(scoff.) she just mentioned spain like it's a locale and not an entire country."

no, actually, i mean in spain. in all of spain. in all the major cities across spain.

see, some students in seville (i think) had a botellon last weekend. they bragged about the 5,000+ party-ers who attended. in retaliation/competition/just for fun, the students in cities all over spain are going to have their own mega-botellon blowouts all at the same time this weekend.

see, now that is how you party. don't wait for some stupid excuse like some random holiday from some other culture (thereby rendering it meaningless). if you're going to party, just party.

anyone want to go to spain this weekend?

maybe not. spain just might implode from it all.

more hypocrisy

oh, no. this is not acceptable. we would much rather honor the empty but fun non-religious "tradition" that belongs to a country in specific— which is not our country—that of binge drinking and eating corned beef— than remind ourselves of Christ's sacrifice by practicing the otherwise empty tradition of not eating meat during lenten fridays. so let our entire religion have a special dispensation to

forget Christ. let's eat beef.

silly songs while blogger is down

something is not right
something is quite wrong
and so
i sing this song...

blogger has brooooo-kennnnnn
i cannot pub-lish*
this server out-age
has silenced all words

twitz is forbid-den
so is my knit-blog
guess i'll just stop now
and go to bed

doo doo, doo-doo-doo, Doo-doo-doo, doo doo, hmmm mmm, mm-mmm,
doodoododoo, doo-doo-doo.

*on my other blogs

yay

i made a penguin.

link-only post

young woman making furniture

beware of the bunny

evidently, there is another girl out there who calls herself camobunny.

i am willing to accept that she exists, so long as i remain the dominant camobunny on the web.

but watch out for camobunny fraud anyway. i hate to think that her activities may be attributed to me.

celebrate with me

march 15 is "explain your addiction" day at the prickly pineapple.
i dare you to give it a try.

yup

i was right. status post a much-needed nap i feel great.

if you're a worm flooded out from your home, drying and dying in the sun, and then it rains, where do you run?

worms give me the icks now. they didn't used to. when we were little camofoo' and i learned that if you cut an earthworm in two, each half would grow another half and you'd get two living earthworms. so we tried this. with a stick we cut a few earthworms apart and then waited. we were disappointed.

bleah

leaving church today i noticed some worms on the sidewalk, drying out and dying in the sun after being flooded out from underground by last night's storms.

today that's how i feel.

it must be that i need some more sleep today.

work

1. while my right hand was keeping the stethoscope on his chest and my left hand was keeping his shirt raised, a very snotty 11-month old baby with an upper respiratory infection reached out and touched my bottom lip before i had a chance to push his hand away. "ew. dude. why'd you have to go and do that?" why don't parents keep a hold on their kids' hands while i listen? it's only common sense. and what on earth would possess a child to do that? (i mean, i know i have beautiful lips, but... just kidding.) i know some kids put their hands IN their parents' mouths. i dunno. and how does one sanitize one's bottom lip afterward? does lipstick/lip balm increase one's risk for infection by providing a more moist medium for viral survival? ahhhhh i don't wanna get sick...

2. it was actually pretty amazing and the mostest adorablest ootsy-cutesy (snicker, gag) thing i've seen in a while. i was seeing a 12-month old who had pretty much nothing wrong with her, just the mildest case of the gastroenteritis everyone else has. mom had been whistling to her to keep her entertained while waiting to be seen. while i was listening to the little one's abdomen, baby started putting her lips in the whistling position, and before i was done with the examination she was whistling herself! sure, that deserves an exclamation point. i have never seen anyone that young able to do that. she was immensely pleased with this, and whistled throughout the rest of the examination. i think i'm going to tell my colleagues about this and make them feel jealous and insecure, because i highly doubt their one-year olds are doing this yet. mwahahahahaha.

3. next year, get your flu shot. don't be ignorant or stubborn. just go get it. and get them for your kids. i didn't used to get them, but since i am in a couple of the high risk categories (work in health care, have asthma, work with immunocompromised children on occasion) i started getting them yearly. now, i am a 109-pound GIRL and very sensitive to medications and illnesses, as much as i hate to admit that. i have never "gotten sick" from the flu shot. i have never gotten the flu. the shot hurts way way way less than influenza does. when you have influenza, there's no mistaking it. it's just not a minor illness. it means serious morbidity and loss of productivity for days. and if your kid gets it, you have to stay home from work with him/her. don't be stupid. just get the freaking shot.

4. if you're in my unit, i don't care who you are, i will give everyone the same respectful care. if you're some sort of 'VIP', it won't make a difference. i treat all children as if they were VIPs. they are much more important to me than you are. the only thing that will make me treat you any differently is if you are rude to me. don't be rude to me. i have pointy objects and the power to give shots.

5. twelve hours, one doctor, seven rooms. it's dreadful, as in inspiring a feeling of dread in one's heart. it's even worse than the sixteen hour shifts at the other hospital. i'd been dreading the shift all week. DREADING it. it was actually a reasonable shift. i even got to eat my meal! and my cake too, even if it was in two sittings. despite their steady influx, i saw my patients quickly, no one had extensive workups, and hey, i even CLEARED THE UNIT for a few minutes!! i had staff who like me—they said they saw my name on the schedule and chose to work that shift because of it (the highest compliment i can think of right now)—and who are always very encouraging. and did i mention i got to eat my cake?

beauty parlor

i'm about to go get my hair cut.

do i have to make myself up all pretty to go to the salon?

shouldn't i be able to buy my pretty there?

but not really

today would be a good day to feel lonesome.

it's raining; i'm home alone. all's quiet in camobunny's hutch. it's very quiet, except for the wind whistling outside.

i feel like i'm supposed to be lonely,

but i'm not, really.

forbidden

so my friend anonymous has gone public by starting a blog of her own.

however

when i try to look at it, i get a 403.

what's a 403? it's the "forbidden" error.

it looks like this:

http 403 (forbidden)

you are not authorized to view this page
you might not have permission to view this directory or page using the credentials you supplied.

it makes me feel as though i've tried to do something i shouldn't have. something naughty.

not really.

semantics

me: my ride is so fly.

camodidi: my ride is not fly. MY ride is PIMP.

me: actually, you're absolutely right.

jaw harp

just plain jammin'

the psychedelic jew's harp

the triangle

if you could learn to play an instrument, what instrument would it be?

if i could learn any new instrument i wanted, i would learn to play the triangle.

i would begin by taking triangle lessons. i'd have a rocky start, seeing as how it is always more difficult for adults to learn new instruments. i would suffer patiently through triangle classes with elementary schoolers, being the "slow adult" in the class. i'd eventually acquire the technical skills but suddenly experience a period of percussionist's block. just when that affliction faded, my triangle career would be threatened by frightening carpal tunnel symptoms, and i'd have to spend months in rehab, re-vamping my technical skills to be ergonomically correct.

right after that i'd have a huge breakthrough. i'd become famous for my triangular virtuosity. i'd perfect the delivery of a rendition of jobim's "one note samba" that would rouse audiences to riotous frenzy. after a brilliant career of acclaimed performances i'd begin composing. i'd start with simple triangle choruses. then i'd move on to innovative works such as "symphony for triangle with children and soapbubbles" (review: a feast for the ears and eyes, with the beauty in the rainbow of bubbles blown from the thirty-two triangles dipped in soapy water rivaled only by the rainbow of diversity in the twenty children so carefully hired from all over the world to hum harmoniously along).

i might even be so bold as to attempt to introduce design variations on my instrument, which i would give such names as the "square," or the "trapezoid." this would be met with staunch opposition from the music world. critics would decry my descent into "a mindless reactionary style, heralding the onset of either madness or just severe poor taste." controversy would follow me about, as some would celebrate me, while others would label me a fraud. drugs would be implicated. finally, the fat lady would let out a shrill high e, and a vh1 special would be made, signaling the end of my career. i'd be left penniless, my reputation as a musician forever destroyed.

maybe not the triangle after all.

ooh, what about the jaw harp?

not a morning person (addendum)

wow.

(giggle)

i was grumpy this morning.

i guess it's true that i'm really not a morning person. i get mistaken for one because my mother taught me as a child to be polite and always say, "good morning." but believe me, that is the extent of it. it is important to be polite and perform the usual ritual of courtesy (and just be personable), but after that i am quite content to be quiet in the morning. i like some time to get warmed up. i also need some time for my niceness to kick in, so it's better for me to hold my tongue anyway.

although i love coffee with great ardor, i don't like the idea of drugging oneself (that's about 80 mg of drug per cup) merely for the sake of drugging oneself. life has a natural rhythm. disturbing it artifically comes with great consequences.

the morning is a good time to be quiet. it's a good time to focus and get your tasks done efficiently. that way toward the end of the work day, when everybody feels like goofing off, you're free to join in because you're pretty much done with your work. there was a period of time during residency when i arrived at the hospital ridiculously early so i had time to be alone, sip my juice, and pre-round on my patients in an efficient yet unpressured fashion.

i just ran out of words to say. next time, then.

so much to say

this is post #302. who knew i'd have so much to say?

i worry sometimes about being one of THOSE. you know how some women go on and on and on and ON and just keep talking and talking and talking about nothing? and there is often the husband, sometimes patient, sometimes impatient, but regardless having to tolerate this incessant blathering. it's sad and i don't ever want someone to think of me in that way.

well, firstly, i've found that men do it too, blablablabla. secondly, i can't be one of THOSE if it bothers me so, can i? at times i find it so intolerable that my i withdraw behind a wall of prickles and i swear to myself never to say a word if not spoken to.

oh, i CAN. when paired with someone even more conversationally impaired than i, i find empty things to chatter about. it drains me but i can do it. but i don't like to. i hear myself talking and usually wish that this person were comfortable with mutual silence. few people, however, are, and so i talk. what i forget is that the conversationally impaired also fail to express a desire to close the conversation and in their attempts to appear interested unintentionally give cues that in normal society indicate a desire to continue interacting. so now i have become very comfortable with bringing in cues like, "well, i'm glad you're well," or "it was nice to hear from you," or less subtly, "i've gotta go now." is that gauche? i don't care.

i enjoy quiet. it is beautiful. so much idle chatter is taxing. a meaningful conversation is a blessing, and so is meaningful silence.

please, God, make the words of my mouth blessed and fruitful. please don't let me become one of THOSE.

feet

i don' like feet. i jes' don' like 'em.

and i think that's partly because i don't like my feet. they are big giant flat bony monstrosities.

shoe shopping yesterday reminded me of this. i had forgotten, and i started by trying on shoes that were too small. oh yeah, i have big monster feet, i thought. so with a big sigh i started grabbing my true size, 8 1/2. i am short, so this is a huge size. i walked around, testing for comfort. clomp, clomp, clomp. i stepped over the brannock measuring device that i like so much even though i don't like what it tells me. my skinny legs and their boat-like distal appendages were a comical sight in the slanted floor mirrors.

stupid ugly monster feet.

who's that walkin' 'round here? mercy!
sounds like baby patter
baby elephant patter, that's what i calls it

say, up in harlem, at a table for two,
there were four of us, me, your big feet and you
from your ankles up, i say you sure are sweet,
from there down, there's just too much feet!

yes, your feet's too big!

don't want ya 'cause your feet's too big!
can't use ya 'cause your feet's too big!
i really hate ya 'cause your feet's too big!
yeah!

lah-dee-doo-dah, nah-dah-nah-dah
where d'ya get 'em?
nah-dee-ah-dah

your girl, she likes ya, she thinks you're nice,
got what it takes to be in paradise
she said she likes your face, she likes your rig,
but, man, oh, man, them things are too big

oh, your feet's too big
don't want ya 'cause your feet's too big!
mad at ya 'cause your feet's too big
i hate ya 'cause your feet's too big


my goodness, gun the gunboats!
shift! shift! shift!

oh, your pedal extremities are colossal
to me you look just like a fossil
you got me walkin', talkin' and squawkin',
'cause your feet's too big, yeah

come on and walk that thing
oh, i never heard o' such walkin', mercy!
you know your pedal extremities really are obnoxious.
one never knows, do one?

haircut

i'm beginning to grow tired of my haircut.

this is the only thing i can ever get it to do. yes this is my natural color. including the highlights.

and i think the chick who was cutting my hair kept cutting more off in the back than i wanted to trap me in this style longer so i’d go back and get more haircuts from her.

any suggestions?

no longer

this is it.

i no longer have any excuses.

i am not sick.
it is not too cold out.
i am not too depressed.
i have plenty of time.
i even have the shoes.
i have no choice. it's time for me to...

start exercising. (shudder)

the only thing left is that thing my heart is doing. i'm thinking exercise will help it. but i'm scheduling an appointment with the cardiologist anyway.

to the jerk who robbed my brother

you are scum.

you may never get caught, but may the evil of your deeds weigh on your guilty conscience like an albatross about your neck.

may each penny of his that you spend bring misfortune upon misfortune

until you're driven down onto your knees to beg mercy from God Himself.

the thing is, He'll give it to you anyway.

your wrong

there are certain blogs that i read that, that...

hm. how do i say this?

there are some people i know who have blogs. i read the blogs because i know the people. and, um,

ahem,

the blogs reveal their GREEEEEEAT ignorance. i mean, it’s really bad. it’s like, um, hoo boy!

now how can i say this is objective and not just me being judgmental? well, i could send you links to said blogs but that would not work for some obvious reasons. let me say these things and let you decide for yourself. there are some very simple observations or known facts presented as great revelations. there are some points of common knowledge that are major questions for these people. there are some glaring spelling and word choice errors. i’m talking homophones for very common words (used by elementary school children) being substituted for one another that have completely different meanings or that are just plain wrong (even worse than two, too, and to). that’s just one example. and these people are supposed to be adults. college graduates. these sort of errors are in “arguments” that are supposed to be intellectual and maybe to sound intelligent?

and then one day i was reading one of these blogs and it occurred to me. i put my hand over my mouth. “oh my gosh. this is meant to be advice. you think you’re wise.”

that clinches it. i have passed judgment on them when i oughtn't have. i need more grace, more mercy.

i must be very careful, for some may say something similar about my blog(s). i don’t bother with proper grammar or syntax, i don’t captialize, i start sentences with conjuctions and end them with prepositions. oh, i know. i don’t even bother to try to write well on a blog. i just write. my blog may come under criticism for that. whatever. this is different. this is just wrong in all its wrongness.

oh and i never said i was wise.

now what should i do? we are friends after all. should i write them and say, “hey, you used the wrong word in this one sentence and it really makes you look stupid, maybe you should think about changing it?” wait, no i can’t do that because i’ve done it before (gently as i could, with more kindness than the above) and it was a point of sensitivity, and the person blew up and broke down, and what a horrible person i am for nit-picking and fault-finding and criticizing! i guess i have to sit idly by and let these people make fools of themselves.

the same way i have been allowed the freedom to make a fool of myself on my blogs.

i am a doctor

i wasn't going to post today, but it's weighing on me.

i am a doctor.

people depend on me.

i am a doctor.

people turn to me when they don't know what else to do.

i am a doctor.

today i helped a patient who was bleeding a lot into her airway and couldn't breathe. physically i did nothing to very little for her, but everyone was counting on me because i am a doctor.

i walked in to a stunned-looking surgeon and a slightly nervous anesthetist both of whom appeared mildly relieved to see me because i am a doctor.

there was a suction canister full of blood, and breathing tubes, and IV fluids, and medicine that sedates, and medicine that relieves pain, and medicine that paralyzes. there was a mechanical ventilator, and anesthesia gas, and oxygen tubing and bloody drool and gloves and stethoscopes and monitors. there was a helicopter and helmets and flightsuits and a stretcher. there were numbers, calculations, ventilator settings, weights, doses. there were physical examination findings and information and public relations and encouragement and education. there was knowledge and responsibility and obligation and sacrifice.

there were bystanders. there was my gloved hand, squeezing the bag, breathing for a child. there was my seat in the helicopter at the airway, at a vantage point where i could survey just about everything. and there was time to think.

why am i a doctor? i've been doing all this stuff for a really long time, and now, look, ohhhh, i am a doctor! and i have been for some time now.

i like being a doctor. but being a doctor is always. i am always a doctor. everywhere i go. all the time.

i am a doctor.

dude, what? i'm just me. i like to sit around and do nothing, and i would be eating bonbons if i had any, and i like to listen to music, and maybe chat a little. i like to sit and think, and write poetry. i like hugs and kisses and flowers and being cozy at home or feeling the sunshine on my skin.

what am i doing?

i am a doctor. every day i am a doctor. every every every day.

well, i am.

envy?

i think i'm having blog envy of one of my own blogs.

i like the template to my new blog so much that i have become discontent with the appearance of this one. the new one, it's so easy on the eyes. the green. soothing and whatnot.

green is the color of jealousy, is it not?

i wonder to myself, will it compromise my integrity to change the colors of this blog? then i think to myself, i take these blogs way too seriously. go to bed, you.

and i think i'm right.

mine!

do you ever get possessive with friends?

like, "she's MY friend. i enjoy knowing her better than you do. i don't want to share."

no?

right now i do.

most of the time i want to share my friends with the world. like my friend cat. there is nobody like curly-haired, kooky crazy cat. she's like a rare discovery. she came to visit me once during medical school, and i wanted to show her off to everybody. she is extremely weird and immensely entertaining.

this other phenomenon is new to me. i don't know what to make of it.

jealousy is not becoming. when did i get this selfish?