reality hits

then came in the trumpets. "trumpets!" i thought. they sounded like the beginning of a bright smile— oh, wait. they're synthesized trumpets. hee hee. how funny. keyboardists.

next my gaze fell upon the doorway, garlanded with flowers, and before i could move through it hit me: the sheer impossibility of it all, the hopelessness for my situation. it was overwhelming*, underscoring how blank the future is.

in my cup are swirls of grey probability, speckled with the black grit of reality. it is a drink most foul.


*the word most appropriate in this sentence is "underwhelming", because the force really came from beneath and pulled me down as the bottom fell out. this was the true original use of the word. unfortunately this word has been bastardized to mean the opposite, as though it means "un-whelmed". it's unfortunate. i'm sure this point is completely moot to you, but it would have been le mot juste.

loser

i have lost my calipers.

this week i have lost my cell phone, my stethoscope, and my calculator as well. all those things came back to me within 24 hours.

but now i need my calipers.

lost!

habituation

today as i sit down to my daily cup of sorrow, i notice that it is thin and light green. like japanese green tea, really. it tastes similar, only with a sharp, clean bitter flavor. i'm unfazed by the bitterness. it cuts cleanly and precisely. but it's weak today.

thank goodness.

p.s. i laughed today.

green

the colour of my sorrow is a brilliant emerald green.

which is strange.

i suppose that's because it is tainted with hope.

the state of things

don't be offended when you don't get a christmas card from me. i'm not doing them this year. so, that explains that. gifts? only the ones i "have" to give.

Jesus. what's happened? happy early birthday, by the way. i'm sorry about everything. i truly, truly am.

something's up. i totally have PTSD. memories from years ago are flooding back and washing over me. drowning me. wonderful memories. horrible memories. my heart is pounding; my brain is numb. i feel dizzy, almost intoxicated. i can smell it, feel it again and again and again. i tear up during lectures about computational modeling of aortic impedence, for goodness' sake.

today in the, well, the place, i stood observing, because that's my role (i'm too far along for this crap, by the way). i thought to myself, i wish i could have VT or VF right now and just drop. right here, witnessed. and there wouldn't be any questions, just the mess in my bedroom to clean up. i always did adore simplicity.

who'd miss me most? my mom. and after that, the other fellows, because that'd be one less first-call fellow for the call schedule.

that's horrible, but it's true, and that makes things even worse.

i blew it

it's blown.

in this earthly life i've had five things going for me.

one i blew four years ago.

one dissipated a year and a half ago. that left me with three.

one is dying right now, slowly, painfully.

and one i've blown wide open of late. should've known i'd get what i deserve. (coal.)

that leaves me with one thing. one thing. one thing. one thing. one thing. one thing. one thing. one thing. one thing. one thing. one thing.

it echoes in my head, in my fingers as i type. one thing. one thing. i perseverate here because the intense guilt, sorrow, responsibility i feel for killing the other thing, for hurting innocent people, won't let me move away. i knew better, i thought i'd get away with it, but i blew it. and i don't want to think about it; it hurts too much. i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry.

another one of the most important things in my life i have destroyed, i have let the evil in me destroy.

and all i have left is music.

p.s. cathee, don't marry him.

re-runs

it's funny. not funny ha-ha-, but— well, you know.

i guess most of life's experiences really are variations on a theme, aren't they? i knew this, but as i get on in years i'm starting to have these "things that i know" reinforced.

variations on a theme as reflected in the people i have come to know, who star in the stories i tell. i've collected two ms. moneybagses, three copycats, six suitors-with-psychopathology, three blogstalkers, four old dudes, and three friends named cat, not all of whom are copycats, but none of whom would be appropriately called kitty. even though i let one of them call me bunny. (i think it'd be cute to be able to call at least one of them kitty. i'm just saying.)

varitaions on a theme as reflected in the patients and families i meet, and types thereof (can you say "teenage girl syndrome"? all day today!). the enablers, the pretty-people, the overbearingly anxious, the vulnerable well, the entitled well, the internetters.

variations on a theme as reflected in the people i'm trying to get to know better. the ones who only call when they want a favor, the ones who say nice things that they don't mean, the ones who say nice things and don't follow up on them, the ones who say "to be honest with you, if i weren't married..." (oooh i really don't like that one. what's that supposed to mean, and why do you say it? it's so inappropriate!), the ones that you'd get along really well with except you never get together.

variations on a theme that vary as much as they could, but always end on the same theme:

here i be.

me.

hangin' out, doin' my thing.

naughty

usually i'm pretty well-behaved. santa doesn't bring me much, but i'm always satisfied with my winter material gains.

i was very good last year. this year i WAS being good, but now, as i look back, i realize that more recently

i deserve coal.

i've been bad. i was not nice. sorry, family. sorry, friends.

the realization itself is punishment enough.

good to know

hello, lovelies.

some things i've learned today/tonight:

you only need meet one person at a cocktail party to make the ordeal of getting over your social phobia worthwhile.

men throw around the word "beautiful" much more often if they aren't worried about consequences.

if you're not carrying a purse, and all you have with you is one key, and you have no pockets, your bra is a perfectly acceptable place to keep it.

chances aren't all that bad that you're actually cooler than you might think.

old dudes dig me. oh, but we already knew that, didn't we.

yes, yes, i too am surprised that i hadn't realized the other things earlier.

p.s. no i did not meet some old dude at a cocktail party tonight and let him find my key because he told me i was cool or beautiful. eww. it doesn't go together like that, silly.

the real thing

okay.

this time it's for real.

i just saw dave brubeck perform live.

i'm like a swooning groupie over here.

dave brubeck was the first musician to appear on the cover of time magazine. he was a little embarrassed, because he felt that duke ellington should have been the one (but wasn't because of the racism of the time), and when he first received the issue of the magazine, he walked over to duke's dressing room and told him so.

i wanted to tell you the whole story about how i didn't know he was even in this area until an hour and a half before the concert, and how the ticket-buying website was malfunctioning, and all the phone lines were, well, off, and how i just ran out the door all hopeful and stuff... but it's not a very interesting story.

and yes, he did play "take five."