Some day little girls will wear little dresses with little flowers embroidered on the pockets for no other reason than to wear little embroidered flowers; not to show the world that those pockets are conveniently placed.
If evolution exists let us devolve in, if nothing else, our level of innocence.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
A Completely Selfish Argument
Had I moved quickly enough, I might have, for a mystical nanosecond, been able to hold my frozen breath in my palm this morning. The stars lingered, postponing the inevitable dawn, as I stepped onto the library balcony to rest my weary mind. The glow of the monument below stirred a childish Rapunzel daydream, which I didn't know how to halt until it had already passed. It just seemed weird to daydream about Rapunzel in any circumstance, let alone during Finals Week.
The cold at first felt glorious, then humbling, and gradually sank into a shivering state of misery. My teeth chattered Morse Code messages as misting rain amplified the December air. All I wanted to do was write. Not sleep. Not finally find a bathroom in this stupid building and pee. I wanted to pull my knees to my chest, balancing my weathered spiral ledger, and write until the muscles in my fingers stopped responding. At this moment I was not thinking about how nice it would be to revive a little old lady on the Metro or save some helpless kid from leukemia. I wanted to feel that tangible beauty flow from my silent lips as I mouthed the words my hands painted onto paper.
I was almost certain that in the not so far off future I would become that mumbling bag lady that children throw rocks at if I didn't fear the fact that I have friends that would join in the throwing. My lips were already parted, forming the words my hands could not respond to. Silence turned to muttering, as if my mind felt like pushing that metaphoric envelope with or without my consent. I didn't dare take the time to write, as the past forty-eight hours had already drained the majority of my coherent thought.
"Not today", I whispered to myself, officially sealing in my "crazy doctor-to-be with imaginary friends" title. It was then that I felt a tug. A literal, absolute tug from somewhere inside my chest. "No", I sighed.
I left the wispy remains of a ghost waiting on that cold balcony. I had betrayed my writer's soul for the tedious study of Biology flash cards. It was as if I chosen sides in an unseen war, of which I had formerly been Switzerland. I just hoped I had not unknowingly sided with the enemy.
The cold at first felt glorious, then humbling, and gradually sank into a shivering state of misery. My teeth chattered Morse Code messages as misting rain amplified the December air. All I wanted to do was write. Not sleep. Not finally find a bathroom in this stupid building and pee. I wanted to pull my knees to my chest, balancing my weathered spiral ledger, and write until the muscles in my fingers stopped responding. At this moment I was not thinking about how nice it would be to revive a little old lady on the Metro or save some helpless kid from leukemia. I wanted to feel that tangible beauty flow from my silent lips as I mouthed the words my hands painted onto paper.
I was almost certain that in the not so far off future I would become that mumbling bag lady that children throw rocks at if I didn't fear the fact that I have friends that would join in the throwing. My lips were already parted, forming the words my hands could not respond to. Silence turned to muttering, as if my mind felt like pushing that metaphoric envelope with or without my consent. I didn't dare take the time to write, as the past forty-eight hours had already drained the majority of my coherent thought.
"Not today", I whispered to myself, officially sealing in my "crazy doctor-to-be with imaginary friends" title. It was then that I felt a tug. A literal, absolute tug from somewhere inside my chest. "No", I sighed.
I left the wispy remains of a ghost waiting on that cold balcony. I had betrayed my writer's soul for the tedious study of Biology flash cards. It was as if I chosen sides in an unseen war, of which I had formerly been Switzerland. I just hoped I had not unknowingly sided with the enemy.
Friday, December 5, 2008
The Little Things
It was that time of year again; the time of year when snow blanketed front lawns and soft lights twinkled against the backdrop of even softer music. It was that special time of year, when greeting card sales spiked and cliques rolled off the tongue without shame. It was the season of Final Exams.
Ah, Final Exams. The only two words in the English language that, when combined, have the power to bring entire civilizations to their knees. Well, second to Atom Bomb.
If someone had asked me to describe my first Pre-Med quarter in three words, I would have had to say: exhausting, stressful, and difficult. My adjectives should have been: empowering, stimulating, and difficult. I couldn't believe that I was already finished with an entire quarter, so much so that it made my head swell. The loom factor of these upcoming exams made the "final" aspect of them seem much too literal to stomach.
I needed to take a moment to breathe, and was planning on doing so just after I met with my professor to ask some last panicked questions about the final. It was then, while sitting in her uncomfortable folding chair, that I broke under the pressure. Babbling about long midnight shifts and an unsure admission to Medical School, I failed at mentally clawing back tears. She nonchalantly handed me a box of tissues, and patiently waited for me to finish sniffling. "Well then", she finally broke the tension of my outburst, "You better do well on the final".
It was as simple as that. I better do well on the final. "For the next week, eat, sleep, and breathe the material. Don't party. Don't work. Don't think. Just do well on the final, and for Christ's sake stop crying in my office".
Humiliated, yet oddly encouraged, I thanked her for her time and began my cold walk home. And, for the first time in my life, I dismissed everything my brilliant professor had told me. I went home, took a long nap, made gingerbread men with my girlfriends, and spent the next two days simply enjoying the company of my friends. It was the first time in a long time that my gut hurt from laughter rather than stress. I did not eat, sleep, or breathe the material. I ate, slept, and breathed.
I took time for myself and was still able to crack open the books without resorting to building a time machine in my kitchen. The breaking point was my body's way of screaming, "What the hell!?", and I was finally able to reply with a calm, "Don't you worry Body. I'm a doctor. Almost."
Sometimes pure common sense outweighs the prestige of a doctorate, and sometimes laughter really is the best medicine. Or the best way to become a medicine woman.
Ah, Final Exams. The only two words in the English language that, when combined, have the power to bring entire civilizations to their knees. Well, second to Atom Bomb.
If someone had asked me to describe my first Pre-Med quarter in three words, I would have had to say: exhausting, stressful, and difficult. My adjectives should have been: empowering, stimulating, and difficult. I couldn't believe that I was already finished with an entire quarter, so much so that it made my head swell. The loom factor of these upcoming exams made the "final" aspect of them seem much too literal to stomach.
I needed to take a moment to breathe, and was planning on doing so just after I met with my professor to ask some last panicked questions about the final. It was then, while sitting in her uncomfortable folding chair, that I broke under the pressure. Babbling about long midnight shifts and an unsure admission to Medical School, I failed at mentally clawing back tears. She nonchalantly handed me a box of tissues, and patiently waited for me to finish sniffling. "Well then", she finally broke the tension of my outburst, "You better do well on the final".
It was as simple as that. I better do well on the final. "For the next week, eat, sleep, and breathe the material. Don't party. Don't work. Don't think. Just do well on the final, and for Christ's sake stop crying in my office".
Humiliated, yet oddly encouraged, I thanked her for her time and began my cold walk home. And, for the first time in my life, I dismissed everything my brilliant professor had told me. I went home, took a long nap, made gingerbread men with my girlfriends, and spent the next two days simply enjoying the company of my friends. It was the first time in a long time that my gut hurt from laughter rather than stress. I did not eat, sleep, or breathe the material. I ate, slept, and breathed.
I took time for myself and was still able to crack open the books without resorting to building a time machine in my kitchen. The breaking point was my body's way of screaming, "What the hell!?", and I was finally able to reply with a calm, "Don't you worry Body. I'm a doctor. Almost."
Sometimes pure common sense outweighs the prestige of a doctorate, and sometimes laughter really is the best medicine. Or the best way to become a medicine woman.
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