Begin at the beginning...

..then continue until you get to the end, then stop. Right? A la "Alice in Wonderland", I'm all muddled at the moment. I think I'll begin with the end, and save the rest for when I can type better. The good news: my wrist isn't broken. The bad news: I went rolerskating yesterday with a number of people, had a blast. Until 4:55, when I fell over my own rollerblade and landed on my left wrist, straight down. Mike turns around: "Are you okay?" Me: "No." Turns out I was right. Four hours in the emergency room of the View later, I'm walking out with an ER-special cast on my arm, copies if my X-rays (showing here and here), a prescription for Tylenol + Codeine, and instructions to call Orthopaedics Northeast in the morning. My arm is not set. It's an impacted fracture. Dr. W, the orthopaedist on call, is sending me to see a hand and wrist specialist, to see if I'm going to need pins. More tomorrow. In the meantime: My new glasses, since I've been rendered incapable of inserting and removing my contacts. And a random quiz.
You're Choo-Choo Bear! You're everyone's favourite
boneless hairless pink cat, and you like to
hide in shampoo bottles and other funny places!
Tdzaaaaaa!

Which Something Positive Character Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Not my essay. But oh, so beautiful.

From commondreams.org:

When Democracy Failed: The Warnings of History by Thom Hartmann

The 70th anniversary wasn't noticed in the United States, and was barely reported in the corporate media. But the Germans remembered well that fateful day seventy years ago - February 27, 1933. They commemorated the anniversary by joining in demonstrations for peace that mobilized citizens all across the world. It started when the government, in the midst of a worldwide economic crisis, received reports of an imminent terrorist attack. A foreign ideologue had launched feeble attacks on a few famous buildings, but the media largely ignored his relatively small efforts. The intelligence services knew, however, that the odds were he would eventually succeed. (Historians are still arguing whether or not rogue elements in the intelligence service helped the terrorist; the most recent research implies they did not.) But the warnings of investigators were ignored at the highest levels, in part because the government was distracted; the man who claimed to be the nation's leader had not been elected by a majority vote and the majority of citizens claimed he had no right to the powers he coveted. He was a simpleton, some said, a cartoon character of a man who saw things in black-and-white terms and didn't have the intellect to understand the subtleties of running a nation in a complex and internationalist world. His coarse use of language - reflecting his political roots in a southernmost state - and his simplistic and often-inflammatory nationalistic rhetoric offended the aristocrats, foreign leaders, and the well-educated elite in the government and media. And, as a young man, he'd joined a secret society with an occult-sounding name and bizarre initiation rituals that involved skulls and human bones. Nonetheless, he knew the terrorist was going to strike (although he didn't know where or when), and he had already considered his response. When an aide brought him word that the nation's most prestigious building was ablaze, he verified it was the terrorist who had struck and then rushed to the scene and called a press conference. "You are now witnessing the beginning of a great epoch in history," he proclaimed, standing in front of the burned-out building, surrounded by national media. "This fire," he said, his voice trembling with emotion, "is the beginning." He used the occasion - "a sign from God," he called it - to declare an all-out war on terrorism and its ideological sponsors, a people, he said, who traced their origins to the Middle East and found motivation for their evil deeds in their religion. Two weeks later, the first detention center for terrorists was built in Oranianberg to hold the first suspected allies of the infamous terrorist. In a national outburst of patriotism, the leader's flag was everywhere, even printed large in newspapers suitable for window display. Within four weeks of the terrorist attack, the nation's now-popular leader had pushed through legislation - in the name of combating terrorism and fighting the philosophy he said spawned it - that suspended constitutional guarantees of free speech, privacy, and habeas corpus. Police could now intercept mail and wiretap phones; suspected terrorists could be imprisoned without specific charges and without access to their lawyers; police could sneak into people's homes without warrants if the cases involved terrorism. To get his patriotic "Decree on the Protection of People and State" passed over the objections of concerned legislators and civil libertarians, he agreed to put a 4-year sunset provision on it: if the national emergency provoked by the terrorist attack was over by then, the freedoms and rights would be returned to the people, and the police agencies would be re-restrained. Legislators would later say they hadn't had time to read the bill before voting on it. Immediately after passage of the anti-terrorism act, his federal police agencies stepped up their program of arresting suspicious persons and holding them without access to lawyers or courts. In the first year only a few hundred were interred, and those who objected were largely ignored by the mainstream press, which was afraid to offend and thus lose access to a leader with such high popularity ratings. Citizens who protested the leader in public - and there were many - quickly found themselves confronting the newly empowered police's batons, gas, and jail cells, or fenced off in protest zones safely out of earshot of the leader's public speeches. (In the meantime, he was taking almost daily lessons in public speaking, learning to control his tonality, gestures, and facial expressions. He became a very competent orator.) Within the first months after that terrorist attack, at the suggestion of a political advisor, he brought a formerly obscure word into common usage. He wanted to stir a "racial pride" among his countrymen, so, instead of referring to the nation by its name, he began to refer to it as "The Homeland," a phrase publicly promoted in the introduction to a 1934 speech recorded in Leni Riefenstahl's famous propaganda movie "Triumph Of The Will." As hoped, people's hearts swelled with pride, and the beginning of an us-versus-them mentality was sewn. Our land was "the" homeland, citizens thought: all others were simply foreign lands. We are the "true people," he suggested, the only ones worthy of our nation's concern; if bombs fall on others, or human rights are violated in other nations and it makes our lives better, it's of little concern to us. Playing on this new nationalism, and exploiting a disagreement with the French over his increasing militarism, he argued that any international body that didn't act first and foremost in the best interest of his own nation was neither relevant nor useful. He thus withdrew his country from the League Of Nations in October, 1933, and then negotiated a separate naval armaments agreement with Anthony Eden of The United Kingdom to create a worldwide military ruling elite. His propaganda minister orchestrated a campaign to ensure the people that he was a deeply religious man and that his motivations were rooted in Christianity. He even proclaimed the need for a revival of the Christian faith across his nation, what he called a "New Christianity." Every man in his rapidly growing army wore a belt buckle that declared "Gott Mit Uns" - God Is With Us - and most of them fervently believed it was true. Within a year of the terrorist attack, the nation's leader determined that the various local police and federal agencies around the nation were lacking the clear communication and overall coordinated administration necessary to deal with the terrorist threat facing the nation, particularly those citizens who were of Middle Eastern ancestry and thus probably terrorist and communist sympathizers, and various troublesome "intellectuals" and "liberals." He proposed a single new national agency to protect the security of the homeland, consolidating the actions of dozens of previously independent police, border, and investigative agencies under a single leader. He appointed one of his most trusted associates to be leader of this new agency, the Central Security Office for the homeland, and gave it a role in the government equal to the other major departments. His assistant who dealt with the press noted that, since the terrorist attack, "Radio and press are at out disposal." Those voices questioning the legitimacy of their nation's leader, or raising questions about his checkered past, had by now faded from the public's recollection as his central security office began advertising a program encouraging people to phone in tips about suspicious neighbors. This program was so successful that the names of some of the people "denounced" were soon being broadcast on radio stations. Those denounced often included opposition politicians and celebrities who dared speak out - a favorite target of his regime and the media he now controlled through intimidation and ownership by corporate allies. To consolidate his power, he concluded that government alone wasn't enough. He reached out to industry and forged an alliance, bringing former executives of the nation's largest corporations into high government positions. A flood of government money poured into corporate coffers to fight the war against the Middle Eastern ancestry terrorists lurking within the homeland, and to prepare for wars overseas. He encouraged large corporations friendly to him to acquire media outlets and other industrial concerns across the nation, particularly those previously owned by suspicious people of Middle Eastern ancestry. He built powerful alliances with industry; one corporate ally got the lucrative contract worth millions to build the first large-scale detention center for enemies of the state. Soon more would follow. Industry flourished. But after an interval of peace following the terrorist attack, voices of dissent again arose within and without the government. Students had started an active program opposing him (later known as the White Rose Society), and leaders of nearby nations were speaking out against his bellicose rhetoric. He needed a diversion, something to direct people away from the corporate cronyism being exposed in his own government, questions of his possibly illegitimate rise to power, and the oft-voiced concerns of civil libertarians about the people being held in detention without due process or access to attorneys or family. With his number two man - a master at manipulating the media - he began a campaign to convince the people of the nation that a small, limited war was necessary. Another nation was harboring many of the suspicious Middle Eastern people, and even though its connection with the terrorist who had set afire the nation's most important building was tenuous at best, it held resources their nation badly needed if they were to have room to live and maintain their prosperity. He called a press conference and publicly delivered an ultimatum to the leader of the other nation, provoking an international uproar. He claimed the right to strike preemptively in self-defense, and nations across Europe - at first - denounced him for it, pointing out that it was a doctrine only claimed in the past by nations seeking worldwide empire, like Caesar's Rome or Alexander's Greece. It took a few months, and intense international debate and lobbying with European nations, but, after he personally met with the leader of the United Kingdom, finally a deal was struck. After the military action began, Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain told the nervous British people that giving in to this leader's new first-strike doctrine would bring "peace for our time." Thus Hitler annexed Austria in a lightning move, riding a wave of popular support as leaders so often do in times of war. The Austrian government was unseated and replaced by a new leadership friendly to Germany, and German corporations began to take over Austrian resources. In a speech responding to critics of the invasion, Hitler said, "Certain foreign newspapers have said that we fell on Austria with brutal methods. I can only say; even in death they cannot stop lying. I have in the course of my political struggle won much love from my people, but when I crossed the former frontier [into Austria] there met me such a stream of love as I have never experienced. Not as tyrants have we come, but as liberators." To deal with those who dissented from his policies, at the advice of his politically savvy advisors, he and his handmaidens in the press began a campaign to equate him and his policies with patriotism and the nation itself. National unity was essential, they said, to ensure that the terrorists or their sponsors didn't think they'd succeeded in splitting the nation or weakening its will. In times of war, they said, there could be only "one people, one nation, and one commander-in-chief" ("Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Fuhrer"), and so his advocates in the media began a nationwide campaign charging that critics of his policies were attacking the nation itself. Those questioning him were labeled "anti-German" or "not good Germans," and it was suggested they were aiding the enemies of the state by failing in the patriotic necessity of supporting the nation's valiant men in uniform. It was one of his most effective ways to stifle dissent and pit wage-earning people (from whom most of the army came) against the "intellectuals and liberals" who were critical of his policies. Nonetheless, once the "small war" annexation of Austria was successfully and quickly completed, and peace returned, voices of opposition were again raised in the Homeland. The almost-daily release of news bulletins about the dangers of terrorist communist cells wasn't enough to rouse the populace and totally suppress dissent. A full-out war was necessary to divert public attention from the growing rumbles within the country about disappearing dissidents; violence against liberals, Jews, and union leaders; and the epidemic of crony capitalism that was producing empires of wealth in the corporate sector but threatening the middle class's way of life. A year later, to the week, Hitler invaded Czechoslovakia; the nation was now fully at war, and all internal dissent was suppressed in the name of national security. It was the end of Germany's first experiment with democracy. As we conclude this review of history, there are a few milestones worth remembering. February 27, 2003, was the 70th anniversary of Dutch terrorist Marinus van der Lubbe's successful firebombing of the German Parliament (Reichstag) building, the terrorist act that catapulted Hitler to legitimacy and reshaped the German constitution. By the time of his successful and brief action to seize Austria, in which almost no German blood was shed, Hitler was the most beloved and popular leader in the history of his nation. Hailed around the world, he was later Time magazine's "Man Of The Year." Most Americans remember his office for the security of the homeland, known as the Reichssicherheitshauptamt and its SchutzStaffel, simply by its most famous agency's initials: the SS. We also remember that the Germans developed a new form of highly violent warfare they named "lightning war" or blitzkrieg, which, while generating devastating civilian losses, also produced a highly desirable "shock and awe" among the nation's leadership according to the authors of the 1996 book "Shock And Awe" published by the National Defense University Press. Reflecting on that time, The American Heritage Dictionary (Houghton Mifflin Company, 1983) left us this definition of the form of government the German democracy had become through Hitler's close alliance with the largest German corporations and his policy of using war as a tool to keep power: "fas-cism (fbsh'iz'em) n. A system of government that exercises a dictatorship of the extreme right, typically through the merging of state and business leadership, together with belligerent nationalism." Today, as we face financial and political crises, it's useful to remember that the ravages of the Great Depression hit Germany and the United States alike. Through the 1930s, however, Hitler and Roosevelt chose very different courses to bring their nations back to power and prosperity. Germany's response was to use government to empower corporations and reward the society's richest individuals, privatize much of the commons, stifle dissent, strip people of constitutional rights, and create an illusion of prosperity through continual and ever-expanding war. America passed minimum wage laws to raise the middle class, enforced anti-trust laws to diminish the power of corporations, increased taxes on corporations and the wealthiest individuals, created Social Security, and became the employer of last resort through programs to build national infrastructure, promote the arts, and replant forests. To the extent that our Constitution is still intact, the choice is again ours. Thom Hartmann lived and worked in Germany during the 1980s, and is the author of over a dozen books, including "Unequal Protection" and "The Last Hours of Ancient Sunlight." This article is copyright by Thom Hartmann, but permission is granted for reprint in print, email, blog, or web media so long as this credit is attached.

26 hours...

House closing is in 26 hours. Information is faxed. Mom B is coming up tonight. My Lily still loves me, even when my words turn traitor on me. This afternoon at the hospital is the good Dr. L, who takes time to teach and teaches well. Maybe I'll learn something. Had a breakthrough at bellydancing on Tuesday; I can now swivel my hips properly. Now if I were just 80 pounds or so skinnier so that it looked less like a beluga bellydancing. Angel is impressed, though. Tonight is fencing; legs are exhausted from workout yesterday. I don't feel like screaming today, unlike yesterday when I exploded all over Angel because I didn't get home in time to do anything to make him proud. He knows what I mean Endocrinology packet: 232 pages, 2-inch margins, well-written, skip chapters on hyperlipoproteinaemia and obesity, can skip chapter on calcium balance for exam purposes as well. I and my highlighter think we understand the thyroid. Diabetes, the monster, is up next. Exam option: come in and take it at 7h00. I am so there. Out of class by 9h30. 8h30 if I don't bother to go to pathology, which I'm seriously considering. Czaja's just reading the notes he prepared in a hurry from the notes Smith gave him, and it's less than productive. Boxes in hand. 26 hours. I can't wait.

To a lady...

I keep starting to say it, and then I don't. I don't know if I'm thinking better or worse of it. Hard to say; maybe it's just my fear that I shouldn't say anything at all that keeps me silent. But I keep starting to say it. I should finish what I start. I may not agree with you, with the choices you make. I may get frustrated with you, and when I am, I'll say it. And I'll tell you why and what I think of what's going on, and because every time I try to soften my tone it becomes not gentler but more painful, I'll tell you without trying to be sweet and tactful about it. That was the way it was in a simpler time, in high school, with the girl who was my best friend then, and I have never known a more supportive and strong relationship than the one I had then - because if I was being a bitch, she would tell me so, when nobody else could hear. And then she'd stand up for me anyway, everywhere anyone could see. And I will. Never doubt that I love you, that I will back you up and stand up for you even if I believe you are making the worst mistake of your life - an occurrence that has yet to happen, despite the turmoil. And all the same, do not doubt that I will tell you if I disagree. I think there was more, but the words seem halting and filled with meaningless repetition after that. I think it is enough.

<font color="#ff0000">Today, I learned something.</font>

One hour and ten minutes after dreading Endocrinology, I get ready to exit. Done for the day - almost an hour early, even. He covered calcium. He covered what we need to know, why the levels change, what tests we should order, what to watch out for, and two clinical cases. Understand the clinical cases, he says, and you'll know everything you need for the exam. And you might be able to look good on rounds next year. It's comprehensible, concise, interesting and relevant. I really didn't know if we were going to get a lecture in endocrinology that was so wonderfully useful...and it's just made my day. Lowene walks in, reads off the last five names. Autopsy. So glad I already went. "I have Infectious Diseases today," Meeta complains. So after shuffling around all the people who were supposed to go to off-site clinicals (Volunteers, anyone? I'm so glad I've already done both of mine) seven of sixteen have less free time than they thought. Me...well, I'm going to go home, see about cleaning my computer area into a box, and maybe pack some. Tomorrow evening we'll go over and walk through the house before closing on Friday. All the utilities are switched over, plans are being made, and I have all of spring break to clean and unpack. Break? What break?

Today in Pathology:

Czaja was in rare form. "Forms of Hepatitis B include: acute appendicitis, chronic appendicitis... -Appendicitis? -Huh? -Sounded like you said ' appendicitis' there. -Did I? Um, well, listen to what I mean, not what I say." He sighs. The man was apparently told just a few weeks before lecturing that he would be doing so. He hasn't done it since...well, one of his slides mentions an increased prevalence of something in the USSR... "That clock's not right, is it?" Beat. "Oh, no, wait. I guess it is." As far as lecturers go, I've rarely seen anyone quite so...distractible. He wants to help us, he knows his stuff, but he just cannot follow Smith's notes for the life of him. And all we have are Smith's notes. "These notes suck...don't tell Dr. Smith that." And he shaved his goatee, making him look much less sexy. Damn. Renders the hour of lecture pretty much worthless. But today I remembered to bring my Endocrine notes, at least.

From Piccolo's LJ:

A blog that is, if nothing else, interesting (regardless of the apparent controversy over whether he's real). Thinking about reading through the back entries. Salaam Pax - blog from Baghdad

She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys/That she calls friends...

Total Kodachromes to memorise, including approximately 250 pictures from the book: Approximately 400. Total Kodachromes on the exam, including those snuck into the lab portion: 22. Sub-total: Total IF and EM sections out of 66 kidney Kodachromes: Approximately 10-12, a fair proportion. Plus five more from the 60 book pictures. Sub-total: Total IF and EM sections on the exam: 0. Total gross specimens to memorise: Approximately 30. Total gross specimens on the exam: 10. Total glass slides to memorise: Approximately 30-40. Total glass slides on the exam: 4. Total hours spent staring blankly at Kodachromes, glass slides, and gross sections to try and memorise them: 6, plus an additional 36 working on notes that corresponded to each slide. Total hours spent in the lab exam: 2. I hate it when they do that. But it went well, I think. Didn't feel too bad. Stopped shaking halfway through the first question, which is always a good sign. Here's hoping I don't get extra credit for Peutz-Jegher's polyps. (Smith: "And extra credit to anyone with less than 80% on the exam if you can name the lesion in section B of the Kodachrome.") And we went to Cebolla for dinner. And I finally got the wedding pictures up on our own server (right here, if you've not seen them), and we had flan for dessert, and, and, and... I was going to go to bed half an hour ago. Going now. *sleeps*

Devil Docs...

Navy doctors working for the Marine Corps have a mobile trauma centre, anaesthesiologist and all, can do about 18 surgeries a day...and they do them the way they should be done: on whoever needs help the most. Go ahead, light into me about how American soldiers may die because Iraqis are being given higher priority. Wail and moan about how the soldiers'll probably just go back into battle and kill more Americans as soon as they can. Whether or not that's true, my friends, these are doctors whose devotion to the practise of saving lives transcends political, cultural, and social boundaries. Medicine is about saving lives, not making value judgments, not enforcing political lines. For one brief moment, O Best Beloved, I am so fucking proud of the US military...

7:30 AM....

It's eerily beautiful out in the mornings, in the hours before dawn. The sky is not-yet-light from the east, but its blue is translucently pure, illuminated by the rays of the coming sun. It's beautiful and empty and waiting; a canvas waiting to be filled. I stopped to get gas on my way in, since the little orange "You're going to get stuck somewhere, you moron" light was intermittently coming on. With prices what they are, I tend to put it off until the last moment. Filled the tank, remembered that I should not ever top off Michel-Ange (poor fidgety baby spits it back out the next time I stop if I do), and wrote down my numbers. Checked them again. Sure enough, I got 20 miles further on 0.1 gallon less than the last time I filled up. Most likely due to the new front end, since I haven't done any out-of-city travelling. 270 miles on 12.6 gallons gives me...21.4 mpg, city driving. Not bad for a sixteen-year-old car. That pleased me. Angel dragged himself out of bed and made me coffee this morning. What a man. Now to hope that and the adrenaline and the two small blueberry muffins (moist, as advertised, but not all that tasty) will sustain me through studying. Now to hope I learned something. I went through my exam. I would've done better if I'd taken it today. I learned something this last week, but I doubt enough. So I'm going to Pathology because it's Pathology and I go to Pathology. I can write notes. But when every lecturer in Endocrinology tells us that "well, the handout from Indy is pretty good" and then doesn't really give us any notes...it's not worth going; I'll just pass out. And I could use those two hours to review factoids. Meig's syndrome: fibroma, ascites, and right-sided hydrothorax. Gardner's syndrome: Adenomatous polyps, Epidermoid cysts, fIbromatosis. Reiter's syndrome: Nongonococcal urethritis, uveitis, arthritis. There are more. Damn things. There's something about a lab exam that just kills me.

We're all mad here....

Angel, struggling with the box of bubblewrap as he attempts to find the end of the roll: Ah, there, gotcha! Punk-ass bubble wrap. Closing's been confirmed for 1400h on Friday. For those of you who are coming on Friday for the moving/painting/cleaning/rollerskating/general remembering we're all still young party....(anyone else want to come? SO's are invited by default.)

• Bring something to sleep on. We'll have no beds, and only one air mattress. Although the couch is free to use too.
• Bring dice if you have them, snack foods if you want them. We'll probably try out the Chinese and pizza places nearby until I have all the cabinets cleaned to my liking, so if you have money to chip in for that, bring some.
• First on the list to move for furniture is the couch and the entertainment centre. We need to test out the Dolby Surround setup. Bring DVD's if you like, and think we don't have them in our 80-plus.
• Someone remind me to call the RollerDome and see if they allow blades.
• Provided beverages are juice, water, milk, various pop (whatever's on sale) and the current contents of our liquor cabinet. As always, BYO and share if you want anything at all. We have a blender, a shaker, and the best damn bartender in the city (I love you, Phloxy....)
• Fort Wayne people, stay over if you want or go home if you want, whatever suits you.
• Angel and I need to go hobnob with the Dean of the Medical School from 5:30-6ish out at the Sycamore Hills Country Club, so we'll probably want someone to house-sit so the out-of-towners don't get locked out. Volunteers?
• Out-of-towners: Contact Angel (lakos@mistwalker.org) for directions, please. I suck at them.

Looking forward to seeing everyone. Now I'm going to go sleep... BigScott offered to review with us if we wanted to at 6 AM. It's midnight now. I need a review. I need more than just a review. I need another week. *sobs* So I'm heading out at a quarter to 6 tomorrow if I can drag my lazy ass out of bed. Plans: Cinema Centre, 9 PM this Monday night (the 24th), Standing in the Shadows of Motown, for anyone who wants to come.

I'm going to die.

The list: Quotes from RPness.

• Jefe: Hey, glittertits. Want to rub my crescent moon?
• Jefe, to GM: Make up something that we were doing, while the rest of the party was out and about. GM: The moon elf and the sun elf were off making an eclipse...if you know what I mean.
• Me: Can I be a Wearer of Purple who wears black?
• GM: Oh! Bri! Mount! (Beat.) Mount, Bri. Bri: Woohoo!
• Angel: She will nance another day. But she will nance damn fast. GM: Supernance!
• GM: You're really spiff, suddenly. Bri: Do my sparkles shine more? GM: Yeah. You gain a point in sparkleness.
• Me: I need to come up with a way to spend a couple of points. Angel: Profession: Man-whore
• Jefe: I came up with an anthem for the drow: "Kill kill, hate hate, murder murder, mutilate." GM: You so get nance points for that.
• Jefe: Divine mounts are difficult to change the alignment of. Usually the god says "That's my pony you messin' with, bitch..."
• GM: You could turn her evil. Make her glitter black. Jefe: Yeah, she begins to glow in black light now.
• Jefe: A melancholy, moody deity... Me: Okay, I just heard melancholy booty deity.
• Angel: You want me to - AHH! THAT'S HOT! (Beat.) Um, okay, no, it's just mildly warm.
• Jefe: You know, for being a god of dead things, he just doesn't look....deathly.
• Angel: Why does a god only have a +4 sword? Jefe: +4 Ghost touch, holy, keen undead-bane bastard sword. Angel: Oh, that's why it's only +4.
• Me: Okay, go over there, pull down your pants and grab your ankles. Jefe: We'll show you atonement.
• GM: You are hayled! And he hits you on the forehead, and falls over. Praise KAY-vis!
• GM: Ugh. Freaky naked bust. Angel: Wiggle the mouse, it'll go away. James: I think he already wiggled the mouse.
• James: I wait for an altar to be available.... Angel: I'd like to schedule a homicide tonight... GM: They have an open spot between four and five o'clock tonight. Don't go more than fifteen minutes over, there are a lot of sacrifices waiting tonight.
• GM: Oh, by Lloth's eighth leg... Me (gesturing): Pop. Seventh, now.
• GM: You find yourself in a misty grey swirly place. Me: Me? GM: No, James. Me: Then stop looking at me!
• Me: I'm never going to be a fighter again. There's too much math.
• Me: I strip his body of everything he owns. Including his foreskin.
• Angel: I didn't know I held that much of your attention. Bri (from the sidelines): Lucky you. Me (in character): Lucky you. Bri: Plagiaristic bitch!
• Me: I'm going to take my large shield, my haversack, my bag of holding, and my newly-discarded dignity and go back to my room. Jefe: Who discarded your dignity? Angel: He came to me looking for help, and said thank you. He's all pansy now. Me: I just wanted to know who was trying to kill me....
• GM: And there's a little signature on the small of your back, with a date: "Lloth was here." And a spider print.
• Jefe: I was cooler than you...for the one sesion I wasn't here for.
• GM: And now the dragon comes out and kills you. Me: I eat breakfast.
• Bri (considering James): If he flies high enough, that might be a challenging shot.
• Angel: Daemon....not-a-daemon. Daemon....not-a-daemon....
• GM: ...and he has a +2 nancing bastard sword. Me (writing): A +2.... GM: Nancing bastard sword. Me: Riiiight.
• Angel: What if I want a nancing bitch-sword?
• Me: I make less conversation with her than usual. Angel: How can you say negative words?
• GM: And the brown dragon hisses, and goes "grr, grr, grr...."
• Jefe: The elves' dice...suck ass tonight.
• Angel (to dice): I hate you. I hate you. You blow. Large. Goats. Jefe: He didn't make it, by the way.
• GM: Are you going to have your horse do something? You know...it can go (making hand gestures) "hoof, hoof, bite..."
• Jefe: Unless I'm shooting into melee.... Me: It's large enough that if you shoot at its ass, you won't risk hitting us... James: Oooh, hole in one!
• Angel: How about you go underground, and come back up, and we'll start this fight over?
• Jefe: Okay, this whole bow thing sucks. The fighters are just killing us for damage. I mean they're fighters, so I suppose it makes sense, but... Me (as Angel heals his character up to half hit points): Think of the good side. You aren't getting your ass nailed to the ground, either.
• Angel: Shit. I get nailed to the ground. Jefe: We're about to have a dead cleric. Angel: Mostly dead.
• GM: You are goosed for points.
• GM: It (the dragon) looks really really bad. It looks so bad, in fact, that I wish its turn were next, because it would run away.
• Jefe: I suppose I could claim the kill.... GM (adopting a foppish posture): I got it....
• James: Can I suck the blood out of the dragon heart? GM: Sure. Angel: She's not watching him.... Me: Me either, because I so don't need this shit.
• James: Go on, I'll catch up later. Me: Just got to finish unzipping my pants... James: No, he is not going to go that far. Angel: Just going to take the dragon's schlong... Me: Do dragons have foreskins?
• Jefe: Why is it that when I approach an woman's breasts, my intelligence drops by five or six?
• James: Who needs intelligence when your penis is hard?
• Jefe: No, most animals just have a penis that pops out when it's needed....
• Jefe: It's a ring of Michael Flately...
• Me: Remember, it's ten sessions per level. GM: Ewww, fuck that.
• Me (typing quotes): Glow, not blow. Jefe: She does that in black light too...
• Jefe: You know, I've noticed that you have to work really hard to rack yourself really hard.

Interlude...

Euchre on Taika: My partner's skill is set to "weak". West is "Strong" and East is "Expert". Notably, we're getting our butts kicked on a regular basis. But this last game we came back from 0-8 to lose 9-10. Almost entirely my calls. Go me. I still suck at euchre, but I'll learn...

Lord, listen to your children praying...

Nephrology: 49 questions, 16 points Rheumatology: 16 questions, 14 points Orthopaedics: 8 questions, 4 points Radiology: 60 questions, 12 points He gave us the answers in radiology. So that's 12 points given. If I failed Orthopaedics, I would get no more than 2 points fewer than if I passed, since it's highly unlikely I would score outside of the 50-100 range. Think I should be okay, in other words. Taika has a rough spot on her screen where I normally write. A tiny one. Think it's time to break down and buy screen protectors for her before she gets scratched. Poor girl.

Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.

Urgent: This is when the doctor has tight sphincters, versus emergent, which is when the patient will lose some part of their life without immediate treatment. Midnight. One unit of four down. Next up: Rheumatology, followed by orthopaedics, which reportedly takes several hours by itself. Gods, I'm such a slacker. Required score to continue passing tomorrow: 38%. Required score to maintain the High-Pass, counting the possibility of doing badly in Radiology: 78%. Counting the probable 90% in Radiology: 73%. This is not a good way to motivate me to stay up late studying notes.

Why oh why...

Sang hymns to myself all the way to Lutheran. Felt mildly better. Was observed taking a history and physical of L.A. by Dr. J. Extremely nervous; rushed the HPI and had to go head to toe on the girl three or four times. Back in the classroom, she began dissecting my H&P quite thoroughly. All the things I forgot to ask. And then told me I'd done quite well. Ready for third year? I think not. I'm fucking terrified. Picked up Shain from Best Buy. Yay for having laptops back with working keyboards and new CD-RW drives. Have now taught Taika to speak to Shain. Unfortunately, she seems to be smoking crack regardinjg her network card. Must learn handheld proper networking. Four units of notes tonight. Three hours after fencing and before midnight. Somehow I'll get it done. I have to.

Don't you know...

Today has been a day of getting out of class early. I don't mind; I've got my writeups done now, and I wasn't paying attention anyway. I never pay attention any more. I... What's wrong? I can't concentrate, can't focus, can't care any more. Maybe I just need that spring break. I want the waiting for the house to be over, I want the constant motion from exam to exam to be over before I completely lose all focus... And all I get, O Best Beloved, is a week of moving. And then it's back to classes. One week off, then two pathology exams, a medicine exam, two finals a week apart and two weeks to study for Boards. From April 6th to May 21st is going to be nothing but me trying to study. And I don't care any more. This is not good.

In starlight/I whisper Your name....

I think....I think there is poetry somewhere inside to express the anguish and the bewilderment, the confustion and the pain. I think it's there. But it's lost behind a blanket of indifference, of "I'm tired of this shit"; submerged beneath cynicism and worry. Why spend your time staring at a television screen (I haven't turned mine on tonight; I got my news from CNN's homepage, and only the cover story at that) when there's a set of four exams on Friday, two of which you don't have the notes for - and they're pursued by singing on Sunday and another exam - my chance to redeem myself in Pathology - on Monday? Why shouldn't I, for once, submerge myself in petty details, in ignoring the fucked-up state our country's in - the world's in? Why shouldn't I care - now, more than ever - about what I'm doing here? Part of me yearns, aches, dies to be out with the teams who have refused to leave Iraq, vowing that they will succour the wounded and the needy. And I can only do that in a future unhappy world where war tears some country into pieces...I can only do that if I learn how to do it now. I must. I must care about what I am doing, in all its tedium and tortuousness, because without knowledge, I cannot heal.

If you believe in prayer, pray for a quick and effective resolution to the war in Iraq, for the troops who are over there, and for the families - of all nations - who are affected. If you don't, then hope.

MOTD on Arcana, echoed here. After all, to quote : "It's okay to hope we win. I know you've fought the notion of war all this time, I know you must feel ignored and unappreciated; but now that it has begun, it is okay to let go of the rage, step over here, and hope that "our side" wins, and wins swiftly." Because ultimately, now that it has begun, the only thing to do is to complete what we have set out to accomplish - to remember, somehow, that the ashes that fall from these strikes fall on ground that must be rebuilt. And that if something of freedom and peace can be rebuilt from the destruction - it is not all entirely in vain, no matter how it came about. We have sowed enough salted ground on this earth; let us not salt this as well with hatred and derision. Let us do what we have come to do, poor mortals that we are, and then let us see what can be done of our errors. God works through those who serve God, whether they call Them by that name or not - whether they know whom they serve or not. As C.S. Lewis put it so aptly in The Last Battle:

Not because he and I are one, but because we are opposites, I take to me the services which thou hast done to him, for I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him. Therefore if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath's sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn , though he know it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted. Dost thou understand me, Child?

And God is bigger than Dubya and Hussein and all the mistakes of this poor mortal world rolled into one. With faith and effort and love and ceaseless devotion, we will heal what war has destroyed. We cannot give up. Who am I to lose faith when my faith is so sorely needed? Who am I to falter and step aside when my hands have work yet to be done? Safe? Oh, no, Child. He is not safe. But he is Good.

...choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve. But as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord. Joshua 24:15

*blush*

From : "Not a whole lot to catch up on though. I love ayradyss's poems...they're so beautiful to read. So much talent there. It's always a pleasure just to see those in there." And now I'm bouncing off the walls with general warm fuzzies and happiness.... Before you all who live here in good old FW get all snippy about how I never get excited when you compliment my poetry, it's because I know you and you're my friends, and you're supposed to say nice things to me. Even when you mean them. Whereas People From the Internet have no reason to post nice things about me in their journals, so it means double-lots. *bounces* Furthermore, I got out of Radiology early today. And instead of taking a nap, I went to Curves. Go me. Three. Three days of exercise, muahahaha.

Auto setup setup will now begin.

True story - saw it on Emily's screen. Driving down I-69 to get to Lutheran yesterday (Mental note: talk about opthalmology and lasers and the retinal camera...) and I notice this kid on my ass. Mind you, I mean on my ass to the point where I couldn't see his headlights at all in my rearview mirror. At 80 miles an hour, this - in my opinion - moves from annoying and stupid to outright reckless and suicidal. I moved over as soon as it was safe to do so. I don't want to die for some kid's need for speed. Mind, I'm still doing 80. He zooms past me in his little black Celica and devours my Safe Following Distance like it's nothing, gets briefly stuck behind the Taurus I was Safely Following, and I (still in the right lane) caught up. I kid you not, O Best Beloved, there were less than Two Feet between their bumpers. I was so disgusted at this asshole kid...You can't stop running in two feet. Dropped back behind Scary Boy and watched him slide his scary ass in a space about one and a half times the length of his car to tailgate a semi. By the time he hit the offramp at the 102 exit (mind, I saw no taillights flash as he exited, going 85 or more) I was wishing I'd gotten his plate number so I could call it in or something. Fucking unbelievable. The lesson of the day, O Best Beloved: when you speed, do it carefully...

CART vs IRL is an auto racing thing, but not NASCAR. Andy knew.

Mike Noonan. You're a writer, aren't you? (From Bag of Bones.)

"What Stephen King Character Are You?" (Now Open)
brought to you by Quizilla They would pick one I've never read :P
Strategic Gamer

(results contain pictures) What type of GAMER are you?
brought to you by Quizilla Figures. :P

Open season on interpretations: "Lay me down"

Now lay me down, I shall not weep For wasted dreams of long-lost sheep Thus, every waking ends in sleep And passes on to morning I pray what gods and daemons be To guard my soul inside of me Lest I, unknowing, set it free To follow dreams enslaving For if I sleep, and sleeping, die Who'll tend my soul away from I Will dreams devour while shadows cry If I heed not their warning? So lay me down and bid me wake And should I die, I pray forsake All claim that Hell on my soul stakes And count me worth the saving. NsB "Lay me down"

Oh, dear God.

The following is probably of interest only to those who live in Indiana...

• You think the State Bird is Larry.
• You don't know what a "Pacer" is and have never even wondered.
• You know that "Mellencamp" went to "Cougar" and back to "Mellencamp."
• You can say "French Lick" without laughing out loud.
• There's actually a college near you named "Ball State."
• You know Batesville is the "casket making capital of the world," and you're proud of it.
• The last "g" is silent in any word ending in "ing."
• You could never figure out "spring forward -- fall back," so "Screw Daylight Savings Time!!"
• Your feelings get hurt whenever someone points out the acronym for Purdue University is "P-U."
• You know several people who have hit a deer.
• You've never met any celebrities.
• You've seen all the biggest bands 10 years after they were popular.
• Down south to you means Kentucky.
• You have no problem spelling or pronouncing "Terre Haute."
• Your school was canceled because of cold.
• Your school was canceled because of heat.
• You know what the phrase "Knee-high by the Fourth of July" means.
• You've heard of Euchre, you know how to play Euchre, and you are the master of Euchre.
• You can see a running car, with nobody in it, in the parking lot of the grocery store, no matter what time of year it is.
• Versailles is really pronounced Versailles.
• You end your sentences with an unnecessary preposition. Example: "Where's my coat at?"
• Detassling was your first job. Bailing hay, your second. Or you could stack hay, swim in the pond to clean off, and then have the strength to play a couple of games of hoops, all in the same barn lot on the same day.
• You've ever had to switch from "heat" to "A/C" in the same day ("Stoke the fire" and "fling open the windows" for the older version).
• You say things like "catty-wumpus" and "kitty-corner."
• You install security lights on your house and garage, then leave both of them unlocked.
• You keep jumper cables in your car.
• You drink "pop."
• You know that bailin' wire was the predecessor to duct tape.
• You know that strangers are the only ones who come to your "front" door.
• Kids and dogs ride in the passenger seats of cars and the backs of pickups.
• You think nothing of being stuck behind farm implements driving on the roads in spring and fall.
• High school basketball game draws a bigger crowd on the weekend than movie theaters, IF you have movie theaters.
• Driving is better in the winter because the potholes are filled with snow.
• You know a "harvest moon" when you see one.
• You have seen the headlights used on a tractor to put crops in or harvest them after dark.
• The local paper covers national and international headlines on one page, but requires six for local sports.
• Can repeat the scores of the last eight IU games, but unless the MVP is a Hoosier, you are not sure who he is.
• You can see at least two basketball hoops from your yard.
• You can name every one of Bob Knight's "exploits" over the last few years.
• You shop at Marsh.
• You have family members who know how to "can" and still do.
• You know that the "Ball" in Ball State all started with Ball canning jars.
• You know who Damon Bailey is, where he went to school, and maybe even know what he is doing now.
• The biggest question of your youth was "IU or Purdue."
• You can "smell" rain coming.
• Indianapolis is the "big city."
• "Getting caught by a train" is a legitimate excuse for being late to school.
• You're not surprised on an August day when the temperature and relative humidity are the same number and they are both 100.
• The Wabash River is the "biggest body of water" near your house.
• You know several stories about how the term "Hoosier" came to be.
• You know that the "berm" is the shoulder of the road.
• People at your high school chewed tobacco.
• Everyone knows who the town cop is, where he lives, and whether he is at home or on duty.
• You have used the retort, "You think it's cold now? Wait til winter gets here."
• To get to school you had to drive on a gravel road, a road with several right-angle turns in it, or if you were really lucky, over a covered bridge.
• People in your neighborhood really, REALLY like NASCAR.
• You actually know what the CART vs IRL debate is about and have taken a side.
• The vehicle of choice in your area is not a car, but a pickup.
• You are a BIG John Mellencamp fan.
• You've been to the Covered Bridge Festival.
• You took back roads to get there. "Why sit in traffic"?
• To you, tenderloin is not an expensive cut of beef, but a big, salty, breaded piece of pork served on a bun with pickles.

Oh, dear God. Do you have any idea how many of those I can say "yes" to? Thank you very much, Jefe, for making me feel like I'm never going to escape this state. Note: NASCAR being not my thing, I'm not sure - but I think the CART vs IRL debate is involved with it. Would someone like to enlighten me? Also Note: If you have ever had to explain to someone what it means to be lost in a cornfield...

Pass it on...

I wish for peace.

From my notes...

Bustamante's lecturing during lab:
• --Anyone think these look like endometrial glands? They look like glands, they're closely packed, and they're purple...
• After talking us through the differential diagnosis of a slide that she thought was mislabelled and then checking the sheet to find she'd been looking at the wrong number: Gee, I got this one right on my own...
• Czaja sticks his head in. Am I interrupting here? Bustamante: Yes.
On pathology lab:
• They say, "The first thing we do is look at it grossly" - didn't they just cut it off something?
• Czaja: There are a couple of phsyicians out there who are just super-assholes.
• Scott: How does a pathologist's day go bad? Czaja: You'd be surprised.
• Czaja: If someone shows you this slide and tries to tell you it's cancer, you can laugh at them. "Ha!" Like that.
• It's been declining over the last six decades for about fifteen years now...
• Just don't try to think too hard in medicine in general.
• This is a pathology course. There's nothing practical about it.

A Scottish love song...

O, my love's like a red red rose That's newly sprung in June... O, my love's like a melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I; And I will love thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun, O, I will love thee still my dear While the sands o' life shall run. An' fare thee weel, my only love! And fare-thee-weel awhile! And I will come again my love, Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile! Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile...

dream a little dream

The world is covered in mist this morning. It suits my mood. I feel wrapped in mist, disjoint, disjunct from the world this mor ning. It is partly the nap and the two Benadryl I took between last night and this morning, this I know . But it is more than simply the drugs and sleep that skews my vision toward the surreal. It is the dreamlike knowledge of my walk through a half-waking world of mist and shadow - it is that which whispers tome that I am a fey and changeling child now, one I have not been for some time. It is the chill and foggy spring of the morning that has corrupted me; no failure of my own. I am mist, and washed in mist am I.

Goddamnit.

(1) I hate these fucking coded battles. They have nothing to do with how fucking well I can RP and everything to do with flying around getting a lucky shot. So it doesn't fucking matter that Shan's supposed to be fucking brilliant at math and physics and strategy...she's still at the fucking bottom of the scoreboard. Sometimes I wonder why I stay on Ansible. It seems like so many people take it so seriously... (2) This is short. I'm tired of venting and arguing. I'm tired of it all. Today has been a roller-coaster ride, and the end of it is carrying me downward with startling rapidity. Tell me.... [Chan] Person A> I'm more mature than to make this a big thing. Person B however, doesn't seem to b.e >>> Person A tells you, "Hahaha I'm just -grilling- Person B. (Gender-neutral pronoun) has no answers." Does anyone else see a dichotomy in these two statements? Because I find that any time someone makes the first one, their self-aggrandisement invariably precedes the second comment, or some kindred to it. If you're fucking mature enough to avoid the conflict, you're fucking mature enough to not say you're that much more mature than the other person. Same with the "I was going to let it drop, but -person B= wouldn't shut up about it" argument.

It fucking takes two to fucking tango. Shove off.

And now I'm going to bed. Hopefully, when I wake up, it will all be better.

News from France...

An e-mail from my little sister (currently almost 21 years old and studying in Nancy, France, where she's also student-teaching), excerpted:

...I know, incredibly short for me, so I'll add some length by leaving you all with this. No matter what your politic or that of the French, I want to tell you that I like the French. I like their force, their morealy surity that is so similar to our own. I like their certainty that they are correct, that their vision of the world is the proper one. (optimism and self-belief are always important) I like their bread and their cheese. I like that in so many ways they are just like us, only different. I also dislike the French. I dislike the fact that sometimes they do stink... that they dislike my country, that they eat a lot of stinky food. I dislike that the boys wear their pants much tighter than what I am used to looking at or like looking at. I dislike that they aren't half as cute as American boys. I dislike that they can't see how well we could get along. (although I could say the same for us) But it has become a sort of home. So eat your french fries and french kiss. The French don't know what either of those things are anyhow, and they think it's funny that their name is attached. Don't worry about changing the word to Freedom. They don't care.

Isn't she a marvellous writer? Michelly, I love you.

Fifteen times to make a habit...

At least that's what I always learned: You have to repeat something fifteen times before it becomes a habit. And not do it just twice to break it. Day one: lab cancelled due to lack of relevant things to teach. Exercised instead of going home to nap. Status: wide awake, but sweaty. A/C was broken at Curves Getz Road. It's 71° outside, but not yet muggy. Hot. *laughs* Just wait for summer...

Yesterday...

...Keith is a good man and a very good pastor. Yesterday, in his sermon, he told a story that I just had to share. Maybe it's one you've already heard, and I just missed the forward somehow. Goes like this:

I was sitting in my car at a red light, and the woman in front of me bent down to look through some papers in her front seat. She was so engrossed in her search that when the light turned green she didn't move. I was so angry that by the time the light turned red again I was screaming at her and beating my hands on the wheel in frustration. It was then that I heard someone tappingon my window. A police officer, gun drawn, was just outside. "I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the car, sir," he said. Blustering that he couldn't arrest me for throwing a fit in my own car, I was nonetheless escorted to the stationhouse. I spent the next few hours there until the officer finally told me I was free to go. "I told you you couldn't arrest me for throwing a fit in my own car," I said. "You haven't heard the last of me." "Ah, but that's not what l arrested you for", the man said. "l was behind you at the light, and I saw you throw your fit. And I thought - What a jerk, but there's nothing I can do about it. And then I saw the cross on your rearview mirror, the ''choose life" license plate frame, and the "Jesus Saves" bumper sticker. And I decided you must have stolen the car."

Isn't that great? It's so bloody true!

Fear and loathing in Las Vegas...

This weekend did not go well, study-wise. Much like the two weeks before it, I could not dredge up from the depths of my soul the motivation to do more than a cursory twice-through the 100-some-odd pages of notes. Friday afternoon was a loss, and I don't remember why. I think I was smoking crack or something, else I should remember. I got some notes done and gone through; the first 10 condensed pages of powerpoints - 17 pages of notes, equivalent - but I should've been able to get through all 30 pages of powerpoints. Saturday morning was Curves, and then church for choirchimes, and then meeting with Dan Holly about house insurance, and then all of a sudden it was 3 PM and I was still waiting to do notes. Saturday night around 11:00 I realised that typing them out was doing me no good at all, considering that I couldn't remember what I had typed 5 minutes before. Resolving to make notecards on the pages I hadn't done, I buried myself in roleplay for a while. A while became 2 AM. Which meant that all day Sunday (after I got up to go to church and finally forced myself to do something Productive at 3 PM) I was tired. Sleepy, even. And at midnight, I gave up and went to bed. It showed. Pathology exam score: 60%. That, my friends, is Bad. Anything below a 70 is bad, to begin with. Anything below a 65 is Bad. It's terrifying how tiny the jumps are. At least it didn't hit the Very Bad range, which is what I hit in Neuro and Anatomy last year. I think my Worst Score Ever is a 54% in Anatomy. And then I did the math on my spreadsheet (I am such a nerd). To redeem my grade to passing, I need an 82% on the lab exam. My current lab exam average is 80%. So I'm going to have to put in a little extra effort, it seems. However, if I count my attendance (sterling) and the probable high score on the autopsy report we're doing (almost guaranteed), I'm still passing and all I have to do is continue to pass. I vote for the 82%. I don't like having to count on little things to save my sorry ass. Good things (must always think of Good Things to counter the Bad Things): Was accosted at church on Sunday when I went to go give Jim a hug. "Kiki!" (I don't know why he calls me Kiki. He knows my name.) He's standing next to Jerry. And I say I don't want to interrupt, just giving out hugs. Here, Jerry, you need one too. Hugs were exchanged. Then Jim says, "Nykki can do it." And Jerry looks at him. "Want to sing a duet?" Jim says to me. What? "You can sing at the birthday celebration." What? "Not a duet," Jerry says. "She can sing it." I'm singing. Next Sunday. "Thank you for giving to the Lord", to be precise. Which, for those of you who don't listen to Christian Pop Songs (neither do I, but this one is a performance favourite), is a 1988 song about the unrecognised consequences of giving with a whole heart. It's as sappy and sentimental as any Christian Adult Contemporary song seems to be required to be, but it is very well written and it makes me cry. The artist is Ray Boltz, who also did "Watch the Lamb" and "The Hammer" and "Awesome God" - in other words, he's very good, as far as Christian Contemporary goes. Jerry's dropping off the accompaniment today. Meeting Mom at 5 at Curves today. Iwona's having a party tonight, because the Polish Dancers are leaving tomorrow. So we get to go to the Dash-In and drink and eat munchies. Lowene just walked in the door and informed me that lab was cancelled. How awesome is that? And on that note, I'm leaving.

Today's spam moment...

Are you all the man you could be? Are you hung like a porn star? (link)Want to be?

Actually....(1) Short of Swedish surgery, yes. (2) No. (3) No.

International Aid

How do we tell the children of Iraq that Jesus loves them? Joel: Send them a biscuit? (laughing) Well, you're not far off. We just sent over a canister of rice and a canister of beans. and we had a meeting about what kind of beans to sand. (General laughter) It sounds funny, but it's important. One of our big donators has these things like Power Bars, and we can't send those - It's not culturally appropriate. She was going to talk to the children's class, but there were only two of them, so she came to the youth room too. Good thing, since Angel's object lesson in washing car windows has been postponed to a less drear and cloudy day. The story of Eduardo, who came to the orphanage in Honduras and had never seen grass before that day. "Do you know what I love about living here? I have my own bed and there's always enough food." He went to bed with his washcloth that night. And the children's story by Mary, about the most important person in the church: "What would happen if Juanita came and made Coffee and nobody came to Church to drink it? She'd have to drink all the coffee and eat all the cookies herself. Boy, would she be wired and fat." I love Mary. Yesterday was a nightmare of meetings and me getting distracted by everything under the sun. I was going to do notecards today. I'm still going to do notecards today; it's just that some of them will be the first time I've been through the notes. *twitches* Why can I not motivate myself? This is interesting material, really it is. I'm just so tired of studying...so ready to stop. So sure that I have learned nothing no matter how hard I work. What am I going to do next year? What am I going to do for boards? I have to study for boards - I have to do well on them. These aren't the MCATs for me to cram for two days in and ace. These are serious. Dear God: I'm scared.

Tonight's RP quotage...

• Angel: I want a talking rock. GM: You can have a disembodied rock. Angel: What's it disembodied from? GM: The earth.
• David: Are there many undead pedophiles wandering around? GM: That depends on what you mean by pedophile - undead children? Me: Because you have the undead children who are seven or eight hundred years old and just look like Michael Jackson's wet dream... GM (cringing): I think...I might have to kill your character for that.
• David: Why does everyone always blame me for all the disturbing things that get said? GM: Because you said them. David: Whether I said them or not is not the issue. Why am I getting blamed? Angel: You can tell you're going into law.
• GM: We don't get drunk. We get sober.
• David: I need a bag of... Me: Many weasels?
• Angel: It's a dire ferret.
• David: I can have....fifty-two weasels! GM (cringing): No, you can't.
• GM: You're in the....conservatory. David: There's a candlestick and Professor Plum! I win!
• Angel: I kick you in the jimmy. David: I don't have a jimmy.
• Me: I'm looking for something cute, sweet, and young. Angel: Siren. David: Nymph. Angel: Demonic siren with a vampiric template.
• GM: It takes most of the afternoon to get her to boff you, but you can. Me: Okay. Then I take all of her clothes while she's sleeping and leave them with the innkeeper. GM: What was the point of that? Me: Well, she had a reputation. GM: Not...until now. Me: Oh, and I leave her about twenty or thirty gold pieces. GM (spluttering): Why? Me: I'm Chaotic Evil. He's bored, and it's better than killing her... GM: Mental note: Olivia is now a whore.
• GM: Make a Fort Save, DC 22. David: Um, failed. GM (gleefully): You die. David: Wait. That was my Reflex bonus. I made it. GM: Damn.
• Angel: I am the opposite of the average alignment around me...
• Angel: Don't Creeping Doom the boat. David: I'm not going to Creeping Doom the boat. It's a bunch of Evil Things. If you want to kill a bunch of Evil Things, you use a happy sunbeam! I'm going to happy sunshiny the boat...
• James: ...keep you in the basement, and torture you daily. Observing Little Child: Okay. James: By making you listen to opera. Child: Um, um....
• Angel: I don't know if undead going out with sunglasses on works...
• David: If Nykki was a guy, she could probably sell her sperm for lots of money.
• GM: ... A city made of glass. Me (facepalming): Oh, no. GM (gleefully): It's sparkly.
• Me: I look a little green. GM: You have a green drow.
• David: I watch the drow sparring and use Thousand Faces to look like him, then look like her. Then him, then her. Angel: Freak. Me: For once I agree with you. David: I look hurt. Or, rather, he looks hurt, then she looks hurt, then he looks hurt....
• We are on the Celestial plane. Angel (to me): You. Don't talk to anyone on this plane. Don't even look at anyone.
• David: We need to do some Kima-therapy (Kima is the goddess of passion)
• Me: MY squishy brain.
• Angel (to David): Hold still, I'll kill you, and then that will set the balance all right. David: How about you suicide on him (pointing to James), and that'll work out in the long run?
• David: We need to find the One of Blooded Wings. Sounds like Ralph.
• David: I sold my wings for a- Me: Mess of pottage? David: Yes. Angel (the religion major): What? GM: I thought she said "massive cottage"...
• Me: In typing out this "mess of pottage" thing, I think I missed something awful that's about to happen to me. GM: Nope. Not yet.
• GM (eerily): They speak of a daemon child....his wings drip blood... David: Do you know where he lives? Me (singing): Do you know the Muffin Man, the Muffin Man, the Muffin Man...?
• GM: You can tell it's in disrepair because it's not quite as shiny as the rest of them. David: I cast Light on it to spruce it up a bit.
• David (about me): Paranoid, isn't he? Angel: Yes. David: Do you think there's anything he wants to atone for? Me: That's the best part. I don't want to atone for anything.
• David: This one is...the deity of pleasurable wedgies.
• James (to Angel): What's wrong? Is your god broken?
• Angel: I don't know how someone who's four foot five is carrying two naginatas... GM: They're shortened for your pleasure.
• David: I transmute the chains to wood. GM: They clunk now. Are you going to summon two Dire Beavers? David: Hey....
• GM: You're floating in the Astral Plane. Me: I turn white.
• David: ...to the desert on a horse with no name... GM: Clyde.
• GM: Morning comes. Angel: Eww, watch your fingers. James: I give it Kleenex.
• David: Can you warp a woody?
• GM: What about it, James? Is your character going to go along with being stuck like a pig? James (looking down): What do you think? David: You're asking your wang?

I love you Mom, but....

Mom calls: There's this club, Curves? And it's just for women, and I think you might really like it, and...Mom. I know all about Curves. I even-- And I talked to the people there, and the prices are--- Mom. Rachel goes there. I know what the prices are, I just -- And I think you might really like it, plus it'd be good for you, and--Mom. I know all about Curves. The only reason I haven't joined is because I can't afford to. Oh. And they wonder were I got my habit of talking so much. We're going out to Curves on Saturday morning, 9 AM, to try it out. Way to start out the day. 9 AM, Curves (southwest). 11 AM, meeting at church (waaaaay north) about choirchimes. 1 PM, meeting at the insurance office (south) about house insurance. And then I have to finish the other 25 pages of GIT notes before 19:30 when Z runs Mage. Exam Monday-Exam Friday-Exam Monday-Exam Friday. I hate school.

Dear AOL.com:

I am an AIM user. I have been on AOL under various screen names from the time I was a freshman in high school until I had Internet access of my own in college. I am now a second-year graduate student. I recently purchased a PocketPC from Dell. Delighted to find that I could download AIM for my PocketPC to complement my MSN Messenger, I clicked the link. Imagine my surprise when I was taken to handango.com and told that to purchase AIM, I would have to pay $19.95. Baffled and bewildered, I began looking at the AIM FAQ. Sure enough, it says that the service is free, but that you might have to pay for access to your ISP. And it doesn't say anything about charging for the AIM client, so I suppose you're allowed to do whatever you like. But I, for one, see no reason to pay $19.95 for a messaging client that is and has always been free everywhere else, just to have it on my PocketPC - especially when I can still use Yahoo! or MSN Messenger for free. To be honest, the fact that AIM is free is the only reason I would use the client at all, when there are so many others available. To charge is not only ridiculous, it's almost imbecilic. I attempted to find a way to contact you about this problem.. Short of fabricating a support incident, I could find no way to do so. Frustrated, I resigned to go looking for something else. Thus, I began to search the web, hoping that someone would tell me what to do. Imagine my startlement a second time when I was directed by a helpful comment in a thread to aol.co.uk, where I could download the British version of AIM for PocketPC for free. Now, perhaps I misunderstand, and you aren't intentionally attempting to gouge your American customers $20 for a piece of software that is available to the rest of the world for free. Perhaps that's the case. If so, you make no persuasive argument to that effect, nor do you make it easy for me to convince myself to use your services. A shame, that. I hear you're having trouble recently, faced with broadband Internet that doesn't wield your monolithic, heavy-handed, insecure practises. Companies whose users do not have the association that AOL users do in today's Net-savvy society. I don't know how many times I've heard someone complaining about a person they were talking to on a MOO being incapable of actually holding a real conversation: "He can't type out a complete word, can't spell, has no grammar, and uses stupid abbreviations all the time, even when it's completely inappropriate. I think he's an AOL user." Congratulations. AOL, to most people who have any knowledge of the Internet community at all, is synonymous with abysmal security, worse-than-average connection quality, users who aren't worth wasting time talking to, and a general lack of any redeeming value whatsoever. AIM is free, though, and it's an easy way to connect with a lot of people who've yet to be weaned of their infantile obsession to the pretty front page of AOL, and it has some cute features. So it gets used - albeit with trepidation and distaste. And now you want to charge. Are you certain that's a wise decision?

No Frankie. No Bananas.

Frankie and the Bananas bailed on us. They're the doctor band who usually plays at the Sophomore Send-Off Dinnerdance. For free. They aren't that bad, really, but they play oldies and they play loud. So we weren't thrilled about having them play. But it's on April 11th, and we aren't quite sure what we're going to do now. Jim's on the lookout for a DJ now, although I like the idea of doing karaoke, personally. And Nephrology today is a review session., so even even if he doesn't have notes, it's okay. Funny guy. ''Do...you shave once a week?" Scott looks a bit embarassed, rubs his scruff. "It's cold out." "In our society, we feed people before we kill them. It's the American way." And he brought us Kiszka, which is some kind of Polish foodstuff, a sausage. Since we were making fun of Iwona for her Polish food.

Revision: Trees

The slow embrace of snow
is gone, 
              the world seeks out the summer.
A windblown sculptor's dream
                  defines the day.
And trees encased in ice still wait 
                       to contemplate their thawing ;
         silence lingers
              in still and sleeping
   dreaming winter morning
		NsB 14-03-03
			"Trees"

Petit-prince!

I'm going to follow Clarabear's impetus and not cut this one. It's Saint-Exupéry, for pete's sake.
You are the little prince.

Saint Exupery's 'The Little Prince' Quiz.
brought to you by Quizilla On ne sait bien q'avec le coeur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux... *preens* Okay, I'm in a positively stunning mood now.

Who can tell me what <i><font color="#0000ff">CC, HPI, ROS, FHx, and PE</font></i> means?

Today, in brief: T.B. has transposition of the great vessels. He's 22, but looks 15. A little squirrely, Dr. L, calls him. No kidding. He just...seemed shifty. But we listened to the heart and even I found the PMI for once. And his thrill. C.C. is two days s/p CABG, six days s/p AMI. Not to mention she's had oesophageal cancer, lung cancer, and GERD. Oh, and she's 54. This is her second heart attack. But she gives a wonder of a history. Maybe I'll tell it to you later, O Best Beloved. Home. Dad needs me to take him to Dimension to get the car. Again. Can't say no, of course. Then it's home again, and off to fencing, where I get my ass kicked in foil by a 13-year-old kid named Raffi (been fencing 7 years), trounced 5-3 by Angel in a bout, and mutilated in dry sabre by John, who's big and strong and can parry me by simply not letting me move his blade. Gods, what fun I'm having. Home. Finished the renal notes, thank havens. Now just 40-some pages of GIT to do tomorrow afternoon. And now to bed. Mom and I are going to go to Curves on Saturday morning, I think, and try it out. Rachel adores it, Mom might spot me some of the membership if I like it. Going to get in shape, godsdamnit. And things are working out fine with Cyndie and the mortgage. Got word today that the second mortgage to cover the remaining 15% of the house was approved. Hallelu. Sleep. Yes. *sleeps*

Open season on interpretations: Trees

The slow embrace of snow
is gone, the world 
            seeks out the summer
a windblown sculptor's dream
                  defines the day;
         the silence lingers
And trees encased in ice still wait 
                       to contemplate their thawing  
How sweet to touch, 
              to taste the still and sleeping
winter morning
		NsB 13-03-03
			"Trees"

Maybe I should've waited...

Today in Nephrology: diabetes mellitus and Your Kidney. If l had to name an Important Disease for a budding Medical Student to learn about, it would be diabetes. You need to know about diabetes. It's only one of the most important causes of morbidity and mortality in the US today. But his idea of teaching us about Diabetes Mellitus seems to consist of presenting us one paper after another on the topic: "And this slide (a slide of a lot of meaningless numbers) shows us that 43% of the patients on drug X experienced a reduction of 1O points in their (score we have no idea of its meaning) score." Study after study. We are learning nothing at all. If he had just put up his final slide (now,an hour later) in the first place and told us that the data were in support of the following treatments for diabetes: -Tight control of glucose. -Aggressive management of HTN -ACE-inhibitors in type I, ARB in typeII (Scott: Why? The pathology is identical!) -Aggressive control of cholesterol - Low protein diet We would have believed him. More, he could have spent his hour teaching us something worthwhile instead of showing us too many studies to care about. Not to mention the Rule of Powerpoint: if you print out your slides for us (a Good Idea), always print MORE than one slide per page. (Scott: Here, Nykki: here's your tree. And here's your second tree.) We can read slides if you properly format them and print them four to a page. No problem. No, No, really. We can. Gah. Whydidn't I do what Rachel did and skip this hour to type up my Physical Diagnosis from last week? I would have been productive . for at least one hour of class today. Wagner ran over, this guy couldn't teach a rock to play dead (Meeta: Why are all of our Indian profs morons? I know I'm cracking on my own race, but really... ), and I still have GIT and Renal to learn by tomorrow night. Dammit. I hate wasting my time like this. Inspiration dawns: l think I'm going to go work on renal data entry now. Yay for Taika!

Funny things....

Lynda called, looking for Dad. He's out with Paul. So I chatted with her a little bit, about belly dancing (oh, I got into the class on the third week, just yesterday, when a space opened up) and the house, and Erin. Okay, we chatted for quite a while. Makes me feel grown up to be able to talk with her. Me, to Angel: We have a giant butter container in the fridge. What's in it? Angel (opening the fridge): Butter. Me: No, the other one. Angel: Rice. You know, I knew somehow that I was going to open the wrong one, and you were going to think I did it on purpose... He did. I'm sure of it. House paperwork came to us today. Except that it has the selling price listed as our original offer, not as the agreed-on price. Called Cyndie's cell phone, left a message. O please o please let this work out right... We want to close on the 28th. That's in 2 and a half weeks. Will it work?

So, I'm sitting in class, in Medicine, thinking to myself, "How am I going to survive an hour and a half of potassium balance lecture from a Chicago-bred nephrologist?" And I'm playing euchre on Taika, and getting my butt kicked because my partner's aggressiveness is set too high so he's calling trump on a King-Queen-Left if I'm lucky, and thinking that maybe I should switch to Solitaire because at least maybe I can win then, but I have to keep pausing to write notes because his idea of a "handout" is providing us with the topic headings. And he talks so damn fast that you can't write everything down, and if I do try to write it all down I forget what he's talking about, and then he's looking around the room: "Boersma?" And I feel stupid at that point, always do. He goes through and asks us questions in alphabetical order. Nothing like it. So I might as well play games, jot a few cryptic notes, and know what he's talking about. And then, just then, darling Lowene comes into the room and says "Excuse me for interrupting, but I need Asher, Rachel, Scott K, Andy, Ryan, and Nykki immediately. They need to go to an autopsy." You have never seen six medical students pack their bags so fast. Forget coming back for Radiology this afternoon. Hell, we're gone. Over to the hospital, where we were told to park in the doctors' lot. Mind, the doctors' lot has a security bar, and only Rachel (who was working there over the summer) has a keycard. So we pass it from car to car and get yelled at by Security for it, but what can you do? And up to the autopsy. Middle-aged man, 310 lbs, came in for a TURP (trans-urethral resection of the prostate), which is a pretty standard procedure. But it's done under anaesthesia (aren't you glad, guys?), so they needed cardiac clearance. And then they didn't get it. Off to the cath lab he went, found 95% occlusion of the LAD - a heart attack waiting to happen, more or less - and took him to put a stent in. That's when the problem happened. Rare but normal complication of stenting is perforating the artery. They put a balloon in there, took him out of surgery, looked good. Then he started feeling bad - BP 62/54, HR 152...things like that. And developed cardiac tamponade (fluid in the pericardial sac compresses the heart so it can't beat) and died. Enter Lowene calling us out of class to come see the autopsy. It was interesting. I could have done forensic pathology, I think. The smell of the inside of a human being is...strange. The layers and layers of fat instilled in me a burning desire to exercise. We saw a diaphragmatic lipoma, a kidney cyst, and the cardiac tamponade. All 200 cc's of clotted blood. And then there was the rose. The funeral home puts a rose on the body bag when they bring it in. A plastic one. The tech said if we wanted it, we could have it. So I took it. Asher: That's just bizarre. Me: The rose, or keeping it? Asher (mouthing exaggeratedly): (Both). Me: It's a souvenir. I got some strange looks for that one. But it's taken me this long to creep anyone out in the class, so I think I'm doing good.

Gyah.

Would you give consent? I'll admit that under anaesthesia would be a good time to practise a pelvic, so you knew you weren't hurting anyone, but without consent? Sometimes I wonder.

Say it ain't so...

Someone tell me this article...this one right here....is a farce or a joke. Please. Angel: No, they're serious. It's everywhere. Me: No! That is the most- Angel: -asinine thing you've ever heard? Me too. Freedom fucking fries. I'm so disgusted.

Uteri: the plural of uterus. U-te-ri. Word.

Final score on the OB-GYN exam: 80%. Much better than the 73% I'd gotten previously Final score on the Pathology lab exam: 81%. Class average: 85%. Getting there. Notes for Monday's Pathology Exam: Female Genital Tract (Bustamante): 27 pages. Thank heavens for tiny favours, like skipping the last two pages of gestational disorders Gastrointestinal Tract (Czaja):45 pages, but not all of it is important by his standards. Mental note: print out his powerpoints. The Kidney (Lee): 25 pages. Lower Urinary Tract (Smith): 8 pages. Total: 105 pages. My current location: Page 25 of Female Genital Tract. 80 pages to go. Damn.

Linkage!

Okay, rather than scanning in the whole article with the pictures, how about I just offer you this:

Journal-Gazette Features: Under Exam

That's me with the closing quote, even. *dances*

Scott, the paper's here!

Jim came in this morning waving a copy of the newspaper. The story on us came out, and I have my name in the paper! And this time, I said something a little more intelligent, Mom. You must understand: my mother has never quite let me live down the time when, in third grade, I told the newspaper that I liked my class because my butt didn't hurt from sitting in one place all the time. I'll have to see about getting a scan of the article...for you, O Best Beloved.

Quiz!

Which chicago Character Are You?

Brought to you by Faytrial Of all the characters in Chicago, I think I like her the best. Roxie always made me want to just hurt the little bitch for being so stupid.

A long time ago in a galaxy far far away...

Sitting in Fox and Fox, waiting for Michel-Ange to get done. No point in having Jim take me home, just to have to find a ride back again. Shouldn't be long; he said half an hour or so. Angel: why don't you do some notes? I should've brought my keyboard - it would be way more practical to do them then. *ponders* Thínk I'm going to go read a book.

Ow. *sobs*

Got the estimate on Michel-Ange. Somewhere between $7 and $800, it appears, and that's all what he referred to as a "priority list". Ball joints loose and alignment - before the ball joints give out and the car dies. Fix the boot over the passenger's side drive shaft that's been ripped open, and replace the drive shaft. Replace some funny link in the bit that keeps the wheels level when you turn - the source of the >klunk< and something that Should Be Fixed. Ow. I bought the car for only twice this much. But he's a good car. I love him. I just wanted to have a little room to breathe in the next few months' budget. With the downpayment looming, we're running on empty...

Blessed be this child...

Rather a dark story, and one I don't know if I ended right:

Blessed be this Child

Blessed be this child. Padre murmured, sprinkling water on my face, fat lips bending to touch my forehead. Be blessed, this child. I felt his lips, fleshy and warm, his breath hot against my cool and clammy skin; a good-witch kiss to guard me against the evils of a Technicolor world, a kiss to mark me. Blessed be this child, indeed. He should have just gone ahead and said it, changed the words of the ritual: be mine, this cold and unbelieving child, be forever branded with the sigil of my touch; a red and gleaming scar, a chilling, eternal reminder of my existence. Be mine from this day forward, this child. Padre owned me, from that day, claimed and purchased with a price of blood. Blessed. I can hardly speak the word. It must have been that he did not know the power of his invocation, that he was merely repeating the words of the rite; that he believed them to be as empty and dead as the hearts of his parishioners. It must have been that he was as surprised and unnerved as I by the flash of, something that passed from him to me as those fat virgin lips touched my clammy unbeliever's forehead. He must not have known. Blessed be this child, he said. And then Padre, the good Padre, kissed my forehead and sprinkled me with holy water and said a little prayer. I could see my parents beaming at me with pious pride that their daughter was blessed by the good Padre. What kind of man consecrates a child to his high and holy Lord, and then goes home that night and hangs himself? Padre did. They never told me, but I know he did. Blessed be this child. I woke up that night, choking and gasping for breath, clawing at my throat and screaming for them to get the rope off my throat. They say l finally passed out - it would have been when he died; I slipped then into dreams of bleakness - falling limp and lifeless on the bed. I didn't revive for half a day, until the sun was well out, warming my cold little mimicry of a corpse. Padre was dead, they told me. I told them I knew that. They didn't believe me. He would have known. He had to have felt it. Blessed be what child? I was no longer one. What cruel trick of a cosmic God would splice the soul of a dead priest into that of a little girl? I've been dreaming him since then, dreaming his life and death and the empty spaces after his death, a slow burn and shiver of decay. They say if I know his afterlife, tell them where he went: Heaven or Hell or the Purgatorial processing grounds. If he went to Heaven or Hell, I don't know. I don't know anything. Blessed. And l rot in my dreams. It has been twenty years now, twenty years of feeling my skin crumbling away in my sleep as his does, twenty years of psychiatry and meditation, Valium and acupuncture and the siren's song of alcohol, all failing me in the end. I have spent twenty years trying to forget the hot touch of lips on my cool forehead, the way he breathed the blessing onto me as if to make a believer of unbelieving I, the words that carried with them some small essential part of his soul. l cannot forget, not now, not even after twenty years. Blessed be this child, this child who has now become part of his slow decay into oblivion. Sometimes when I wake up at night for the horror of my own ongoing decay into fetid flesh, I can feel him within me, almost a separate being still. It is so real, so distinct in those early morning wakings, that I must force myself to resist the driving desire to rip him out of me with my bared claws. I am an animal. in the early morning dreams, a beast that desires only one thing: to be finally free. Blessed be the one who can remove this curse from me, this overwhelming burden of pain. They have always told me that l was too imaginative for my own good, that if I would just release this childish fantasy there would be no more nightmares, no more need for the pills that keep my panic at a low ebb of horror. They say. They say a lot of things, and some of them are true. But they do not know everything. They cannot explain it all. Blessed be the child I used to be. In these days, these last days of my own personal Apocalypse, I am beginning to see signs of the end. When l wake fron my dreams of decay, my hands are bloody and fissured by lines of dying flesh, scars that are slow to heal and ooze a thick greenish fluid onto everything I dress them with. I have more and more with each waking. My hands are twisted by them, nearly useless now. My parents were so proud of their daughter, to be blessed by the Padre... Blessed be this corpse of a body, this remnant of a spliced soul. I am tired, now, so very tired of living from grave to grave, my life not my own - not a life to claim, hardly, this walking evidence of the un-ignorable grip of death on the soul. I am so tired, so exhausted by struggling to stay my own, that I am beginning to doubt its value . What happens to me if I cease to struggle, end this endless war with my surrender? I do not know. Somehow, the idea is immensely appealing: to let go, give in, and let Padre's death take over me. It would be so very easy, so little pain when it was done. If there is a cosmic God watching over us all, surely He would understand. After all, I have been blessed to just this end, have I not? Blessed be this dead and dying child, after all.

He ran into my knife ten times!

Woke up with the alarm this morning, at 5:45 like a good girl. I didn't want to, and in all honesty I didn't get out of bed until nearly 7, but I did awaken and stay mostly so until then. Made plans to leave at 7 so that we'd actually get out the door just in time to drop off Michel-Ange at Fox and Fox. They're going to fix his alignment and ball joints - hopefully so that he stops going >klunk< when I turn or go over one of the ubiquitous potholes on my way to absolutely anywhere. That would be nice; the noise is really rather unnerving. So we dropped off Michel-Ange and Angel dropped me off at school after napping on my lap for 20 minutes or so. And I suddenly wondered: when did I learn to like eating oranges? Up until not so long ago, I shunned all things orange (perhaps a subtle rebellion of the poet in me; no use for anything that doesn't rhyme) - but now, of late, I find them quite yummy. Had an orange this morning, foregoing my yoghurt for it. Was good. Plus, fruit is good for you. And oranges, whole, are a good bit of fibre. Too bad I'm so sleepy; Dr. Lee plans to finish her lecture in lab too. Why can't they schedule this stuff right?

Aiee!

Angel fixed Taika! Through my fiddling with it this morning, I managed to break AvantGo, which is the software I use to sync Taika with the web. During all my study breaks today, I've been trying to get it working again. Finally Angel asked if he could try. No sooner had he touched Taika than she was cured. What a man.

Realisation dawns...

I am a Paid User. Therefore, my Semagic icon still blinks when someone updates. Sometimes, when I go to double-click on it and open the Friends page, it just opens the Semagic client. I could never figure out why. Today, I discovered that if I just click on it once, it stops flashing and will then open the client instead of my Friends page. I see. (remotely)...'It was a beautiful post...you have a talent for words I wish I could emulate.' Funny how sometimes I have to work and work to craft what I'm going to say, and then sometimes I just...know.

Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping...

Angel, waiting at a red light and watching the car next to him creep up: Dude, the light's not scared. It doesn't care how close you get to it... I suddenly realised that I've done very little updating as of late, and more Creative Writing. Probably a relief to Some People. It's not that nothing's happened - evidenced by the usual RP quotes from Friday - more that I keep getting distracted from doing it. Ah, Em...when I tell you to put the CD in the drive and run the installation program, I mean put the CD in the drive and run the installation program, not ask me why the computer has no sound so I have to go put the CD in the drive and run the installation program for you. In the immortal words of one of my classmates: "Emily's not that bright, but she still deserves better than Mike..." Even keeping in mind that "not that bright" is relative to a medical student, it's so true. She's just...daft. Heard from Cindy-the-mortgage-agent on Friday; she's sending the papers for us to sign. Going to try and push up the close date to 28 March, hopefully. We signed the disclosure and our request for the sellers to make the front windows work, too. All the rest is little stuff. Stayed up way too late watching movies on Friday night and consequently got almost nothing done Saturday. No sleep and doing notes and Z's utterly enthralling campaign all at once... I'm sure our little cabal has been up and going for 48 hours straight - or very nearly. We've been on the same day for four or five sessions now, and so much has happened that I don't know quite how to even begin Psyche's journal entry. I'll have to do what I try not to and go back through logs. Psyche, after all, has a practically eidetic memory for details - particularly when she's upset...which is almost constantly. So not much of major import for this entry...the big things have been addressed in as much detail as I intend to convey in prior entries. And today's sermon quote, from a man who was reminded of what he took for granted: "Master, feed poor boys - not monkeys."