The flow.

The flow. going against it. with it. letting it. Flow.

Gross.

So basically there are two kinds of people that make me want to be a really good health care provider. People who poor whatever resources and skills into helping others, and those who just dont make you feel good.

So I have an appointment. I cruise around the corner to ABQ health, to meet with a physician who just seems a little overwhelmed with herself. She has a nice medical student in the room- which I think was the root of the problem. goes right to there heads. these physicians with their silent sidekicks there to "absorb"- bask in the knowledge and splendor of the well practiced one. I tell ya. anyway she made me feel dumb as a turd- she made me feel that she just assumed I was an irresponsible turd.

Its like how Talene never makes fun of someone for not being able to spell something- instead she just tells them how. There. done. Help us regulars. Its not like we dont want to know, and clearly if we are spelling it wrong we are trying, boldly putting ourselves out there when we could have just used a simpler word. But we do want more. we just cant.

loaded.
But now I feel unloaded. phew.

Fuck it bucket

Over the past three weeks I have sent out three fuck it buckets. (the picture above was a merely a componant of one. plus a roll of floss at the bottom. kosher.)

Three plastic pales overflowing with little tinfoil wrapped candies. Reese's (pieces of a broken down today) and little dove promises (of a brighter tomorrow) Cause "when life gives you shit you say "fuck it" and eat yourself some motherfucking candy." Rooster. David Sedaris.

Its just that I have been warrented the responsibility of keeping the united states postal service in business. Its practically my civic duty.

So bundle the buckets up in recycled packaging material- the leftover bubble wrap from a quarter's worth of medical books off half.com plastering the small shovel against the side, compress the loose candy toys and letters in with plastic bags and then wrap the whole thing up in whole foods bags and duck tape and send them on their merry way, to arrive a good fourteen days- buisness days that is later. Eh. USPS. not ASAP. more like SHVHNELS. figure that one out.

Its ok though. because then I get this.

"You have no idea what perfect timing you have. that amazing birthday present came a bit late after my birthday, but it must have been destined to cheer me up on one of those hard news weeks. Got my car insurance bill for 350 bucks. bummer. Did my taxes and owe 1000 bucks to the government. bummer. Got the last word in for grad schools and didn't make the cut for any of them. bummer. found a fuck it bucket in the mail - and none of it's a bumer anymore! Seriously, hadn't had a good candy session for sometime, and i topped it off with a brush and flossing! Wooweee! I think you are great Liz, I am so happy that you are so crafty, fun, and ambitious! I miss you, and hope we can kick it soon in the relative future. Thanks again for the lovely gift, funny how some puff paint and bright colors can change your perspective on things. Cheers to the future!"

And that pretty much puts me in a better place than I could have asked for. So yes. Cheers to the future.

Chapter 12

I miss being able to leave the cabinet doors open. More so I miss those that found it somewhat endearing that I left the cabinet doors open.

My basil died. one hot hot day and it just shriveled up. doing my best to nourish it back to life but the small wet green stems have tarnished brown. I'm sorry.

I passed out in anatomy. I knew it too. standing there. so I sat. and then crumbled to the ground- shriveled like my basil.

I didnt bake for three weeks. THREE WEEKS- down from three times a week. Brought the cookies into class still piping hot on the pan straight from the oven. The key my friends, is an extra yoke.

First round of finales. Finals this week, Alex next week. Rinse and repeat x 4 more quarters.

Somedays- your just insync.

Some solid study sessions. I am a thousand pages deep on rewriting the book. Established some suitable study stations. Flying Star with a blueberry muffin and a peppermint tea for late nights. Santa Fe library on saturdays after an early morning run and yoga listening to prairie home on my drive. UNM library for a long sunday with the sandias unfolded before me through 6 huge panoramic windows and a basketball quart out back. AAAAnnd the cadaver lab- where I insist on grabbing who ever's lab coat is the most convenient, I then return home to clean out the litter box intoxicating my skin with the two most foul odors- cadaver and litterbox. a two-fer.

We gave him "rotator cuff-links"

Good book this Albuquerque, could even be a best seller. Great freaking cast- I cant even begin to tell you how wonderful my class is- gag-o-rific right? I mean we would all probably hold hands while we ride bikes if we could. My room is perfect- mostly I like waking up in it, and spending early afternoons with the balcony door open. A good space. And great grocery shopping- gallon of milk? aaa dollar 69. And eggs? 1.49... for 18! what else you got? try me. I am good at groceries. I miss alex.

And that is what it always comes back to.

It's just the life I lead

Alburquerque is kinda a radshack shabby little town filled with strip malls coated in gimics, skinny little traffic lanes with big trucks coughing exhaust, and muffin tops. And of course, rainbows and butterflies
I like to think of this as my dashboard, grandmother's old trunk, stack of new yorkers I got free at the public library magazine swap to make stationary from, bright beautiful sunflowers (which is also my favorite yoga pose) shotty medical equipement for when I pretend to be PA schulze.
The Sandias. My escape.

Buds.

My lil buddies are growing strong despite the warm dry desert air- its probably because I water them. Here they are at 2 months:



And here is one from just 6 weeks...

pretty cute, but I am just growing them to eventually eat them- not going to name them to avoid any kind of attachment issues.

I don't speak monkey

Well huh. Feels sucky. all dried up.
I hate when the whole conversation is precursed. Cursed before it ever had a chance to happen. Throws me off- I dont know what to do then, flips that switch.

Today the checkout clerk wrote "youre gorgous" on the back of my reciept- he didnt strike me as a flatterer or anything- but then he made this little comment that made me feel really good- regardless of if it was sincere or whatever. It was nice. A stranger made me feel better than a loved one. I saved that reciept- should I ever need to return what was on it.

I see where certain insecurities could have lead a friend to do things that in the long run she wasn't proud of. It is hard, and hard to resist that strange comfort that comes from filling a craving.

I wish games didn't have to be played, but I guess if you want to win ultimately you have to use some strategy. I just wish I knew the rules... they are just so hard to read!

I guess I will go to bed- and when I cant sleep, call everyone but the one I want to talk to the most, because I want to win.

"If we stick together we can stop this shit"

Ha!
Seemingly void of a more appropriate response, laughter fills those spaces I'd much rather not attend to. While talking about the great extensors of the thigh (them gluts) I raised my hand and asked what one but cheek said to the other. It threw my teacher completely off guard and the entire class into a fit of laughter. It was quite wonderful. Sometimes I raise my hand and tell jokes in class because I dont know the answers. I have to find those answers...

But ultimately it has been a week full of those awkward spaces I dont know how to handle and get over.
Fortunately "Behavior is what a man does, not what he thinks, feels, or believes." (E. Dickinson) and feelings and thoughts dont have to be reflected in my behavior. hard though.
Grief is a strange thing and seems to manifest despite my best efforts. Everyday this week I feel like i have been grappling with some force, some strange undertow. and I didnt reach the surface until a much needed though somewhat unfufilling conversation with a girl with a few of my same blood cells, immensely dear to my heart. My eyes have been swelling, threatening tears all week. even now as I type- I hate to pull an Emily Dickinson, but I cant help but dwell for a moment in the dark.

Ugh- what kind of cryptic post is this?

All I know is I feel down trodden, frustrated, and physically, mentally, emotionally WEAK. Not depressed, but just sad. Just grappling a little- my hook will catch and I will climb out.

Its not where I am or what I am doing. "Fortune befriends the bold." (E. Dickinson) It's up to me.

I even got a hand this week. Despite my apparent academic ineptitude, I was able to help someone, some teenager who smacked his head on a pipe while skateboarding, even on its most superficial novice level, I responded to an accident directly, calmly and with some shadow of skill. It felt damn good.
"Success is counted sweetest by those who never succeed." and likewise for failure- much harder on those who dont oft face it.

There is just so much- its hard to keep up. "To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else." (Emily D.)

Ha. who knew a 9th grade literature project would rear its face at me again 7 years later. Oh Emily Dickinson.

Bail.

We can't just leave things if we dont agree, don't like them, find them hard, painful, uncomfortable. I don't jump ship- throw me the bucket and I'll keep it afloat. The only bailing I am doing, is bailing out the water. Got that universe?!