all around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces--tears for fears

my downfall began last thursday...no...wednesday....hm...no...thursday.  starting again:  my downfall began last thursday.  every moment i have been home and awake...i have been eating.  anything i can get my greedy little hands on, i consume.  the worst part of all is that i KNOW i have a problem...i just seem to have no desire to fix it.  when out of work, all i do is eat and sleep.  my new name--lardium.

somewhere along the lines of my last week on nights, i became incredibly exhausted.  for that reason, it has taken some time for me to refuel the energy and motivation to begin writing again.  i promise you, in my mind i would write the greatest posts, but once i sat to actually type, i realized none of them actually made any sense, and though delirium had set in strong, it wasn't so much that i could not see sense from nonsense.  thank you for being patient.

i am currently on a surgery rotation.  now, some of you may know or remember that i have always hated the OR.  it really is a most detested area for a number of reasons.

1) it's ALWAYS freezing in there.  always always always.  the place was made for beastly beings with a boiling internal thermometer.  i, for one, always have blue fingers when in there.  also, my teeth start chattering, and unless i am constantly moving, i will turn into an ice sculpture.

 2) always moving in the OR, generally doesn't work very well. what i mean is...well...here's the thing...so the attending i work with has done most procedures laparoscopically, which means he needs someone to run the camera.  enter: me.  i get to hold the camera, which for all of 2 minutes i thought would be fun, until i realized this was just about as bad as being the retractor holder!  anyway...as i'm freezing, i have to make sure to hold the camera in place, following my attending's movements so that he can see...and keeping the camera steady, which isn't so difficult, unless of course, you're so cold and you know if you don't move your arm, it might just fall off.  yesterday, the patient was tilted at a weird angle and i was stuck in a very uncomfortable position between my giant of an attending and the patient's arm, which was strapped to a board behind me...and though because of that arm, i had to stand in a really odd way in order to see the display while not getting in my attending's way, i have to say, that one arm emitted so much heat that it warmed my body and i appreciated every inch of that arm.  i know that sounds weird...but when you're freezing, you take heat from anywhere you can get it.

3)  scrub nurses.  the most hypercritical people the world has ever met.  'nuff said.

okay...all of surgery isn't so bad.  there are okay moments.  i like practicing my suturing...though my fingers are as clumsy as the rest of me.  i like that the patients are unconscious...it's a nice relief from the jibber jabber i get all day.  and i'm sure there are more that i can't think of.

yesterday, however, in the surgery clinic, i did have one patient who decided to treat me like the family doc i am and started to say, "well...see...when i was 11 years old a tree hit my head and then..."  i cut him off right there.  in surgery, there's no obligation to listen to those stories.  you stick to what's pertinent.  when evaluating an umbilical hernia...a tree falling on someone's head 49 years ago just doesn't matter.

there are some parts of this hospital that just confuse me.  when i was doing GI, my attending pointed down a hall on our basement level floor and said, don't ever go down there...it's too scary.  and then he laughed and said, okay...go once...but don't go alone...it really is scary.  and quite frankly, it IS scary.  i haven't been down there yet, but one day when i'm on call...i'll make a lil trek.  i'm sorta confused as to where it might lead.  according to my mental layout of the hospital (which is probably grossly incorrect...i have no idea where it could go).

we also have 2 surgery areas.  one is the main on in the hospital and the other is located across the street...mostly dealing with outpatient things, i think.  there's a way to get there without stepping foot outside, and the other day, since i had to go there, i decided to try this indoor method.  i had asked a couple of my colleagues and one told me that it wasn't so hard to get across the street using the overpass (of which i didn't know how to get to), but once there, it was hard to get to the correct building.  he told me that "you have to go into the bowels of campus ridge..." to find the way.  and he was right!  once i made it through the overpass and across the street...i looked for any stairs that took me down into what i could only be led to believe were the bowels of campus ridge (campus ridge is essentially a separate building that belongs to the hospital).  once down into this rather strange and creepy area, i followed any hallway wide enough and lit up enough to look as though it was leading somewhere.  more importantly, i followed my internal senses, which i swear are repelled by any room even resembling an OR.  as my legs became heavier and my breathing became more difficult, i knew that i was closing in on the very place i had to be but didn't want to go.  campus ridge was constipated...and i...i was the obstructive piece of stool.

anyway...patient here.  gotta run.  laters.

"when you're on a holiday, you can't find the words to say all the things that come to you, and i wanna feel it too"--weezer

it's a little late to be talking about this, but i was reminded the other night about the topic, so...yea.

let me start at the beginning:

i live in a neighborhood complex of apartments.  most are 3 story buildings...mine is 2.  part of the attraction to my building is that the first floor is dedicated to handicapped people...meaning, each of the apartments are a little bit bigger.  not that i need a whole lotta space...but well...space is nice.  one of the people living below me is a guy in a wheelchair.  most of the summer/warm weather days, he spends outside in front of our building, smoking a cigarette, talking to passer-bys.  he's lived here for a few years, so he's made some quite solid friends...and enemies.  just so you don't get too excited, this is not about his friends nor enemies.  the thing is, he talks...a lot.  like...too much.  and he's not even the most pleasant person to talk to...but because he's often out there, i'll make a couple minutes small talk and then jet up to my place.  now that the weather is cooler, he's not out there as often...but from time to time...usually when i don't expect it...before i make it to the stairs, he'll emerge from the dark shadows...usually saying something that makes me feel a lil uncomfortable.  

anyway...i'm talking too much.  the other night i had a fairly long conversation with him.  most of this conversation had to do with his last visit to the doc...which, fine...he had some questions...i answered them for him.  from there the conversation too many odd twists and turns and i'll be honest with ya', i totally tuned him out for a bit.  when i snapped back into it, he was saying something along the lines of, "like how i am.  i always want to know more about your religion...like how i ask you if you celebrate columbus day or thanksgiving..."

now, this post is not meant to pick on him...but it got me thinkin (again...i've had this thought before already)...this year i was asked by quite a few people if i celebrate thanksgiving.  really??  is it a religious holiday?  is it even a celebration?  because my understanding was that it's a day to stuff face...and FINE, i'll give you that there's a traditional turkey involved...but c'mon now...there are plenty of people who don't care for the turkey aspect.  i don't take offense to the question, i just find that it doesn't really make sense.  if someone were to ask me, "so what do you normally do on thanksgiving?" i'd find that would be more relevant.  

and columbus day too.  i had maybe 3 people this year ask me if i celebrate columbus day.  huh???  i should've said, "question is, do YOU celebrate columbus day?"  if celebrating columbus day means taking advantage of columbus day sales...then yes, i DO at times celebrate columbus day.

here's the other thing too.  so, when i'm asked if i celebrate something like thanksgiving, there's surprise in people's faces when i say, something like, well...i guess so, since we tend to take advantage of the day off to have a big dinner with family and friends...(kinda like EVERYONE else)...so, people are surprised that i do "celebrate" thanksgiving, but then like this year, when i mentioned i was taking off the day after thanksgiving for a religious holiday, some people would give me this look...like...not like "oh, okay...which holiday would that be?" but more like this look as though i were crazy and how could i POSSIBLY have a religious holiday that they don't know about.  there's very obviously something not right with this picture.

and fine, most people who ask me these questions are either wheelchair guy or patients who have only heard of muslims and find me something of a rare specimen...but i've decided, it's NOT okay for people to not know the absurdity of the questions they are asking.  or...if asking such a question, don't be so bewildered when i say something like yes...and don't look even more bewildered when i mention an ACTUAL holiday that i may have that you obviously know nothing about...especially if you're asking me such things as if i celebrate columbus day/thanksgiving.

i know it's a boring rant to have, but it's a thought, and a concern...and so...well...changing michigan one michigander at a time...signing out.

"years go by and i'm still withering where some snowman was"--tori amos

it's snowing!!  i know in a few short weeks i'll be grumbling at the very idea of snow, but secretly every time i see snow, my heart does a little dance.  a good dance.  the kind of dance that shimmies around to ridiculous songs and jingles and yes, i admit it, even christmas songs.

get over it...you know you do it too.

today i did a circ on a really cute tiny baby.  later, in office, i had the cutest chubbykins come in for a check-up.  i have two fears on days like today:  1--when i'm in the nursery with the newborns, i'm always afraid i might forget that i'm supposed to be playing doctor and might canoodle a bit too much with the new baby.  i can't help it if my nose likes the feeling of baby cheeks!!  2--in office, sometimes...fine, maybe all the time, i feel like taking the baby and just well...taking it.  hah!  things i should never admit, i know.  but they're so chubby!  it seems everyone overfeeds their babies...which is completely fine by me.  chubby babies=most takeable babies....except when they grow up to be obese and gross....at which point i would promptly return the child.  totally not a bad idea.  win-win situation, if you ask me.

anyway, busy night and now i'm feeling tired.  here's to hoping all the patients are fixed by 8:30 pm so i can do nothing at work.  hah!

for all interested readers...a story

"people are dying, i close my blinds"--ingrid michaelson

my patient is 90 years old and dying. today, i convinced her family that we should let her die. as i spoke with them...as i watched them hanging on to every word the senior resident and i had to say, i felt something like i would imagine a skeevy used-car salesman with a conscience would feel like. on the one hand, i wanted so much for them to just tell me what they wanted. on the other, i wanted even more for me to not be thinking about how my night would be hell if they didn't pick the do-nothing-and-treat-with-comfort-care-until-death approach. that's morbid, i know, but it's the truth. i tried to put myself in their shoes. it didn't work. i couldn't imagine it. maybe i didn't want to imagine it...i dunno...point is, though i told them what i think and feel was right, it didn't feel good.

down the hall my 80-something year old looks like crap. he's been in and out of the hospital at least 3 times in the last 2 months, and though he's not the world's most sickest man, he's also not the healthiest. i feel bad for him every time i see him in the hospital. though he looked as good as ever this morning (which isn't really all that great) there was little sense of accomplishment when i took care of him through the night. so he was stable this morning...so what? so his heart was looking better than i'd ever seen it...who cares? he's already started circling the drain and all i'm doing is blocking his way down. i feel...useless.

not to be a downer or anything...i'll be honest...i did feel slightly proud when later my senior resident was happy that i "fixed" mr. 80-something...i guess it's just that...i'm not sure how i feel about anything. at work, while i'm working, i act based off of what i think i should be doing...but it's when i'm away or have a moment to think or really look at the patient that i start overthinking til i get confused.

basically, i need to stop thinking. hah.

i guess that's all.

"every word just echoes and the empty world sings"--lisbeth scott

so i had a gossip girl marathon while cleaning my apartment. get over it. hah.

nanowrimo is coming to an end and i have no more than 4000 words. i stink. i have done nothing more than prove that residency and novel writing don't really go hand in hand. tis a shame. in reality, though, i had time to write...i just chose to be lazy. guess i'll never have the motivation to be the next khaled hosseini or michael crichton (md authors). bleh to me.

i am considering putting up my nanowrimo story up here (or on a separate account) and that way i can force myself to update weekly. i dunno though...there are a few things i need to take into consideration. firstly, it's so hard to put up an actual piece of writing (not something like this which i just write and post without really thinking about), without doing major editing. secondly, what if i hit a stump and it gets boring? thirdly, should i work on nanowrimo piece or the story i've been working on forever?<----the outcome of this answer brings up a whole list of other questions, which i won't get into.

any suggestions would be appreciated (guess that means you, saq...i don't seem to get many other hits...hehe). or if the idea sounds bad all together, lemme know that too.

the weather was great today. i know this only because i decided to do laundry and that required me stepping out of my house, running over to the unit next to mine and using the laundry room there. a lil piece of me wanted to go to a park. okay...i lie...a huge piece of me wanted to go to a park, however, every piece of me knew that once i got there, i would be bored and wondering what i was doing there and head straight back here. so...basically, i'm glad i didn't go.

start nights tonight. goodbye nonexistent life. i'm going to nap now and then i'll get up and head on outta here. not all too exciting, but i am content. let's keep it that way.

"you never knew me at all but i see you"--mika

****i heard this song today and it reminded me of a character i have (and have been trying to work on forever)...so figured i'd semi-introduce her here. you may never see her again, unless, of course, i hear something else that reminds me of her. anyway...it's short and not much...****

The baby grand piano was seldom silent. It often sung loudly as the tiny fingers danced up and down its slender keys. Sometimes it sang in fragments, and at others it sang whole songs, in key and out of key, trying to find the sound it liked best. If the piano was other than an inanimate object, it would have been rather tired by the end of the long day, but because it felt neither weary nor broken down, it was often up until the late hours of the night, singing loudly whenever the tiny fingers felt the need to dance upon it.

The piano’s song made up for the lack of song that came out of the girl who sat by it. She let her fingers do the talking and the piano do the translating because she loved to hear what they had to say. Sometimes she cried if they told a story that moved her, but mostly she listened with the same soft, far away expression that she would listen to either you or I.

If the piano were other than a piano, it would not have been surprised to hear the phone ring early one morning. As usual the girl who seemed to survive without sleep, walked over to the phone as if she were expecting this early morning wake-up call.

“Hello?” she asked quietly.

“Zo,” replied the voice with a slight hint of obviously hidden panic.

“What’s wrong?” for those people who had ever seen the usual peaceful looking face, they would have been surprised at how stable her eyes were in comparison to the rest of her face that betrayed her calmness. She felt the panic in her brother’s voice and the memories made her shudder.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Okay.”

“No…no. I need to come over. You up?”

“Of course. You could’ve just come by,” she said in her usual quiet voice.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be over in a bit.”

“But what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Listen, don’t worry about it and I’m coming over, okay?”

“Yea.”

“Just make sure you’re there, okay?”

“Okay, yea…but…”

“All right, just…wait.”

With confusion on her face, Zo hung up the phone. She sat at her piano, and thought over her brother’s words. It was easy to tell herself that everything was going to be fine, but to believe it seemed impossible. And so she waited for the inevitable, and time never went more slowly.

"just relax, take it easy. you're still young, that's your fault, there's so much you have to know"--cat stevens

made the mistake of buying swiss cake rolls (swiss roll cakes??) yesterday. dunno why i did it. must have a secret, subconscious wish of becoming a lardo. the whole day i thought about how i can't believe i bought them and that it was a waste of money and i'll never eat more than the one i had last night...well...like most things in life, i was wrong. even after my very filling dinner, i stuffed my face with chocolatey delightness, and i enjoyed every freaking second of it.

yea...that's right. lardoville, here i come.

with mom in pak, i have rather longer phone conversations with the paternal unit. i always enjoy talking to him and he likes hearing about my day, so i just babble away whether or not he's listening and it's all good. on a regular basis (even before mom went to pak), my dad reminds me of all the blessings in my life. he'll go through the last few years of my life and all the moments that might have upset me, he'll show me how really they were blessings in disguise. spiritually...emotionally...i dunno what...he's at this whole other level...and i say that not because he tells me things that i don't know...but because he always remembers the good. he's always the optimist. he can always find good in bad and he will patiently wait (most likely with a smile) for the worst to be done.

to be honest, it's hard for me to keep in mind the blessings of being here in michigan when all i want is to take a flight home for eid weekend, which happens to fall the day after thanksgiving. my eyes may or may not have welled up (i admit to nothing) when i couldn't find a ticket for less than 400-some odd dollars for a trip that would be only 2 nights at home.

i've missed so many eids and whatever that it shouldn't even matter at this point if i miss another, but it still does.

and i guess really it's not even about the eids. there's always just so much more.

i wish i could be my dad. bleh.

"how i'll never be anything i hate. you smile, mention something that you like"--Franz Ferdinand

i had been in the most foul mood since saturday night. i know friday i was normal...perhaps even hyper (i had a chocolate dinner), and i know saturday throughout most of the day i was in very light spirits as i tried to work on catching up on my nanowrimo story (still ridiculously behind. i will prevail). then, sometime between 8 and 9pm, my mood went quite suddenly downhill and it remained that way for all of yesterday and the greater part of today.

when i'm in a bad mood, i can hear my heart "grumble grumble" and as for most people, everything in the world bothers me. it's funny...i spent most of today making a mental list of all the things that i was going to complain about on here when i got home and now...now i'm not irritable anymore and i can't remember even ONE thing to complain about. i'm freaking crazy.

i was on the computer around 4 this afternoon, still grumbling in my mind, when this person who i've never been so fond of came into the room to use the other computer. i rolled my eyes and continued my work without paying much attention and hoping he wouldn't start talking to me. of course he did. this person talks loudly...his voice resonates in a manner that i've always thought was too obnoxious, especially when i'm tired or not in the mood to hear it (which is most of the time). i have no real big reason to dislike him...i just like to keep a distance. so anyway...he starts talking and i don't want to be rude so i reply and next thing i know, we're having a full blown conversation and i'm not feeling so angry anymore. what the whaaat?? i don't understand what happened! but i won't question it, because feeling grumbly is just NOT for me.

maybe i needed something like that to remind me that though i generally have little patience for people, i'm just not a hater...and that even the most annoying, obnoxious person in the world can make me smile and make me feel like me again. i'll still roll my eyes when this guy speaks (well...mentally, i will), and i'll probably give a small unhappy sounding grunt whenever i see him walking my way, but i'll always know that he's not so horrendous and that on my worst feeling day, he got me to normal, and i dunno...that's pretty awesome.

i know this is a really cheezy post...after so many hours of feeling low, i'm at a high right now...hopefully by next post i'll be at baseline and less of a cheezball. take care, peeps.

"eternal life is now on my trail. got my red glitter coffin, man, just need one last nail" --jeff buckley

he was just a middle-aged man. younger than my father. less than twice my age. he looked like he was 80, at least. a gray, out of control beard down to his chest might've been the least of what aged him. he had a thin frame and he was wrinkly with a dry mouth and big eyes that stared straight at me and then away at nothing. they were gray, or blue, or green...i can't remember, which is weird because i always remember eyes. his wife sat there by his bed, looking lost and alone. i'm sure she was younger than me and i wondered why she was with this man who was old enough to be her father and looked old enough to be her grandfather and who was dying because of his own vices.

it was weird to talk to her because she made me wonder if she really even knew him at all. she answered questions with shoulder shrugs and confused looks and it seemed to me that maybe she was with him, not to be his partner in life, but because he was her torn and tattered security blanket.

the man was yellow. literally. and he was dying. i was told he would die by my attending. i was told he would die by his internist. i knew he was going to die. and still, while i was working on another patient on the same floor today, and i looked in the direction of his room and saw that it was empty i thought that he must've been transferred to critical care. when i asked the clerk where he was she looked at me confused and then told me he passed away as she pointed to a sticky note on her computer that confirmed his death.

does death ever belong on a sticky note?

i've seen plenty of patients die during the last few years and i have become (or always have been) like one of the many, many other desensitized drones that works in a hospital. his death was no more significant, but i did for a moment think about his wife. a morbid piece of me wondered what she looked like when heard of her husband's death. her security blanket snatched from her, would she be in withdrawal and longing for that comfort or would she feel free of a man who was drowning in his own sickness?

i'll never know the answer and by tomorrow i'll forget all about her...and him...but figured the occasional post to myself will remind me that for a brief moment, though i might not have felt normal remorse or grief...at least i felt something. and because we all live for moments that make us feel more human...well...i guess that's my moment for today.

gnite.

"i won't let this burden bring me down"--lenka

i am currently sitting in the call room...on call. hoooping my pager doesn't go off as it has been since pretty much the moment the clock struck 5 pm, and my call duties began. owning a pager is totally NOT cool anymore. i can't wait til i can smash one against a wall. has it really been only 4 months?

i'm generally slightly, subconsciously anxious the night before my calls. i know that i must have some sort of anxiety because my sleep is always disturbed and i wake up ridiculously early. for example...today, though i wouldn't be on call until 5pm...i woke up with ease at 5am (my alarm was set for 630)...and i didn't even go to bed that early last night! if this was a one time deal, i wouldn't even notice it, but this is the way i always am...with every call. i'll be on again on sunday. i can pretty much guarantee that i'll be up by 6, staring at the darkness.

pathetic.

after a month of ob, i feel a little bit like i forgot medicine. that's not a good feeling to have. i'll leave it at that.

today i felt like a little lost lamb on one of the floors. it was chaos and my brain couldn't handle insanity. later, i realized that the nurses were changing shifts and docs were throwing in last minute orders before heading home for the day....and overall just a very bad time to be anywhere near the floors.

i think i broke my toes. there's an immense pain when i try to wriggle them. i'm just noticing this for the first time now. what's up with that? perhaps i should tell someone and they'll let me go home? i once had a med school prof tell me that she walked around with an iv in her arm because she was sick and on call and she needed to take iv antibiotics. i was like...uhhh...great...so basically you were a walking disease causing beast because you were too gungho to go home and take care of your sickness AWAY from others.

on a different note....that nanowrimo is starting on sunday. i still plan on doing it, though i'm wondering how i'll last if i have such difficulty even updating this thing! am i just unnecessarily stressing myself? sometimes i think so. what bothers me is i think i like it! ummm...since when did i enjoy stress?? what the heck? get me out of this world and back to the laid back sun and sand that i so fondly remember!

hah. it's been a while since i've been uber dramatic. that's about as much of those dramatics as i can muster right now. i'm feeling sleeping and thinking that perhaps i should take advantage of this quiet time.

oh yea...tomorrow (or the day after...though more likely tomorrow...i'll try to remember to tell you the story of an idiotic conversation i had. ugh...people)

here's to no admits!

i would like to give michigan an east coast makeover.

the end.

"cause i'm writing to reach you now, i might never reach you"--travis

i know i don't have nearly enough hours in the day to do this: http://www.nanowrimo.org/ but i really want to give it a try...and so i think i will. i'm full of excuses about everything all the time anyway...something i was lamenting about this past weekend...and i really need to change that, soooo...perhaps this will?

or not. more likely than not, after 2 days i'll find an excuse NOT to write and who am i kidding anyway? i can barely get the stuff done that i need to do for work, let alone anything extra.

hah...in a matter of 30 seconds, i have gone from fully motivated to absolutely deflated. go me. well, in any case...maybe i'll give it a start and we'll see how it goes from there. if anyone else out there is interested in trying, lemme know...we can motivate each other.

though, i promise you, i am a HORRIBLE motivator. i tend to like people doing what they feel like doing...not necessarily what's good for them.

so...new topic. i'm on my last week of ob, which makes me both happy and sad. happy because the hours suck and my sleep is all messed up and i basically feel like i've been like sentenced to this one floor and i never see anyone else during the day unless i go on an active search, which almost is just not worth it...mostly because the search is in vain...considering everyone else is also busy in their own respective parts of the hospital. and sad because i'm really getting a feel for this ob thing and it's a happy field for the most part. a lil bit of me wondered if i could've been happy doing ob for life...and then i remembered, i hate touching people in pain. and ob is ALL about pain. sure, the final outcome is all happy and stuff...but to get there...yea...not for me.

anyway...that was one thought. i could probably babble a bit more about that, but i suddenly don't feel like it. hah. i SAID, g'day, sirs.

"this doomsday clock tickin in my heart"--smashing pumpkins

woke up feeling giddy and unimaginably happy. if there is such a thing as love, i expect it to feel like this. what brought on such feelings? sleep. 8 straight hours of uninterrupted, deep, deep sleep. the world could've collapsed, and i would've slept right through it. i want to hug my last night's sleep. it's been a long time since i've been able to sleep through a full night without either being woken up either by a phone call from a nurse informing me of a patient i need to see, or the uncomfortable sort of sleep i get when i have an alarm set and am afraid i'll sleep right through it. i've never actually slept through an alarm clock...but that doesn't stop me from stress sleeping every night.

sometimes in my sleep i stress about who my attending will be the next day. what if i'm with the lady who told me to practice my knots?! what if i'm with the guy who likes reviewing through scenerios i barely remember?? what if, what if, what if? that's what my brain is full of.

went to a "pumpkin patch" today. unimpressed. i thought i'd be walking through a field and picking up these pumpkins from where they grew. i was wrong. the pumpkins had already been collected and placed neatly in rows in a small area that one could walk through. can this state do nothing right??!

it wasn't so much the pumpkin patch i cared about. i really just wanted to be outside. and i wanted to play with my camera. i guess, i did do both...even if it did not turn out quite as i had imagined.

i want to watch "where the wild things are"...who's with me?!

i really like the "?!" combo. i feel like it describes most of my thoughts correctly.

i've been asked by a couple people what the heck i'm talking about in my last post. for those who don't know...i had said i'd probably do some creative writing...and mostly it won't be full stories, but just pieces of things that i think to write. that's what the last entry was about. nothing much more than that.

wow, i'm boring. k'later.

"Marble statues and glass dividers Someone is watching all of the outsiders"--jlc

the fear was one that was both undeniably real and stupid and it would take only the nonsense vows of a semi-drunk to face it. i don't care if greater beings exist, i just want to know what it IS that draws the fearless from their 2-dimensional, black and white lives to cry out in mercy. where's my need to cry out? why don't i yell for forgiveness and pray up at the sky like my answers will rain down on me at any minute?

and why can't i make my way to the single place where a pacifying solitude is supposed to be given? it's a stupid phobia, i know. the type you never grow out of now matter how hard you try.

behind those colorfully painted windows of saints with forgiving faces and mothers with peace in their eyes are gray, stone walls with death on every side. morbidly lifelike, who are the psychos who take the time to create such an accurate description of a gruesome death? and worse, who are the crazies that decide they need to be hung up for the world to see? i've spent more time studying the crucifixes and the man hanging, nailed to a wooden cross than listening to the sermons up front. it becomes an obsession for that hour or more, eyes fixed on the blood droplets that no one can see and trying to understand the tranquil face that should be crying out in pain and agony.

singing hallelujahs, fists in the air, knees on the floor, beat yourself up because your sins have already been paid for. listen to the man in front of the pulpit, behind the stand, his eyebrows knit together in anger. he hates you and he forgives you because he can and because it gives him something to do. you should respect him, but it wouldn't hurt if you feared him, and things can get only better if you obey him.

those are the lessons i've learned. they became my reasons for hating a world full of extremists and non-extremists. each criticizing and neither listening. both afraid of being sucked into the other's world of lies and distortion. each believing he's more open and understanding than the other, but neither caring to let the words of the other sink in deeper than the skin. words bouncing everywhere, the confusion grows. confusion so thick fills the air and pokes at your eyes and like with the stinging of peeled onions, opening them becomes more and more difficult.

a drunk forgets his fears and only half thinks. a drunk tries to find the answers to everything he doesn't understand even if it requires facing his worst fear. churches--my worst fear. the memory of climbing the dark stairway of my preschool. one end brightly lit, and the sound of my classmates laughing, screaming, playing filling my ears, but with every step up and away, i get closer to the solemn, gray room where nobody exists and eyes watch you from every wall and every window. it's impossible to enter the bathroom without stopping to stare at the man pinned up against the cross. covered by only a stone sheet, he looks almost as though he might smile to himself, remembering some secret that no one else knows. it makes me shudder if i look at him too long but most times i can't stop looking. there's this overwhelming dread that he'll move or talk or even, worst of them all, smile.

but here i sit, over 20 years later. even with the church filling up steadily, i shiver because i know i'm stuck in a situation i can't get out of. every sunday, i attend mass. why? it's what my drunken senses told me to do. i don't expect to find answers. i expect to overcome a fear, and in the process find that peace and that solitude that i hear so much about.

"fake a smile and you sigh"--guster

i like moments. i like reading books and figuring out what i think would be the exact moment the author came up with story. i like watching movies and deciding which scene the director visualize which made him/her approach the movie as was done. i always keep this to myself (mostly because i don't believe it to be a very interesting topic of discussion...but also, i really don't care to hear anyone else's opinion on the matter), but i s'pose if i were intently (and freakishly) watched while reading a book or watching a movie, one would be able to know when i think i've got it figured out.

i like moments in life too. okay...i take that back. i don't like moments in life. i'm not talking about moments like the time dad put his hand on your shoulder as a quiet sign of his new-found respect for you. i mean moments like when you say something like "probably" to a patient and suddenly you see he trusts you a little less, or like when you blurt out a random thought and watch a face completely become stone before it can fall, or when you ask a kid who is mommy's sister, and you see a light just click and suddenly family makes sense to her. each is defining in its own way...each dealt with in its own way...but mostly those are the things i remember.

and really, this post is boring and random and so what? as i've been trying to sleep here on my couch, i've been looking out at the rain and the trees and thinking of moments...of shifts in eyes and curls of lips. thinking of gasps of realization, and sighs of relief. reading people and coming one step closer to understanding their individual characters. though many of them i'll rarely or never see again, i feel more complete when i'm through...and that's always kind of nice.

(note: the lyrics above are from an old guster song called "mona lisa" which is also one of the reasons why i was thinking about all of this. heh)

(note 2: i was thinking about changing the name to my blog. i'm not sure "burgher joint" cuts it anymore. one problem is that now the address to the place is under that name, which i guess is not a big deal at all. if anyone is for or against this idea, please let me know. in the meantime, if i can think of something else, i'll do it...otherwise it stays until i find something else that seems to fit better)

"Don't you know you might find a better place to play"--oasis

a change and a much needed move. i feel a commitment coming on. it makes my stomach churn. commitment doesn't make me feel safe and secure. it makes me feel suffocated and nauseated. like...what if i don't want to do this anymore? one more thing with my name on it is out there. should i even be thinking about this so thoroughly? why did it take me 5 minutes to decide my sign name? why did it take me another 10 minutes to decide that i would keep the title from my old blog?

i know it's too much thought, but it's not going to stop me from thinking. i get to start something new. it's a fresh start...a clean slate. and it'll be my same old voice (though somewhat hoarse and unused), but that's still new to you. and i hope you like it and i hope i like you (yes, i'm talking to the site).