Wednesday, July 29, 2009


Yesterday I had my Sub-I exit interview with the Sub-I director and he said I needed to work on not carrying my emotions on my sleeve. APPARENTLY my face is rather expressive and that can be a detriment because it tends to transmit when I have no idea what in the world I'm talking about. Evidently this does not instill confidence. Patients prefer to have a practitioner that seems comfortable with medical knowledge. Who knew.

So in my room for improvement section? It says familiarize self with literature and get control of face. Terrific.

Hope that makes it into my dean's letter.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

One of the riskier things I do on a daily basis, besides of course pursuing a medical degree as a twenty-something single woman in NYC thereby ensuring hundreds of thousands of dollars are indebted to my name while my ovaries rapidly wilt, is walk away from an open Gmail window.

Typically it happens because I need to go to the bathroom, refill my tea cup, or scramble outside to the street to elbow swipe tweens out of the way of the Gossip Girl episode filming (true story - today!), but whatever the reason, it's just a dumb idea.

Were someone to gain access to my Gmail account they would essentially have an unadultered view of my psyche. And not just my psyche, my psychoses.

Cue the slasher music.

Gmail has become what my blog and actual paper diary are not: a repository of my inner most thoughts and neuroses. I write multiple times daily two to three line freakouts, observations or idiotic jokes to my nearest and dearest.

I compose long winded blow by blows of how this guy I liked this one time almost kind of looked in my general direction and I swear I'll try to ask him where the bathroom is the next time I see him to go ahead and jump start the love affair I know is brewing. Stuff like that.

Or, rants about so and so's new profile picture  on facebook or OMG can you believe what this or that wrote on his or her wall?

It's my place to unleash all the superficial, honest, humiliating truths of my life.

Basically what I'm saying is Gmail is my direct line of communication with Disturbingly Potent and if anyone other than her was privy to my inner workings, sweet Lord. I don't even know what I'd do.

Embrace a denial more powerful that that exuded by many a public pooper, I expect.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Oh my God, I know.

I wouldn't make eye contact with me either. It's awkward, whatever, a seven month hiatus following a blahbity month hiatus before that... you might think that I should just take this God forsaken thing down, but alas, no.

So, it's July.

I am now a fourth year medical student.

I don't know if you're aware, but there are only four years to medical school. As in, this is my last year of medical school. As in, my holy God I'm going to be a doctor in less than a year.

I would've written that last bit in caps, but frankly caps just won't cut it. I don't know what would. Skywriting? A Mt. Rushmore-esque proclamation? Blood?

Lots of changes have been afoot as is usually the case when seven months goes by. I'd say the most jarring of which is that... brace yourselves...

I want to be a doctor.

All evidence to the contrary, turns out there's a sick diluted part of me that loves this stuff. A very specific realm of this stuff, but a slice of this stuff that counts as medicine just the same.

I don't feel I can just come straight out and tell you because what fun would that be. Plus, I feel as though this proclamation is a pretty huge anti-climax to the whole of my blogging career. So I'm going to doll it up with a countdown of sorts. I think I'll try to recall as best I can the foibles of each rotation this past year and see if you can guess what I've decided to pursue.

You know, all two of you who still bop by this ragtag site from time to time.

The same two who already know what I want to be, but WHATEVER. I NEED TO WRITE AGAIN.