2 months and change

i'm in a town with no hope of escape. they come to me like lemmings seeking their fate. i try to console, try to lay hands, try to get their heads out of the sand. without hope with out a light "Oh God, Please not another fight." why won't they listen what can i do? nothing i guess, we're all kinda screwed.

dead of dead summer

the heat is what gets me. forget the humidity. it could be 30 degrees out and 100% humidity and i wouldn't complain.

i've been trapped in the hospital for the previous 6 weeks. no daylight, no sun and apparently this wasn't a problem.

this is my first week not on an in house rotation. can't say that i am better off now because i have nothing to do. i need a problem to solve. give me a complicated patient and i will try to manage them, cure them, release them. more puzzles seems to be the only answer. create more questions and the time will follow.

running on empty and other skylight views

again i'm sitting in the library, pondering the meaning of existence, loathing all that surrounds me and others whom i believe have it better than i. again today i was told that things would be getting better in the future. people always say this to me. is my bleak outlook on existence so palpable? why do i even write here. no one reads this, and if anyone does, they seek solace in the fact that others feel like they do. this provides temporary relief that is not easily recalled during times of acute depressive espisodes. the feeling of isolation is a strong one that is resistent to most kinds of cognitive change. i'm not a psychiatrist/psychologist in any way (the former having less insight into the matter than the latter) making my points only observations from the inside.

the fear hasn't taken hold yet. it will come soon enough. lets all hope i have enough drugs to get through. before the bats arrive anyway.

the end is near

its like those people with the sandwich boards walking around know my fate! t-minus 8 days until the end. the end of studying. the end of hope. thats a little fatalistic, but probably how it will end up. yeah, i'm talking about my boards here. Step1 to be precise. can't type more. need to get back to Q-bank. oh how i loathe thee.

Were the Barenaked Ladies right?

More specifically, has it all been done? from where i I sit in a public place, whose main income comes from coffee, a group of 7 people, what i can best describe as "kids" (high schoolers at least, new freshmen at most) sit and talk of a recent reading. their thoughts on the book no longer novel, but the same things i heard and thought when i was at their age. do i expect something more? is this how teachers become burnt out? is this why professors are bored with existence? this is why i don't come to public places who talk and "think". i am cynical. too cynical. there is new. there is inovation. only after all the thoughts that have already been reached have been reached. then the road might diverge. there is hope. more often than not, one of the masses they shall become. blending into the conglomerate that is society. behold the headless beast that preys on the young and spits out the old. don't ask me how it does it. the anatomy doesn't make sense, but so goes the use of literary devices.

i've become decidedly less poetically contrived. i'm more for prose. and short sentences. improper use of punctuation. periods to imply pauses. rather than the end of a sentence. and i can't even do that right.

lost in a sea, neither old nor young

Adrift is a good word. It describes so much without having to say "i feel like i really don't have any direction and the hope of finding land or fresh water (don't speak of food) any time soon". See what i mean. Who really wants to listen to that. You know that scene in the book with the old man and the fish and he's fighting this fish for what seems like a hundred pages and you don't think it will ever end, what if it never did end and he didn't have that raw fish to eat to keep his strength. Where would he be then. Dead probably. With the line wrapped around his hands being dragged accross the ocean floor for all of eternity. The fish would have a hell of a story though. Going to other fish with a hook in his mouth dragging the body across the ocean floor saying things like, "...and that was the last time i looked at a shiny object." I guess you could eventually feel sad for the fish. What if one day the hook fell out and he no longer had that story. Being defined as the fish with a human dragging behind him would follow him forever, or would it. He would lose his identity in a single moment and then from there what would he have left? Maybe he would decide to try for another one, another souvenir. Maybe this time he wouldn't be so lucky. The next old man might be stronger. And he would be eaten by sharks while tied to a boat. Now that is one heck of a Sunday.