This post is a sucky synopsis post, but I'm tired and dirty and a little drunk, so whatever.

Have you ever had one of those days where all you wanted to do was read further in the book you've been reading, but things kept getting in the way? I had one of those days. I got assigned a new patient this afternoon, and of course she needs a bunch of stuff done before I can even start treating her, stuff that should have been caught a while ago. And of course that added a few more hours to my day, taking records, running about trying to schedule other appointments for her with other people, and reviewing the records. Feh. Next week I'll start working up the case, which should at least be interesting to treat.

So that kept me at school until about 7pm or so, and after that I headed downtown to pick up a ticket to the late Naked Raygun show in April. I got a flat tire half a mile from my house, so I ended up walking the rest of the way. Of course, I'll be getting in late Sunday night and knew I wouldn't want to fix the damn flat then, so I did it tonight. I got home around 8, put away clean laundry, packed, then went to change my tube - I could clearly see where the tire and tube had been punctured, and they were pretty small, so who knows where the actual puncture took place. Regardless, I decided to clean my chain as well as fix my tire, and my hands - as well as certain spots on my shirt - were black by the time I was done. Trish let me know she was at Delilah's and implored me to join her, which I of course did, not having seen her in two months, and not having work tomorrow. I wish I had more time to spend with her since I don't see her enough, but it was still good.

I still haven't read any today - beyond a Punk Planet interview during my lecture this morning. Suck on some Life After God:

Our conversations are never easy, but as I - we - get older, we are all finding that our conversations must be spoken. A need burns inside us to share with others what we are feeling. Beyond a certain age, sincerity ceases to feel pornographic. It is as though the coolness that marked our youth is itself a type of retrovirus that can only leave you feeling empty. Full of holes.

.....

We will talk some more if it is a warm day and the city before us will glow gold, a dozen construction cranes transforming its profile almost by the hour. She will say, "Thousands of years ago, a person just assumed that life for their kids would be identical to the one that they led. Now you assume that life for the next generation - hell, life next week - is going to be shockingly different than life today. When did we start thinking this way? What did we invent? Was it the telephone? The car? Why did this happen? I know there's an answer somehwere."

.....

One of Kristy's bigger worries is that she'll continue her pattern of desiring only the unattainable and then one day, well, in her own words: "My ability to fall in love for real will just sort of atrophy and then I'll replace my apacity for love with sentimentality - you know - knitting bibs for my sister's kids; sobbing over puppies; going overboard at Christmas and wearing red and green dresses; vanity mirrors surrounded by inspirational decoupage plaques. Should this ever happen, Scout, please, please telephone the Symbionese Liberation Army and have them come and kidnap me."

.....

Some facts about me: I think I am a broken person. I seriously question the road my life has taken and I endlessly rehash the compromises I have made in my life. I have an unsecure and vaguely crappy job with an amoral corporation so that I don't have to worry about money. I put up with halfway relationships so as not to have to worry about loneliness. I have lost the ability to recapture the purer feelings of my younger years in exchange for a streamlined narrow-mindedness that I assumed would propel me to "the top." What a joke.

That's all you're going to get. I'm going to Florida for the weekend. I need to get away from here for a bit. Plus I get to sit through two days of practice-management seminars. Woo.