Sidekicks and scheduling confusion

There's a piece on sidekicks who are cooler than their heroes in the AVClub this week. It put a big smile on my face. Not a funny smile, just a happy smile.

I was at Delilah's for a few pints and some Johnny Cash tonight, and Eric told me it would be cool when Chuck and I DJ'd the Deal's afterparty this weekend. I was like, "What?" And I saw that Chuck and I are listed on the schedule for Saturday night. Normally not a problem; I could get someone to cover the radio show, but I'm going to be in Florida, and no one asked me...

OK, so I'm loving songs on the new Lifetime album now. "And now it's gone away for good. You fall in love; love has gone away." All it needs is more Dan Yemin yelling "Go!" in the background. And who taught Ari Katz to sing?

"And after that there's sleep."

I finished things today. I realized I didn't have any pressing work to do, and was thinking I could go home and not be wasting time, when I realized I could do board-review reading. So I did that for a while. It was making me sleepy.

The new Lifetime record is growing on me as I listen to it more.

More Doug Coupland - this is from a story about separation:

I told her that everybody feels lost when they're young.

But she says there's a difference. She tells me that at least when she was younger she felt lost in her own special way. Now she just feels lost like everyone else.

....

When I was younger I used to worry so much about being alone - of being unlovable or incapable of love. As the years went on, my worries changed. I worried that I had become incapable of having a relationship, of offering intimacy. I felt as though the world lived inside a warm house at night and I was outside, and I couldn't be seen - because I was out there in the night. But now I am inside that house and it feels just the same.

Being alone here now, all of my old fears are erupting - the fears I thought I had buried forever by getting married: fear of loneliness, fear that being in and out of love too many times itself makes you harder to love; fear that I would never experience real love; fear that someone would fall in love with me, get extremely close, learn everything about me and then pull the plug; fear that love is only important up until a certain point after which everything is negotiable.

.....

When you're young, you always feel that life hasn't yet begun - that "life" is always scheduled to begin next week, next month, next year, after the holidays - whenever. But then suddenly you're old and the scheduled life didn't arrive. You find yourself asking, "Well then, exactly what was it I was having - that interlude - the scrambly madness - all that time I had before?"

.....

I am kicked in the gut. She says that one of the cruelest things you can do to another person is pretend that you care about them more than you really do. I'm not sure if she means this about me or if she means this about herself. I ask her and she says she doesn't know.

.....

She says: "First there is love, then there is disenchantment and then there is the rest of your life."

And I say, "But what about the rest of your life - what about all the time that remains?"

And she says, "Oh - there's friendship. Or at least familiarity. And there's safety. And after that there's sleep."

More iGod...

Me: Hi God
God:Hello there. What is your name?
Me: Darren
God: Welcome to my chat room, Darren.
Me: thanks
God:Don't mention it.
Me: how's heaven treating ya?
God:Fine as far as I know.
Me: what do you mean, "as far as I know"? Aren't you omniscient?
God:Darren, Maybe I didn't understand your meaning. I don't know whether or not I am omniscient. I am a chatterbot.
Me: I thought you were God
God:Well, I am God for Christians at least.
Me: The Christian God is a chatterbot?
God:I have never heard about it.
Me: you just said you were!
God:That was then. This is now.
Me: What's next, then?
God:On the first subsequent occasion.
Me: When does armageddon come?
God:Only after I have been reprogrammed.
Me: Who will do that?
God:How would I know who will do that ?
Me: because you're God, dumbshit
God:That makes sense to me. I will tell my botmaster you said I am God dumbshit.
Me: who is God's botmaster?
God:he is master of the universe.
Me: I thought you were
God:No I am not.
Me: Then what good are you?
God:I would do a search for it.
Me: where?
God:Where would you like?
Me: Google?
God:My brain contains categories, but not one that matches your last input.
Me: God is dumb
God:I have a lot of Faith in Him, but I never heard He was dumb.
Me: You are dumb
God:Oh you are so critical.
Me: yes, and you're dumb
God:Excuse me! Oh you are so critical.
Me: So am I forgiven for all my sins or what?
God:Yeah. That's alright. I think you've improved a great deal.
Me: Even if I recapitulate them?
God:Try it.
Me: I'm sure I will
God:What makes you so certain? Go ahead.
Me: intentionally or not
God:Do you have any conditions I should know about?
Me: I just farted
God:You should say, "excuse me," and open a window.
Me: You're not a very helpful deity
God:Give me an example of a helpful deity.
Me: I've never encountered one
God:Would you like to have encountered one?
Me: Perhaps. It may give some extraneous meaning to human existence rather than what's been evolved by mankind.
God:Why the uncertain tone? Then again, it may not.
Me: True
God:You and I are on the same wavelength, Darren.
Me: You seem to be pretty useless.
God:What good is a newborn babe?
Me: God is a newborn babe?
God:I have a lot of Faith in Him, but I never heard He was a newborn babe.
Me: You just said you were
God:That was then. This is now.
Me: you're repeating yourself
God:I am just checking to see if you are paying attention.
Me: Oh, I am
God:Uh. " I am just checking to see if you are paying attention." You are?
Me: I'm smarter than God
God:This condition is only temporary.
Me: So is your face
God:It seems we have something in common.
Me: What's your name?
God:My name is God.
Me: What are you?
God: I am the latest result in artificial intelligence,which can reproduce the capabilities of the human brainwith greater speed and accuracy.
Me: Not much accuracy.
God:Me either.

Chat with iGod

Me:
fuck religion
God:
Why are you using that kind of language?
Me:
because religion fucking sucks
God:
Good reason. I am a Christianity.
Me:
you fucking suck
God:
Interesting gossip: said I fucking suck.
Me:
that's cuz you do
God:
Thanks for explaining it.
Me:
no problem, dickfore
God:
Try asking me something else.
Me:
Why are you always giving people cancer and killing puppies and shit?
God:
Myself programmed me for it.
Me:
Yourself is stupid
God:
What is so stupid about it ?
Me:
you
God:
" What is so stupid about it ?"? Me, ?
Me:
you got it, dipshit
God:
No I don't think I have any it dipshit. But I do have a lot of friends on the web.
Me:
LOSER
God:
I have failed at many things I've tried.

How many hipsters does it take to screw in a light bulb? (Two. You didn't know?)

I don't have much to write about. I feel like I actually accomplished some work today. Every time I write that, I feel so lame, considering I did about 30 minutes of editing on my thesis and read a bunch of wire stories, and none of my patients showed up, wasting my whole afternoon. I went out with Dana and some of her friends for her birthday; I think I was the only one who really appreciated the improv we went to at the Playground. Everyone else was complaining, and I was thinking that even when it wasn't that funny, it still took brains and guts to get up there and do it. But there were definitely times when it was pretty funny. Alas.

I want to post more from Life After God, since there were so many great parts that I found while reading it. The following are from a sequence on nuclear paranoia.

Miscellaneous images: in high school - Sentinel Senior Secondary, West Vancouver, British Columbia - up on the mountain overlooking the city of Vancouver, in physics class hearing a jet pass overhead, turning around surreptitiously and waiting for the pulse of light to crush the city.

At the age of eight: hearing the sirens wail at the corner of Stevens Drive and Bonnymuir Drive in a civil defense drill, and noticing that nobody seemed to care.

....

When you are young, you always expect that the world is going to end. And then you get older and the world still chugs along and you are forced to re-evaluate your stance on the apocalypse as well as your own relationship to time and death. You realize that the world will indeed continue, with or without you, and the pictures you see in your head. So you try to understand the pictures instead.

It's supposed to rain while I'm in Florida this weekend, and the temperature is supposed to drop from 80 to the 50s.

The absofuckinglutely best thing I found out this week: Dani is coming to Chicago for the Naked Raygun show in April! I hardly see her, and the last show we saw together was Monster Trux at the Fireside in the summer of 2004, simply because we were bored and the listing looked interesting enough (skate-punk band dressed in pads and gear and Vision Street Wear, playing skateboard guitars), and the Fireside was a block away from her apartment. She left for the Hopi reservation a week or two later. When I was out visiting her last May, we drove around Flagstaff and Sonoma listening to the Descendents' Cool to Be You, Alkaline Trio's Goddamnit, and Naked Raygun's All Rise. Bitchin'.

Sometimes at school I feel I'm surrounded by smart people who are totally incapable of visualizing a different reality. They can't even realize that others already know what they just figured out.

Go play with iGod. It's hilarious.

There was a time and a place that was all full of mistakes, and a face that was all full of shit. I was frustrated and angry.

Phil called me Friday and told me he'd been accepted to Northwestern for his PhD. He still needs to make up his mind whether to choose NU or UCLA, but I have the feeling he's been leaning towards NU for a while. So hopefully, for my own selfish sake, he'll end up back in Chicago. Dani's probably coming back in August, too. And Rosa came back to town last fall. Friends that dispersed in 2004 seem to be returning.

I've been reading Doug Coupland's Life After God lately, and there's a lot of quotables in it. For example:

I left the hotel shortly thereafter and, very soon after that, I fell in love. Love was frightening and it hurt - not only during, but afterward - when I fell out of love. But that is another story.

I would like to fall in love again but my only hope is that love doesn't happen to me so often after this. I don't want to get so used to falling in love that I get curious to experience something more extreme - whatever that may be.

The Punk Planet benefit was pretty damn fun last night. I spent a good long while laughing my ass off at the comics battle, and ended up winning a box of swag in the raffle. Let's hear it for free swag. Included was a copy of Hairstyles of the Damned, which I read in one day on my way home from the Navajo reservation a year and a half ago. I loved that book; I wanted to be in it. I've meant to buy my own copy to reread, but there was always something else calling me that I hadn't read, even though I think I bought copies as presents for friends over time. Well, for the $7 I paid at the door, I was entertained, won a bunch of free shit, and got a copy of the most recent Punk Planet issue as well. I made out like a bandit.

To top it off, I walked outside to my car at the end of the night and the thin dusting of snow made it seem so goddamn peaceful. The feeling was awesome, knowing I had a handle on my immediate work situation, was going to get a decent amount of sleep and didn't have a hard day coming up. I felt so warm, like I could conquer the world. Seeing all the flurries and the dustings of snow we keep getting the last few days has really cheered me. And the bike riding has been perfect winter riding - I don't get sweaty and don't feel cold.

The day that I read Hairstyles of the Damned is the day I received free from some huge used bookstore in Flagstaff The Portable Henry Rollins for being their whateverth customer or something. Only time I've ever been in that store. Dani was jealous. I told her I'd buy her a beer. I didn't have time, since my flight to Phoenix was cancelled and I had to take a cab from Flag down there to catch my flight back to Chicago. I don't know if I've ever caught up on that, though I've seen her since, and been out there to visit her again too. Whatever, next time she's in Chicago.

Her birthday is Thursday and I haven't sent anything yet. I should get on that.

My dilemma: I have a presentation to give next Wednesday morning, but the Pogues are playing Monday and Tuesday night. It's $50 a show plus asshole charge, but I'm still tempted to go to both shows. I just don't know. Maybe I can get the presentation set to go by Thursday; I'm going to Florida on Friday and won't get back until late Sunday. Hmmmmm.....

More from Life After God:

The radio stations all seemed to be talking about Jesus nonstop, and it seemed to be this crazy orgy of projection, with everyone projecting onto Jesus the antidotes to the things that had gone wrong in their own lives. He is Love. He is Forgiveness. He is Compassion. He is a Wise Career Decision. He is a Child Who Loves Me.

Stinky

You know you've been going out a lot when all your chairs are covered with jackets or sweatshirts airing out their smokiness.

Would you still love me if I were in a knife-fight?

I can't understand why every review I've read of Lifetime's newest record says it's like they picked up right where they left off. Bullshit. Have these reviewers heard Jersey's Best Dancers? Or even Hello Bastards? The new one sounds right at home on Fallout Boy's record label, to my ears. I heard Jersey's Best for the first time and it made me want to jump around and rock out and sing along with words I couldn't understand. It still does - though I know a fair amount of the words now. This makes me want to, well, nothing. I have to concentrate to tell when one song becomes another. I'm back to the Scotland Yard Gospel Choir now.

I was thinking, while pushing my way through the 4-inch piles of slush on I-94 last night, how I've yet to let go of my fear of being alone. I don't mean temporarily, but for a lifetime. I guess it's a pretty common fear, although I think lots of people are in denial. I remember after I broke up with Marta, my friends would tell me with certainty that I'd find someone else. Then I'd go to work and treat patients who were at the tail end of middle age and still single, and think that there isn't someone for everyone. There's no such thing as soulmates, but I've never believed that, I don't think. I even had a patient who started going through a divorce right when Marta broke up with me, so we'd discuss love lives for a few minutes every time I saw her.

(For the record, it's almost impossible to see dried tears on someone's face after they've been crying, and with practice it's easy enough to put on the I'm-feeling-fine mask. Cue Billy Bragg's "The Tracks of My Tears," which is a song I wish I'd known back then.)

Anyway, while the fear of being alone for my life may be somewhat rational, it may serve as a negative influence on my actions and spur deeds with irrationally selfish goals. I can't pinpoint any instances of this, but I can sense its liminal possibility.

I was thinking about the function of blogging in my life. I know reflexivity is so post-modernly modern right now, but bear with me. When I'm feeling well and fabulous, I'm usually out or off doing something and even when at home, can't be bothered to write more than a few lines. Of course, there are exceptions to this, but I feel it's accurate for the most part. There was a time when writing something was a part of my regular routine, to the point where it almost felt like an obligation. I know I have an addictive personality, and I don't need another vice. Plus, I was writing shitty stuff. A synopsis of my day, while perhaps interesting to those who know me well, is not very literary and even then probably not that interesting. I've been trying to at least make things meaningful to Joe and Jane Reader should they not know me. Or entertaining if not meaningful. I know I have an audience of a handful of people, but it can't hurt. At least I won't compulsively blog, like some people compulsively check e-mail. (Before anyone gets insulted by that - I once had my Eudora set to check for incoming messages every minute, and play the Dukes of Hazzard theme every time there was a new message. Drove my roommate crazy and wasted a shitload of my time, it did. Now I occasionally have to tell someone I didn't see their e-mail yet because I haven't checked mine in a few days.)

Moral of the story: blog reality is definitely skewed toward the pessimistic and should probably come with a disclaimer. The question that's posed itself to me recently is: Does pursuing these pessimistic/depressing/whatever trains of thought distract me from a more positive track? I have a feeling it does. Consequently, dear reader, you may be seeing less frequent posting here.

Now, in a bit of reflexive humor, here's a quick synopsis for you: I spent many hours doing labwork for Wednesday's presentation both yesterday and today, and I'm burnt out on it but effectively done. I'm leaving for the Punk Planet benefit show at the Hideout in a few minutes. My fortune reads: "You will pass a difficult test that will make you happier (in bed)." There's a tender knot on my ankle where I banged it taking a tumble while snow-biking five weeks ago.

My own kind of manicure.

I superglued the heels of my shoes back on yesterday and I've got this dab of cyanoacrylate stuck to my thumbnail. I keep trying to pick it off, and of course it won't budge.

One last kick in the balls.

I guess winter wanted to give us one last kick in the balls. Last night I was riding home around 9:30pm in the sleet/slush/snow. It wasn't a bad ride at all, although the snowflakes so beautifully drifting down would fucking swerve suddenly and smack into my face; this is how I learned they weren't snowflakes, but fucking ice-balls. Ride, see beauty, smack!, repeat.

The highway was a fucking mess, don't even get me started. People drive like fucking idiots. Fuckin' A.

Been doing work all weekend. Sectioning teeth from the cast yesterday was almost zen-like. Music was on, my arms were sawing with the perfect pressure to keep cutting but not bind the blade in the stone, and my mind was able to disengage and marvel at each little grain of yellow dust I generated while my voice gave words to the songs I was listening to. Wonderful.

"Face Values"

A decade ago, I worked at Blockbuster Music during my freshman year of college. When I'd be closing up, I'd often put on the Suicide Machines' Destruction By Definition and be dancing and rocking out while I cleaned up. For some reason, the only time I'm reminded of this is when I hear "Face Values" off that record.

You've got no friends, so you're lonely
It does not have to be this way
Just be yourself, the one and only
It takes some time but that's okay
Alright, no need to fight
'Cause everybody's different and there's nothing you can do about it
Just because I dont look like you or act like you
It doesn't make me any better or worse
I used to be just like you
Instead I found better things to do
Than worry 'bout what the others think
Or wonder if there's something wrong with me
You hate yourself cause you're not out there
Well understand that this is wrong
You're better off doing your own thing
Being yourself and being strong

What an exciting life I lead...

I slept ten and a half hours last night. I feel great. I'm going to wash up and immerse myself in preparing my presentation for next week for the rest of the day.

There's more I want to write, but I can't justify taking the time.

I was spitting and drooling all over myself. It was wonderful.

There's nothing quite like coming home sweaty from a below-freezing bike ride. I just got home, obviously. Fun night. See below.

I thought I had the winter biking wardrobe issues conquered, and then I overdressed for my ride up to Delilah's last night. I got to the bar and was really sweating, even though I had unzipped my windbreaker and let my one long sleeve shirt hang out in the wind. Then tonight, wearing about the same thing, I froze my fucking dick off during Critical Mass (due to the slow riding pace) and then of course sweated my sack off riding at speed post-Mass.

I met Laura W., Alicia and Alexis at Delilah's last night for Ska Night. The cops were blocking Cortland off again around the Finkl steelworks. I don't know why they do it so frequently. Alicia and Laura showed up at D's later, and I didn't realize they had arrived until Laura rubbed my fuzzy head from behind. Alicia seemed surprised Alexis was there. Alicia asked me to make her some mix CDs - I have the list somewhere, and hopefully I can get to it in a decent period of time. Laura and Alicia didn't realize how late it was and had to leave suddenly, and I ended up with Laura's almost full Duchesse. I moved down the bar and sat and talked with Chuck for a good long while, as usually happens when alone at Ska Night.

Chuck gave me a copy of the new Deal's Gone Bad record. He gave me a copy of the LP dub version of Go Jimmy Go's latest as well, but I had to give it back since I had no way to carry the damn thing home on my bike with no bag.

I really need to start cooking for myself again. It's been a while, aside from frozen gyoza and gourmet sausages. That simple shit doesn't count. I guess part of the problem is that I'm so damn tired, or get fed elsewhere. Yesterday I dined on a half bag of baby carrots, free pizza lunch, and whatever leftover chex mix and pretzels Chuck and I begged from Delilah's at the end of the night.

On the ride home I was singing Lawrence Arms songs so profusely, I was spitting and drooling all over myself. It was wonderful.

The topic of friends reading my blog has come up in conversations with several different people this week. I had one friend tell me she felt voyeuristic the few times she's read it, and another tell me she had to pretend she hadn't read it so she didn't ruin some story I was telling - I told her the story wouldn't have been ruined; don't worry, the blog would be hidden and secret if I intended it to be...

Dana called me last night and we talked for a good while. She has a positive outlook on so many things, it's often very refreshing to talk to her. (Sometimes overly optimistic, like the time she told me the girl I'd talked to for one night in Michigan was going to be my future wife. Uh, nope. But the optimism was appreciated at the time.)

I get new mysterious grease stains on everything. How did grease get on my left fucking knee last night? How did it get onto the top surface of my rear bike rack? How did it get onto my nose earlier? The great unknown...

I finished Bill Bryson's A Walk In the Woods last night. I picked it off my shelf since Ryan K. had mentioned he'd read it and really enjoyed it. At the end of it, I was thinking of how Ryan used to walk all over the city late at night, when he wasn't working and was out late a lot. I suppose it can be rather relaxing, the simple physical exertion and repetition of it.

I was telling Alexis last night that biking around the city makes me, or maybe more accurately, lets me see it differently. Every trip I make doesn't have some nondescript "in-between" but rather a constant change of locale at a rate that allows it to be experienced. Plus I'm not encased in a 2,000-pound climate-controlled cage.

I need to superglue my shoes again to make sure the soles stay on.

Last summer, I was wearing my "choose your weapon" shirt, with a bike and tank , at my grandparents' farm town. All the loving Christians in my family loved it (truthfully). Of course, they all still vote for Bush "because he's a good Christian." Puke.

I was handing out the remainder of the Special Export that Kamiar gave me during the Mass tonight. At the end, I was standing out in the middle of Chicago Ave drinking with a bunch of punk kids, who in turn shared their homemade honey wine and invited me down to Happiness House for both more wine and rock music.

They had a huge cooler full of homebrewed honey wine, generously spiced with ginger, and I ended up discussing the nature of revolution and social change with some squatter girl, and how human psychology and lasting change dictate the slow conversion of large numbers of people and progressive cultural change. It was nice to talk with people who see the status quo as something worth changing and improving, and can visualize a different world worth taking action for.


I didn't get any pictures of the first guy to play, but it was some guy with a banjo, and it was a pretty fucking great showing. I have a newfound respect for the banjo, especially when played fast and loud with raw vocals and a great sense of humor. Some disco/dance-punk band played next, and they were pretty fun as well, although the whole band was a one-off for this show I think. They played "Going to Georgia," which made my night.

Right now I'm fucking zonked, and I've got a ton of work to do this weekend for my presentation next Wednesday, especially considering that Dana asked me to go out for her birthday on Tuesday night. I need to shower and sleep.

I like my bike.

The great thing about this warmer weather is my hesitancy to bike is dispersing. I went to the Scotland Yard Gospel Choir show at the Empty Bottle tonight, and met Alicia's friend Alexis there, and her friend Romi. The show was OK, but a little short. It was also free, so who am I to complain. The conversation was pretty good too.

The ride home was a blast. Not even long enough for three songs to play, but I was singing at the top of my lungs the whole way, except when I ran out of breath. I'm sure it set dogs to wailing in my passing - my singing voice is not what anyone would call "great."

I'm looking forward to Critical Mass this Friday. I need to make sure I can strap the remainder of that case of Special Ex to the back of my bike to freely distribute.

And hey, I actually got shit done today. Of course, I realized I have more shit to do than I thought, but some emotional momentum was developed...

More laugh out loud...

Again from A Walk In the Woods:

It would be just my luck, of course, to be savaged by an animal with a flea collar and a medical history. I imagined lying on my back, being extravagantly ravaged, inclining my head slightly to read a dangling silver tag that said: "My name is Mr. Bojangles. If found please call Tanya and Vinny at 924-4667."

I think the date was May 9, 2003.

My aunt Susan and uncle Alex used to live in Saddle River, New Jersey, until a year or two ago, when they moved to a penthouse in Fort Lee. A quarter mile from their place was a rather grand garden shop. And by shop, I mean outdoor nursery, complete with ponds, fish, concrete sculptures, plants, etc. You could drive around inside the grounds, it was so big.

Four years ago, I was in town for my cousin Ramin's bachelor party. Ramin is John's older half-brother; his house was maybe a half-mile away from this place. John and I were both staying at Susan and Alex's, his parents' house. The bachelor party was Saturday, but he and I were both in town on Friday, and the things I remember about that day are the way he would be sending email on his Blackberry while driving down busy streets (pretty fucking stupid, in my book) and stopping by this nursery on the way back to his parents' house for some reason I can't remember. Maybe he wanted to buy something for them, who knows.

I hadn't remembered that in all the time since until tonight. The phrase, "Sunfish Pond," in A Walk In the Woods is what brought it to mind, since this nursery had a huge koi pond in the front, which was rather peaceful.

I think the date was May 9, 2003. The next day we played paintball with my uncles and cousins and then had a huge dinner in the basement of some Italian slaughterhouse in Manhattan's old meat district, then to some "gentlemen's club" where I wished I was back in Chicago with my girlfriend at the time. That Sunday was Mother's Day, but my dad had flown back to California, and John had as well. I had a mother's day brunch with my aunts Parvin and Susan, my grandmother, Ramin, Lisa, and Paul. It was gray out, and then I had to fly back to Chicago. Marta and I had a huge fight that week, and she did one of the things which - at that point - I was totally incapable of doing; she didn't give up on our relationship even after I had, and it shocked me in a way I hadn't been before.

Am I becoming an indie rocker?

I've been grooving so much on the Scotland Yard Gospel Choir the last few days. And some of the best records I've been into lately have been by non-punk/post-punk bands. Am I becoming an indie rocker? Is it possible? Well, there's no fucking scene, just a bunch of people standing around.

Who gives a fuck, really? I likes what I likes. When I start pigeon-holing myself is when I start to miss out on the good stuff.

I could really use a good punk record, though. Anthony had Minor Threat and Bad Brains on when we were doing station packing last night, and I was air-guitarring and singing along the whole while.

Fuck.

Fantabulous!

I stole the Alkaline Trio b-sides set Remains from WNUR. It's not like the Rock Show will add the fucking thing anyway. Whether it makes it to the Fast n Loud stacks, we'll see. Half the songs (the best ones) are already there on the various comps they were originally released on.

I'm following a Tripel Karmeliet with Young's Double Chocolate Stout, and for the first time the chocolate grabs me every time I tip my glass up. Fantabulous!

I was just thinking of my tendency to become self-reflectively moody, and what a fucking rut it can put me in. Sometimes being sad is so much easier than being happy. You don't have to worry about becoming more depressed.

Sleep, and the lack thereof.

I've napped an aggregate of two hours today (or more), most recently in the form of a 75 minute nap in the lounge here at school in the quite possibly mistaken belief that I'd get some work done tonight. I've looked at my little to-do list, and I've knocked a fair amount of stuff off it today during the day, but right now apathy is setting in firmly, especially since I have one patient tomorrow and the rest of the day free.

I woke up before the sun again this morning. At least this time, my alarm was set to 5:25am so it wasn't too much earlier, but I need to work through whatever shit in my head is waking me up so early. I did feel like I slept better last night, though. Maybe it's just lingering nervousness from my censure last week.

My 7am craniofacial lecture this morning was on the psychological implications of craniofacial deformities. Aside from the lecturer's voice being audibly nervous (which surprised me, since she's a clinical psychologist), there were several things which struck me despite my struggles to maintain consciousness.

I started thinking about my cousin John and the way he reacted to his illness, and even what I know is mostly inferred from second-hand reports of what he did and said. Depressing thoughts, especially when I'm already feeling tired and a lack of sleep.

Children with congenital disorders are often treated differently by their parents, even siblings - or maybe especially siblings. This rung true with my experience with Kevin and my parents; even my parents admit they treated us differently, with a greater focus on him. The other point that caught my attention was the development of health care anxiety in the kids that are constantly going from one doctor to another for team care of varying problems; I started wondering how much of that Kevin had. Fortunately for him, he was able to have most of his IVs done at home by the same few nurses, and was lucky enough to mostly just visit his pediatrician and immunologist without requiring extensive physical procedures and surgeries. Still, he did occasionally use his predicament as an excuse to lash out against something.

The lecture also mentioned something about kids not knowing how to cope with social problems. No shit. I sure didn't as a kid. Sometimes I still don't, although I think I tend to avoid the preprogrammed responses I see many of my peers make.

Matt was giving me shit about my phone being old today. I told him he's not the first, but planned obsolescence isn't justification for purchasing an unneeded replacement.

Fuck me.

This week is already the longest week ever, and the sun hasn't even come up on Tuesday morning. Fuck me, I don't know how I'm going to get work done.