Yes, I'll have the Terry Pratchett with a side of Tolkien, please.

I just got done reading Stone of Tears (again), the second book of what is now an eleven part series called the Sword of Truth by Terry Goodkind. For those of you who are ignorant in these matters, I urge you - proceed to your nearest bookstore and purchase Wizard's First Rule. If you are unsatistfied with the contents, I will refund you the full price of the book, no questions asked.*
This renewed desire to read all things fantastical and magic was born after July 21st, (which I am sure you know to be Harry Potter Day) when I consumed Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. What should I read next? I am left with a lingering desire to immerse myself in lands filled with mythical beasts and the continued battle of good versus evil (may the good spirits protect us). Perhaps I will go ahead and buy Blood of the Fold (again) after having left most of the books half way across the world.
Or should I venture forth into unknown territory in order to feed the beast within? I do not wish to be disappointed...the buying of an atrocious book is a grave error that cannot be undone.
Perhaps a little science fiction (can you say Asimov?) to whet the palate. Maybe a short foray into the Dark Tower series for a little comfort-read. Then a sweet treat of a Discworld novel. So many books, so little time...

I need something to read. Something new.


*Let it be known that the above mentioned statement is null and void. deadrocketcow will not be responsible for any claim or request of refund be it in money, store credit, or objects of equivalent or lesser value. Sucker!

No more music

He was sitting there, as he had always sat there, stooped and grey, in his faded yellow armchair, with his hands folded neatly in his lap. The light from the faux chandelier turned his carefully combed strands of hair into gleaming wires of hair gel. With his meticulously pressed shirt, trousers and spit shined shoes, he could have been a walking ad for personal cleaniness.
Softly, in the background, a record was playing. The same record that had been playing for the past 7 years since Maggie had been taken away pressed on and delivered its soothing melodies. In the dimly lit room, with the chairs around the table arranged just so and the framed pictures on the mantlepiece lovingly positioned, the record could have played forever in an endless loop. Time, it seemed, within these four walls, had stood still.
What had become of those people whose pictures were so lovingly polished every night without fail under the dining room light? Who were they, these ghosts that carried within their every cell half a copy of their lost father's dna? And where were they now? Where were they?
She sighed. He must have fallen asleep after his evening meal. She reached forward to clear the table. The bowl of soup in front of him, however, was cold and untouched.
Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a voice told her what she already knew, but she had to confirm. With two fingers on the side of his neck she was sure.
In the sparse and scrupulously cleaned room where he had played his records all those years, she lifted the stylus off the spinning record and silence filled the air. There would be no more music.

Classes? Yesterday's headlines

Yesterday, at 10:45am, I put down my pen, got my stuff together, handed in my exam and walked out the door and into freedom.
Well...it was really two doors and two floors, but who's counting?
Ladies and gentlemen. In as official a tone as I possibly can manage of an un-official matter (it's not official till I am clad in cap and gown) I do declare that my undergraduate education is over.
Now don't be jealous. You'll have your moment. In time. Smirk.
And yet, although it has barely been 24hrs since the discovery of this freedom, I find I am already bored. I guess studying for class does have its uses.
So...what to do? Should I go invade the library of all its books for one last time? Take up residence at the Omac and bid a slow farewell to the cybex weight machines? Or discover my inner party whore?
I think I'll flip a coin. Or a rubik's cube, on account of having more than two options.

Can you flip a rubik's cube?

I kill with my heart

I do not aim with my hand; he who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father.
I aim with my eye.

I do not shoot with my gun; he who shoots with his gun has forgotten the face of his father.
I shoot with my mind.

I do not kill with my gun; he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father.
I kill with my heart.

-Gunslinger's Creed

Bring it

I want to go to Medical School. As in, right now. I want to take all those juicy biology related classes and pour that sweet information right into my head.
Spring break is over and I have about three more weeks of classes before reading period and then finals. When my last exam is taken, I will then have two and a half weeks of waiting to graduate. During this time, I will probably rip my hair from the roots in fits of boredom or go slowly mad. Or both. It will suck big time.
On a lighter note, next week I have a chance to visit two of the Medical Schools I am interested in. Hopefully this will help me make up my mind, seeing as how I can't go to three Medical Schools.
I am a little sad about leaving Brown. After all, I have been here for 4 years and have come to know this place well. It will be strange not to wake up in the morning and head to the OMAC. Or, not be able to sneak food into the Sci Li anymore. And what about that Ratty food? I always talked badly about those veggie burgers, but who's going to make them like they do?
In the mean time, I will write my philosophy paper and revise my English essay. The theme in my English class for the rest of the semester is Literary Journalism. I have been writing about women in Neurosurgery (of course) and how Neurosurgery is such a male dominated field. Browsing through all the negative and sometimes frightening literature on the choices women have to make in an effort to pursue this as a career only made me more excited. I have been waiting all my life for this stage in my education. I say, bring it.

Ambulance rides and hospitals

The week before last was an awful week, mainly because I got sick on Sunday and missed about a week of classes, as well as work - that's half a pay check for me this week, boo hoo. It was super cool, though, to be taken to the hospital in an ambulance and as I lay there answering the same questions over and over again (are you on any medication, do you have any allergies, when did you last eat?) I couldn't help but think to myself....I will be asking questions like those some day, and on top of that....those sirens sound like they're awfully far away - I wonder if ambulances are sound proofed?
I was wheeled into the hospital and was struck by how much equipment there was everywhere. Tubes and flashing-red-light-things on wheels and contraptions on the walls that beeped every few seconds. It was awesome. I stared hard at them in an attempt to fathom their wonders. Reveal your secrets! I yelled, but in my head, careful not to add delerium to my list of ailments.
I was examined by a 4th year Med student and missed a fat opportunity to attack her with questions because I was so out of it. After a chest x-ray, a life-scarring immersion to bring my fever down, more proding and being force fed medicines and cold water (to lower my heart rate - the doctor kept asking me if I was nervous), it was time to leave. I smiled and said thankya big big, that bed was positioned in such a way as to give me the worst lower back discomfort ever in the least possible amount of time.
I got better towards the end of the week, after taking medicine every four hours and sleeping all day, so that I went to class on Friday. Of course, life would have it that I had a mid-term the next Tuesday with just enough time to get better but not enough time to study much.
And even worse, I couldn't go to the gym for a week, and when I did venture back, I was weaker than your 97 yr old grandpa. I couldn't even do half an hour of cardio, for crying out loud.
Now that Spring break has begun, I can catch up on all the work I need to do. Life is good, yes?

At the Gym: That man in red

He saunters in, geared in his fiery traffic light red ensemble that only seems to accentuate his inner all systems go attitude. With his matching headband, sneakers and towel he makes his way to the fitness corner, goal in mind.
Months of hours spent sweating it out at the Olney-Margolies Athletic Center has given him a self assurance mere mortals can only dream of. With the practiced ease that can come only from hard earned experience, he adjusts the seat on the stationary bicycle to his desired height. Nonchalantly, he places his cd player on the surface designed for such personal effects and hoists himself up on the seat. It's time to get down to business.
He selects his program, his legs positioned and at the ready. A final check with his cd player ensures the correct playlist is selected, so he eases his way into a 5 minute warm up.
With his arms pumping purposefuly at his sides, and a sweet rhythm in the making, he could cycle his way to the moon and back.
His receding hair line and slightly paunchy midsection might be a testament to his age, but boy, does he work that bicycle! After a half hour, it seems the playlist on his cd player has come to an end. Without a break in stride, cool as a cucumber, he whips out a fresh cd from the pouch slung on the handlebars and does the old switcheroo.
45 minutes later, it is time for the next phase of his workout. With complete indifference, he makes his way through sets of seated leg curls, 100 pound bench presses and lat pull-downs. It is only the determined set to his jaw that exposes the intensity of his workout.
Home stretch and it's cool down time. Unconcerned with the stares he is receiving from the ellipticals (one of which is mine), he half walks, half jogs his way around the track. He then strolls over to the exercise mat where he proceeds to twist himself into pretzel like stretches. Feel that burn baby, and stretch yourself flexible.
Coat in hand, and one last swig from the monstrosity of a jug that is his water bottle means he is done, thankyou very much.
Until tomorrow.

I entreat you - justice must be served

Last night calamity befell. I am speaking, of course, of being unable (after a long and tortuous week-long wait) to watch House.
Yes. I agree. This was indeed a dire situation. Before you rush out with your hacksaw in a furious bid to dispense justice on the Computing and Information Services at Brown that delivers tv to my computer, let me explain.
After a busy and productive day of class, library and work, this noble and efficient Brown student came back to her apartment at around 7pm. With two hours to spare before House was to begin, she dilligently began work at her computer. Of course, there are innumerable practical definitions for the word 'work'. Browsing through facebook, for instance - the proper alingment of thumb and forefinger upon the mouse must be achieved to ensure accurate and efficient perusal. Let us not forget that mind stimulating endeavour that is the instant messenger conversation. To what level of simple-minded thinking would we stoop without such intellectual pursuits?
As such, I was working at my computer, carefully noting the time as it crept forward to the anticipated hour. With incredible foresight and responsiblity I opened the appropriate web-page at precisely 8:15pm and lauched the program.
Imagine my surprise and horror when I beheld such an atrocity as no human should be made to suffer. The screen was frozen! A single image of a popular day-time court judge was etched on the screen like a chewed wad of juicy fruit gum caught in your little sister's hair.
Even more diabolical - to my utmost dismay, it was only Fox that was afflicted this way.
I closed and re-opened the program. I switched channels. I opened a new web-page. Alas, my efforts were in vain. The universe was against me and I would not win.
So you see; my day, my week - my peace of mind was utterly ruined. How long the week that stretches before me until the next House. How cruel, how unusual the punishment I must endure.
Yes. Go forth and dispense that justice.

The Way Things Are

I have had an epiphany.
This epiphany was born out of a gradual realization about The Way Things Are. For one thing, clothes are meant to fit people. Not the other way around. To say that my body is un-proportional is ludicrous. To what standard am I comparing myself? And who set that standard? People come in a myriad of shapes. No one shape is 'the one'.
My lower body may be as much two sizes larger than my upper body, but this does not mean I do not fit clothes. Clothes do not fit me. So what if I have to buy low rise jeans because a 'normal' pair will be too big at the waist? So I bought my first suit with the pants a larger size than the jacket - big deal. No tears will be shed here.
And who says that all females must wear heels? To be sure, they look nice on many people, but come on now. Since when did heels become the epitome of all that is feminine? Don't get me wrong, I like the way heels look - even on myself. I just won't wear them. And I won't feel bad about it, because I will wear what I like to wear. Sneakers and more sneakers until I am old and gray.
This includes little clutch bags and purses. Perhaps I ought to add excessive make-up and certain types of jewellery; diamonds and other such precious stones. What is this madness that has possessed so many women everywhere? Could there be some deep unfathomable value to a diamond (besides its price) that I just don't get? Do diamonds have souls?
Because some women go nuts over diamonds. A whole industry worth of Valentine's (speak of the devil) and Christmas gifts is dependent on the ecstasy that grips a woman's heart when she receives one. How can one love diamonds? They're just expensive shiny stones, equally as good as any other piece of jewellery.
I'd rather have a Stephen King book.

Last Semester

Compared to junior year, being a senior is a breeze. Even the flurry of Medical School Interviews last semester was filled with happy moments thinking about myself as a Med student. I enjoyed the interviews; they were chances to prove to the schools why I would make a fantastic Neurosurgeon.
I remember how it was to think constantly, fervently, from the moment I woke up in the morning to the moment I lay my head on my pillow at night about The Mcat. Every single event that semester was based around it. It was either 'before the Mcat' or 'after the Mcat'.
I thought it would never end. It was an insurmountable roadblock towards entry into Medical School that kept on going. I remember being anxious, feeling exhilarated when my practice exam score would go up, depressed and angry when I plateaued. Every hour was spent calculating how best to study the physical sciences, how I could read through a set of passages and have time left over to check my work.
I spent days agonizing over what the perfect schedule would be and how I could utilise time spent eating looking over flash cards and learning formulae. I amassed huge amounts of test papers, questions and full length exams. Every inch of my floor was covered in test material. Nothing else mattered. My dreams were Mcat. My goal was the Mcat. I lived and breathed it.
And now, just like that, it is over. Test day came and went before I could take a preparing breath and all that is left of the Mcat is a memory.
When I hear people talking about getting ready for the Mcat, about how worried they are, about how they just have to get that fantastic score. I smile. And I remember.
(Class list, fellas.)

EL18: Introduction to Creative Nonfiction
BI30: Endocrinology
PL50: Moral Philosophy
BN196: Independent Study (Fragile X Syndrome research)

Food on your table

When I was in Zambia, I worked at a clinic in the laboratory. I helped the lab technician enter all his results onto the computer (because they were going paperless donchya know) and what took him through the afternoon when the going was slow, I did over my lunch break. He said the cold weather made his fingers stiff. I believed that like my name is Gertrude. And it's not. Anyway, every so often we had to do tests on people's stool and such. You know - samples of urine, blood and other bodily fluids, basically robbing the already embarassed patient of his/her remaining shred of dignity. It's like that. If you wonder why six meals a day (not counting snacks) isn't doing you justice, chances are, your intestines have company, and unlike good guests, they do not want to leave.
What was really interesting though, was seeing how the reminder that no matter how rich and important you thought you were, no matter how fancy a car your drove and how loud your heels clacked when you sauntered into the clinic, even you were unfortunate enough to have a digestive tract with two openings. The patients would come into the clinic, stride nonchalantly to the window to deposit their unthinkables and act like they hadn't a care in the world, but I knew it. They knew it, the whole world knew it. In a minute, his/her most private of substances, most intimate of materials would be exposed for the entire lab to see, and his/her decency would be stripped away to nothingness. You could see it in the slight curl at the end of their smile, in the way they clutched at the plastic and paper wrapped, foil ensheathed bottle as though willing themselves into oblivion. In the panic lurking at the corner of their eyes that screamed "Yes, yes - it's true! Even I have a rectum! Oh, the horror..."
And when they came back for their results, amid the polite handshakes, the carefully worded greetings, the mortification lingered. "Oh yes...what is it I am here for? My crap? The bottle of fecal matter I deposited at your window? Quite forgot, really. Slipped my mind. Yes, smile at me and tell me I have Giardia. Make idle chit chat with me as though you didn't smell just how putrid my excrement stank, you sick, sick lab technician. Yeah, grin at me as you prescribe a course of deworming. Just remember, buddy, my anal discharge puts food on your table.

Grrr

I want to be asleep right now. Instead I am wide awake and I keep getting out of bed to check my mail. This time I logged into Blogger and now I am here, writing this silly post. I have an exam tomorrow, I woke up early this morning (well, relatively so) and justice declares I should be asleep right now. In fact - counting from the very hour I slid between my sheets - I should have been asleep for three hours now.
If I hear the phone in the apartment upstairs ring one more time, I swear, I will climb through the plumbing and have at them with a hacksaw. We're not all done with finals, sugar. And what is that shkr, shkr noise I keep hearing right outside my door? What is this? Is the carpet in the hall rubbing itself onto my door?
Sweet sleep, why do you elude me so?
I'll be good, I promise.

Retribution

I am so utterly alone, and so completely desperate. My heart beats, but it is only to feed the guilt festering in the blackened vestige of my soul. I am damned. I see it in their eyes, in the way they half glance at me, in the way their eyes refuse to take me in. Am I so abhorrent, am I so beyond redemption that even the maggots deny my existence? Please, scream filth at me, burn labels into my flesh, throw the blood at my feet. Only, do not look at me that way.
Ye Gad, divine being, agent of karma; for what it is worth, I am sorry. Unborn child, fruit of my womb, humanity, I beg of you, let me claim self dignity before I make retribution.
If it was selfishness that drove me, I repay it with self-sacrifice. If it was pride that possessed me to think only of my circumstances, then surely I have re-paid in tears a thousand fold. With every breath, you, society, have wrought vengence. With every thought, I have received that vengence, and I accept it gladly. I will tell you this - at that moment, at that selfish moment - my very future was at stake. And so, I threw the dice, I played my hand and I let guilt take residence in my soul. Now, I will give life for life.
Yet, I must believe that there is hope. I must believe this, if only for my sanity. If only to make this act, this cleansing of soul, acceptable.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now.
And at the hour of death.

November 8th, 2006

This morning, just like any other. Gym, class and lots of lab work. This evening, just like any other. American Sign Language class at Rhode Island School for the Deaf, and studying for my Neuroanatomy exam tomorrow. And yet - a fact about me has changed. Furtively, things have been changing since November 8th, 2005. Changing behind my back. And I have been excluded from this change. Until now.

Is it true, I am no longer 21? Is it true?

Fear and trembling

Today I had a migraine. No, not a simple headache - a full blown migraine. Having had my first one toward the end of the summer, I know what I am talking about. This time I definitely recognized the signs; inability to focus (I was happily studying Neuroanatomy), blurred vision and extreme sensitivity to light. Quickly downing an Imitrex did no help, the pain came on at full strength. And when I say full strength, my friend, I mean quite literally, Full Strength. Two Imitrex (don't tell, okay?) and four exedrin later, I was on my dorm room floor, pleading for mercy. I actually called Brown's Emergency Medical Service, but changed my mind mid-ring. After all, I knew what it was.
I am sane now. But I await the next one with fear and trembling.

The whole kit and caboodle

In the Beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

A statement so simple, and yet so utterly profound. This is the ultimate moment of inception, a time so far back into the past as to render meaningless any explanations of time as we know it. It is not, 'Millenia upon millenia' or even 'Soon after the Big Bang'. It needs no elaboration. It requires no permission. It is simply, 'In the Beginning'.
As to who is in charge? The answer is quite simple really - God. There you have it.
And God, in his unequivocal omnipotence, made all that is and would ever be. He created, ladies and gentlemen, the whole kit and caboodle.

That guy

That guy, he
works out at the gym 24/7
lifting heavy weights
and so he compensates for his height

That girl, she
told me
the only reason I am here
my fathers, my father's fathers
own New England
let me show her my 4.0

Those people, they
look at me
when
I'm with my significant other
and they
whisper to themselves
unmentionable relations

That lady, she
told me today
drinking water
helps you
lose weight faster
who said I wanted to lose weight?

That one, told me
I shouldn't be here
affirmative action

That person
looked at my tray
devoid of meat
you think you can save the world
one plate at a time?

Neuro stupidity

Q: What did the Stimulant do to the Neuron after their wedding?

A: He carried her over the threshold.

4th year at Malory towers uhh, Brown University

The year has come. By this, ladies and gentlemen, I mean Senior year (notice the capital). Classes, work, a great apartment, research and 3 awesome friends. How could I ask for more? Well...there is the issue of Medical School. I would like to get that congratulations-you-have-been-accepted letter in the mail sometime. Now wouldn't that be something? I bet it would. Are you listening Johns Hopkins?
And before you rip my hair out (hold your daym horses), here is the anticipated, long awaited class list:

EL91: How to read a poem
SI40: American Sign Language
BN165: Structure of the Nervous System
BN293: From Neurons to Perception
BN195: Independent Study (Fragile X Syndrome research)

Isn't life great?

in a flash of inspiration i found the words, and then i thought about it and the words were no longer there
they slipped through the fingers of my mind, escaping permanence, escaping expression
but i want to tell you, i need to tell you
oh, and i can feel my heart beating and the confused thoughts tumble through my mind and when i try when i try and try and stop them
they skirt around the edges
possessing me
do you know what i mean?
do you?