Iy makez reel angsty blogz.

I was curious to note I’ve never actually written a proper blog entry.  Not for many a year, anyway.  So this is me doing that.  And procrastinating.  Because pulmonary physical exam can always wait.  Right?

So anyway.  Right around the beginning-ish of 2nd year med am I.  Starting to sound like Yoda, I am.

I guess this post is mostly about how disappointed I am in my lack of realism.  To be fair, my wild imagination is one of the things I like best about myself most of the time, but there’s a time and a place, amiright?

Also, I’m writing this here because I know not a damn soul will read it.  Virtual diary, if you will.

Excuse me as I veer back on topic.  I’ve always considered myself a girl of contradictions.  Big imagination and an artsy streak to match, but excellent with science.  Tall, skinny, white chick, but slightly homely.  Wuss when it comes to paper cuts, stoked about hockey injuries.  Bungee jumped off a bridge, afraid of killing spiders.  You get the idea.

But I’ve really outdone myself this time.  I decided several weeks ago that I was tired of being ignored by so-and-so.  Why bother, they’re not worth my time, etc. etc.  Very reasonable argument.  Made a lot of sense.  When it’s all said and done, it’s probably for the best.  (And there were many, many more cliches to go with that, believe you me.)

Then I messed up.  I’ve often heard people say something passé, like “I simply can’t ignore what I FEEL any longer!! ANGST!!!”  And I’ll be damned if I didn’t think exactly that.  Somewhere in my reasonable, brilliant brain, the Stupid Light got switched on as soon as I got within 5 feet.  Those stupid-ass butterflies.  That pathetic need to impress them.  The ridiculous urge to laugh at everything that comes out of their mouth.  What the hell?

I was furious with myself.  Even a perfectly logical talk with a friend wouldn’t make it go away.  “They’re not good for you because of exhibits A, B, and C.”  “Oh, dahling, I simply can’t WISH my feelings away, LE SIGH.”  What is this, junior high?  How could I possibly justify feeling anything given I’d received exactly nothing for over a year?  Just ridiculous.

So now I’m somewhere awkward, holding them both in contempt and in esteem.  I’d feel better knowing they hate me or at least are creeped out.  But as is, I have no freaking idea.  True, I can’t wish my feelings away, but the mixed messages really aren’t helping.  If you think I’m weird, for God’s sake stop talking to me.  Stop looking at me.  Don’t even breathe in my general direction if you don’t want me to draw far-fetched, not-in-a-million-years conclusions.  Great imagination, remember?

Not really sure why I addressed them directly there.  Must be getting angsty.  Or I’m PMSing.  Either way, that’s prolly my cue to quit ranting and get back to work.  Stupid tactile fremitus…

 – Atalanta