I am looking for a camera in my apartment.
Not just any camera. But the one that I’m pretty sure that my roommate, Anu’s, parents have installed. To watch us.
And by us. I mean me.
(Quick! Differential diagnosis? GO! GO! GO! Axis II Personality Disorder – Narcissism. Reference delusions. Paranoia.)
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I am, apparently, late in jumping on the Whoopie pie bandwagon.
According to the New York Times, they were “having their moment” in March of 2009 so in many ways this is kind of an E! True Hollywood Story: Where Are They Now? kind of deal.
Yesterday, I went stir crazy.
And it’s not even that I sat in the house all day, more that I was inside my head all day. The neospinothalamic tract of the anterolateral system, the one that senses pain, temperature, and crude touch, was battling it out with the dorsal column-medial lemniscus system (or DC-ML as we in the biz call it), which senses fine touch, vibrations, posture, etc. And then in stomped neuroradiology with its many and varied forms of MRIs and CT scans, forcing itself into the proverbial boxing ring of my inner psyche. (Leave it to radiology to add insult to injury. It always feels the need to add its two cents wherever it is least wanted. And no offense to the radiologists out there. But did I really need one more thing to add to my study sheet?)
It is a crazy world in there, let me tell you.
And so, after the madness of all that, I think you can all understand why I sent out my own version of a “Dear John letter” in the form of a tweet that read. “I want to quit med school.” Simple. Concise.
Suspicious. Because I think we all know that if I were to write a real “Dear John letter”, it would certainly not be able to be contained by the 140 character limit of Twitter. No. It would be prosaic. Lengthy. There would be a nice mix of both run-on and incomplete sentences. Variety is the spice of life, after all. Have to stay true to form.
A few weeks ago, I received a bit of news regarding my “relationship status”.
Or, to be more specific, the lack thereof.
It will be nine years tomorrow since the day that shall not be named.
Almost a decade.
Almost a lifetime.
Almost five minutes.
Welcome to Eats Well With Others, where we take a vegetable-and-cupcake laden approach to life (always with a bit of laughter on the side)!
