My old friend

You weren't expecting that, were you? Well, it's true. Prozac is an old friend of mine. We first became acquainted during my junior year of college and were friends for about 6 months. I broke it off amicably (I can only speak for myself). Although we have not seen each other since, I have no hard feelings and actually credit Prozac for teaching me some of the hardest lessons of my life. So, as I would also say to some old boyfriends (but only in retrospect), thanks.

Why am I telling any of you this? Well, truthfully, I don't know. I started blogging again because I love to write. Someday, I would like to write fiction, maybe something short and eventually something long. To be a good writer, in my opinion, one needs to be honest and open. This blog is my exercise in openness. I always hold back on paper. I don't want to give everything away, perhaps because there isn't much to give away. Do you ever have that feeling? That whatever mystery you have can be divulged with a shot of tequila and a double-spaced-Courier-font-size-12-with-2"-margins page? Or perhaps I'm afraid people will see me for the neurotic, bipolar, emotional pessimist that I truly am.

I don't know. I am having one of those days I knew would come. Like migraines, my mood swings come with auras, except that my aura is the memory of predictable, practiced unhappiness. I was happy on Monday but I bet 5 bucks that the feeling wouldn't last more than 36 hours. Because it never does. I owe myself 5 bucks. Nah. Don't waste your pity on me. I'll be back in good spirits probably by tomorrow.

So what gives? Do I need to get on a mood stabilizer again? I think the main reason I started Prozac to begin with was because my sadness wasn't circumstantial. I was just inexplicably sad. I cried a lot, I slept a lot, and I couldn't stop eating. I gained about 10 lbs, which people find very hard to believe, but it's true. I was fat (which came first, fatness or sadness?....good question). I felt lonely and undeserving, which I still occasionally feel now. I'm waiting for God to strike me down for continuing to forget my good fortune.

Anyway, this leads me to my next thought, which is that perhaps my moodiness is due to circumstances, hence my unwillingness to get back on Prozac. I think, well actually, I know that this is an accurate assessment. I'm pretty anxious nowadays. On January 17 I will find out where I will be spending 3 out of the next 4 years of my life. While this exciting, it's also very scary, as you can imagine. And yes. I'm kinda lonely. Being single has its fun moments, but I wouldn't mind finding someone who is absolutely crazy about me, and more importantly, someone I am crazy about. I don't want to settle, which I have a tendency to do when these moods set in. I recklessly try to fill that void with the excitement and unknown of a boy, who is neither that unknowable nor exciting. It all comes down to what you can convince yourself of. My sister tells me that smart people are the best rationalizers. She is right. We (YES, WE) allow ourselves to get away with all kinds of bad behavior.

Anyway, what was I talking about? I forget. But I feel better now. Maybe blogging is the new Prozac.

Things change (but basically they stay the same).

For those of you keeping (close) track of my life, you'll notice that the picture on the left looks familiar. That's because it was taken about 9 months ago when I still had my drinking problem. Karin thinks double-fisting is an improvement on triple-fisting, but she doesn't know that if someone had bought me a third drink, it would have certainly made the picture.

So in all seriousness, I picked the title of this blog based on this series of pictures, but it also happens to work very well with recent events in my life. The picture on the right was taken on Friday night at my birthday party. Since I do not have social gatherings (or birthdays) very often, I invited just about anyone I knew who would: a) come; b) not ruin the party. So you can imagine that it was an eclectic bunch of people, picked from many different times in my life. And, I'm happy to say, I still like all these people and no one ruined the party. I caught up with a lot of old friends and one old "more than friend" this weekend. I've done a lot of thinking, therefore, about moving on, fresh starts, the past, and what is yet to come.

I used to be so afraid of the future. Of course it still scares me a little, but somehow I have been able to let go of a lot of the anxiety that I used to hold for the unknown. Many people I know are able to do this at a very young age, and I think the common denominator for these people is faith. Now, I don't believe in God. I'm not even spiritual, whatever that REALLY means. I inherited this trait from my mom, who lives by her good deeds. I was, however, raised Catholic. I received communion but didn't make it to Confirmation. My parents got lazy, and frankly, I thank them for it. I never felt at place in church. It either speaks to you or it doesn't. You either buy it, or you don't. Even at the impressionable younge age of 4, I just didn't buy it.

I realize that when you don't have faith, you lack a very important coping mechanism. When bad things happened, I immediately internalized. I never attributed my misfortunes to fate or God's bigger picture. By internalizing, you actually beat yourself up quite a bit. You never stop seeing things as your fault. This actually hasn't changed that much, except that I don't beat myself up anymore. Because I'm not anyone's or my own punching bag. And seriously, whatever it is, it's probably not such a big deal anyway.

So anyway, back to my original point. As I've gotten older, I've been able to let go of my anxiety and it's been truly liberating. My academic life has been so well planned out that I thought my personal life had to be the same way. Well, it doesn't. WHO KNEW?? I'm very excited and feel very fortunate to have made this realization before I was tied down to a life that somehow just happened to me. I feel that there is more left for me to do as an individual and I'm finally acquiring the means, both financial and emotional, to do it all. And while my idea of "ideal life" may not be shared by anyone else, I'm still in love with it. Because I finally don't care what you think :oP

Mommy's back!

Wow. I really missed my mom and my brother and I'm very happy that they are back from India (with goodies). In all truth, I haven't seen Roey awake yet. The kid is seriously jet-lagged and keeps disappearing to a new bed every time he is (forcibly) woken.

I have very good news. I have just been fed dal, rice, and chutney by my mom, who for some reason felt extremely guilty for leaving me alone in the house with an empty fridge so she promptly whipped up some dinner. YUM! She never really feels guilty for not cooking so I'm not sure what gives. Dare I speculate that she missed me?? Could be.

She also brought me new accessories including evening bags and jewels. Have a look at my new bags. Aren't they beautiful?!

Well hopefully, I'll have something to wear them to in the near future (hint - if some very lucky guy needs a dinner date to a fancy party or just wants to date someone, I'm your girl).

Okay, time for a second round of dinner. Don't be jealous, just be happy for me ;0)

Happenings at 328 West Ivy Hill

This is where I live. Well, not really. I don't actually live on the golf course but this is the view from my porch as taken at 7:45 this morning. Sometimes I wonder if a view like this can be real. It's even more breathtaking in person. Doesn't it seem straight out of Anne of Green Gables? Too bad I've never been able to frolic on the grass to complete the daydream. What you can't see is the "no trespassing" sign somewhere over there.

Last night, Thales was a bit restless and I couldn't figure out why. He had been fed and walked, and he pooped and peed, but he just kept whining. I relented and gave him Binky, which worked to calm him down. Isn't this just the cutest thing ever?

Well apparently, if you're Thales, this is what you do to things you love.

I knew it was a bad idea but eh, whatever. He had fun for about two minutes. Funeral services were held this morning for Binky the bear. He now lies in the trash at the back of the house.

You ain't got no alibi

Yesterday, I spontaneously (eh, eh? you like my choice of word here?) went over to my friend Rishi's apartment for Thanksgiving since my family members were either in India or in a hospital (not sick, just working). After stuffing ourselves with a Whole Foods pre-prepared Thanksgiving meal (delicious, by the way) we all drank some ugly juice. Okay, okay. So there is no such thing, but we did have a little fun with Rishi's mac, which has a camera that worsens one's good and bad features. It's a very egalitarian camera. This sounds noble in theory, but in practice is just plain hideous. Behold, our portraits. Warning: Prepare yourself for FUGLINESS. Some of these pictures are best seen on an empty stomach.

In other news, I would also like to report that I went running today, which effectively absolves not only yesterday's sinful eating, but that which will undoubtedly ensue in the coming hours. FYI. Also, I am officially addicted to guitar hero. I am going to ask Roey to ask mom to buy it for us. If you haven't tried it, maybe you shouldn't. I'm not sure you will be able to handle the extreme heroicism you'll ultimately attain. I couldn't. And I save lives. Everyday. This is if you count buying yourself shoes that you "just can't live without" as saving a life. Which I do.

Giving thanks

I am alone for thanksgiving. My family is in India for my cousin's wedding, so I have been temporarily orphaned, which I think I will like....temporarily. Don't get me wrong, I love my little brother and I love catering to his every need. However, checking long-division HW was not only getting tedious but also a bit embarassing. It's been a while since I've had to do math (thank god) and I need a break.

I just arrived home a couple hours ago from several days of annoying travel, and I'm staying put until after Thanksgiving. On the drive home from Boston I was thinking of the many reasons why I was feeling thankful, and therefore, happy.

I am thankful because:

1) I spent a lovely weekend with Karin. I am thankful for such a good friend who I can drink wine with at 6PM on a Saturday night and pass out with two hours later, effectively ruining our plans to smooch strangers at a party.

2) I met some very nice, new people this weekend. This is always a pleasant surprise.

3) I received a standing ovation by the passengers on my flight back from Virginia on Friday. I volunteered to move to the back of the nose-heavy Embraer jet so that the plane could take off. I later learned that the air-hostess actually wanted one of the many fat men I was sitting with to move since I do not weigh enough to shift the balance of a mid-size jet. In any case, you can't take back a standing O. What's done is done.

4) After a long and annoying drive, I was given a warm welcome by my doggies who are always joyful and thankful for me. The feeling is mutual.

5) The orgasmic boots are now in my possession (see entry dated 10/19/07). I am thankful that they actually look as cool as they do on the zappos website and that I don't have to buy a whole new wardrobe to wear them. Turns out, my wardrobe is not as terribly out-dated as I thought it was.

6) I am thankful that I won't have to wear a suit very often in my life. I really hate suits. I don't care how smart they make me look, they are yucky.

7) I am thankful that some people read my blog and actually like it. It makes me want to write more and I am always happier when I'm writing. Thank you, kind readers, for indirectly making me happy. I love you too.

One reason Long Island is as bad as you've heard it is

I hate knocking the town where I grew up. I really do. I was very lucky to have excellent public schools, a great library, beautiful parks, etc. It was an almost perfect scenario.

However, the people in this town DRIVE ME NUTS! I won't generalize and say that all Long Islanders are bad (just the ones I've met) but all it takes is one irritating encounter to solidify an existing prejudice. The implication here is that I've had many irritating encounters. And yes, I may be slightly more irritable than the average person and I'm sure yoga or meditation would help me. But I'm telling you, the bitches in this town would rouse the Dalai Lama.

What is this scenario I'm alluding to?

The other day I was in Trader Joe's, which is about 2 miles from my house (just to show you how close I live to the epicenter of meanness). I literally had two cartons of soymilk and a bag of chips. Count it. How many items is that? Three, right? So I'm waiting patiently in line for about 10 minutes. Finally, I get to the head of the line.

Then, this idiot bitch (yes, an idiot bitch) comes up to me with a loaf of bread, takes a short breather from her obnoxiously loud cell phone conversation to ask me if she can "just pay for this loaf of bread." SERIOUSLY?? She was serious. It took all I had not to slap her across the face with my bag of chips. Instead, I gathered myself, mustered my most incredulous look and politely told her that "I just have three things." I know, so weak. But in my defense, I was still reeling from her question when I thought of my "oh snap!" comeback.

You know, the incident itself is not that bad. The lady backed off. And so as not to give her an ounce of credit, this is probably not due to some realization on her part of how idiotic she sounded, but because she had to continue her very important phone call (important, judging by the volume of her conversation). I was offended on so many levels that it took me a good 10 minutes in the car of processing and deep breathing to understand why. Nothing is ever as simple as it sounds. Her question sounded simple and it had a simple answer. No. It's what came after, in my brain, that is complex. Here is a sampling:

1) Why me? I know, this sounds a bit dramatic. But seriously. Why did she pick me? Did my slobbish outfit and my slouching make me look vulnerable and compliant? Did I look like I would be easy to bully?

2) What makes her think her time is more important than mine? I mean, she doesn't know that I'm in week 2 of my 3-month vacation. For all she knows, I could have two kids waiting for me at home, or something equally important to get back to.

3) Supermarket etiquette states that you do not proclaim from the hilltops that you only have one item and demand, fine, ask, to pay first. You must be invited, by the sympathetic customer in front of you, to skip the line. That's how it works, people. Deal with it.

4) And finally, I didn't let the woman go ahead of me. But while I was paying, I found myself guiltily rushing to bag and pay for my items. She had won. She bullied me into feeling like the asshole.

And this, my friends, is why I hate Long Island. Sound ridiculous? Perhaps. But it's a war out there, people, and you can either fight, back down, or move to Brooklyn.

Don't read this if you're in a remotely good mood.

I'm experiencing a touch of self-loathing today. It's one of those days when I'm annoyed at myself for the few times in life when I've been careless and reckless. I'm especially mad because I would probably do it all over again. Like, today.

You know, there is nothing wrong with spontanaeity. As a word it has a very positive connotation, and as an attribute I hear guys really like it in women. Why then, does it just sound to me like the more attractive step-sister of impulsiveness? For some reason, my "spontanaeity" only brings about countless hours wasted in self-doubt and self-loathing. What am I talking about? I'm not yet ready to share the specifics, but they're not that interesting anyway.

I'm worse than my dogs. At least they learn that pooping in their cage annoys them more than it does me. Don't shit where you live. Not that I've done anything as remotely interesting as shitting where I live, but walking into a situation, eyes wide open, knowing it may cause some emotional damage sounds a bit like shitting where you live. Metaphorically speaking.

This post is boring me. I am tempted to cut it short because I'm sure no one but Karin has made it past the first paragraph. Thanks for the support, K, and everyone else, excellent choice. I'm glad you've decided to spend your time more productively. Say, by scratching your bum.

God, I really hate me today. Not only have I not done one important thing, but I've eaten way too many cookies, I did not exercise, I did not walk the dog, I did not floss, and I'm just sitting here, wallowing uselessly. I know, I know. People are dying somewhere else. I am very lucky that I'm not one of those people. And yes, there are more important things to think about right now, even in my own pathetic life. Like the fact that I'm interviewing for residency. I should be very happy that I even have interviews considering how grossly underqualified I feel.

Apparently, instead of being positive, I prefer to just sit here and hate myself some more. Yep. That sounds like a good plan to me. Feel free to try to cheer me up and come prepared for failure. And bring cookies.

And by the way, if I have to hear anymore from the mutual masturbation that is Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, I might shit a brick. Seriously? Those two need to stop being quoted. "She inspires me." Ugh. Gag me first and then get a life.

Identity crisis

Ok. So I'm not really having an identity crisis, but my facebook profile picture is.

I have never been able to settle on a picture for more than a day. My record is about 2 weeks or so. I am compulsive about changing it.

My profile pictures make a liar out of me. There. I said it.

In my pictures, I am usually smiling, which, if you know anything about me, you know this is not how it is. My pictures take place in social settings, which I typically hate. I am often well-dressed, wearing make-up, without glasses, although in reality I can pretty reliably be found curled up in a ball on the couch, in sweatpants and glasses, watching the food network or animal planet.

Like everyone else, I want to put my best foot forward, hence the glamor shot profile pics. But perhaps I'm also just trying to be optimistic. Maybe looking at those pictures of myself will inspire me to smile more, look my best, get out of the house and act like a "normal" 26-year-old.

I dunno. Until I figure it all out, m&m swathi is staying up there.

P.S. Don't worry, I am not depressed. I have nothing to be depressed about. In fact, at this moment I feel incredibly, incredibly lucky.

I am what I wear (unfortunately)

The contents of my closet is a fairly accurate metaphor for my life. There is a lot of old, not a lot of new, and so much more I desire.

I am not sure how I became the person who has a closet full of clothing but nothing to wear. In high school and college, I had much less, but I managed to pull something together and make it work (at least I think I did). Now, I spend hours in front of the mirror only to leave the house self-conscious and unhappy.

How does the person I'd like to be dress? For instance, take my current dilemma.

Exhibit A - The shoes I have been lusting after for the past two weeksExhibit B - The shoes I wear everyday
Exhibit C - The shoes I'm about to buyWhy is this a dilemma, you ask? Well, as you can see I'm stuck in a kind of purgatory. I own shoes I don't love but are really, really comfortable (B), I lust for shoes I cannot possibly buy at the moment (A), and I'm about to buy shoes that I absolutely abhor and that have NO redeeming qualities, i.e. comfort (exhibit C, for those of you that are blind).

It turns out, I never did life arithmetic. It never occurred to me that at 26 (rounding up, 27), I'd still be single, in school, and with not a cent to my name. I assumed, quite ignorantly, that I'd be a bit more autonomous, something like my own mom at my age or a jet-setting twenty-something. For the most part (I use the word "most" very lightly), I don't have any major issues with my life as it is right now. I just hope that I have a bit more evolving left to do. Until that time comes, it seems a bit foolish for me to buy the clothes and shoes of a twenty-something jet setter or of whomever I'm supposed to be. I am just not that woman (yet).

P.S. I think I have to get the orgasmic shoes. I might die without them.

Life is magic

This is one of the best commercials I've seen in a long time. Additionally, it's set to Regina Spektor's song, "Music Box," which you should all listen to in entirety. I've been watching it on repeat. It has managed to fill me with joy and wonder.

J.C. Penney. Who knew?

An officer and a gentleman

I’m watching this movie right now for the first time. I cannot comprehend, for the life of me, how I have not yet seen this movie. It’s supposed to be a classic, right? There are several reasons why I am loving this movie right now.

1) Richard Gere is brutally hot.

2) Mayo is damaged goods. Translation: he is brutally hot.

3) Mayo knows how to mis-treat and then treat a woman.

4) This movie sticks to the general theme of, “hey, you NEVER know.” I like this theme because my life has become boring and predictable.

5) Men in uniforms. I think surgeons in scrubs are hotter, but this is acceptable. Beggars can’t be choosers.

6) There is some solid romance in this movie. And when I say solid, I mean like Pretty Woman solid. That Richard Gere is one hot piece of ass.

7) Mayo the wop.

8) Love lifts us up where we belong. It’s true, I suppose.

It's time to get real about a couple things.

Today I started a required rehabilitation medicine selective at St. Vincent's Hospital in Manhattan. Our first day was full of lectures and we learned about muscle groups and stress/strain injuries. All very interesting stuff when you have attempted in the past to get in shape and couldn't quite understand where all the pain came from. Turns out, I have had multiple bouts of tendinitis from weight bearing exercises that were a bit over my head. I thought my muscles were just sore, which is why this is comforting information.

One very interesting fact I learned is that, after the first week of lifting weights, if you start noticing an improvement in your ability to lift, your muscles have not actually "strengthened," a.k.a. hypertrophied (this usually takes 4-6 weeks). Rather, your brain has become better at coordinating the lifting. INTERESTING!

Throughout the lecture, my thoughts went off onto multiple tangents, bringing me to my own experience with weight lifting, which was a completely futile effort. To prove my point, the following is a picture of my arm after weight lifting and drinking protein shakes for two months in preparation for my sister's wedding.


Notice the complete lack of tone in this arm. The other arm looks similar. I would have put an average sized/toned arm next to it for comparison, but I think I've sufficiently embarassed myself for today.

Another realization I've come to is that I really need to stop fooling myself and quit the gym. The thought of getting on a treadmill/elliptical/stationary bike fills my heart with dread. This is not to say that I don't want to work out. Thales and I went running and did our abdominal video yesterday, which was a perfectly enjoyable experience. I JUST HATE going to the gym. There. I said it and I feel much better.

We also tried out some different types of wheelchairs today. I was tempted to race down the hallway like in Days of Thunder but I resisted the urge. Must...remain...professional... Med school can be fun at times :o)

Wish list

I was looking through the Williams-Sonoma catalogue today, and of all the wonderful things in it, I found an item I simply CANNOT live without (but most likely will have to).

What is it, you ask? WELL! This, my friends, is an embosser. There is something about this gadget (essentially a label-maker) that makes me believe that all my problems will be solved if it was in my possession. Is it as magical as I think it is, or do I have an impulse problem?

What are its uses, you ask? Well, it may be used to:

1) Emboss your name into your books (my favorite)
2) Provide a (non-tacky) return address on your envelopes
3) Make stickers to place on objects of your choosing
4) Label your jam jars (OH MY!)

There are some other uses, but you will just have to see for yourself. I can barely restrain myself as it is.

Cyber-fighting

Although I look back on my 4 years at Dartmouth as some of the best years of my life (it has already been decided that my children and 9-year-old brother will be attending), I often regret that my time there coincided with the onset of my dating life. Let me explain.

Dartmouth was considered a very "wired" school back in 1998. This may still be the case. Just to illustrate this point, the abundance of public computers on campus was deemed the culprit of the pink-eye epidemic of 2000, prompting the distribution of thousands of bottles of hand sanitizer in student mailboxes. It was a futile attempt at controlling the virus, which school officials might have known had they realized the extent of our dependence on blitzmail, Dartmouth's email program with comparable speed to instant message. You must remember we lived in the mountains, cell phones were not commonplace as yet, and many of us having spent our high school years opting to study instead of socialize, were, simply put, awkward and inexperienced. Why talk to someone in person when you could email them? It's an excellent question (if you were born after 1975, give or take a couple years). And only 7 years and several relationships later, do I really know the answer. And let me tell you, this knowledge has not come easily.

My first foray into the world of cyberspace occurred during my freshman year of college. Equipped with my first AIM screenname, I decided it was the appropriate time to flirt with my high school crush. He liked me (so I heard), I liked him, and we were now separated by hundreds of miles with the occasional visit home to look forward to. It was a pretty "safe" situation, all things considered. We flirted, made plans to hang out, flaked on each other, and ultimately "broke up" within a couple of months of chatting. I use quotations because we never actually saw each other, let alone dated, throughout this "relationship." I use quotations again because...well, you get the idea.

Before I had my first, real, live boyfriend, I saw the demise of two potential crushes. Over blitzmail. The first was a kid from my English class. He was an artsy guy, an actor. We never really spoke in class. After one of his performances, I plucked up my courage and asked him for coffee....over email. I never heard back from him until about 3 months later. He told me didn't check his email and had let it just "pile up." Hmm. Did I believe him? My ego said, "of course he's telling the truth," whereas my practical expensive brain knew better. Needless to say, we never met for coffee and our remaining interactions were weird. The next guy had a somewhat opposite problem. He got a little bit too excited over email, saying things he didn't dare in person. It was a bit creepier than I could handle. End of crush number two.

So what does any of this mean? Although I won't really go into much detail about the rest of my relationships, I will say that there was many a time when I believed email was a better mode of confrontation than speaking one-on-one. BAD IDEA. It took me a while to understand why although the explanation is easy and quite obvious. Communication is two-way and unpredictable. It changes course because one person doesn't have all the answers. Without someone interrupting the communication dangerously resembles a soapbox. And nobody likes a preacher.

So the moral of the story is that Dartmouth screws you up. I'm still in therapy and I don't see myself resolving these issues anytime soon.

P.S. Texting is no better than email (This is a more recent revelation).

To do list

The list of things I am supposed to do, but haven't, is continually growing. They include (in semi-prioritized order):

1) Go to more weddings
2) Submit my second round of applications and that damn manuscript!
3) Practice my solo and German for Chirag's wedding
4) Visit Karin in Boston
5) Sleep
6) Watch my netflix movies
7) Stop being exhausted
8) Plan my trip to Europe, L.A., Arizona, and any pit stops along the way. Karin, where are we going on our trip, btw?

I need a taskmaster. Volunteers?

A dish we'd try.

That's me. Swathi Reddy....anagramized.

Some other favorites are:
1) A wet dry dish
2) Trashy, did we?
3) Swarthy died
4) Rash we'd tidy
5) Ha, we'd try dis!
6) A dew, dry, shit

My toes are cold....

granted, I'm wearing flip-flops and it's night time.

HOWEVER, there are supposed to be at least a couple good weeks of summer left. I wasted too much of my summer on that damn personal statement.

bah....

Neglected

This will be the new name of my blog.

I've been stressed for the past several months and my high state of anxiety has precluded the flow of creative juices. HOWEVER, my applications are out, and now there's just nothing left to do but sit and wait, plan my adventures, and write on my blog.

So, for those of you who don't know, I am living in Danbury, CT, for the month doing my medicine sub-internship. Basically, I am supposed to have the same kind of responsibility as a doctor, which is funny because I don't think real doctors try to hide from their patients and compulsively check email/facebook. I will have to work on that by next July.

In news of adventures, I told my parents over dinner yesterday that I want to go to Europe, and most likely by myself, if I can't find any travel companions. They flipped out and mentioned that I'd end up just like that girl in Aruba. My sister, who was conveniently home for the weekend, didn't help matters much. Don't young women travel to Europe all the time by themselves? Come on, people, back me up. So it looks like I will have to go on a tour, which is what I wanted to avoid altogether. bleh. If someone wants to come with me, please let me know. Most likely I will be going from the middle of March to the end of April. My must hits are Italy, Greece and France. I don't care much for the rest of Europe. I will be saving Ireland for another trip.

Okay. Enough for now. I gotta pack and head back to CT. Peace.

baby steps....

since my last post, i have not double-fisted (fine, triple-fisted) any more alcohol.

HOWEVER, yesterday i could be found on my couch simultaneously eating from two open containers of ice cream - haagen-dazs coffee and edy's double chocolate brownie. i couldn't decide which to get, so naturally....

i need an intervention.

How you know you drank too much last night OR How I spent my morning OR There's no such thing as too much alcohol.

1) You take the “scenic route” to the bus stop.
2) Staying awake during grand rounds is even more difficult than getting yourself to grand rounds.

3) You miscalculate the trajectory of your coffee mug to your mouth, and "POOF"....coffee becomes perfume.

4) You can’t read.

5) You have trouble understanding emails that require one-word responses.

6) You’re still drunk (its lunchtime where I am).

this

is what karin said in response to my post "barbaro"

i thought it was very insightful, so i wanted to post it.

thanks k :0)


"I’ve struggled to understand the many people I know with pets who are so emotional about them and yet they eat meat. I’ve always found it to be really mind boggling. And I think they think it’s funny that I am not really very sentimental about animals but haven’t chosen to eat one in fifteen years. I’ve bought purses and shoes and various other leather products, and I think this is why I would feel hypocritical being more empathetic. I think, for me, vegetarianism is largely a dry, ethical choice. For you, it was emotional. That couldn’t last. I think you are right in the way you describe people in your closing paragraph. It’s smart. We like them when we want to like them. We breed them, buy them, sell them, neuter them, feed them…it’s really controlled. We have such bizarre relationships with
animals. Symbolically, we adore them, worship them as creatures who know what we won’t or can’t. But we destroy ecosystem after ecosystem, upsetting balances in order to dominate what we can’t really control. But we will never give up our struggle for domination.

There was a story on vegetarianism on NPR the other day. http://www.onpointradio.org/shows/2007/02/20070202_b_main.asp

I like animals, some animals, the same way I like some people. I don’t want to eat any of them, nor do I particularly want to keep them as pets. I think pets for the most part are sad animals, especially those without any autonomy. But, at the same time, I knowingly buy products made from them. I think it’s the same way I buy things I know were made through sweatshop labor. It’s far away, indirect. Not the same as dead flesh in your mouth. It’s a byproduct, doesn’t go inside me, not so personal."

Barbaro

Barbaro, the prize-winning race horse, was put down today after months of small successes and, ultimately, bigger failures. When I read the news, I was moved, and I might even say I was sad for the horse that I never met but who found a place in my heart.

Albeit a very strange association, whenever I hear of or see an animal dying (I’ve watched two dogs die this past year, one of them my own), I always recall my stint with vegetarianism. When my first dog died close to eight years ago, I decided to give up meat. It was always something I wanted to try. Although a very noble cause, for me it was not about any deep-rooted belief in the unnecessary dependency of humans on animals. I simply loved them and did not want them killed on my behalf. People always asked me why I gave up meat and when I told them that my dog was hit by a car, they looked at me oddly. I suppose it was a difficult connection to make, but in those brief moments when I pictured my Millie as road-kill, as a piece of dead meat lying on the side of the road, my stomach turned inside out. Some part of me felt as guilty as the car that side-swiped her and left her instantly and peacefully dead.

I am reading about Barbaro today. There are very detailed accounts of the surgeries he has suffered through, of the pins and casts placed on his bones by qualified and highly-trained veterinary surgeons. He has been called “champion”, “hero”, and “fighter” in his obituaries. It is possible he was all of these things, but we will never know for sure because these labels imply that Barbaro the freedom to act on his wishes. Barbaro might have decided to forgo a life of competitive sport to instead run free in a field somewhere. He most certainly would not have chosen to undergo the long painful road he traveled over the last year. Yes, Barbaro was a hero, but simply because we made him our hero. He fought the fight we gave him and won the races we made him run. With our help, he slowly improved, and despite our help, he simply did not get well enough. He was put to sleep, a humane choice but, ultimately, one that was not his own.

Since my Millie died, my family has also lost her predecessor, Lillie. After suffering two weeks with inexplicable diarrhea, Lillie was no longer the dog we knew and adored. She could barely stand, she did not run to the door, and she did not bark. Our little guardian was tired. We were told by the doctor that she was suffering and so we decided to put Lillie to sleep, a decision I only wish we made sooner.

What becomes glaringly obvious is that we, humans, make all the decisions. I started eating meat again. It is my decision, one that I made when I realized I could no longer identify with the emotions that prompted me to stop in the first place. I also realize that it is completely my choice to love my dogs. I choose to bring them into my home and to cry when the void they leave behind is simply too deep to fill. Their fates, and the quality of their lives, rest in my fickle, selfish, calculating hands. Ultimately, the point is not to believe that that we are terrible hypocrites, undeserving of their love. It is simply remember the gift of our autonomy and the power we wield over these creatures who so wholeheartedly live our lives, accept our choices and make us believe that they are the lucky ones. The joke is very much on us.

I finally concede

that it may be time to get me one of those backpack thingies on wheels.

i'm not a mule for godssakes.

can i come out now?

is it march yet?

someone, please make january and february go away.

ugh.

I LOVE

....bubble tea.

it's going to single-handedly get me through the winter.

:0)

this thought is prompted by the recent discovery that my office is only....wait for it....FOUR BLOCKS away from Saint's Alp Teahouse.

maybe i am lucky after all.

http://www.saints-alp.com.hk/

I never thought

I'd have a reason to be be jealous of a bear, but...

filling my belly,
rolling over,
and falling asleep until spring...

sounds like a very good idea to me.