Some were born to sing the blues

I was philosophizing in the shower this morning and came to a conclusion: I’m not going to get over this girl until I sleep with another. I don’t want to sleep with another girl because I still want to sleep with this one, which is just a part of me missing her, but it’s the only way I’ll get over her. And that upsets me. Because it makes me sound like little more than a junkie jonesing for his next hit. (I’ve previously touched on the idea that love is a drug.) I should have the willpower to be happy alone. To not let my stupid brain think about her and romanticize our admittedly awesome sex. I’m a smart guy. I read books. I shouldn’t base my happiness entirely around getting laid. Sex is just really awesome and it’s always jarring when it stops. I think there is a synergy of sadness in breakups that consists of heartbreak compounded by a sudden cessation of having regular sex. “You need to get under someone to get over someone.” Am I doomed to forever be trapped in a loop of thinking about the last girl until a new one replaces her? Ugh, what a dismal thought.

I was playing a monologue out in my head this morning and throughout the day of a hypothetical meet wherein I would make an absolute fool of myself and basically put everything on the line, but I’m holding off on that particular disasterpiece for a few weeks. I need to distance myself for a while and give her a chance to feel the absence too. I’m going out of town next week anyway, which is perfect.

Don’t listen to a word I say

It’s Thanksgiving. It’s also the beginning of Chanukkah (alternately Hannukkah or Chan-ooka as it’s known in the South). The next time Thanksgiving and Chanukkah coincide will be in the year 76492, so savor it! Or just try and hang on until then. Garbage people on the internet have taken to calling today Thanksgivukkah, but that malignant tumor of a word actually makes me angry, so that’ll be the only mention of it here.

A colleague has invited me to dinner in a few hours, which is nice. I’m making my specialty: spinach, balsamic and gorgonzola salad, a specialty I stole from the hospital menu.

I’m mildly bummed today for no particular reason. Just introspection and stupid crap. This last girl has been on my mind a lot. We’re not hanging out anymore since she started seeing some schmuck. I’ve noticed that hot girls don’t tend to stay single for very long. As a result, I’ve cast my rod again into the sewage tank that is online dating. As far as being thankful goes, I’m thankful for her. I got over a lot of mental hurdles because of that short relationship. I realized that people are all really different and so are the relationships. I started to separate sex and feelings a little more. (Not that sex isn’t a deeply intimate thing, but I think it’s important to be able to understand that sometimes sex is just sex.) And I just really needed that girl to get over the last one.

I’m also thankful for those moments that happen to us in life. Those serendipitous moments when something happens that turns out to be unexpectedly awesome. Because every person we meet in life is unplanned. Every awesome person that crosses our path in this unpredictable journey called life is a result of serendipity throwing us a bone. So realize when serendipity is happening to you. Savor that moment. And in the words of Kurt Vonnegut, say to yourself, “If this isn’t nice, what is?”

And the world is sliding away in a vortex of floating refuse

Gojira concert last night! HOLY SHIT. What a wild show. My neck hurts and I still have a ringing in my ears. Their set list was spectacular. They played stuff from pretty much every album, from “Remembrance” (which has one of the most memorable outro drum rhythms I’ve ever heard) to my personal favorite “Vacuity”. I always try to get as close as possible to the stage at shows but this show was the first time I managed to be front and center. I was 5 feet from the stage and at one point, I fist bumped Joe Duplantier. I think I know what teenage girls must have felt like at an N’Sync concert.

Some fuckhead kept yelling “OUIIIIIIIIIII” in my Goddamned ear after every song while another one yelled “Merci!”. Who the fuck thanks the band after they finish playing a song? It doesn’t even make sense. You “WOO” or “YEAH”, you throw up the horns, and you shut the fuck up. That’s the etiquette.

I do mildly worry about the hearing damage I do to myself, but I figure that by the time it becomes a problem, human ears will have become replaceable anyway. SCIENCE.

This song is about the Great Pacific Garbage Patch and it’s metal as fuck.

So about last night

No, it’s not that kind of post. But something did happen last night: I nearly wrecked my fucking car.

I was working a 9-7 the other day. Around the 6 o’clock mark, patients started saying something about snowfall outside. “Ugh,” I thought. By the time 7 rolled around, there was a healthy amount of snow falling, it was 24 outside and the ground was slippery as all fuck. And my little rear wheel drive convertible sports car is on summer tires. Tires which have next to no tread blocks to speak of with which to grab traction. Driving in these conditions was hilarious. I could spin the tires pressing the throttle just a 1/4 of the way. Imagine piloting a drunk cow. That’s what this is like. The car wants to slide to one side constantly while you’re trying to keep it straight.

I slowly made my way onto the interstate going about 30. This is seriously fucking terrifying. After a few minutes, I shifted into 5th and crept up to about 40. Suddenly, snap oversteer. The car goes into a MASSIVE slide. On the Goddamn freeway. I am sliding perpendicular to the road at 40mph. I remember yelling, “SHIIIIIIIIIT!” as I tried in vain to countersteer. This wasn’t going to end well.

The car is heading toward a ditch on the side of the road. I touch snow which sends the car into a drift in the opposite direction. I nearly take down a metal post as the car slides into the ditch where I gracefully come to a stop in some grass. GOD FUCKING DAMN IT.

The car is fine and so am I. I call 911. I report my situation. There are accidents everywhere tonight because the highway is pretty much a fucking ice rink right now. A cop comes 10 minutes later. A tow truck comes 30 minutes later. While I’m waiting, locals pull over to see if I’m alright. I explain to them that I’m fine and I’m just waiting for a tow truck.

Finally the tow truck arrives. The guy pulls me out by the wheel of my car and gets me back onto the road. And apparently that’s it. No tow anywhere, just makes me sign a paper and bills me $125. So now I still have to make it all the way home, which is another 2 exits away.

I slowly exhale and set off. I’m not fucking around anymore. I put the car in 2nd and drive 10mph with my blinkers on the entire way. Assholes are passing me. I don’t care. There are no more ditches on this part of the highway; it’s all guardrails. I am not killing my car tonight.

By the grace of God I make it to my exit after what seems like an eternity. Now I have to make it about another mile. As I slowly creep along the local roads I remember about the hill before my intersection. “Oh fuck.” The hill comes into view as I make my way up. I nearly crest it when the wheels start spinning. “Uh oh.” I’m not gonna make it. I don’t have enough traction. I’m gonna roll back if I keep this up. So I stop. Dead in the middle of the road. Cars are passing. One guy pulls over and asks if I’m alright. I explain my situation and he gets out to help. I basically need a push at this point. A woman stops moments later and gets out to help. And then another guy. The three of them help push me up this ice laden hill as I slowly slip the clutch in 3rd gear. I can feel the wheels judder as they try to grip the road. I gradually make it to the top and yell “THANK YOU!”, not daring to stop because I might not get going again. I delicately make a left hand turn at my intersection as slowly as I can, feeding as little power to the rear wheels as possible. I turn into my apartment complex and slowly make my way to the parking lot. I get the car in a spot and just shout for a few seconds. This was the most anxiety ridden drive of my life. It took me 2 hours to get home that night. I could have wrecked my car on more than one occasion. And now I know what it’s like to drive summer tires on ice. It is fucking terrifying.

Burial at Sea

There’s not much new going on right now, short of future work stuff I’m reticent to write about, so I’ll talk about a vidjagame.

Yes, I’ve been playing the new DLC for Bioshock: Infinite. I balked when I first saw the price ($14.99), especially considering it’s only the first of two episodes planned. But the devs also offered all the DLC in a bundle, what they call a Season Pass, for $19.99. $10 a piece per DLC is a lot more reasonable, so I did it. Worth it. This DLC is incredible. I never played the original Bioshock, so I never got to experience the underwater city called Rapture. It’s really breathtaking. The game is set in the 50’s, so you’re met with the fashion of the time. Old timey advertising is everywhere. Neon lights illuminate department stores. It’s a really delightful retro throwback.

The dialogue and story is what draws me to Bioshock more than anything, including the gameplay. The game switches from calm and tranquil during exploratory moments to frenetic and insane during core gameplay, which consists of shootouts with crazed Rapture citizens addicted to plasmids. Plasmids bestow different powers to users ranging from shooting lightning, fire, and ice, to possessing people and lifting them in the air for a while. I don’t hate the gameplay, but I infinitely prefer exploring the detail laden world, listening to character dialogues, and unraveling the plot.

It’s games like this which champion the cause that videogames can be art, can have a story to tell and a message to deliver.

 

I’m gonna parrot on about this hospital’s food. I can’t get over how good this shit is. I don’t understand why sick people would even want to get better. Why would you want to be away from this?! I tried the yogurt this morning. Fresh ass, vanilla yogurt. (They also have maple and lemon.) It’s plain yogurt so you have to sweeten it yourself, and there’s granola, and there’s cinnamon. Oh my God. It’s like a Parisian orgy in your mouth. And all the weirdest shit is happening.

And her heart is weeping, this happiness is killing her

Big day tomorrow. I’m heading up a case conference about a patient with congestive heart failure. A lot of prep work and nerdy stuff but it should go alright. I’m actually the first to go of all the students on rotation this block so I’m getting it out of the way, which is nice.

I love the shit out of this entire album. It’s honestly a masterpiece. HIM is one of those guilty pleasures I’ve had since junior high. The music isn’t complicated. The lyrics aren’t terribly deep. In fact, a majority of them are some combination of “love”, “heart” and “death”. But that doesn’t matter. It’s 52 minutes of the catchiest, most infectious love songs. I honestly can’t even pick my favorite tracks. Digest this in your belly.

Cause the gone has come around

It is distinctly uncomfortable spending a lot of time with a person and suddenly not doing that anymore. It’s like a piece of furniture in the room is missing, an itch you can’t scratch. It’s the withdrawal of a breakup.

I catch myself getting irritated at her emotional detachment, illustrated by stupid sophomoric shit like delays in texting (plagued with its own self imagined episodes of drama) and then I’m like, “Oh. We’re not dating.” This “friends” thing is different. I tell myself to stop giving a shit. I can do other things with my time. Giving a shit is a two way street, after all.

Beauty is so crude contrite

Counseling, counseling, and more counseling.

I counseled an 80 year old woman for well over an hour yesterday about warfarin. I honestly lose track of time when I counsel patients. I thought we were only in there for about a half hour.

Today, I counseled a 97 year old woman. I went through medical reconciliation (med rec) with her. The idea of med rec is to see if our records reflect what the patient tells us about their meds. It’s also a good opportunity to see if the patient actually takes their meds and if they take them correctly. But anyway, this lady was incredible. 97 and she was sharp as a tack. She was totally on top of her meds and keeps them totally organized. Just the loveliest little old woman too. A total pleasure to talk to.

I’m enjoying this rotation so far. Counseling with people who give a fuck is deeply satisfying.

Retreat to safer waters

The new rotation started this week and it’s largely been orientation and training nonsense so far. It’s not fun getting up at 6:30 every day when, for the last 6 weeks, I got to wake up at 7 and lounge around in bed until 9 before I had to get ready for work where I got paid human money. But c’est la vie. Part of my responsibilities over the next 6 weeks will be warfarin counseling for 4 days. Warfarin is an anticoagulant, and also a vitamin K antagonist. It’s an ancient and neat drug that people take to thin their blood after something like a limb replacement, stroke, DVT, or pulmonary embolism. It’s also a drug that interacts with every other known drug in the universe, as well as vitamin K containing foods (e.g. spinach, kale, etc.) Since it thins the blood, it inhibits the body’s ability to clot and can cause bleeding if the blood is too thin.  As a result, patients need to be counseled on how to take it, how to recognize signs of bleeding, diet, etc.

Fun fact: warfarin was actually used as rat poison back in the day. Rats would literally hemorrhage to death.

In other news, winter decided to pay us a visit this morning with a decidedly frigid day, much to my consternation.
A short story from my latest Vonnegut book had a beautiful and very weather appropriate bit of imagery:

“Autumn winds, experimenting with the idea of a hard winter, made little twists of soot and paper, made the plastic propellers over the used car lot go frrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

“I would like for us to continue to give each other orgasms.”

That’s all it took. We’re fucking and we’re free to see other people. Best breakup ever.

Let’s rewind. The past few days, I’ve been wondering if I wanted to arrange a friends with benefits situation. I’ve never done this before. But probably the worst part of a breakup is being cut off from sex. Our breakup was painless. There was no bitterness and no bad feelings. So why stop fucking? It made sense.

So this morning, I sent a text: “Hey, do you want to meet up for a coffee? I wanted to talk.”

Kind of cryptic, but this was something best broached in person. She was a little skeeved, but agreed.

When we met up, I didn’t tell her immediately. We got coffee and headed towards the water. And then I busted out that line, which I had worked out in my head since yesterday. Upfront, frank as hell, no bullshit. And it worked. She thought I was going to tell her that I gave her an STD, so she was ecstatic that that was all I had to tell her.

So yeah, I’ve got a nice situation going for now. Just two adults consensually fucking. From my understanding, fwb’s are volatile things and don’t last very long, but we’re on the same page and agreed that it would end the minute either of us started dating again.