Monday, July 7, 2014

And then 3rd year happened.

Huh.

And here I thought I was going to get all journalistic and shit. NOPE.

nope.

Well, update. Today is the first day of 4th year (Don't judge me, we're just doing orientation). 3rd year happened. Life has moved forward. And it is that time of year where a woman's fancy moves back to blogging.

I might revamp this thing. Mocking my life is therapy for me. Whether or not I keep all the old posts, or hide them for all eternity, we'll see. I've been looking at pinterest too much to fantasize about decorating my bedroom while having existential crises of whether buying a gallon of paint is considered a selfish and fool hardy way to spend my money. Which of course means that some hair brained part of me is like "Oh yeah, I should make a 'modern physician life style' blog featuring how to roll up your coat sleeves to cover your ink stains and 6 different recipes for egg salad."

This leads to dangerous thinking. One, that I am capable of producing material that is amusing for people beyond myself. Two, that I might as well attach it to my public facebook (Which Soooo has a fake name on it already) page to gain a readership.

But then I realize that yesterday I was interviewing new roommates for my place with screening questions about whether or not they'd care if I installed a fitness pole in my bedroom. The follow up response being..."you mean a stripper pole?" Yes. A stripper pole that is strong enough to hold my own weight if I climb the damn thing in an attempt to do acrobatic feats I am currently not capable of.

Surprisingly, I have found two roommates for the year despite myself.

Still not sure about using facebook as a platform for my uh..voice. There's like the southern baptist half of my family and everyone else with a secret hair up their ass.

Oh, I'm being too harsh? No. I'm projecting. I have my own secret hair up my own ass, whenever this one highly educated engineer posts things on her "health" blog about home colonic enemas with chlorophyll juice and all I can mentally picture is her tiny, petite, stepford frame bent over on itself with her ass in the air, propped up against the bathtub, and plugged into a beer bong filled with kale juice.* And that never needed to happen for me. I never needed that.

Meh, I don't know. I don't mind having unpopular opinions. But my filter isn't very good and I don't want to force them on other people just because they were unfortunate enough to sit next to me in high school.

There will be more thinking on this.

*EDIT: The irony that two years ago I posted an entire blog on how to take a stool sample in graphic detail does not escape me. I assure you. I am not aghast by poopies. It's the ridiculous, unhealthy garbage that people repackage in the name of cleanliness and "health" that drives me nuts. On top of that, there is this weird, "ladies, you can have it all" "live the beautiful life" marketing spin to wifey wash the dangerously non-FDA approved, upsetting waste of time and money which people pick up, share peer to peer on pinterest, and glamorize with dslr cameras and brightness settings. Then I get to see patients on my family rotation who are freaking out that they haven't pooped in 2 days after an explosive bout of laxative/enema use or that they're wired to hell from their "natural adrenal support supplements" which they never suspected would give them side effects. Yeah. It hurts people.

I just want honesty, man.

But I still love me some white washed instagrams with the brightness turned up. They're just so fairy like.

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