I'm tired

I'm tired.
Medical school is no longer much fun.
I JUST WANT A GARDEN, SOME GOATS, A DOG, MAYBE A NICE BIRD, AND A LOT OF WALTZING!!! Oh. And a man who loves me madly and deeply and finds me central to his life.
Sigh.

3rd year of medical school continues to suck the life out of me

So. Three months of surgery came and went. And, surprise surprise, I didn't have much time to post a darn thing. In fact, I don't really even remember posting the Swedish Chef'erized message below. Barely, maybe.

I thought surgery would suck @ss, to put it mildly, and that I would be much more pleased during my medicine rotation. I figured I'd hate the shallow-minded hurried nature of surgery, and also that I'd get "pimped"/harassed relentlessly with crazy-picky questions, and have not a moment to myself. Let's just say that it turns out that my current medicine rotation makes surgery look like a vacation.

I don't expect to be writing much for awhile. Actually, I shouldn't even be writing this. I don't mean to whine, but really, do you REALIZE that interns work ALL THE FREAKING TIME?!?!?! At least, as a student, I'm not actually counted on to DO much, but they sure are, and they never get a moment to themselves. They're lucky if they get one day a week off, and I mean that. Now think about it, honestly -- wouldn't you start to lose it if you maybe got one day a week to sleep more than a few hours, do all your laundry, grocery shopping, misc errands, etc? And forget doing things like getting a haircut, going to the dentist, or Mule-forbid, getting to a doctor's appointment to actually take care of yourself. Doesn't this seem STUPID -- BEYOND STUPID -- to anyone else? It's not like there's a shortage of college students fighting tooth and nail to get into medical school! It's not like there's a shortage of people who want to be doctors -- although there WILL be, if they ever realize what their lives will be like, before it's too late and they're already up to their asses in loans or military commitments! But of course it comes down to money. It costs more to hire more house staff. And then we could discuss the continuity of care issues involved, but I need to eat and sleep on this strange day when I'm actually HOME.

Und tudey I breeng yuoo a lung ooferdooe-a messege-a. Nut thet "yuoo" ere-a reedeeng thees. Um gesh dee bork, bork! Thees glureeuoos messege-a vheech is in Muck Cheenese-a -- vheech is, ooff cuoorse-a, zee lungooege-a ooff zee greet Svedeesh Cheff. I em oone-a munt intu my soorgery ruteshun, vhere-a theengs hefe-a beee nut neerly es bed es I ixpected. Bork bork bork! In fect, iff it veren't fur zee internsheep und a vhule-a lut ooff zee reseedency, I meeght un-roole-a-oooot soorgery. Bork bork bork! In zee lest munt I'fe-a, lessee-a, hed my hund oon sumeune's trechea -- durectly -- und a ceruteed oor tvu, luts ooff booel (mmmmmm!), a thyrueed oor fuoor, a leefer, a gellbledder, und mure-a. Und I ves geefee zee hunur ooff furst inceesiun a foo teemes. Um gesh dee bork, bork! I edure-a soobcooteecooler sootooreeng, tuu. Und noo I em bebbleeng evey, typeeng oonly tu get thees incheffereezer tu zee pueent vhere-a it veell insert my fefureete-a cheff-ixclemeshun. Vhere-a is it? Is it here-a? Meybe-a. OoK, zeere's oone-a ooff my fefureetes. Um gesh dee bork, bork! Boot I'm steell veeeting fur zee shneepp schneepp.... I em hoongry, demneet. Um de hur de hur de hur. Zee buy -- VHO IS HOME!!! -- is tekeeng tuu lung tu oorder underveer und koong foo crep oon zee veb, und it is teeme-a fur freekeeng deenner, IH!?!?!?!!!!! He-a keeps seyeeng "oone-a mure-a theeng." Joost oone-a mure-a freekeeng theeng. I VENT DINNER NOV! Ooh, deed I menshun thet my keettee is crezy? Und inurmuoos? Vell he-a is. Um gesh dee bork, bork! Cetnurmuoos. Um gesh dee bork, bork! Beeg geeunt Ferrees-cet. Um de hur de hur de hur. Vell crep. I deedn't get my fefureete-a cheff ooootboorst in thees roon. Bork bork bork! Seegh.

Big Wool

So I've been obsessed with acquiring Rowan Big Wool for a sweater, despite the fact that I have more yarn than anyone could reasonably knit in a lifetime. Well, not anyone, just me probably, because I knit super-slow and don't even have time for that these days. But I do have an @ssload of yarn.

Anyway, I might actually win some on Ebay. "Win." Ha. like I won't still be paying more than I can afford. Now I realize that none of the patterns I have are suitable (they're either ugly/not right or also require Biggy Print). So I just spent 3 hours surfing around looking for a nice pattern for Big Wool. When I don't even have the frigging yarn yet.

Did I mention procrastination?

Procrastinating and beyond

Yeah, so no one reads this, and I seldom write anything here, but I promise to try.

Not that any promise of that nature will mean a damn thing once my surgery rotation starts.

In other news, the Boy should be on his way home having left Iraq a few days ago for Quatar, and hopefully on his way out of Quatar today. I MISS THE BOY. Yeah, he's a man, but despite being OLD now, I still call my men boys, as in boyfriends. Not that there's more than one at a time. Of course, Boy is scheduled to possibly return 2 days before my surgery rotation starts, so I won't see him much. That's still better than the original schedule, which put him back here one week into the rotation.

Ack. I'm scared. Of the surgery rotation. And of the radiology presentation that counts for 1/3 of my grade in my first rotation ever. That's on Monday. It's almost Sunday and I have no presentation yet... despite swearing up and down that I wouldn't leave another thing to the last minute, ever again. Of course, I've sworn that oath at least a thousand times, and remember the very first time I swore it, as I was working on my Hawaii project in, what was it, 4th grade or so, with my Dad, at something like 9PM the night before it was due. That was one long-@ssed non-grammatical sentence from hell.

So, I should really get to that presentation. And then there's the final exam on Friday. Yarrrrrrgh.

I am a lazy @ss

So I tried to post a moment ago. And lost my not so eloquent thought.

It went something like this....

I ought to write more here. Not that anyone would care really, but I did intend this to sortof provide some evidence that I'd lived life once in awhile. More like, a place to remind myself of things I'd lived, as I have a tendency to forget everything -- and worst of all, get all irritated about it when I suddenly remember a tiny piece of something and realize I'd forgotten it.

And yes, I'm not making any sense. My brain has a fog over it from too much lecture, not enough sleep, and way too much stress. And maybe a nice bleeding ulcer.

I can't BELIEVE I just finally wrote something here again and the frigging server errored-out and dropped it. The ONE time I write something in a hundred years .... Let's see what happens when I try to post this waste-of-space.

Yessssss

Aha! I have succeeded! I diminished that enormous left border somewhat. Quake in your boots, all you bits of wasted space out there -- I will fill you all with useless crap! All of you! Yes -- YOU! Muwahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. On my blog, as in my apartment, no space goes uncluttered. I hate that about myself sometimes.

As for that evil locked box (see last post) -- someone suggested to me today that I make it a little friend -- my own, tiny locked box, to sit next to it. I like that. I was trying to think of some amusing response to the box, but each thing I could think of involved opening it, which I don't really want to do. Well, ok, some part of me definitely wants to, but a good part of me doesn't.

Locked boxes

I'd like to tell my boyfriend "don't EVER leave me at home alone with a locked box for four months again!" -- but, well, then he'd know I'm going crazy over the locked huge box (ok it's a trunk) under our guest bed. Oh yes, if I knew I could open it without leaving any evidence, I'd have a serious problem. Boy would I want to, but I of course wouldn't want to violate him like that. (I was going to replace "him" with "his trust" but then I thought, "trust? what trust? he locked the F*()ing box!!!") In fact, I'd probably be sitting in front of it twitching right now, frozen between morality and my embarrassingly stereotypical freakish-girl tendencies.

So, what the haddock is in the box!?!?!? (Yes, I was thinking about Spongebob and Mr. Krabs just then.) He needed me to find something for him, under that bed, while he was still in VA on his way to Baghdad, and the existence of the locked box was mentioned (by me), along with something like "what, did you think I'd steal something?" He may have mumbled something about "well maybe there's something in there I might want to give you some day." I think that was BS though. I think a long time ago, he once thought about giving me something secret, but at this point, after this much time, I think it's too late for that. BOy, don't *I* sound the psycho girly one again? This is what happens when I have half a glass of red wine with dinner and watch "The Dead Zone." Who would've thought that little freaky skinny Anthony Michael Hall (ala Breakfast Club from 1980-something) would've grown up to be a big strong HOT MAN?!?! And I ramble aimlessly again.

Oh, wait, can I just say how stupid this freaking layout is? What's with the wasted space in the margins?!?!? No purpose whatsoever. Yes, having, oh, 2 or 3 degrees in engineering (2 of them electrical), I should know html by now and have a whizbang custom blog setup. But I don't. So there. I have other fish to fry. A saying I learned from a man who messed me up big time in college, btw. More on him some other time, if I have wine with dinner again, and feel like typing and publishing some damning stories.

Damn, some people take their blogs seriously!

Yikes. I was just looking at a few blogs on this ring I joined, perhaps stupidly. Some people really take their blogs quite seriously. I can't imagine anyone else is reading this, but if you are, I sure hope you didn't come here looking for any consistent demonstration of intelligence or wit or whatnot....

Now, mind you, this blog is less organized than even *I* would like it to be. Take that last sentence for instance -- I can't even see how it's connected nicely to this post. I think I was trying to say sorry, I really crave organization, intelligence, and wit in my life, but at the moment I'm lacking in the motivation department, which frustrates me too.

I hate cropped pants!

So it seems ridiculous that with all that's been going on in my life, the thing that finally brought me back here and inspired me to bother to write an entry was, CROPPED PANTS. I hate them. Cropped pants, capris pants, whatever the F you decide to call them, I think they're worthless. Unless you have some reason to need them, like you're going to be wading for an extended period of time. Although still, I say, wear a normal pair of pants and roll the suckers up. That way, you've still got a useful pair of pants when you're NOT wading or otherwise doing something that MIGHT justify cropped pants. Of course, if I were a skinny, sexy-ankled 18 year-old, I might not have these feelings of animosity toward an arguably innocent article of clothing. But really, long pants are so much more flattering, as they create a nice long line, blah blah blah. Not to mention the fact that they are CLEARLY superior for protection from such environmental hazards as insects that might harbor some horrible virus, or at the very least cause you to itch like a fiend. Why the hell am I blabbering on about PANTS when I have things like a boyfriend in Iraq, a sick father selling the house I grew up in, and, on the good side, a devilishly cute new kitten!

So, here is a photo of boyfriend AND of Ferris, my new kitten and temporary boyfriend substitute (only in that he is the target of my need to love, in an innocent way, for you sickos out there. AND, he greets me at the door with love (or at least purring) when I come home). (OK, so it's a photo of kitten and a photo of the boyfriend, vs a photo of kitten and BF, to get technical.)

Circular Wisdom

Someone on the SNB forum just reminded me of a problem I had when I first started knitting in the round -- knitting "inside-out" by accident. So I did a search for insight and found this fantastic circular and in-the-round knitting site. My, that was an awful sentence.

Next up: Sophie3?

Sophie3.... will she be in Kureyon, or the same Manos as Sophie2, but with a Fibonacci-striped addition of the gold/maroon/brown/yellow frufru yarn that I used in Sophie1?
I'm thinking, I'll add one stitch on each of the 4 sides to get one extra decrease, and therefore (is there an e at the end of that? I see it both ways) 10 extra rows to allow the Fibonacci pattern to be more perfect. Skipping the first 0 and 1 in the sequence yields [1,2,3,5,8,13]. Then I'll have the plain yarn stripes count down on the way up the purse, and the frufru stripes count up.
regular (frufru) :: 13(1)8(2)5(3)3(5)2(8)1(13).
So, that's 13 rows plain, 1 row with frufru, 8 rows plain, 2 rows frufru, ... ad nauseum.
Of course, I should be working on my thesis.

Sophie2

Yesterday, I swore that I'd work my ass off on school work and workout today. But that was before BF told me he was leaving for Iraq in 2.5 weeks. Of course I decompensated and turned to my knitting. I felted Sophie2:
Here she is before:


and after:




And an extreme closeup of the weird felt that Manos del Uruguay produces:


You might think that she's just not felted enough, but supposedly Manos makes this boucle-like felt regardless. She's hella-felted. 4 or 5 cycles, and she shrunk like hell. She's not getting any smoother than this, I think.

more IM wisdom or lack thereof

ME:I figure, maybe he thinks he's safe since I'm fat as a cow at the moment, and therefore he thinks I'm incapable of attracting another man.
[snip] and I don't mean that is specifically related to his decision to run off to Iraq. just that he doesn't really try anymore. But, I'm working my ass off in the gym, and I'll get back to being happy with my state of fitness and won't feel so insecure and that's that. If my needs aren't being met, maybe I'll have the courage to do something about it. But I'm not famous for that ability.
OTHER PERSON: there's a natural decline in "woo-age" from the initial peak to some steady-state value.
[SNIP]
[other person says something about the "stupid stuff" men do at the beginning of the relationship but not later -- i.e. romantic, nice gestures, etc.]
ME: I know. But if the steady-state value leaves me unhappy, then, well, ack. And, if it's "stupid" to him, then that's not what I want. I need to feel cared about and unique in his life. If I'm not, or it's not in his nature to help me see that, then that's likely to be a problem for me.

Why does he want a girlfriend anyway?

I was just IM'ing someone and this came out, when asked about the boyfriend. I thought it was harsh, yet telling, so I want to record it here.
" I am in quite a foul mood over it. I think because it forces me to acknowledge certain things about him and our relationship that I have tried to pretend aren't the case. i.e. he really doesn't need me. he doesn't need to talk to me, to talk over difficult decisions, etc. has no desire to tell me either the good or bad things that have happened to him over the day, that kind of stuff. I actually really do not understand why he even wants a girlfriend anymore.
I don't like the imbalance of attachment that we seem to have. He could care less if I went off to a life threatening situation. "

fat cow is angry about iraq

He's lucky I'm a fat cow now, actually. Because maybe if I weren't fat as hell I'd be more confident in my ability to seek a mate. i.e. he's safe and can get the milk for free without buying the cow. See, metaphor gone in a circle. Seriously, it's been almost three years, and I just turned thirty. I've never been one to want any legal commitment before, but turning thirty and seeing wrinkles is making me think I should've tried for it before I got all dumpy. Yes, I'm pissed now. Probably because anger is easier to deal with than sorrow right now. So he is getting the fat cow's milk for free, so why should he buy her?

Iraq

That BASTARD. He *asked* to go to Iraq, and didn't tell me, until he got orders, which coincidentally start the day we were to fly to my friend's wedding. WHich is to say I just found out 15 minutes ago.
Now, I love him, and I understand his sense of duty, but it still hurts that he chose to go, and never shared his plans with me. But the main point is I'm worried as hell.
I'm talking about my boyfriend, btw.
I'm so upset I can't write anymore.

SABLE

I learned a new acronym at the NH Sheep and Wool Festival: SABLE -- Stash Accumulation Beyond Life Expectancy. I should have known that I would go in this direction, as I tend to go all-out-crazy in collecting the best of the best supplies for whatever new hobby I've taken on. And ha ha ha ha, as I was googling "SABLE Stash" to confirm the acronym, I found Clothesknit's 'Reality Check' blog entry, which includes the best idea I've heard all day/week/month: THE YARN DIET. Clothesknit credits the idea to someone named Sharon, whom I don't know well enough (at all) to feel I could just write her name without an explanation... but if she indeed came up with it, she's my heroine today.
Anywho, I'm fat as hell now, and I love yarn, so the yarn diet sounds like a plan. Something like losing 5 pounds means $50 for the stash. I think I might make that first $50 go toward something to PUT the ever-growing stash IN, however, as I've filled my mom's yarn trunk (ok, partially filled with her stash and my grandmother's stash), and yarn is now taking over the apartment, much to the boyfriend's horror. Actually, he probably doesn't notice. He doesn't notice much these days, except me noticing that he doesn't notice much, which he just notices as nagging. I hate the thought that I could be a nag. And I've drifted all over the place in this post....

I hate tassles

Well, I hate making tassles. The almost-a-wedding-present "shawl" is done, minus the evil tassles, and I really need to send it along to the intended recipient. But I have failed three times at making a satisfactory tassle, and I can't quite envision how I'm going to attach the tassles even when they're done, so I'm reverting to my default state of procrastination.
So, I imagined up a pair of arm warmers to make, using some unnamed lace pattern in The Big Book of Knitting. It has occurred to me that they won't be particularly stretchy, without a ribbed pattern. So I'll probably be casting them aside in frustration soon. Or sooner, because the tiny yarn and the lace annoyances are driving me batty.