Wednesday, May 30, 2007

DIABETES AD NAUSEUM

I am chewing five pieces of gum and have recently polished off eighty dirhams worth of brain food. I'm already down eleven cigarettes, three energy drinks and thirty push-ups by now. I have another test tomorrow and I'm thoroughly burned out.

I've tried finding the joy in what I'm doing, learning by asking questions, focusing on core concepts, losing myself in my work, and positive visualization. I've tried naps and hot tea and sit-ups and reminding myself that the material isn't that hard. But mostly I just want all this to be over, all of these multiple-choice tests that boil the infinite wonder of the human body down to A, B, C, D, or E.


The A-B-C-D-E stuff is foundation, and everyone knows foundation is ugly. It's digging and concrete and rebar and Teamsters and mob bosses and relentless testing. It's the most important and most thankless part of any edifice. And while I know every doctor should be able to deliver a baby on an airplane or manage a tracheostomy or tell Aunt Sally what to do about that lump on her breast, I kind of want to hang out at my house and check out the latest rumors on club transfer markets and go forum hopping to mourn Buffon's possible transfer with fellow Juventini. I want to order sconces. But all of this right after I learn about diabetes. For the fifteenth time. Repeat to fade...

Sunday, May 13, 2007

A CONVERSATION I'LL NEVER HAVE

Last night, as you silently wept and chocked back tears, I noticed.

Why do you hurt? Are you alone and forgotten? Have you been abandoned and lied to? What can be so terrible to cause a blissful fa├žade by day and this sorrowful heap by night? Is it wrong for me to feel sorry for you? After all, what's wrong for me may be right for you. Still, I can't help but think of what some would give to have the choices you are choosing not to make. But then, I don't know you. Perhaps you're an artist waiting for inspiration or a writer seeking a muse. Yet, day after day for over a year now, I see you drift on by unnoticed as you fade further and further into obscurity and though my eye may have accidentally caught yours only once I wish I could ask you, why do you stay in prison when the door is wide open?

Can you see beauty even if not every day is pleasant? Or like a bird caged so long you've forgotten how to fly?