Conclusion-- I think

First of all, I'm on medication again, and I will be seeing a doctor back in Londonderry every two weeks until I can make an appointment with a psychiatrist. It's not ideal, but I don't have to see my creepy pediatrician doctor (I'm seeing one of the RNPs instead) and at least this means I can get my life/grades back on track in the meantime.

I also didn't go to class Thursday or Friday-- Friday because of the doctor's appointment, and Thursday because Wednesday night I had a bit of a breakdown and cried for several hours, and Ryter had to come get me and made me spend the night at his place so he could keep an eye on me and keep me company.

I feel bad for Ryter-- he's been trying so hard to help keep me stable and get me back on track, and meanwhile he's been having issues of his own, most recently the fact that his dentist crowned the wrong tooth, so he's going to have to deal with either forcing the dentist's office to make all the repairs free of charge as well as not charging him for the original crown, or else initiating a malpractice lawsuit. And he's been feeling like he shouldn't be complaining to me, despite the fact that I've told him it's okay, since I'm complaining to him. But he's been incredibly supportive and sweet, even if he was displeased that I asked for help from my mom rather than trying to pull through and do what was needed on my own.

I guess I should have, but I honestly didn't know what to do. The problem I have is that unlike Ryter, I never lived away from my parents until college, so my mom tended to just take care of all my medical stuff for me. Now I can make most appointments, but when I run up against a system I really don't understand, when I genuinely don't know what to do, I call her, and she can usually figure out something. Like in this case, having me go to a normal doctor's office not connected to the school, so they wouldn't just send me to the Mental Health Services people and make me wait. There's no way in hell I would have thought of that, because I didn't know that non-psychiatric doctors prescribed antidepressants. And next time I can do it on my own (if there is a next time, which I doubt).

It will take me a while before I can be fully independent. I expect to call my mom the first time I want to plan an elaborate Christmas dinner for my family and have it all ready at the same time, or if I'm the victim of fraud, because I've never experienced those kinds of things before. I mean, Ryter had to call his dad over the whole malpractice thing, partially due to the fact it's his insurance, of course, but also because it's just hard to know what to do in a situation you have never experienced before.

Next week, I'll call the psychiatrist in Dover and try to make an appointment, and also start calling around and trying to find a new therapist. There's one that is right next to campus and a very quick walk, plus she does Cognitive Behavioral Therapy which I am told might work well on me. If she's taking new clients that would be perfect. If not, I think my next option will probably be seeing one of the therapists who works in the same facility as the psychiatrist.

I have a plan. Plans are good.

New Blog on the Blogroll!

Babycatcher is written by an American nurse-midwife working in Malawi. Her stories are almost as incredible as her work, done in the worst possible conditions, with lazy, jaded, untrained, inefficient or a sheer lack of staff, and with patients with no access to clean water, food, or transportation to the hospital. Malawi has terribly high infant and maternal mortality rates and there's not nearly enough being done. Some of her stories are positively haunting. I'm thinking about sending her some money for infant formula for the hospital (high maternal mortality means lots of orphaned babies), once I learn more about her contact information and the best way to do so (obviously can't send cash). It wouldn't be much-- I don't have too much of my own money to spare-- but it might be something.

Sometime in my life I will go to Africa or India or some other 3rd world area and I will work as an obstetrician* there. I will probably wait until after my children are grown (has to be after med school and I'll probably want to have kids as soon after I get out as possible, and I couldn't do it while they were growing up-- too high risk). But when I have paid off my med school debts and saved my money, I will go and stay for a while in a third world country and try to do good there. I have wanted to do this since I was twelve and I think it will make me a better person, and help me truly understand the world in ways that spoiled Americans can not. Plus, I will be offering a service that is desperately needed by these women.

So read her blog.

*If for whatever reason I don't become an obstetrician, I may still get midwife training, or do some other kind of relief work. It's something I feel morally bound to do before I die. For how long, I don't know, but I will do it, and encourage others to do the same.

"He has the grace of a hippopotamus and a penguin's love child."

Still the Ludi Romani. I figured I should explain what the Ludi Romani is, exactly. They were games, with races (games in the Circus Maximus) for last four days, and they had dramatic performances (a rarity in Rome-- they, like Americans, preferred comedies and satires). It would start with a solemn procession, then chariot races and footraces. And no one really had to work. Well, the rich people didn't. THere should me more 15-day-long holidays in modern culture, don't you think?

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I made a bazillion phone calls this afternoon, but my bills are paid and the credit cards are canceled, at least. And I have an appointment at Health Services. I'm going to get the Gardasil HPV vaccine thingy. Mummy's been pestering me about it.

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Also, I had my first Orgo lab today-- not a real lab, just an intro. Because most of our equipment is crazy expensive, they've given us keys to "our drawer," where we have a full set of everything and no one else uses it. Thus, they can catch us if we break something. And make us pay through the nose for it.

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The other night I was talking to Ryter about future careers and he mentioned that his psychiatrist told him the money's in child psychiatry. This devolved into a mini-debate, because I find most modern child psychiatry to be akin to plastic surgery.

Both are sometimes needed, badly. There are children (by which I mean under 10) who are actually mentally ill, for whom early intervention is a godsend. Also, some children have post-traumatic stress disorders or autism or some other issue that is beyond normal pediatrician and parental care. At the same time, accident victims are often badly disfigured and require reconstruction, or children are born with deformities that require correction.

And yet, just as most people who go to plastic surgery actually need self-esteem, a supportive social network, diet, exercise and maybe counseling, most children who are sent to psychiatrists these days need parents.

ADHD, "depression," lack of motivation, imaginary friends-- parents assume that if their kid isn't the same as every other kid or different in a brilliant/precocious/cute way, he needs therapy. ADHD? Most kids diagnosed with ADHD are just hyperactive with short attention spans. Maybe they need a little Ritalin, if it's a problem in class. Don't get me started on depression. Kids are impressionable. Usually depressive tendencies can be countered by loving, attentive parents who still know how to give their kid space, and maybe a change of schools. Usually they just need to make some friends. And if my children DON'T have imaginary friends I'm gonna worry that they're being creatively stunted somehow.

Ryter argues that sometimes kids just need to talk. You know who I talked to when I was a kid and upset or hurt? My mom. She was my confidante and adviser and counselor. Yes, teenagers are rebellious and don't talk to their parents. Nothing I say here applies to teenagers. Teenager-hood is 5-8 years of PMS, essentially. If that's not enough to send you into therapy I don't know what is.

BUT. The truth is, if your kid needs therapy because they "need to talk," you aren't being a good parent. A good parent makes sure their child knows that they aren't judgmental, they will listen and be there, etc. No kid should be afraid to talk to their parents for any reason. Note I said "kid," because no one expects a conversation that starts out with "Mom, I think I should go on the pill" to end well.

Kids have problems that seem huge to them, but small to us. They're problems a parent can handle (some exceptions, naturally-- "Mommy, the priest touched me in the private place" won't end well either).

I'm not saying that there shouldn't be child psychiatrists, clearly. I'm saying that I could never be one (for reasons besides the obvious "couldn't be any kind of psychiatrist"). Because while I could treat the truly ill children, if I got some moron parent in there looking for an ADHD diagnosis to explain why their kid doesn't listen to them, I would tell them that I won't treat their kid until they take a parenting class, got some counseling, and took some time off work to play with the child. I doubt that would go over well...

I remembered something odd today...

Fifth day of the Ludi Romani.

--------------------------------

So I was reading Fark and I saw an article about how kids don't have the "astronaut" or "ballerina" fantasies adults think they do, but just want to grow up to be happily married.

I read it it and I just thought, Well, yeah. I mean, when I was a kid, which was not all that long ago, honestly, I occasionally entertained the idea of being a famous ballerina, or singer, or Nobel Prize winner or whatever, but most of the time I just pictured my future as marrying a rich businessman and having like twenty kids (3 natural, rest adopted). I'd work as a teacher when my kids were older, but just to give back to the community and all, because my husband would naturally be supporting me with his bazillions (Incidentally, that's about how much he would have had to be making to support my little orphanarium there).

Obviously I grew up and realized that a) Most businessman-types are either jerks or at least unlikely to marry women with no social skills, as they are often socially adept themselves as a necessary aspect of the job and would not particularly appreciate a wife who spills the bisque on their clients; b) Contrary to family lore, it is not "just as easy to love a rich man," as rich men aren't really common; c) In the modern world, it is a foolish or very, very trusting woman who does not continue to maintain her own finances apart from her husband's so she is independent enough to survive a divorce (and I would never, ever take alimony-- child support is one thing, alimony is welfare for WASP women-- I don't care how much I hate the guy); d) teachers not only get paid crap, they also are TREATED like crap; e) Who the hell has twenty kids besides crazy Quiverfull people?

But yet, even once I grew up a bit, I wanted to be a doctor with a husband who had the kind of job that meant that he would be there for the kids while I was doing weird hours. So I still wanted the husband, and the kids. I just wanted a career too, and way fewer children. Then my self esteem plummeted and I pictured my future as a doctor, living alone with lots of cats but traveling with Doctors Without Borders when I could.

Still, I think every kid wants to have a family. Expects it, even. It's not until reality sets in that you have variations, people who DO NOT WANT KIDS EVER and people who may want a kid, but mostly just want to focus on their job. Mind you, reality sets in at different times for different people-- I'm pretty sure Vivacia (who claims she NEVER WANTS KIDS) was five going on forty-- but my point still stands.

I'm not sure where I was going with this. I think I just wanted to share that I used to want to have twenty children. God. Innocence of youth and all that. *shudders violently at concept*

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I have heard the phrase "biological variation" so much between Ecology and Biostats today that I swear I am going insane.

When you cuddle with your cephalopods, it's probably time to stop drinking.

Today is the Lemuria, a day which sadly has nothing to do with lemurs, but a great deal to do with the Lemures, the spirits of the dead. They are allowed to wander the earth for three days from the ninth to the eleventh, and rites are performed in their honor. Also, Manes are offered beans in a house ritual-- Manes were like Lemures, spirits of the dead.

-----------------------------------------

To all you people who SWORE that Spidey wasn't emo:



Now hush.

-----------------------------------------

So today was pretty much entirely devoted to studying, with occasional breaks to frequent Fark and Snopes.com, which were distracting me, and also, this evening, to go to the pancake dinner at Philbook and eat French toast sticks just to be contrary.

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On the plus side, I can now tell you EXACTLY how humans arose from protist ancestors, with every step along the way, and I am better equipped to deal with creationist attacks than I ever thought possible. Basically at this point there's no argument against animal evolution a creationist could use that I can't counter-attack. Woot!

A girl in the health care seminar on Monday was complaining about how she had disliked Biology on account of it was all about plants and bacteria and animals, and how she wanted to go into medicine and just wanted to learn about humans and pathogens and stuff. The professor said that that's a common discovery pre-med students make-- that biology isn't all about people.

I was kind of dumbfounded at that. Who goes into biology to learn about humans and pathogens? I'll learn that shit in med school. I wanted to learn about everything else. I mean, yes. I wanted to get the required courses out of the way without worrying that they weren't helping my major, too. But I also wanted to learn about evolution and genetics and all those things. I want to understand the world around me, because I think that the more I know, the closer I am to understanding the universe, and understanding the universe is very spiritually important to me.

It makes me mad that a subject I love is also the stereotype of the "don't care about undergrad" premed student, that only wants to get into a good school. It means that I'll have to work twice as hard to get noticed by admissions officers.

Time to study some more before bed...

"Don't pursue happiness-- create it."

Happy Day of Presidents. I didn't get the day off. Bummer.

Having completed my laundry today, I decided I would try out my new iron steamer thing on this white blouse I have which refuses to stay not-wrinkled. I've wanted to play with it for a while , since I got it at Christmas, but it needs table salt to work (yeah, it's weird) so I had to go get that; today, I finally had the salt and the blouse and I was all set, then I looked at the plug.

It's a European plug.

Am I the only one in the world who sees the utter impracticality of having different shaped plugs for different parts of the world? And different currencies for those plugs, too? I mean, really. We have adapter technology, can't one region start to make the transition? I don't even care if it's the US who has to change, as long as they make the adapters inexpensive and start selling them as a component of every electronic gadget.

Okay, mild rant over. The plug was supposed to come with an adapter but it was missing that part, and I had no idea where one buys a plug adapter, and every time I type "adapter" I want to type "raptor" instead, because raptors would a) make this infinitely more interesting and b) sound kinda funny after "plug." Anyway, luckily for me, Daddy and Shrewd had randomly decided to go walking on the beach in -20 degrees Celsius weather, and were driving by UNH on their way from Portsmouth, so I decided to ask Daddy's advice on the matter.

(Incidentally, Shrewd called me to ask if I had President's Day off, to go with them, while I was in Chem class. It was a good thing it was in that class, because a) the professor couldn't hear my cell phone because I was late and not in the front row, so he couldn't make fun of the fact that it still plays the "Hokey Pokey" since I keep forgetting to change it, and b) it woke me up.)

Daddy studied the device, looked at the image of the component that's missing, and dated himself by declaring, "In my day..." they didn't make them that small, so he was rather confused, but he promised to send me an adapter (raptor) in the mail. Also, he promised to send my extra contact lenses, which I left at home.

They made me sound like we might actually go do something together after my class, but since my class ended at three, by the time they got there and I went to meet them they kinda had to head back. Daddy offered to take me shopping somewhere but I already have soda, popcorn, Ramen, and hot cocoa, so if we get New York-esque snow and I can't leave the dorm I think I'm set, for four days at least. With nothing to hold their interests, they headed home.

----------------------

Today was the first time in a while that I wasn't depressed after leaving the Healthcare Seminar. There was an actual current med student talking to us, and from what he said, I would be amazed if I couldn't handle med school. Getting in might be hard, but it doesn't sound like I'll have any issue once I get there.

The other speaker was talking about working in rural areas, which I want to do, except I don't know if I can. There's currently three psychiatrists for all of Coos, Grafton, and Carroll counties in the north of the state, which means I could have to drive several hours to have an appointment with a person who might not be able to meet with me more than a couple times a year. While I hopefully won't need regular care then, I wouldn't want to try, say, postpartum without a shrink available.

That's the trouble with working in rural areas-- you may be going where your services are needed, but there's no help for you if you need services, too.

Plus there are like maybe two dentists for that entire northern part of the state. Geez.

Oh, and here. I'm putting this quiz up today because it makes me laugh with it's inaccuracies.

I Am a Natural Flirt

Whether I believe it or not, I'm a really effective flirt. And I'm so good, I hardly notice that I'm flirting. My attitude and confidence make me a natural flirt. And the fact that I don't know it is just that more attractive!

What Kind of Flirt Are You?

"Do not be overly judgemental of your loved ones' intentions or actions."

The doctor says my knee pain is somehow related to the patello-femoral thingy where my kneecaps don't line up right. Of course, she hasn't actually seen me since then or gotten any new information about the pain, so I think she's going with the "don't know what it is and this is a problem we know the patient has, so let's go with it" explanation.

She also says that the anemia is slightly better-- very slightly, but better. But that my overall blood count is really, really down. So either I'm being systematically drained by vampires in my sleep or I might want to consider a multivitamin with iron. Great. I hate pills. This does not bode well for my future in medicine, as as far as I can tell most doctors think every little problem should be solved with one pill or another.

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Today Libentra and I were walking back to Hubbard, down the stairs past Dimond Library, and the stairs (which haven't been shoveled, just sanded) were pretty slippery and hard to walk on. Libentra came up with a solution: she handed me her backpack, walked over to the steep, clear hill between the stairs and the library, flopped out on her belly and slid penguin-style down the hill.

It was HILARIOUS.

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I managed to loose my purse. I think it's in Philbrook-- which doesn't open until Sunday night. Great. Luckily I have all my important stuff, as it was all in my coat pockets. No, I don't know why I bother to have a purse if I put all my stuff in my coat pockets. I doubt I would have noticed that it was missing at all if I hadn't been looking for it to bring stuff home in.

I'm at home now, but just overnight. My sister and I returned to celebrate Mummy's birthday. I don't have a gift, since last weekend I wasn't really eager to go to the mall on crutches, but I'll get her something tomorrow, wrap it, give it to her, and then hopefully get back to UNH tomorrow in time to go to the Open Mic that the Writer's Circle is putting on.

We went out to a nice restaurant and the wait staff sang and gave her a cake with a candle in it, but I think that my mom wouldn't really care as long as we all came home and spent time together when she didn't have to work. I don't think Mummy ever really realized how much of a presence Shrewd and I really are before we were both gone... and while she appreciates less hair in the sink, she's basically got empty nest syndrome and the Brother hasn't even left yet.

If I Was Dead Meat, I'd Be Duck

Exotic and unusual, I am a bit of a rare bird - literally. I'm known for being soft and succulent, though at times I can be a bit greasy... weirdest quiz ever.

What Kind of Meat Are You?

"You cannot shake hands with a clenched fist."

Today is the Faunalia, to honor Faunus. The Romans celebrated this festival with a dance done in triple measure, the same dance done by the priests of Salii, the priests of Mars/Ares. It's also the Parentalia, a festival for honoring your parents, as long as they're dead. Families offered sacrifices of grain and wine on the tombs of loved ones. And it's also the Feralia, a feast to honor Jupiter Feretrius-- Jupiter/Zeus in his role as guaranteer of oaths.

Also my mother's birthday. Excuse me while I go call her.

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My therapist wants me to write down every time I want to say something but I'm not sure if it's appropriate, for the next three weeks until I see her again. I bought myself a THICK notebook.

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Helpful: Talking to me until I stop crying about how I'm going to hell in a hand basket. Holding doors open for me when I'm on crutches because my leg started to hurt again and I had a long walk ahead of me. Letting me have the front seat in a class because it's too hard to get to the back.

Not Helpful: Lighting up a cigarette right next to me when I'm already about to puke from nausea and I have a headache from this stupid cold. Buses that run really, really late. Oh, and the prize for Not Helpful: telling me, right after I have a mental breakdown and am petrified that I won't be able to handle medical school or even get in and that I am a huge, worthless loser, that no one in my family ever thought I'd make it through med school anyway.

"Oh, feeling hopeless? Well, that's okay, we never believed in you anyway!"

(The prize for Helpful goes to my bra, on account of my losing my earring, searching for it for about ten minutes, despairing of ever finding it again [which would be sad as I like these earrings and they're not easily replaceable], and then feeling something jabbing me in the chest. On further inspection, I realized the earring had fallen down my shirt while sleeping in class and snagged on my bra. Talk about supportive underwear.)

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Crazy day planned for tomorrow. Should be miserable. It's a Wednesday, after all. But much studying awaits me-- I have an exam at 8 AM-- so I'm off.

"Use proven methods, avoid shortcuts."

Besides being the Faunon (about which I know nothing except that it's probably related to Faunus, the goat-legged wilderness god), today is Lincoln's birthday. Not being one to celebrate the birthdays of dead presidents, I did not properly honor this occasion. I did, however, honor another birthday: that of Charles Darwin (who was a president, but of the Council of the Geographical Society, so I'm letting it slide). I honored this great day by not taking out the trash, thus allowing evolution to continue in that location.

Happy birthday, Darwin, I'm sure you don't look a day over 198.

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So...I had a sort of meltdown today, after the Health care seminar ended. My RA happened to be wandering around and he came in to talk about something going on this week and he noticed I had been crying, so he talked to me about it. I'm calm, now-- not over the crisis, but not crying, either... Still, this is the blog entry I wrote mid-meltdown.

I can't do this. I can't be a doctor. I can't go to med school and I can't do the career I always expected I'd do. It was never real to me, the idea of me as a doctor-- it was this distant, intangible idea where I had more marketable skills than a little bit more intelligence than Average Joe.

I don't really want to go into medicine. If I could have any career in the world, I'd write bestselling novels or screenplays or the scripts to comic books, or someone would pay me to draw whatever I wanted. I wouldn't be in science, I wouldn't be dealing with people every day...

There are two worlds that I live in at the same time. One of them is the real world, and the other is the one in my head. In the real world I'm a painfully shy, unattractive, reasonably intelligent but completely antisocial college student with no useful skills who's too afraid of human interaction to do what it takes to gain those skills. I want to do so much, I'm interested in so many things, but every time I learn about something new I want to do I find out that it requires social skills and I seize up. There was a woman at the Health care seminar today talking about international research opportunities and I was thinking, "oh, that sounds cool" and she mentioned that part of it was finding faculty mentors and convincing them to support you, and then going abroad and working with the professors one-on-one and with the natives, and my first reaction was "well, so much for that idea, I could never have the confidence for that." In the real world I'm hopeless and relatively worthless and have very few prospects, career-related or relationship-wise.

In the world in my head, I could be a doctor. Or a physician's assistant, or a lawyer, or a politician. In that world my books would actually make money or my sketches could actually sell or I'm attractive, thin, and sociable enough to marry someone rich and powerful and spend my life organizing charity functions and raising kids. Heck, in that world I can befriend a centaur or walk on the moon or have some important role in the destiny of the earth. In that world, I've lived my life; I'm not some sheltered girl from suburbia who thinks she's capable of independence.

I can't tell my mother about this little crisis, because she'll tell me to major in creative writing or something I love, and then I'll have to point out that my writing is mediocre and I refuse to be a starving artist. I'm beginning to see the power of the lines between dreams and reality. I will never be an artist or a professional writer or a politician; I've known this for years. I'm beginning to wonder if I need to add "doctor" to the list.

"He who hurries can not walk with dignity"

Today is sacred to the god Favonius, the gentle western wind. His Greek counterpart is Zephyrus. He was associated with plants and flowers. I have no idea why he has a holy day in the middle of February.

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So... it didn't go away. The knee pain, that is. I went to the doctor today. Got there about seven minutes early and expected to wait, but they ushered me right on in, and I got into the exam room before 11:15. This is good, I thought. I'll be able to get out of here and eat lunch before Bio lab.

But, no. Heaven forbid a Wednesday go well for me. No, I waited there for twenty-five minutes before the doctor came in. Then she looked at my knee, determined that it was swollen and tender, and then bent it-- and it released this "cr-cr-cr-crACK!" noise that sounded like a very loud version of cracking knuckles. Meanwhile the kneecap itself popped up, a few millimeters higher than it had been previously, and then settled down into the groove again. The look on her face was priceless-- she'd never felt that happen before. "Well, that's not normal," she declared.

She said that while that felt like a ligament snapping, the soreness and swelling seemed like a sprain or something. So in other words... she has no idea. Great. I'm supposed to ice it and take Motrin for the swelling, and they x-rayed it just in case, and I've got the ace bandage to stabilize the joint and crutches to keep off it in the hopes that it will heal if I don't pester it. I can handle all of that except the crutches. I take back what I said yesterday about limping around campus being miserable-- it's nothing compared to trying to cross slush-covered sidewalks on crutches. Besides, the crutches hurt my arms, and I'm usually exhausted by the time I get there... And then there's the stairs. I have grown to hate stairs in a very short amount of time.

Also... dining halls. The dining halls are not exactly handicap-friendly. Have you ever tried to carry a tray while on crutches? Yeah, not happening. I managed dinner today, using just one crutch, but I was precariously balancing things and holding the tray in one hand, petrified it would all fall. So tomorrow I need to get up at 6:30 to make sure I can go to breakfast with Loquatia, this one time-- Friday she doesn't have to get up to work, and this weekend I'm planning on getting a whole mess of Ramen/cereal/milk-type supplies so I can eat in the dorm if I can't find anyone to escort me to the dining hall. Fabulous.

And I had to call my parents, to let them know, lest I arrive home this weekend or next on crutches and offer them an unfortunate surprise... Mummy seems much more concerned about this than I am, naturally.

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Oh, and I found this. It amuses me muchly, since it's basically a mockery of religion... "WikiWrit: The Holy Book Anyone Can Edit!" Of course, this is funny because humans have been "editing" their holy books for years, which is why you really have to read them in the original language. This joke religion is just a little more obvious about it. It's fun. There are enchanted hobos.

I Am 50% Weird

Normal enough to know that I'm weird... But too damn weird to do anything about it!

How Weird Are You?

"You find beauty in ordinary things. Keep this trait."

Today is a day sacred to Faunus, the Roman version of Pan. He was a goat-legged nature god, of plains, fields, and forests. He was also known by an alternate name: Inuus, the god who makes cattle fertile.

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Not much of interest today; I finally went to Health Services about my weird knee pain (as opposed to my customary knee pain) and now I have to wear an ace bandage until I see the doctor on Wednesday. I'm actually almost positive that the pain will be completely gone by then, since that's my luck. I don't go to the doctor to fix a problem, I go to the doctor so the problem will already be fixed.

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I've also been practicing my photo retouching skills. See, I'm not looks-obsessed (or stupid) enough to actually just post a picture that isn't me on Stalkerbook, but I am certainly vain enough to not want there to be a single photo I put up that doesn't look as immaculate as it can get.

I'm actually getting surprisingly good at it. I can get rid of blemishes, fix messy hair, fill out eyebrows and solve most lightning and camera related issues. I have issues with eyes and noses, though-- eyes are easy to screw up and obviosu when you do, and noses have too many different angles. I wonder if I could turn this into a marketable skill.

Though there is something truly odd about magnifying a nose until I can see the individual pixels and then proceeding to stare at it for a good ten minutes as I carefully retouch it.

-------------------

This Healthcare Professions seminar I'm taking is really depressing. To get into med school, I'll need to maintain a 3.7 GPA, get a 30 or higher on the MCAT entrance exam, get glowing recommendations from faculty, ace the interview, have a record of job-shadowing medical professionals and of community service and involvement in activities where I get to prove I'm a leader, expose myself to diversity, overcome my stammer and my overuse of sentence fillers like "like" and "uhm," have absolutely no criminal record, and avoid credit-card debt.

Yes, that all matters. Anyone who thinks doctors are overpaid should DIE. If I have to do all that just to get IN, I damn well want to be pulling down $300,000+ a year.

I also have to maintain my public image. This means that I can't drink or use drugs (not that I was planning on that) and I have to make sure my Facebook profile reads more like a public persona biography than a, well, Facebook profile. Luckily for me, this blog never mentions my name or identifying markers, so they can't use this against me, and the LJ only mentions my nickname, not my legal name, and not my last name.

Your Career Personality: Idealistic, Service-Oriented, and Future-Oriented

Your Ideal Careers: Alternative health practitioner Architect Environmental lawyer Librarian Magazine editor Museum curator Novelist Nutritionist Photo journalist Playwright

The Quick and Dirty Career Test

"You are a Person of Culture, Cultivate It"

It's the festival of Hecate At the Crossroads, today. You may have heard of Hecate, but if you have, it's probably as the witch-goddess because that's how disaffected Hellenistic Neopagan teenagers like to see her, so they can call her their patron goddess and dress all in black and pretend to communicate with the dead. Or maybe you've just read Shakespeare's Macbeth. But in reality, while she was goddess of witchcraft and necromancy, that wasn't the most important aspect of her.

As goddess of crossroads, Hecate was depicted as having three faces- a young woman's, a middle-aged woman's, and an old woman's. Three masks would be placed on a pole at the crossroad (a Y-intersection) so each faced a different direction. This festival honored that aspect of the goddess-- as a deity of the wilderness and untamed areas. Travelers left her food as offerings to ensure safe passage through dangerous areas-- especially women who were traveling alone.

If you go onto Hellenismos discussion boards talking about who people feel is their patron god or goddess, a lot of people claim Hecate. This amuses me because half of them haven't a clue what she's about except that the witchcraft connection will annoy their parents.

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Last night at lab I switched partners, but I swear it wasn't because the girls kicked me out. My new lab partner just joined the class and she knew me from Classical Mythology last semester. I'll mention her enough to name her, I guess... Her name will be Maritima ("Of the sea," because she's studying marine biology). Anyway, the lab thing worked out anyway, for last week-- turns out the group section of the lab wasn't that big a deal.

In other lab news, turns out I don't have to worry about lab reports for Biology. You have no idea how happy I was when I learned this. I was dancing. On the inside, because I was in Chem lab.

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Today's Bio lab took forever. I was so proud that I left yoga early enough to get there on time, with enough time to make sure I looked reasonably presentable and didn't smell (which meant five minutes early). But then I was looking at bacteria and protists for hours and I had to squeeze the wood-digesting bacteria out of a termite's butt, and the first time I didn't do it right and the second time I squeezed too hard, killed it, and still didn't do it right, so the professor had to do it for me on account of my lab partner being adverse to the squeezing of termites. The professor didn't even try to be humane, like I had been- he just disemboweled the little bug and tossed him aside, without even crushing his head so he'd die fast. And the professor didn't even do it quickly enough! Termite butt bacteria-- which, in case you're curious, are the things that make it possible for termites to digest wood-- can't survive long exposed to oxygen, and he waited too long before he put the cover slip on so the bacteria was dead anyway. I mean, we saw them, but not for very long.

Plus Maritima, who is also in Bio, was asking for a partner for this project we're doing on phyla, and I thought to myself, "I'd love to, as long as we aren't expected to work with our regular lab partners" but it came out as "Well, uhm, okay, but I have to, uhm, ch-check with my lab partner, but if she doesn't, like-- if she doesn't want to work with me, then I-- I mean, I guess..."

At that, she said, "Oh, okay, it's cool," and then another guy came up behind us and said, "Maritima, I don't have a partner for the project" (except he used her real name). So she partnered with him, on account of his actually being able to talk correctly, and then I learned that my lab partner already had a project partner and I would up having to wait around until everyone else partnered off. Luckily the girl who wound up without a partner was my lab partner last semester, so it's not a total stranger. Or a guy.

I really do talk like that, by the way. And Maritima's a girl, so it's not just guys that make me stammer. If I don't know someone, or I only know them a little, or I feel uncomfortable around them for any reason, it comes out peppered with "uhms" and half-finished sentences trailing off into new phrases. I basically have to have my words prepared ahead of time, in my head at least.

I wasn't exactly expecting Maritima to ask me to work with her right after she asked Incredibly Hot Guy (who's best friend, Flirts With TAs, is in the class so he had a partner already). I mean, like, hell of a comedown. Thus, I was hopelessly unprepared.

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Anyway, lab had plenty of awkwardness, for me, and it let out at 4:45, giving me fifteen minutes to run back to my dorm, get my personal statement for the Healthcare seminar thing, and run back to Dimond Library for the 5:00 meeting. Then I read my stupid personal statement on "Why I want to be a doctor--" you know, I had the worst trouble writing that, because I honestly haven't a clue why I want to be a doctor. But that's an issue for another day. I spouted off something about fascination with human physiology that made me sound cold and a great deal like Dr. House, and then ran back here at 5:30 to quickly change my shirt and go to dinner with Loquatia before swing class.

I was tired and under dressed-- I was still wearing workout pants and I'd just thrown on a T-shirt in my rush, and everyone else looked like they were going to class-- when I got to Swing, and emotionally, I was completely frazzled. Add in the fact that this week, the numbers of attractive guys without pre-determined dance partners (I don't know if they were single-- but they didn't have dance partners) was double last week's number and that we were learning new steps very quickly, and you have me stammering and stumbling around for an hour, watching the clock and wishing my hands weren't sweating so much.

Great.

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What is it about Wednesdays? They sucked last semester, too.

My Social Anxiety Level: 68%

"You have high social anxiety. You have a pretty serious social phobia, and it effects your life more than you may realize. It's possible that you've made yourself comfortable by avoiding situations you dread. But don't be fooled - you still probably need professional help." Yeah, well, tell me something I don't know...

Are You Socially Anxious?