ei·do·lon (-dln)
     n. pl.   Image of an ideal.

Plato believed that we lived in a world of images, three-dimensional shadows of the true one.  What we see with  our eyes is nothing more than a cheap imitation of its true state.  For  example, the chair we see before our eyes is nothing more than a shabby image of the true chair that exists.  We carry on everyday with flawed perceptions of the true ideal form. 


Life After College: Year 3 -  In Transit    

[Friday, December 31, 2004]

In the red.

We had lobster tonight for New Year's Eve dinner. I said a little prayer over my lobster when he was brought out. I felt kinda bad for the little guy, cooked alive and such. I imagine that all the little baby lobsters must hear urban legends about what happens to them if they wander out into the sea, too far from home. There's these huge monsters who kidnap you, and then rip your limbs off one and one and suck all your insides out - leaving only your shell. Pretty gruesome.

I have a real problem eating anything that remotely looks like a carcass. I smelled the meat in the claw before I ate it - and I swear, it stank of death. But I put it in my mouth anyways, "Mmmm mom, this is yummy", so she wouldn't be offended. I have the same problem eating chicken breasts for that reason. Seeing the ribs exposed like that after all the meat is gone... But steaks and nuggets? No problem at all.

So, in the spirit of New Year's, I've decided that this year - I'm not going to make any resolutions. Largely because I forget what they are about two weeks after I make them anyways. But - I'm going to make a list of confessions instead of things I've done this past year.

1. I say little prayers over the mice I occasionally kill in the lab. I tell them they're dying for a good cause and to please not hate me, before I snap their necks. (Need to develop a thicker skin)

2. I feel sorry for the little lobsters (see number 1. Need to develop a thicker skin). For some reason, I don't feel as much pity for the crabs. Maybe because I've been bitten by one before.

3. Sometimes, I date boys I'm uninterested in, just because I'm bored. (Must be more considerate of others). But I keep hoping that maybe, just maybe, they'll start to grow on me on the next date.

4. I use kissing as the main method of judging whether a guy is appropriate for me or not. Bad kisser means we're not meant to be. (Shallowness galore!)

5. I sing in the bathroom when I'm blow drying my hair, and pretend I'm a diva in a music video. The blow-dryer does this fabulous "wind through the hair" effect. (Narcissism. And must be more efficient with my time)

6. Sometimes, when I can't fall asleep, I sneak downstairs to get some chocolate, and then take my clothes off. There's something comforting about chocolate in your tummy and nudity underneath down blankets. It puts me to sleep immediately. (Must weigh risk vs. rewards. What if parents catch me wandering around naked?)

7. I fantasize about entirely inappropriate people. Like Eminem and the Wayans brothers (all of them). And also Topher Grace and Vince Vaughn. And occasionally Snoop Dogg. (Must be more logical about male choices)

8. I have a huge problem with coveting things. I coveted the ipod for two years. Now that I got one for Christmas (along with the iTrip, the voicerecorder/speaker, a case, and an inline remote), I covet the Arbor Stance snowboard. Not necessarily because I want to do tricks with it, but just because its a nice stable snowboard that I can grow into (i hate spending lots of money on pieces of crap), I like the graphics (Brian Froud! always a bonus),and because I like what the Arbor company stands for. I'll have to wait until I get better at snowboarding before I put down money on a board though. That means being able to go on the blue squares (am currently carving pretty well on the green circles). And I'd settle for the Never Summer Infinity. I also covet the IBM Thinkpad (hate my current dell laptop). I'm going to try to get into Harvard School of Public Health just so I can use Harvard's 50% off discount with IBM. I wonder if this will still apply now that IBM has sold off their PC/laptop division. And I want to have Ubuntu Linux on my Thinkpad. I'm tired of Windows. But I don't want to have to configure it for my laptop. I want someone else to do it for me. (Laziness)

Posted by ink |  7:48 PM

[Thursday, December 30, 2004]

The Tsunami.

Yelofngr and I were talking about this last night. The tsunami that hit South Asia is one of the most incredible tragedies. It's almost the stuff of legends. My dad said that he's never seen such a thing in his lifetime, and my mother's only heard stories of it from my grandmother. There's something about forces of nature that's ultimately attractive. Yelofngr said that he almost wishes he'd been there. I pointed out that he'd likely be dead. But I'd be lying if I said that I was glad I wasn't there. On some level, I share the same fascination with Earth as he does. When I was little, I used to stand outside in monsoons, running and twirling with the wind and the rain. I find lightning to be completely enthralling (but am terrified of the thunder). Volcanoes hold a whole new set of intrigue, as do the stars and outer space. The earthquake may have made the planet wobble. That's amazing. And there's been a surprising lack of animal deaths. And then the heartwrenching stories that remind me of 9/11. I read a story about a man who clung for 8 hours to a lamp post with his son. I would've never made it. I couldn't even climb the rope in gym class. I jumped up and just hung on for about 30 seconds before I let go.

The conflicting sense of amazement and incredulity and sadness and fascination that I feel with the tsunami makes me feel like I'm gibbering incoherently.

Posted by ink |  8:57 PM

[Wednesday, December 29, 2004]

It hurts to sneeze. I don't know what muscles I use to sneeze - but I do know I seem to have hurt all of them while snowboarding.

I spent the past 3 days at a mountain house with 12 other strangers. Give it a week and I'm sure it would've been a reality show. As it is, it had the usual drunkenness, with a few tidbits of excitement on the side - including one of the guys buying pot on the slopes of Camelback off a 12 year old boy.

The good news is - I can finally carve. I ventured off the bunny slopes for the first time and made it down most of the green circles without incident. Until one time when I caught an edge and slammed my chin into the ground, where it promptly started bleeding and gave me a headache. It was over after that - I was afraid and had lost my confidence, and my snowboarding declined from there. But I still managed to accumulate another bruise on my knee, one on my shin, and a particularly beautiful green and blue one with little red dots inside of it - on my right butt cheek. I showed my mom, and apologized for having to show her some crack in the process. She told me it'd be at least a week before I'd be able to sit on that without pain. Gah!

Posted by ink |  10:19 PM

[Friday, December 24, 2004]

And the band goes marching on.

My addiction to SDN continues, except now I've moved into the Drs. Lounge. An area where supposedly - you can talk about anything you want. Since I will (hopefully) be joining the ranks soon, I figure I may as well do a bit of research on the culture and people of the PreMed country.

Under a thread innocuously labeled, "Confessions", I found a few boys secretly liked boy bands, some girls secretly fantasized about classmates, and then I found confessions of this new league:

"I once got 3 booty calls in 1 day. From 3 different girls. And I answered them all."
"I once had sex in a graveyard behind a church."
"I once had sex with the pastor's daughter in the back of the church. While he was preaching."

Holy crap! These people are PREMEDS? Who knew premeds got laid. And they don't just get laid, but they get laid crazy. These people make me feel so... tame. In fact, I think they outdo most of my corporate friends. Put 100 neurotic people into one class together for 4 years, and twisted things happen. Perhaps med school won't be so bad after all. I can watch the madness around me and follow it avidly like a bad daytime soap!!

Posted by ink |  9:04 AM

[Wednesday, December 22, 2004]

Happy Birthday Jesus.

Christmas these days seems to be an exercise in hypocrisy. Instead of spreading God's word and love, we fight for the last cashmere sweater at malls, and honk at each other for that last spot in the parking lot. Instead of respecting the Earth that God gave us, took away from us with a flood, and then re-gave to us (is that the same as re-gifting?), we splurge even more power with our twinkling lights and silly lawn decorations, sapping the planet of what little resources we have left. To top it all off, we celebrate the spirit of Christmas by cutting down a tree (which likely spent years donating oxygen to the air that we breathe while growing tall and straight), so that it can slowly die and rot in our living room while our children play around it. Why? Because it smells nice! Does anyone see anything wrong with this?

Christmas brings out the worst in children and also the worst in adults. Christmas as it is today, is nothing more than a pseudo-random date chosen to be "Jesus' birthday" in which we can feed the economy. The only person who ultimately benefits is Hallmark.

Call me Scrooge.

Posted by ink |  6:21 PM

[Tuesday, December 21, 2004]

Jacob and Esau.

Today's been the worst day. My boobs hurt. And my little brother, the Golden Child, came home. My mother went into a frenzy of cleaning so everything would be perfect for him. She made me clean the bathroom in lieu of working on my thesis (which was due today). Because obviously - we know what's more important here.

He arrived home in the afternoon, walked into his bedroom, and saw the new sheet set and duvet cover my mother made him. He clapped his hands on his forehead and said the equivalent of "Oh wow Mom! This is great!" and then hugged her tightly. Part of me wanted to vomit in the corner, and the remaining parts of me felt guilty for feeling nauseous about someone making my mother that happy. My parents were so pleased with his arrival home that we all went out to dinner at Red Lobster. My father told him to order anything he wanted on the menu. I looked across the table at my parents, both of whom wore ear to ear grins, and my dad kept saying to him, "Welcome home!"

The last major interaction I had with my dad occurred when I unfortunately mentioned that I was choosing med schools based on the strength of their international programs as I want to work abroad and maybe do Doctors Without Borders. His response - "What? How old are you now? I thought this nonsense stopped when you graduated. You wanted to study abroad at Oxford/Cambridge back then. It's time to grow up and be responsible. Go into Dermatology. And stay in the U.S." Then he said I was raising his blood pressure.

At the table at Red Lobster, I looked over at my parents and couldn't remember the last time they smiled like that at me. The expression I see most on their faces are worried frowns. I felt oddly distanced from the scene, like I was photoshopped into a campy tv show. I concentrated on getting the meat out of my snow crab legs as my brother talked animatedly to my dad about poker and his internship options, and asked my mom when he could have some of her delicious home cooking. I suppose it boils down to a combination of jealousy and resentment. I was so jealous of him I felt sick. And the pre-period hormones made me cry about it. It was driven home today that I'll never be able to make my parents happy the way he makes them. Largely because I'm not willing to change. I will never clap my hands over my cheeks and say "Golly gee mom! You're the bestest!" And not only am I unable to do that - but I can't even be gracious about the fact that someone else can. I am such a small person. I'm not just sick with jealousy, but I'm sick at myself for being like this.

When we got back into the car, my brother leaned back and asked, "Do you have your seat belt on, mom?" Then he winked at her. He is just... such the good son. He's just so good. Which made me feel like crap. When I drive the car, my mother tells me to slow down and that I'm making her nervous. I walked by his room as I went to change into my pajamas, and saw my dad huddled with him over the computer.

I hate that I have to be so resentful about it. I know logically that it's not a competition. And I know logically that my parents love us both the same. I guess its more the realization that I'm never going to be able to make them happy the way my brother can. I don't know why I can't be quietly (and maturely) happy for them, that they have one kid who turned out the way they wanted. I don't know why I can't just recognize that his values are more in line with theirs, and that I'm just 'different', not 'worse'. I don't know why I can't be normal about this. I also don't know why I always look into the tissue after I blow my nose from crying too hard. Its obviously going to be filled with snot.

Posted by ink |  11:53 PM

[Thursday, December 16, 2004]

The other end.

So, I told my friend Tom Welling today about the colonoscopy dummy at Penn State Med's simulation lab. Welling told me that some guys actually like getting colonoscopies, and... he's right on the money. According to literature, having your girlfriend put your finger in the other end when you're cumming can increase your pleasure. And, if she sticks it up far enough to massage your prostate, it can intensify the climax even further. It's not something you want to try with your boyfriend though, because most guys freak out if you go anywhere near that area. For that matter, most girls flip out too if you want them to do that. How would a guy go about asking for that? "Honey, could you stick your finger up my ass when I'm cumming?"

"My ex-girlfriend used to do that with her ex-boyfriend."
Really? Did she do it with you too?
"No. But she did once joke that she was going to use a strap-on with me. I joked that I'd be okay with it."
So this means you're bi-curious.
"No I'm not."
Yes you are. You're curious about having a penis in your butt. Regardless of whether it's a plastic penis or a flesh penis.
"No, it matters what its connected to!"
Ah. So you like being at the mercy of a hot chick. You're submissive-curious.
"No I'm not! So, if I liked taking a girl from behind, does that mean I'm into beastiality?"
Well. If you were turned on by taking a girl from behind and liked her to moo while you did it, then yes - I would consider you beastiality-curious.
"I don't ask her to moo. But I do like it 'doggy' style."
Good. I can't think of anything more unromantic than a guy asking me to moo during sex.

Posted by ink |  9:43 PM

[Wednesday, December 15, 2004]

Penn State Med.

I most definitely cannot go to medical school here. The closer I got to the medical school, the more the air smelled like chocolate. Except for a brief respite at the Reese's factory (where the air smelled like peanut butter), it was pretty much continuous. I'm going to end up stuffing my face with chocolate every single day and ending up a house. The hospital is called Hershey Medical Center even though the medical school is Penn State. I kept expecting to see oompa loompas in there, but my interviewer was your standard old PhD. And then an Iraqi MD, who led a team of physicians to Iraq in March to help them rebuild their medical infrastructure.

I was actually extremely impressed with the school. It's the only program so far that I've felt somewhat excited about. One of the doctors came to speak to us, and he pointed out that even though our first day of medical school begins with donning a white coat, our first patient exposure will require us to take it off. The Patient Project is required of all first-years. You go to a patient's home and spend time with them, and become a part of their family. These are usually patients with chronic illnesses, but you're not told what they have. You're not monitored by a physician while you're doing this, and this isn't meant to be a "teaching tool" in the traditional academic sense. The patient is the teacher, and the purpose is for the medical student to learn what it's like to live with a disease, day-in and day-out. The doctor said that its important for medical students to start off with an experience like this so that they can keep in mind that as physicians, they will be treating people, not diseases.

I was also impressed by their Humanities requirement. They think that in order to be a good physician, you need to be a good person, not just 'good at diagnosing disease'. So they have classes like "History of Medicine" (to show how historically, medicine has been a humanitarian cause and it's only recently that it's become so commercialized and mechanical), "Medicine in the Media" (discusses shows like ER and how that affects patient perception of medicine as well as aspiring pre-meds' perception of what being a doctor is like. also discusses pharmaceutical company's recent forays into making commercials for prescription drugs and telling you to "ask your doctor". how does this impact how you practice.), and "Medicine and Folklore" (to make you more sensitive to minorities and cultural values).

My favorite part of the school tour was the simulation lab. There, they have a "patient" called Rocky. He has a pulse in his wrists, feet, and neck, just like normal people do, and if his blood pressure drops, his peripheral pulses disappear, just like normal people's. He actually breathes, and exchanges oxygen and carbon dioxide. He can become hypovolemic, he can be in shock, and he can have a seizure due to lack of oxygen to the brain. He also responds to IV's (will even bleed when you first prick him so you know you got the IV into the vein), to shots of epinephrine to get his heart started (if you're doing a heart attack scenario), and responds to 60 different kinds of medication. The lady said that the students get really into it and they'll keep bagging Rocky even when class has ended. She has to drag them away, but they want to make sure he'll be okay, that he'll "make it". My favorite was the colonoscopy guy. He moans when you puncture the bowel (which everyone does the first time they try it).

Overall, everything about the program rocked - with the exception of location. Penn State Med is super super rural. They have on-campus housing, and there aren't a lot of young people in Hershey, PA, so you're basically limited to your class and the campus for the next 4 years of your life. There are no coffee shops to study at, no dance studios where you can take hiphop lessons, no yoga spaces. Nothing but chocolate in the air and around you. You better hope you really like the people you're going to school with. The class tends to hover around 130, which isn't that many people at all. That, and, tuition is pretty high for out-of-staters, in the low 30k's. Plus, its hard to establish residency in PA unless you buy a home. Something I likely will NOT have money for.

Posted by ink |  8:25 PM

[Tuesday, December 14, 2004]

I'm scared of the Amish attacking me in the night, tying me to the back of their buggy, and dragging me down the dirt road. All because I'm yellow.

I just checked into the most ghetto little motel - Hershey Travel Inn. But, the trashcan says "Hampton Inn", my plastic cups in the bathroom say "Best Western", and the shampoos and soaps are labeled "Comfort Inn". I had to push the top comforter against the door to block the draft coming in underneath, and instead of a thermostat - there is a space heater. I can hear the couple next door fighting as I hang up my interview suit. I hope my car's still there in the morning. The guy at the front desk said that there's been a steady string of medical student interviewees staying here, so I suppose it can't be that bad.

I'm always surprised at how quickly it turns rural once you leave Philadelphia. I almost got in a few accidents because I was staring at the scenery instead. I like finding out about how other people live. I saw huge farmhouses decorated in Christmas lights, and I wondered whether they had 7 children that helped out on the farm. Or if they hired workers. But I didn't see any worker lodges nearby. Do the children have a schoolbus to pick them up to go to school? Are there punk kids in rural areas? As in, kids with piercings and tattoos and such? What do they do for fun?

I'm watching the Sixers/Nuggets on television. Now that I'm back home, I've gotten back into the Sixers. At the peak of my enthusiasm, I asked for Sixers paraphernalia for Christmas. Upon my return this year, I was disappointed to see that Eric Snow had been traded away. I liked him. On a different tack, did anyone else notice that Kyle Korver looks like a cross between Ashton Kutcher and a Klingon? And that Marc Jackson's goatee makes it look like he has a muff on his chin?

Posted by ink |  8:02 PM

[Thursday, December 09, 2004]

subterranean homesick alien.

i was walking today in the rain, my feet squishing in my sneakers, and water dripping off the brim of my baseball cap in lieu of tears. i tried hard to make myself cry, because there is no better place to do it than in the rain outside. your face is already wet. all i could muster up were angry wet eyes. i like the sound of rain draining into the gutters in the road. i thought it would be nice to flow with the rain down into the gutter, into the darkness and then slowly drift into the ocean. i stood over the gutter for about two seconds before i realized that it's kind of a creepy slimey place down there. i sat on the curb down the street for a little while, looking into a puddle and mulling things over, before the person who owns the house adjacent to the curb came out and asked if he could help me with something. i miss having a place outside where i could go and be alone and no one would find me until i was ready. i walked home, not really feeling any much better, but also feeling kinda pleased that my system III ems waterproof pants were holding up so well.

my friend picked me up along the way. she saw me walking on the sidewalk. as i got into her car, all wet and cold, she gave me a look and then asked me what was wrong. figures, that is when the tears that stubbornly wouldn't leak in the rain decide to spring up and swarm their way out of my eyes. niceness always makes me cry. as long as i have a hard-knock life - crying doesn't come easy. you feel alone so you have to be strong. but as soon as you feel a bit of support, its like all the strength drains out of your knees, but then you hate yourself for being so weak in front of someone else. i think its in my best interest for people to never be nice to me when i'm having a hard time.

sadly, i think the person whose been the greatest source of grief in my life, besides my ex-boyfriend, is my mother.

Posted by ink |  9:42 PM

[Wednesday, December 08, 2004]

The Friendster Fenomenon.

So, I received a tidbit of email today that reminded me of something I haven't touched in a long time. "You have a message from Friendster!" Ha. I logged in because curiosity got the best of me. Curiosity killed the cat. Or in this case, it intrigued her. Out of the 130 messages I currently have sitting in my Friendster inbox, I've only replied to 3 in my lifetime. And one was because he told me he did a rotation with Doctors Without Borders so I thought he'd be a good connection to have. And now I can increase the number to 4.

In my experience, guys who contact girls via Friendster have been uniformly lame. I went on two Friendster dates in Boston and realized that Friendster people tend to be shorter and have bigger noses than they look like they have in the picture. But for Mr. FriendsterNow, the tipping point was his list of favorite books. Phantom Tollbooth. Earthsea trilogy. LOTR. I know its wrong to judge a book by its cover, but is it wrong to judge a person by his/her books?

Posted by ink |  7:19 PM

[Tuesday, December 07, 2004]

Pounding hearts.

I have an extremely strong survival instinct. On my way up to Valhalla, NY tonight for my interview tomorrow, I pulled over on Saw Mill Parkway to check my directions. Mapquest told me my exit should've happened 15 miles ago. I put my emergency blinkers on so no car would slam into me by mistake. It's pretty dark on the roads of New York.

I don't know how much time passed, but suddenly, there's a man dressed in dark clothing standing outside my car. I lock all my car doors and am fumbling for the panic button on my car keys when he presses his cop badge against the window. Scared the living daylights out of me. Cops should be required to wear blinking lights on their uniforms at night. When it's pitch black outside, a girl can't tell whether this is someone threatening or not! Though, considering the NYPD, perhaps they're one and the same.

I was so flustered at the whole thing that I pushed the button to roll down the rear window instead of my driver's side window so the cop could talk to me. I hope this isn't indicative of how tomorrow's interview will go. I'm not sure why he knocked on the window since my cab light was on and it was evident that I was looking at directions. Though, I must've been concentrating really hard on the map because I didn't even notice the flashing police car lights behind me.

Posted by ink |  9:35 PM

[Monday, December 06, 2004]

Violent tendencies.

These days, I bitch like crazy and take it out on my poor purple beat-up stuffed cow, "Cowey". Obviously, I was a very creative child. I am intensely jealous of this individual on SDN who got an invitation from Mt. Sinai. I'm about to beat down their door in desperation for an interview as I love their program.

As Fisher pointed out, this process is a lot like teenage dating. There's this "waiting by the phone" feeling that I haven't had since I was 16. For every interview "date", I dress carefully and even put on LIPSTICK (something I don't even bother doing for real dates). And afterwards, I find myself analyzing everything I said that could've possibly been misconstrued. After every waitlist, I find myself either wondering, "Was it something I said?" and after every rejection, I find myself stubborn and resentful, "what's wrong with me?!"

And through every interview, I have to resist the crazy urge to lean across the desk and scream in their face, "LIKE ME!!! PLEASE LIKE ME!!!!"

...Whew. i could use a drink.

Posted by ink |  9:27 PM

[Saturday, December 04, 2004]

Just push on through.

I think this process is slowing draining me of all creative energies. Not only have I not had the urge to write regularly, but that little voice that normally makes smart-aleck comments inside my head has gone away. I can see now why doctors are arrogant and egotistical. You almost -have- to be to survive this process. You're battered at every angle by doubt and rejection. I keep running into that emotional brick wall once every few days. It is quite literally like banging my head against the wall while screaming, "Let me in! LET ME IN!!!!" Every week could potentially bring in a new interview invite, or results from a previous interview, and this waiting game is killing me. When I'm questioned as to how serious my medical ambition is, I want to grab them by the collar and ask them whether they think I gave up a lucrative corporate job, put myself $40k in debt, and then coughed up $5k for applications, all for fun?

I'm fighting an uphill battle. Being a double engineering/science major as an undergraduate is most definitely not conducive to a medical career. The admissions committees not only don't recognize the difficulty of a program, but they also don't seem to realize that the average engineering gpa is well below a 3.0. Employers were ecstatic with my GPA when I was interviewing for jobs. That same GPA is doing all sorts of ungodly damage to my application I'm sure. I've had interviewers ask me whether I was a "partier", comment that I obviously wasn't a "serious student until later on in life", and question my study skills. At no point is my nice lofty graduate school GPA mentioned. And that inflated tuition my parents paid so I could go to an Ivy institution? I have not seen the benefits of that either.

I've started running a few times a week. I listen to really angry music and think to myself, Screw the medical schools that don't want me. Screw them.

"It's just one of those days when you dont wanna wake up everything is fucked. Everybody sucks. You dont really know why but you wanna justify ripping someone's head off..." Thank you Fred Durst.

Posted by ink |  5:28 PM

[Thursday, December 02, 2004]

Stony Brook.

The campus seemed nice - if a bit out of the way. Though I liked the idea of having a house by the water, I wondered if I would get bored. Being trapped in a suburb with the same 100 kids for 4 years of med school sounds like a bad reality show. I trekked in with my hiking backpack thrown on over my wool overcoat, and my sneakers on underneath my suitpants. I had to cut my Thanksgiving trip to SF short so I could make it back in time for interviews, so I had the equivalent of a week's worth of things in my pack. No time for rolling suitcases. I thought they'd have a coat closet where I could put my things down, trade my sneakers in for my heels, and pull on my suit jacket. The "coat closet" was a coatrack inside the room where everyone was sitting. As they went around the room, saying their names and where they went to school, I tried to hurry, but was caught without my suit jacket on when it came around to me. I made this illogical attempt to hide my suit jacket behind my back while I introduced myself. Why I did such a pointless thing - I have no idea.

As it turns out, my interviewer was brand new to the school, so he couldn't really answer any questions I had about the curriculum. Not just that, but he hadn't slept all night because he was delivering babies. He showed up, pale and trembling, and all I could think as I followed behind him and watched him totter to his office was, "My career is in this man's hands." I sent him a thank you card afterwards - to make sure he'd remember me. I was out of my museum-of-fine-arts Degas cards, so I had to settle for the set I usually reserve for friends. The Play-With-Your-Food cards. The ones that have fruits and vegetables arranged so they look like animals. I wrote a very serious message inside so he wouldn't mistake me for a non-serious applicant.

Posted by ink |  5:00 PM

[Wednesday, December 01, 2004]

As if I was outside, looking in on you. -Jewel

I met up with Alien today, for the first time in a year. The saga continues... Ever since he loved me my sophomore year of college and I broke his heart into a thousand pieces, we've met up on and off, and shared a few New Year's kisses - which was the point at which I was smitten. For someone who I had otherwise thought of as "driven" if you want to be nice, "a little cutthroat" if you want to be honest, he was a fabulous kisser. Cushy lips can do wonders to a girl's heart.

And that was the point at which the tables began to turn. He began popping up in my dreams once every few months, very much against my will. It defied understanding of any sort. Every phone call with him ended with my thinking that he wasn't such a great guy. He never did it purposely, but small offhand comments like "Yeah. Friends are basically just good business connections," made me question his integrity. But a phone call yesterday made me think that perhaps he had grown up a bit. So I met up with him and his friends tonight while I was in New York, and crashed headlong back into my old corporate life.

I said hello to their doorman and let myself up into their luxury apartment, sat on the expensive futon, and slipped back into my former life. But this time, it felt strange. I felt photoshopped in. It was all familiar to me, but the nostalgia had gone away. Even the longing for the material goods had faded. All that was left was the shock of how shallow that existence was. As I watched the boys get dressed for going out, putting on shades even though it was 10 pm, and getting ready to blow a lot of money at a bar somewhere - I had this distinct sense of alienation. I don't know whether I had changed, or whether they had changed, but somewhere along the way, these college friends and I had somehow drifted apart to very different islands. They talked of drinking and bonuses, and all I could think about was when I could next travel. They talked of 150 dollar jeans, and I thought about the new Bergelene technical undershirt I just bought. Then I realized that the attraction to Alien had faded. Alien had belonged to Nine. They hadn't changed at all. I was the one who was different. I'd moved on and left all that behind, and coming back to it brought those same bittersweet pangs you feel when you go back and visit your old high school.

Posted by ink |  11:42 PM


Today's interview at SUNY Downstate went alright - except for the fact that it took me 2 hours to back to the Lower East Side where I'm staying with a friend. The A,C,E was bypassing West 4th, so I rode it up to 14th street and tried to take the L to 6th Ave. But the L was bypassing 6th Ave so I took it to Union Square, hoping to catch the 6 train down to Bleecker, but surprise! the 6 was bypassing Bleecker. I took the N/R up to 34th hoping to catch the F/V down to 2nd Ave, where my friend lives. But the entire platform was cordoned off. "Police investigation." I'd worn my higher heels today because of the rain, and by that point, I was ready to rip the bloody stumps of my feet off and throw them at the NYPD.

I cabbed it home. But I fear I may have fatally injured my poor footsies. I don't know if they'll be up for another trek tomorrow to Stonybrook for more interviews =(.

Posted by ink |  3:29 PM



 about a 25  year old girl, ex-consultant, ex New York City inhabitant, newly minted med student, (still) largely single.

  about big change, the choices we make in life, gut instincts, on-the-whim hairpin turns, the search for truth, the desire to be happy, the journey to finding out what makes us happy.  

  about being young and clueless, hoping that we're not blindly leading ourselves to our own demise with every tentative step we take, the pitfalls of dating, the trials and travails of being a young woman in the post-feminist era.

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