perspective
gonna try to get back into the habit of this. 6 years give or take and almost 700 entries, and i've noticed one commonality: i never write in times of peace. does that mean things are bad now? no. its just a bit of a travesty to never write about the good times
spoke to my stepdad on the phone the other night. since being away in san deigo, i have a tendency to speak only to my mother when i call home. same conversation on a bi-weekly basis: what's new? how's work? when's your day off? hope your feeling well, love-you, talk to later. its so routine, i swear my mother has these conversations when she's half-asleep. the conversation ultimately translates simply into i'm glad you're doing alright. totally different conversation when i speak to my stepdad. we speak about finances, the economy, and the overall need not to forget why i'm doing this: money. i speak to my stepdad about once every other month or so, but last nite was probably the most comforting conversation i've had with either of my parents since moving out. i never end my conversations with my stepdad with the whole affectionate "love-you" that i do with my mother, but last nite talking about life and the car accident last year (that i'm still paying for today), and hearing his concern about my overall state-of-living, it was the first time i wanted to.
still, i didn't.
i remember after his open heart surgery when i was a freshman in high school, the doctor's said most ppl have another 10-15 years left after something that major. i was 14 then, and being 23 now, interpreting mammalian physiology and biochemistry for the last 2.5 months, the clock has never ticked so loudly.
i had my final lecture for metabolic biochem today w/ Prof. Price. he dedicated the last 15 min to talking about his 40+ years as a professor and his hopes for this generation and the potential discoveries we'd be responsible for. this man lived to see the first protein structures deduced, the human genome painstakingly mapped, the discovery of genomic and endocrine influence on disease, and other crazy shit in the world of science. watching him speak as he stood with his grey hair and sinuey arms, i could see a sense of acceptance that he wouldn't be around for what the future had to bring for all of us young-and-aspiring future doctors/scientists/what-have-you. i think what resounded most eloquently was when he referred to us as students and what he learned at our age, his concept of fear: fear of failure, and real fear caused by real failure. the thought of it put a lot of shit in my head right now into perspective, especially as i continue another/final year of college while i watch everyone else walk across the stage; in light of my mistakes lately, i'm not letting the latter be my reality. the motivation isn't worldly, maybe it never has been.
The time of my life, a record of myself
an accurate sketch of perfect health
A roof on my head, shoes on my feet
Plenty of room, plenty to eat
Been very far, made lots of friends
I love my mother, hope to see her again
I'm a wanderer now, sorrow befalls me
I laugh often, so i suppose I'm gonna be fine
Mozart he said, "there's nothing to composing.."
and that's all we do, we just write and play
and write and play and write and
"..here, here, and here"
he pointed to his heart and mind and ears
spoke to my stepdad on the phone the other night. since being away in san deigo, i have a tendency to speak only to my mother when i call home. same conversation on a bi-weekly basis: what's new? how's work? when's your day off? hope your feeling well, love-you, talk to later. its so routine, i swear my mother has these conversations when she's half-asleep. the conversation ultimately translates simply into i'm glad you're doing alright. totally different conversation when i speak to my stepdad. we speak about finances, the economy, and the overall need not to forget why i'm doing this: money. i speak to my stepdad about once every other month or so, but last nite was probably the most comforting conversation i've had with either of my parents since moving out. i never end my conversations with my stepdad with the whole affectionate "love-you" that i do with my mother, but last nite talking about life and the car accident last year (that i'm still paying for today), and hearing his concern about my overall state-of-living, it was the first time i wanted to.
still, i didn't.
i remember after his open heart surgery when i was a freshman in high school, the doctor's said most ppl have another 10-15 years left after something that major. i was 14 then, and being 23 now, interpreting mammalian physiology and biochemistry for the last 2.5 months, the clock has never ticked so loudly.
i had my final lecture for metabolic biochem today w/ Prof. Price. he dedicated the last 15 min to talking about his 40+ years as a professor and his hopes for this generation and the potential discoveries we'd be responsible for. this man lived to see the first protein structures deduced, the human genome painstakingly mapped, the discovery of genomic and endocrine influence on disease, and other crazy shit in the world of science. watching him speak as he stood with his grey hair and sinuey arms, i could see a sense of acceptance that he wouldn't be around for what the future had to bring for all of us young-and-aspiring future doctors/scientists/what-have-you. i think what resounded most eloquently was when he referred to us as students and what he learned at our age, his concept of fear: fear of failure, and real fear caused by real failure. the thought of it put a lot of shit in my head right now into perspective, especially as i continue another/final year of college while i watch everyone else walk across the stage; in light of my mistakes lately, i'm not letting the latter be my reality. the motivation isn't worldly, maybe it never has been.
The time of my life, a record of myself
an accurate sketch of perfect health
A roof on my head, shoes on my feet
Plenty of room, plenty to eat
Been very far, made lots of friends
I love my mother, hope to see her again
I'm a wanderer now, sorrow befalls me
I laugh often, so i suppose I'm gonna be fine
Mozart he said, "there's nothing to composing.."
and that's all we do, we just write and play
and write and play and write and
"..here, here, and here"
he pointed to his heart and mind and ears