In which Andrew recalls that he has a livejournal which has been ill kept for quite a while.
So long have I left this sad bit of work disregarded, yet there have been so many ponderings of mine, or happenings, that have caused me to determine that a livejournal entry is in order. Yet, there have been none forthcoming.
I love to look at the sky on frigid winter nights. It is not one of those things one gazes fondly at for great lengths of time when sense is employed (unless they are particularly daft, or an eskimo, and I am not the latter), for one soon finds they have become hypothermic. It seems so clean, though. Last year on the first night of my arrival in Cambridgeshire, my older brother and I stood outside before the narrow, empty street and stared for almost an hour. It cannot be denied that I froze and came near blowing away in the wind, and though I found the little English cottage we afterward retreated into a capital place to find myself, I missed the air out of doors. Though it was so familiar (as I have seen the same sky thousands of times right here at home), it was entirely foreign. That concept has rung out in my mind daily about so many things the last three weeks. I have been reading the Space Trilogy over, and I daresay it has taken thrice the effect on me, if not more, than it did when I read it 11 years ago. So English, then so alien, then so comfortingly familiar. Rummy, that.
While my elder brother has been brought up in this writing, perhaps I should mention that he has engaged himself to marry. I have felt a vague stir of self pity in finding myself so occupied, and the date of the event to be so soon without adequate warning, that I shall probably be the only member of my immediate family staying home this month as everyone else travels to Texas to behold the event. I scarcely can fathom why, too, for I hold the matter in a skeptical light, which is unfortunately more appropriate than not in these days, and regarding his record. Oh, pity myself, indeed. I have so much to gratify me. Attentiveness is simply not too frequently my forte.
I spent four hours in the OR of the VA hospital last week on Tuesday. How enthralling and delightful it was to encounter an aspect of clinical that I, and many other students, have not seen and seldom shall. I went down to the floor to watch a total knee arthroplasty, but upon donning the surgical attire as required, found myself suddenly sent away from the operating room doors by the surgeon (or, rather, the circulating nurse acting as envoy to the surgeon). In a trice, though, another surgeon in another room had declared my presence acceptable while he preformed a carpal tunnel release. I stood through the procedure in fascination and when it had ended, stayed on for an arthroscopy of the knee. Having stood through that operation, I made ready to leave the floor, but suddenly discovered that I might watch an abdominal aortic aneurism repair through the window of another room. For some reason (particularly my loss of consciousness during a PICC line placement earlier this semester) there was almost a sporting air about the place as my classmates and instructor sought to determine how long I would last on my feet through all the incising, drilling, poking, snipping, tearing, squirting, and stitching. Stiff upper lip on display, though, the most displeasing aspect of the whole affair was standing for so long in the 45 degree climate of the room, unallowed to leave the sterile field if I so desired to see the operations through.
Assiduus usus uni rei deditus et ingenium et artem saepe vincit
I love to look at the sky on frigid winter nights. It is not one of those things one gazes fondly at for great lengths of time when sense is employed (unless they are particularly daft, or an eskimo, and I am not the latter), for one soon finds they have become hypothermic. It seems so clean, though. Last year on the first night of my arrival in Cambridgeshire, my older brother and I stood outside before the narrow, empty street and stared for almost an hour. It cannot be denied that I froze and came near blowing away in the wind, and though I found the little English cottage we afterward retreated into a capital place to find myself, I missed the air out of doors. Though it was so familiar (as I have seen the same sky thousands of times right here at home), it was entirely foreign. That concept has rung out in my mind daily about so many things the last three weeks. I have been reading the Space Trilogy over, and I daresay it has taken thrice the effect on me, if not more, than it did when I read it 11 years ago. So English, then so alien, then so comfortingly familiar. Rummy, that.
While my elder brother has been brought up in this writing, perhaps I should mention that he has engaged himself to marry. I have felt a vague stir of self pity in finding myself so occupied, and the date of the event to be so soon without adequate warning, that I shall probably be the only member of my immediate family staying home this month as everyone else travels to Texas to behold the event. I scarcely can fathom why, too, for I hold the matter in a skeptical light, which is unfortunately more appropriate than not in these days, and regarding his record. Oh, pity myself, indeed. I have so much to gratify me. Attentiveness is simply not too frequently my forte.
I spent four hours in the OR of the VA hospital last week on Tuesday. How enthralling and delightful it was to encounter an aspect of clinical that I, and many other students, have not seen and seldom shall. I went down to the floor to watch a total knee arthroplasty, but upon donning the surgical attire as required, found myself suddenly sent away from the operating room doors by the surgeon (or, rather, the circulating nurse acting as envoy to the surgeon). In a trice, though, another surgeon in another room had declared my presence acceptable while he preformed a carpal tunnel release. I stood through the procedure in fascination and when it had ended, stayed on for an arthroscopy of the knee. Having stood through that operation, I made ready to leave the floor, but suddenly discovered that I might watch an abdominal aortic aneurism repair through the window of another room. For some reason (particularly my loss of consciousness during a PICC line placement earlier this semester) there was almost a sporting air about the place as my classmates and instructor sought to determine how long I would last on my feet through all the incising, drilling, poking, snipping, tearing, squirting, and stitching. Stiff upper lip on display, though, the most displeasing aspect of the whole affair was standing for so long in the 45 degree climate of the room, unallowed to leave the sterile field if I so desired to see the operations through.
Assiduus usus uni rei deditus et ingenium et artem saepe vincit