at least i haven't killed anyone yet.
I just barfed in one of Naropa's less creepy bathrooms. I think my body is trying to get rid of my brain via my stomach.
Wouldn't it be interesting if our whole lives, our bodies are just trying to get rid of our minds and spirits and whatever so they'll stop fucking around and the body can just rot and return to earth like they want to? I've been convinced more than a few times that my body is trying to kill me, or that my brain is trying to kill my body.
Hmm. Sorry. Post-vomiting endorphins-or-whatever are making me a bit loopy.
Anyway, week one of semester three is over and done, and I have a good weekend to prepare myself for another monday. The kidney infection is getting better, thanks to antibiotics and some very nice herbal oils Ben Cloud gave me to soothe the poor bastards a bit.
I went to the first of my Anatomy classes, and the first thing the professor (a youngin too; i'll eat a vegan if he's over thirty) asked us to do was meditate for a few minutes on "vulnerability". Then he stood up and improvised a few hiphop lines.
I swear I'm not making any of this up. He's a doctor too.
I was kind of excited to take the class though, despite these things; or possibly because of them. There is a visit to a cadaver lab later in the semester, which is crazy and intense and kind of exciting, not in a sick gross way but in a very curious way. I can't even begin to describe the experience I had visiting another cadaver lab when I was 15. We didn't get to see actual dead bodies, but we were allowed to look at and examine human organs. It's hard to describe the feeling you get holding something that worked and beat and bled and lived in a person's body for 60 or so years. Part of you is creeped out, part of you wants to cry, and part of you is just stuck in the revelation that if you reached into your chest, chances are you'd pull out something very similar.
Maybe not everyone's thing. On the trip to the cadaver lab when I was 15, one of my classmates stood in the corner and cried silently the whole time. It's different for everyone.
But anyway, I woke up this morning absolutely determined to drop the class, and take an art class instead. I think I decided while I was asleep that there was no way I could make it through this semester without at least 1 art class.
The lab is closing. Time to get my sick ass home to bed. I wish I knew what was wrong with my body.
Wouldn't it be interesting if our whole lives, our bodies are just trying to get rid of our minds and spirits and whatever so they'll stop fucking around and the body can just rot and return to earth like they want to? I've been convinced more than a few times that my body is trying to kill me, or that my brain is trying to kill my body.
Hmm. Sorry. Post-vomiting endorphins-or-whatever are making me a bit loopy.
Anyway, week one of semester three is over and done, and I have a good weekend to prepare myself for another monday. The kidney infection is getting better, thanks to antibiotics and some very nice herbal oils Ben Cloud gave me to soothe the poor bastards a bit.
I went to the first of my Anatomy classes, and the first thing the professor (a youngin too; i'll eat a vegan if he's over thirty) asked us to do was meditate for a few minutes on "vulnerability". Then he stood up and improvised a few hiphop lines.
I swear I'm not making any of this up. He's a doctor too.
I was kind of excited to take the class though, despite these things; or possibly because of them. There is a visit to a cadaver lab later in the semester, which is crazy and intense and kind of exciting, not in a sick gross way but in a very curious way. I can't even begin to describe the experience I had visiting another cadaver lab when I was 15. We didn't get to see actual dead bodies, but we were allowed to look at and examine human organs. It's hard to describe the feeling you get holding something that worked and beat and bled and lived in a person's body for 60 or so years. Part of you is creeped out, part of you wants to cry, and part of you is just stuck in the revelation that if you reached into your chest, chances are you'd pull out something very similar.
Maybe not everyone's thing. On the trip to the cadaver lab when I was 15, one of my classmates stood in the corner and cried silently the whole time. It's different for everyone.
But anyway, I woke up this morning absolutely determined to drop the class, and take an art class instead. I think I decided while I was asleep that there was no way I could make it through this semester without at least 1 art class.
The lab is closing. Time to get my sick ass home to bed. I wish I knew what was wrong with my body.