(no subject)
4/28/12
This date, one month from now, I will wake up a graduated veterinarian. How cool.
Never mind the fluster of boxes and possessions that will fly chaotically throughout the walls of the apartment I've called home for almost the past two years. Never mind the miles in between now and my first go at gainful veterinarian employment in nearly two months. And fortunately, the blissful ignorance of goodbyes that will be made joyfully and begrudgingly, even tragically in that interval. How cool is that? Four years of living the dream, countless years of awaiting the dream... the rambling roads and stops and pitfalls and avalanches - every time I told myself I would never get here.
I can't even remember or don't think I could even try to count every time I called myself stupid, ugly, slow, fat, incompetent, a loser - every time I raged how much I hated my life. Every swing where I thought things were better just to shoot myself down hours later. Blood, sweat, tears, anxiety... and love. And caffeine. Things will never be perfect, but they will always be more than just okay. Life is awesome, and beautiful, though disgustingly ironic - the summation is hilarious.
I could have completed this run better, I know I could have. If given the chance, would I? Of course. Every night I should have focused better, every article I should have read or lecture I should have crammed - the time I wasted surfing the internet, flipping through trashy magazines, wishing I were somewhere else - of course, I tell myself I could have done better. But honestly - I rocked this shit like it was my job. I feel competent, scared shitless, and alive.
Three more weeks of clinics and I have a smile on my face I barely recognize. I skip down the halls of the hospital - I laugh uncontrollably. I drink too much. I still waste too much time. I maintain the maturity of a 12 year old boy, and I could give a shit. I LOVE every moment of this. I can't drag myself out of bed in the morning, I'm terrible about regular exercise. But when I'm up, I'm moving. A patient walks through the door and I want to know EVERYTHING.
I have been blessed with the company of some of the most amazing people who have ever walked this life, both here in this experience, and along the roads I stomped to get here. We'll go our separate ways, and I will cry - if not outwardly, and not even that day. But I know it will hit me transiently as I surf facebook, or get the occasional email - we're separated, that convenience ended - the distractions at the gym will become new people, that colleague you can't live without someone new. The surgical duets, karaoke nights, movie dates, candy raids, coffee breaks - they'll all become new faces. I'll continue to be blessed with the people in my life, old and new. But this last four years will be there, the tip of my tongue, the clearest of memories and sentimental smiles.
What happens now? A step towards real life, big girl commitment. Compromise. Insurance plans and liability. Real life decisions and their imposing consequences. Adulthood, and the passing thought that perhaps I -should- consider the consequences of an action though I'll likely proceed no differently. The horrible realization that I am no longer 23 years old that I'll refuse to let keep me grounded. Budgeting, debt, financial panic. More compromise. The beginnings of a bucket list.
Sometimes when I consider the last few days of my sanctimonious space, I picture my things neatly nestled into ordered little boxes - Kitchen, Jewelry, Office Supplies, Bills, Knitting Needles, Picture Frames; all lined up and ready to move, ready to be sorted, ready for the critical eye of my boyfriend who thinks I have too many things that I should sift through and donate/dispose of/etc. I laugh - knowing that while he's right, I enjoy my variety. The simple existence of my cluttered chaos is part of who I am, my little mysteries I never find the words to share as the very explanation is unnecessary.
As the world will rotate under my very feet, I can drag them, or I can keep dancing. Ballet shoes, high heels, slippers, and freshly painted toe nails - shuffling danskos and turned ankles, running shoes and rainboots - just don't stand still. Point and flex, stretch and stomp - and trip, smile, and laugh about it. And call my mother. Call my boyfriend.
And smile. :)
This date, one month from now, I will wake up a graduated veterinarian. How cool.
Never mind the fluster of boxes and possessions that will fly chaotically throughout the walls of the apartment I've called home for almost the past two years. Never mind the miles in between now and my first go at gainful veterinarian employment in nearly two months. And fortunately, the blissful ignorance of goodbyes that will be made joyfully and begrudgingly, even tragically in that interval. How cool is that? Four years of living the dream, countless years of awaiting the dream... the rambling roads and stops and pitfalls and avalanches - every time I told myself I would never get here.
I can't even remember or don't think I could even try to count every time I called myself stupid, ugly, slow, fat, incompetent, a loser - every time I raged how much I hated my life. Every swing where I thought things were better just to shoot myself down hours later. Blood, sweat, tears, anxiety... and love. And caffeine. Things will never be perfect, but they will always be more than just okay. Life is awesome, and beautiful, though disgustingly ironic - the summation is hilarious.
I could have completed this run better, I know I could have. If given the chance, would I? Of course. Every night I should have focused better, every article I should have read or lecture I should have crammed - the time I wasted surfing the internet, flipping through trashy magazines, wishing I were somewhere else - of course, I tell myself I could have done better. But honestly - I rocked this shit like it was my job. I feel competent, scared shitless, and alive.
Three more weeks of clinics and I have a smile on my face I barely recognize. I skip down the halls of the hospital - I laugh uncontrollably. I drink too much. I still waste too much time. I maintain the maturity of a 12 year old boy, and I could give a shit. I LOVE every moment of this. I can't drag myself out of bed in the morning, I'm terrible about regular exercise. But when I'm up, I'm moving. A patient walks through the door and I want to know EVERYTHING.
I have been blessed with the company of some of the most amazing people who have ever walked this life, both here in this experience, and along the roads I stomped to get here. We'll go our separate ways, and I will cry - if not outwardly, and not even that day. But I know it will hit me transiently as I surf facebook, or get the occasional email - we're separated, that convenience ended - the distractions at the gym will become new people, that colleague you can't live without someone new. The surgical duets, karaoke nights, movie dates, candy raids, coffee breaks - they'll all become new faces. I'll continue to be blessed with the people in my life, old and new. But this last four years will be there, the tip of my tongue, the clearest of memories and sentimental smiles.
What happens now? A step towards real life, big girl commitment. Compromise. Insurance plans and liability. Real life decisions and their imposing consequences. Adulthood, and the passing thought that perhaps I -should- consider the consequences of an action though I'll likely proceed no differently. The horrible realization that I am no longer 23 years old that I'll refuse to let keep me grounded. Budgeting, debt, financial panic. More compromise. The beginnings of a bucket list.
Sometimes when I consider the last few days of my sanctimonious space, I picture my things neatly nestled into ordered little boxes - Kitchen, Jewelry, Office Supplies, Bills, Knitting Needles, Picture Frames; all lined up and ready to move, ready to be sorted, ready for the critical eye of my boyfriend who thinks I have too many things that I should sift through and donate/dispose of/etc. I laugh - knowing that while he's right, I enjoy my variety. The simple existence of my cluttered chaos is part of who I am, my little mysteries I never find the words to share as the very explanation is unnecessary.
As the world will rotate under my very feet, I can drag them, or I can keep dancing. Ballet shoes, high heels, slippers, and freshly painted toe nails - shuffling danskos and turned ankles, running shoes and rainboots - just don't stand still. Point and flex, stretch and stomp - and trip, smile, and laugh about it. And call my mother. Call my boyfriend.
And smile. :)