(no subject)
Tomorrow is my last day-night-day of call as an intern.
Some part of me survived. Some part of me didn't.
Oh my god, in unexpectedly hard ways I lived this year. The rest, they say, is down hill. I almost believe.
I bike Lost Angeles. I co-started a bike-street-medic crew. I wrote a two internet published articles about Burritos & Bikes, Anarchism and Medicine. I organized an environmental justice tour of South LA for medical students. Facilitated health deconstruction at the Bookfair. My kid finished 5th grade, with an award for being a 'role model.' I loved and lost. All of that I did, to remind myself that I am human. Recall I exist in the world I love, beyond hospital barricades.
I worked, running up and down stairs delivering paper for signatures, stethoscope to hearts, pen to pages. I don't believe anymore.
In very small ways I retain irresponsible defiance. I filed my taxes 2 months late. Have yet to finish my HR packet for new job next year. Fuck you future self, present self likes to manifest control in inopportune moments. Dishes? When I feel like it!
I feel not that smart, not that talented, not that pretty. My heart is broke into a million. I feel worse then when I started this year.
My future still fog. With echoing thoughts like a fog-horn every few minutes to remind me that I exist, don't crash yet. Lost among angeles.
Some part of me survived. Some part of me didn't.
Oh my god, in unexpectedly hard ways I lived this year. The rest, they say, is down hill. I almost believe.
I bike Lost Angeles. I co-started a bike-street-medic crew. I wrote a two internet published articles about Burritos & Bikes, Anarchism and Medicine. I organized an environmental justice tour of South LA for medical students. Facilitated health deconstruction at the Bookfair. My kid finished 5th grade, with an award for being a 'role model.' I loved and lost. All of that I did, to remind myself that I am human. Recall I exist in the world I love, beyond hospital barricades.
I worked, running up and down stairs delivering paper for signatures, stethoscope to hearts, pen to pages. I don't believe anymore.
In very small ways I retain irresponsible defiance. I filed my taxes 2 months late. Have yet to finish my HR packet for new job next year. Fuck you future self, present self likes to manifest control in inopportune moments. Dishes? When I feel like it!
I feel not that smart, not that talented, not that pretty. My heart is broke into a million. I feel worse then when I started this year.
My future still fog. With echoing thoughts like a fog-horn every few minutes to remind me that I exist, don't crash yet. Lost among angeles.