The Mind-killer
I just finished The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement (despite labgoddess's sneering IM - "Oh, I thought that was a movie for thirteen year old girls?"). You know what, I like them. Life is depressing enough as it is; I don't understand why people enjoy horror films. I find chinese film beautiful, but I want there to be happy endings, at least in my fantasy realms. I spend enough of life without them.
For those that don't know, this November Rent is becoming a movie as well as an amazing broadway production. I'd suggest you see the trailer, and if possible the musical. It's ... wonderous. So much so that I started thinking again. Just how do you measure your life?
If it's in love, the only answers that I have are hollow. Yes, my parents love me. For all that I've put them through I've proven it time and time again; were they any other parents they'd have left me to my own devices long ago, and were I any other son I would have fled them at the same interval. My friends - I've said time and time again I'm truly blessed. I've been hyper-critical, somewhat indirectly and somewhat sneakily, of a project that wushi runs. And I've been so for purely personal, selfish reasons - I'm not a smart person. I don't do well with puzzles. When a problem presents itself I collect data in a fast sweep and shoot from the hip; if life can be summed by the decisions you make then the time you spend deliberating one could be spent on a hundred. And yet, in his new game he proposes such a wonderous thought, so comfortable and so conveniently to provide (if it works out) all the things I dream of when I play... I'm truly not worthy. sirlyric and labgoddess, despite valuing their privacy as a treasure have made time to see me nearly every week, to alleviate the void in my life somewhat and allow me to share another thing I enjoy, and once loved. adina77 has been so truly kind these past few weeks, listening to me rant and rave on many nights about ... someone. I can't believe I just backspaced, but I swore there would be no more mention of that here.
Sexdwarf once, when we were much closer, looked at me plainly and with such powerful pity in her eyes said that I frightened her, for that she's never known anyone who had no passions. I doubt she'd remember saying the words; I doubt she and I shall ever cross paths again. But the words seared themselves into my heart. If we measure our lives in love, what truly do I have? I love my career but it's a love that's unrequited - perhaps the most painful sensation I know. To have to endure love without that which you love knowing, or worse without that which you love caring... I truly want my patients to do well. They, for whatever reason, have had trust placed in me for that. It's what drives me to study when I've never liked doing so; it's what makes me stay late when any other medical student would have gone home hours before. It's a love, but like that from my family it is not-fulfilling. For if I could only begin to describe how people don't care for themselves, how it's only 'one more cigarette' or 'one more dessert' or 'one more injection' or 'one more john'... I can feel the immense sorrow of Charon, empowered only to assist the departing on their journey and to watch, silently, for the length of my existence.
What do I truly have? It's come to the point that I don't believe my voicemails get through to other people's phones, because they are all too often never returned. Anyone I have ever cared for has left, and in each instance I can feel within myself the same love and care that I had from the first. If it takes two to tango and I clearly still have the desire, it's reasonable to say that in every instance the other party has decided they are better off without me.
And thus, the subject of this entry. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is what has drained me of all creative stroke recently, of the excessive energy I once had and the joys I only until recently delighted in. I'm afraid I am destined to live alone; not for fear that I shall never meet anyone as wonderous as those that I've met before but that I've still not understood why these amazing people come to understand that I am not. I'm afraid that in eleven weeks I will not be a doctor; unlike my American counterparts I've failed every Step of the USMLE so far and I'm afraid I'll but do it again. I'm afraid of the future; I'm afraid of the first step; I'm afraid of speaking to friends because I fear that they too have come to understood what those I have cared for understand. I'm afraid of looking like a fool, I'm afraid I'm really not smart, and I'm afraid... afraid that I truly may be the monster I fear I am.
For those that don't know, this November Rent is becoming a movie as well as an amazing broadway production. I'd suggest you see the trailer, and if possible the musical. It's ... wonderous. So much so that I started thinking again. Just how do you measure your life?
If it's in love, the only answers that I have are hollow. Yes, my parents love me. For all that I've put them through I've proven it time and time again; were they any other parents they'd have left me to my own devices long ago, and were I any other son I would have fled them at the same interval. My friends - I've said time and time again I'm truly blessed. I've been hyper-critical, somewhat indirectly and somewhat sneakily, of a project that wushi runs. And I've been so for purely personal, selfish reasons - I'm not a smart person. I don't do well with puzzles. When a problem presents itself I collect data in a fast sweep and shoot from the hip; if life can be summed by the decisions you make then the time you spend deliberating one could be spent on a hundred. And yet, in his new game he proposes such a wonderous thought, so comfortable and so conveniently to provide (if it works out) all the things I dream of when I play... I'm truly not worthy. sirlyric and labgoddess, despite valuing their privacy as a treasure have made time to see me nearly every week, to alleviate the void in my life somewhat and allow me to share another thing I enjoy, and once loved. adina77 has been so truly kind these past few weeks, listening to me rant and rave on many nights about ... someone. I can't believe I just backspaced, but I swore there would be no more mention of that here.
Sexdwarf once, when we were much closer, looked at me plainly and with such powerful pity in her eyes said that I frightened her, for that she's never known anyone who had no passions. I doubt she'd remember saying the words; I doubt she and I shall ever cross paths again. But the words seared themselves into my heart. If we measure our lives in love, what truly do I have? I love my career but it's a love that's unrequited - perhaps the most painful sensation I know. To have to endure love without that which you love knowing, or worse without that which you love caring... I truly want my patients to do well. They, for whatever reason, have had trust placed in me for that. It's what drives me to study when I've never liked doing so; it's what makes me stay late when any other medical student would have gone home hours before. It's a love, but like that from my family it is not-fulfilling. For if I could only begin to describe how people don't care for themselves, how it's only 'one more cigarette' or 'one more dessert' or 'one more injection' or 'one more john'... I can feel the immense sorrow of Charon, empowered only to assist the departing on their journey and to watch, silently, for the length of my existence.
What do I truly have? It's come to the point that I don't believe my voicemails get through to other people's phones, because they are all too often never returned. Anyone I have ever cared for has left, and in each instance I can feel within myself the same love and care that I had from the first. If it takes two to tango and I clearly still have the desire, it's reasonable to say that in every instance the other party has decided they are better off without me.
And thus, the subject of this entry. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is what has drained me of all creative stroke recently, of the excessive energy I once had and the joys I only until recently delighted in. I'm afraid I am destined to live alone; not for fear that I shall never meet anyone as wonderous as those that I've met before but that I've still not understood why these amazing people come to understand that I am not. I'm afraid that in eleven weeks I will not be a doctor; unlike my American counterparts I've failed every Step of the USMLE so far and I'm afraid I'll but do it again. I'm afraid of the future; I'm afraid of the first step; I'm afraid of speaking to friends because I fear that they too have come to understood what those I have cared for understand. I'm afraid of looking like a fool, I'm afraid I'm really not smart, and I'm afraid... afraid that I truly may be the monster I fear I am.