Cryin'

I walked into the house, and I called out for my mother. Her response was so slight that I didn't hear it until I had walked through the kitchen and set foot on the stairwell. Even then, it took me a moment to realize that she was in the den, downstairs.

The room was dark, and she was motionless on the loveseat recliner, the quiet even more unsettling given her usual exuberance when I come to visit. I gave her a kiss and a hug, settling into the other half of the seat. I had been afraid something like this might be waiting for me, as her voice on the phone had sounded wan.

Translated from the original Spanish:

G: What's the matter?
M: ... (begins to cry)
G: Did something happen?
M: (head shake) No.
G: Is it just sadness?
M: Yes, I'm full of sadness.
G: Me, too.

At this point, we curled up next to each other and settled into a good cry, neither of us needing to explain any further where from or why this sadness had struck, only silently understanding that we needed to shed the tears to help wash away the bitterness for a time, whatever the source.

After a bit, it came to my attention that there was no food readily available for dinner. No problem, let's order Chinese. The hold music was some kind of big band era swing, and so we held the phone up where we could both listen to it and danced, and laughed.

It's both thanks to my mother that it's never seemed too abnormal to swing so drastically from sadness to joy, and her fault that I've gone through life without really learning how to express the reasons for those changes from one way to another. Sometimes, you just need to cry your way back to being happy. At least, for a bit.

Making a clean sweep

I'm relishing the fact that I've got a few days off after my run of nights. And you know what makes it sweeter? The fact that I'm relishing it in an apartment that is minus about 6 trashbags (maybe more) of crap.

Rewind to Saturday.

Actually, rewind a bit further, to Thursday immediately after my 1st night of a 4 night streak. I was tired, and as I crept along 360 in the AM traffic I realized that I couldn't make it. No, sir. Not going to drive back to Dallas in the middle of this God-forsaken traffic. So I altered my route to the haven in Arlington known as "Mom and Dad's House". My mom and dad, oddly enough, live there.

So I pulled into the driveway, walked in, and announced my arrival as I always do. By screaming "Hola Mami! Hola Papi!" and slamming the door. If I don't, Mom freaks out that someone is breaking into the house when the alarm beeps. Thankfully they were up, and didn't mind the unannounced visit. I then let them know that I was about to pass out, at which my mom produced some pjs, gave me a towel, pulled out my toothbrush, and made me some breakfast while I took a shower. After that, I crawled into bed and passed out for a good 5-6 hours, when I woke up to a solid meal and hung out with my mom.

I'm a pampered kid. Mom washed my scrubs and white coat while I was asleep. One of the topics we wandered to was the state of my apartment. I am, unfortunately, a slob. I can pick up after myself when I'm a visitor, but in my own abode I let things accumulate to the point of dismay. At that time, we formulated a plan to help me tidy up in the near future. I love my mom.

So Saturday I drove myself back to Dallas, slept, and woke up at 2 PM to let my parents in, and we set to work. We emptied out bags of mail that have been in my apartment since 2005. We shredded patient lists that I had been hoarding for about the same amount of time. Ditto for old medical journals and magazines. The mountain of shoe boxes that I had in my closet has disappeared. The difference made after about of 4 hours of nonstop trash hauling is astonishing.

But the embarassing thing? It's still a mess. I need to finish up with all the clothes that are scattered on my bed, and I need to organize my books. I shudder to think what might be under my bed and dresser while I'm typing this. But I'm pleased, and with any luck it will be a task that will be completed tomorrow. I feel like a human being again, and less like a wild beast in it's den.

Stuck

Paralysis. That's one way to describe it. I am referring to something that seems to be happening to me recently and which I have had problems with throughout my life.

I am, at heart, something of a coward. If I think of a possible negative consequence of my actions or speech, it can be enough to render me incapable of completing a sentence coherently or even being able to think. It's a reason that, when I really should know, when it counts, I say "I don't know." It's why I can be in someone's company for hours, and be unable to have a meaningful conversation or provide any kind of outlet that a friend should be when you're having a crappy day. Instead, at the mere hint of trouble, I stutter out random facts or make pointless statements at such a rapid clip that it kills opportunities to be, you know, a friend. Not every time, maybe, but enough.

The thing is, there are a lot of good instincts and feelings there, too. Recently, though, it's felt like I hit the paralysis every time I'm about to just do what feels right. Because, unfortunately, even my best instincts and actions have been wrong, and I'm scared.

I envy dogs. A tail wag happens, and they don't consider the consequence. They lay their head on your lap because they love you and don't stop to worry about whether you really want them to. And you forgive a dog when it exasperates you, because you know that even when it does something wrong, it didn't set out to do it with bad intent. They are startled and saddened when they get a rebuke, but the fact that they forget it almost immediately isn't wrong, it's just their doggy mind. And it's completely ok.

Hmm. This is kind of a rambling post, and completely not what I set out to write. But I feel a little better, and that's the point for me.

Life as told by the silver screen

There are so many reasons I love movies. At home, you kick back on your couch with your favorite blanket and munch on pizza. In the theater, you sit in the dark with other enthralled viewers, splitting a popcorn with a friend and hoping for some good trailers to open with.

And then there are the movies themselves.

It has been a while since going to the movies was close to a weekly event. Not for lack of things to watch - in truth, there have been quite a few that I've been disappointed I missed getting to experience on the big screen. No, it's just been stumbling blocks more than anything, some big, some small.

This evening, it was Prince Caspian. A week or 2 ago it was Iron Man. And the new Indy movie is coming soon, you bet your teeth I'm going. While I often enjoy films that question your way of viewing the world, and could probably think of any number of quite depressing or unsettling flicks I have liked, at the moment the idea of a hero and the triumph of good over evil is what I want. I want nobility. I want friendship. I want love. I want the good guys/gals to conquer unbelievable odds. I want to see characters up there that represent the best parts of humanity. And I want popcorn and a soda.

The 1001 Faces of -G^2

Work is getting more manageable. In fact, it's mostly downright likeable. The people I work with are nice, a good amount of my patients and families are reasonable, and I have found that I didn't forget everything I'd learned in the last few years of training. This is a good thing.

An interesting fact, though. Be it the way I speak, or the way I look, but I am mistaken for just about any nationality you could think of. In the last week, people have thought I might be:

• Jordanian
• Indian
• Mexican
• Italian
• Spanish
• Egyptian
• Canadian (really?)
• Russian

Seriously. Not one of the random "Are you from blank?" questions I've gotten included Texas. Funny, considering I've lived my entire life in this state. I guess the bright side is that if I ever flee the country all I have to do is keep my mouth shut and I could blend into a crowd with ease.

A whuppin'

Considering the fact that I've had plenty of time to rest over the past many months, I think I need a vacation. Oh, my, God. I spent 14 hours at work today, and that's been my shortest day so far this week. Granted, I'm not the speediest person in the world. I spend too much time talking to people over the course of the day, true. But still! It's like the world is taking revenge on me for having too much free time. The world is a bastard.

Well, at least I can look forward to one more day and then a series of days off. I'll need them.