again with the walking

dearest my neglected patients,
i would apologize for having been gone so long, except that i don't feel like it. there's plenty of other forms of contact. and now that i have a blogging job, it just sometimes feels like work. but anyhow... i'm walking again. which is good though not as fucking ecstatic as i thought it would be when i wasn't walking. life is still hard, maybe even harder, when able to walk. i'm sure you all understand this phenomenon, since most of you are missing a limb or two. so i won't go on and on about it. i'm in a bit of a mood, 'cause i went to therapy today. doctor on doctor processing. usually therapy makes me feel pretty good, but not always and today was a not always day. i really wanted to cry when i left, but then i was on a crowded subway and then in class. neither particularly appropriate places for letting it all out. and now i'm home, and the impulse seems to have passed. but maybe if i just have a few more beers it will return. here's a mood barometer for you: i keep having that quasi song in my head "california."

life is dull
life is gray
at its' best it's just okay
but i'm happy to report
life is also short

heh. but just temper. there's lots of awesomeness ahead. texas for one. well, mainly that. but it's so much. i can't even stand it. only 9 more days. then this doctor will get his well deserved vacation from all the illness that exists in nyc and go to the uber-healthy land of austin, where all is well.

piss in this, then put it in the window,
dr. blam

i am officially a centanarian

dearest the devoted and ailing,
it's true. i'm 100 years old. well this is my 100th post. same diff. and i'd like to say that i've changed and grown so much as a doctor in the last three plus years. but mostly i still feel just the same as when i was a young resident. scared and insecure and excited and nervous and angsty and prone to overwhelming emotions and occasionally overly rational and sometimes self destructive and a slave to my desires and rebellious and needy and stubborn and suddenly filled with profound epiphanies. and i don't know who i'm writing this for anymore, if i ever did. all i know is that it's totally different than writing something that no one will ever read and also different than writing something specifically to entertain others. it's an occasionally dangerous hybrid, but one that i've grown to appreciate in a certain way. i need to air out all my foibles in this way. otherwise they might take over. but just so all you readers (secret and otherwise) remember to take it all with a grain of salt. i mostly write when i'm drunk or feeling really excellent or really dismal and i mostly harp on my own particular brand of nurse weakness. and sometimes i say mean things (see entry titled Mean But True). and even though i still feel incredibly teenage, i imagine i must have come a little tiny ways and maybe part of that is because of this doctor's log. and therapy. and some of my important, challenging and amazing relationships with a couple of you other doctors. blah blah. anniversary shows are always kind of boring. just imagine a couple of clips of vomiting or singing right now to spice things up. i actually do feel slightly nauseous. that's it. really no more disgusto cigarettes. and i'm going to get my hand out of my scrub pants and see ten patients today. and do my broken leg exercises. and drink my juice. and you drink your juice!

don't worry, it's easy to swallow,
dr. blamblo m.d. (mock decapitator)

it's a pity party and you're invited

dear amputated pieces,
we are gathered here today to feel sorry for the good doctor who has worked so hard to save so many lives and alleviate so much suffering from the world and who in turn receives always the same crap treatment from nurses. we must play for him a thousand tiny violins and a very very melancholy dirge as he rolls around in his wheelchair feeling horribly sorry for himself and throwing things in child-like fits of hysterics. we must soothe him and not agree when he yells that he is unlovable and unattractive and unappealing and undesirable. we must bring him ice cream and pizza as he lays in bed on a snotty pillow and wallows over a nurse who sucks a giant bowl of dicks. we must be understanding and compassionate as he curses himself for being so incredibly obtuse and so deluded as to think things could turn out any other way. to think that just maybe she felt something too. and most of all we must tell him that he's a good doctor and that he'll find the right nurse someday and that we think that one nurse is a total a-hole and tell him he's not alone even though he claims to feel like he's floating inside a black hole/void of nothingness.
don't forget the black streamers!
-the rational blamblo

i must have forgotten to knock on wood

dearest the hurt,
well, now i too have joined your ranks as patient in pain. remember just a bit ago when things were so good? well i must have jinxed it somehow. not that all those things are negated. they are not. i still have an amazing place to live. school and work will presumably still be there when i am casted and crutching faster and farther. it's true that i don't feel tremendously sexy with a dead weight of a leg always trailing behind, but i don't feel like an ogre either. and even though the all-too brief time of fun sex with a fellow m.d. seems to be over, and i did at long-last develop tender feelings that snuck up from behind like a thief in the night, at least i had good times and i don't really mind the feelings. it reminds me of my humanness. and everything's going to be ok. i'm cradling myself and whispering it in my own ear, since you all are separated from me by the vast miles of cyberspace. luckily my bedside manner is so good that it even works on myself. soothe soothe. anyhow it's all too familiar. broken legs are familiar. feelings for people who are unavailable eight ways from sunday are familiar. being on vicadin all day is familiar. discomfort is an old friend. also though, i still have the best friends in the world to call and visit and nurse me back to health. thank the heavens for that.
ouch i love you,
dr. blamblo m.d. (majorly debilitated)

things are almost too freakin good

to my ailing and demented patients,
too bad for you, cause things are tip top with me. really. for once. so good. moving into a new apartment, excuse me, building. that's right a whole building. with two bathrooms, and a band room and two outdoor spaces and washer dryer connections (gotta keep my lab coat sparkling white). and i don't even have to be a doctor to afford it (even though i am one). also a new gig in anesthesiology that is really going well (despite the long hours). and the new hospital is good, better than the last year, for sure. and i've been riding and riding my bike. and the other night i had really hot sex on the seventh floor of a partially constructed condo that we snuck into. and i'm learning all about wine. (i think i really need to quit smoking to appreciate the subtlety of flavors though). and mostly i just feel good. even though i am soo busy. and i miss my sweet patients. i feel like i could prescribe you just the right amount of pills, love and band-aids right now.
your doc,
blamblo

too personal for the interweb really

but who gives a fuck? because no one reads this.

It is always like this when life is in shambles that things start to seem really real. The rest of the time I’m floating through this sort of haze that is every person’s life: of work, of school, of bars, of sitting in front of the computer, of pissing and shitting and sleeping and eating. And then I quit my job and sleep with a girl that I can’t stop thinking about and every time I think about her sparks shoot through me. And on the 22nd day of August I go out and get wasted as usual and meet some interesting people and then feel sad the next day because I was the only one who didn’t hook up with anyone. Well not the only one in the world. But it sort of felt that way. And I know, I know it’s probably just all the drinking that makes me feel achey in the chest and that girl, as much as I can’t wait to fuck her again isn’t going to give me that love thing that we are all searching for and I’m judging my roommate for being unable to be honest about her feelings, but what the fuck are my feelings? They are just as elusive and transitory as hers. I am also jealous and unwilling to admit it. I am also lonely and insecure and longing for someone to want me. I am also seeking adventures to boast about and relive under the covers in the afternoon with my fan blowing the smell of fried chicken into the room. I am also in love and not in love and infatuated and completely unaffected. My horoscope says I have the power to create with my words but I can’t even think of what it is that I would create. I mean what words? What would I create? A perfect girl for me? Can I really forge her out of times new roman text 12 pt. text? How could I presume to create a person? Would I make her like all the same music and books as me and if she didn’t, how could I create her interests outside of mine? Would her diminutive stature just be a reflection of my two most recent fucks or I am really extraordinarily attracted to short girls? Or is it only their small hands? And if I met the girl that I created, would I tell her, “I created you!”? That would be weird.

okay that's it for now.
blam