Second

This has been a complete weekend of debauchery. I shall apologize for any spelling errors in advance. I am listening to Mazzy Star, Halah. Today we shall discuss insecurity and karmic energies. Namely my insecurity and the reason why I took a big debit out of my karma account. Lets start with the latter. I saw a girl that I had recognized from town while away on vacation. In a narcotic, inebriated, smoke filled haze, I asked her if she knew a friend of mine. She said she did, he was a great guy. And he is a great guy. "He told me he tagged you in the ass," I said, "and that it was really good. I mean this only in the nicest way possible." She was offended. I was quite serious. I think it made her more offended. My friend would have thought this was completely funny. He did, as a matter of fact, tag her in the ass. That night ended with me stealing an inflatable dinosaur out of some hotel guest's garage. Actually, I had also stolen an inflatable lobster from their garage the night before. Some poor four year old is probably crying right now. And yet this was supposed to be a great weekend. I'm driving back home Monday, thinking, is that all it is? You go out and party for a weekend with you best friends, and actually have an amazing time. Yet it feels so unworthwhile in a way. It is very empty out there. So how do we define a meaningful existence. On paper it seems like a great trip.

I was having lunch with a friend and he had an epiphany in therapy. We talked about the need to seek the approval of others. That in needing to seek approval we are covering up our own sense of inadequacy, or our own worthlessness. But I'm taking this further. Seeking approval falls underneath the broader canopy of seeking validation. Why are we significant? Would we be missed? The need for extrinsic validation to define ourselves as being necessary. I want an amazingly beautiful girl on my arm to feel that I am attractive. I need a succcessful carreer to prove that I am intelligent. Either looking for extrinsic validation to prove why I am worthy, or to prove why someone else fucked up by not recognizing that in the first place. Their loss. But never intrinsic validation for my own sense of self, irrespective of others. Is that the basis for self-esteem? Seems ruthless. But is that what separates those with a high sense of confidence and belief in themselves from the have-nots? That they do not need (or need as much) belief from others about themselves. Seems to work that way sometimes. The less interested we are in someone the more intrigued they are about the fact that we have no interest in them. But only if they are already insecure. How do these concepts get instilled in us? The transition from youthful simplicity to overanalysis of self just to make the self somewhat functional. I do believe this occurs at a very young age.

My virgin blog

This is my official entrance into this universe. I have, for the past five years, spent my life in an alternate universe. A very hateful place. It is made up of many other people. We fight against them, they fight against us. It is a fight for survival. Everyday you go to work and they try to suck every meager essence of your soul leaving you a dry shell of what you thought you might be. You go in with wide eyed expectations, thinking grand things, expecting grand things. Ultimately it is a tale of survival. They constantly try to hurt you. You hurt them back. But you are supposedly the savior. But what are you truly saving. I prolong death.

So you've reached a moral paradox. You train to take care of people but the training itself teaches you to stop caring. You must in order to care for yourself. Is there any beauty in it? There certainly is a beauty in the end process. The moment you walk into a room, and say, ma'am, your husband has died. Can that be considered beautiful. If it was right. The moment was perfect. It was peaceful. You stand on the edge of this great precipice and you jump. Expect, you don't. Two minutes later you're pulling a condom out of some woman's vagina. She's very annoyed and says that the speculum is too big. You look over at her extremely tall and well built companion and state you've been using the same size speculum for years. Go figure. I do provide actually decent care. I'm just too jaded to hold your hand in the process. Ironically, hand holders that provide crappy care do better in the judicial sector than non-hand holders who provide excellent care. I think I fall somewhere in the middle. So let's lighten this up just a bit. For my climbing buddy's (we stopped climbing a while ago but these are insignificant details) fiance. Anecdotes from the ER....(with a bit of Cat Power influence)

My first day in the ED. Amazing. I saw a person come in complete arrest. Totally gorked. DOA. Tube in his mouth. Very profound experience. Makes you step back. Now I realize it bills a level five, about ninety dolllars. Decent cheese. Same month. Older man walks in the door. Has had a seizure. tongue is cut, deeply. Very time consuming, no one wants to deal. So send the med student in with no knowledge of anything. Oral surgeon walks by an hour later, "Are you done suturing this guy's tongue." No, I respond, can't really seem to stop the bleeding in order to get started. "How much blood has he lost?" Not much, maybe that big jar full...this is apparently a jar that apparently holds enought to fall into the category of not small, not medium, but big enought to go, "Oh shit" roll this homeboy to the trauma bay....Sir, can you stick your tongue out for me? Just a little bit more. You take a big ass needle and you stick it in their pumping away. How much lidocaine can you get in beofore he figures out he just got fucked. Then you cauterize. Nothing special. The smell of burning flesh is actually not bad. It's actually attractive, in a very non pervasive sort of way. Everyone enjoys waking up to the smell of napalm in the morning. I sew up his tongue. It's kind of shaped like a snake, forked. I fuck it up. The two ends do not meet. He's got a little flap on one side. My first time suturing, in my defense. We ask him to stick his tongue out again. He does. We promptly take some shears and slice his tongue in half again. This time it takes much longer but I do an excellent job. He is so happy, but slightly worried. Why we ask? Doctor, doctor? Yes sir? Doctor, doctor? Yes, what it is sir? Doctor, DOCTOR? YES, SIR, WHAT IS IT? Doctor, can I still eat pussy. Yes sir, you can. Everything works just fine. He is sixty five years old. God bless your desire to give unto others....

Could this have possibly led me down the road to depression, narcotic addiction, and completely lacking in empathy. No, I argue. You must absolutely possess these traits in order to get accepted into the medical profession. If you don't, they will either weed you out or instill in you a strong sense of cynicism. When do I truly feel satisfied? What particular moments redeem everything else? you ask? PARONYCHIA...small localized pocket of pus on the side of the proximal finger nail. Numb up the finger. Slide a very sharp scalpel blade underneath the cuticle. Very smooth. Pus just falls right out. Immeadiate results. Immediate satisfaction.

"NO NARCOTICS FOR YOU" I feel like the ER soup nazi. Just done with it. By the way if you happen to be some amazing cool person, and attractive, or simply one of my friends, the aforementioned phrase does not apply to you. I would never allow you to suffer in pain. It is simply abhorrent. By the way, I would like some samples of at least everything that I write for you. I think that's fair...