First, let me address some of the concerns sent to me about my last blog post. Considering I've yet to study the GI tract of a demon, I don't know what kind of gas would be most prevalent in it's flatulence. For those of you who said that it is mostly likely methane, just like most mammals, I would argue that there is a good chance that sulfur may be in larger concentrations. Either way, it would have to be a fairly potent fart to allow a proper explosion to occur in the engine. Maybe the little guy just blew some air in my fuel line, perhaps we can just leave it at that?
I'm very particular concerning pens and pencils. I don't use wooden pencils, and the mechanical pencils that I use are Zebra m-301 0.5mm. I can't go to the store and buy another type, as I feel as if I've properly explored the mechanical pencil market and made the appropriate choice. When it comes to pens, I allow a wider variety but there are some I just can't stand. The Sharpie brand writing pens are nice, but even the finest tip available isn't fine enough for me. In fact, my favorite pen, which is nearing the end of it's life and is the inspiration for this post, is a of unknown origins except for the fact it has a drug company logo on it. I don't know where I got it from and, more importantly, I don't know what brand it is. There is no identifying information. Now, usually, in every day life, the type and width of the tip means relatively little, but when it comes to writing and producing note-cards, it is of utmost importance. I'm thinking of calling the drug company advertised on the side of the pen and begging them for either more pens or at least some info on where they got them so I can get some for myself.
I see many thousands of note-cards in my immediate future. I think that making my own cards is valuable because the work that goes into producing them is not only custom to what my needs are (which is obvious) but the benefit from processing and organizing the material to produce the cards in the first place is often where a good portion of the learning comes from. There is also something to say about the little bite-sized portions that the information can be broken down into. And, oh boy, let me just give a nod to all those before me who told incoming med students about how it feels to take a drink from the flow from a fire-hose. They weren't lying. However, let me also acknowledge the fact that none of this material is exactly too difficult to learn, it has more to do with the sheer volume of it that one must process and then regurgitate. It. Just. Doesn't. Stop.
Concerning the test I took earlier in the week: they didn't kick me out yet. In all seriousness, I passed what I needed to pass but I can't say much more than that, and to say that is a serious wake up call, as I put in more effort to learn that material (which much of it seemed like review material anyway!) than nearly any other test in undergrad. Looking back over the past couple of weeks since school got underway, I can't help but think of those nights I slept a full 8 hours, or I went out to dinner, or I watched Big Bang Theory streams on my computer instead of studying. This is a scary path to go down though, and I strive to achieve a balance between hitting the books and hitting the wife -- Uh, no, wait a minute, I mean, spending time with the wife and kicking the dog, no, wait, what I mean is I need to hit the pavement and go for runs to train for the half-marathon coming up. This will be a large chunk of my own personal time I'm going to make an effort to preserve -- in that order, time with the wife and running. This upcoming Sunday will mark 13 weeks until the race, and I am starting a structured training plan this coming week. Thankfully, I enjoy running on the island where the school is located, and there is some extraordinarily beautiful scenery in every direction.
Anyway, can you tell that my mind is segmented and distracted? Well, it is. I can't wait to go pen and pencil shopping tomorrow.
The white coat ceremony is this Sunday. Basically, we get to walk across the stage in the school auditorium in front of everyone, have our name called out and have the white-coat put on. My white coat is about 2X larger than it needs to be, which is saying something. Even the sleeves are too long for me, which almost never happens with any garment I've ever owned in the history of my life. Whats funny about that is this, med students, in a clinical setting wear white jackets that are shorter than the other "real" doctors. My white jacket is nearly long enough on me so that I could be mistaken for a "long-white-coat" doctor, or, a "real doctor," in other words. Not that I'd ever do anything like that. Don't get this confused with us taking the oath or anything like this, as I believe that comes much later in our academic career, graduation, I'm assuming. I kind of wish that they'd save all the ceremonies for the end of this all, as I don't particularly feel like celebrating right now.
My wife wanted to buy a love seat for the office I use for studying. I talked her into letting me buy a OMT table instead. Basically, its a modified massage table in that it must be able to bear higher loads and have denser and less padding. Considering she will be the beneficiary of all my practice, I think she'll be happy -- unless I screw up or something and render her paralyzed! As long as she doesn't sue me for malpractice . . .
I've dedicated Friday nights as the only night I can intake any alcohol, and I discovered that the convenience store down the street (the only on in the little town that we live in, by the way) carries my most favored beer, Full Sail Amber Ale, and for a good price to boot. Life is good, mostly because the next test is a few weeks away. Cheers.