Pontificum Scriblerus

I've been playing around with pictures. I want to post them. Bear with me. The first shot is the original, and the second is doctored up. Which is better? Beach Beach, through rose colored glasses. Flowers in the dark. Santa Monica sunset Brighter sunset And this is just because.

I applied for GI fellowship knowing that chances were we might end up elsewhere, as in, Baltimore or Chicago, or even Albany. So, the fact that I got a spot in the area was actually a huge win. But that didn't keep me from crying about having to give up our cozy little apartment in Boston and make the move to Out Here. I work Out There, and Out Here is much closer than Boston. Ironically, initially, I gave up and said, let's just go for it... let's just live Out There too - at least, in my anticipated misery (and was I right!), I can be very very close to work. We poked around Out There's "luxury rental communities," but they were pretty depressing. They were mostly cardboard boxes with guilded decorations, and the only "luxurious" thing about them was the price - albeit, still cheaper than Boston. Out Here was a breath of fresh air. It was a sturdy solid construction and lacked that cookie cutter little box quality most "rental communite...

I'm an egocentric little girl, and I'm the first to admit it. I see the world mainly through Sasha-colored goggles, and tend to assume that everything has something to do with me. While often, it means I get a high from reveling in the sunshine of attention from - well - everyone, it's not always a good thing, as far as my self esteem and well-being go. I'm the type of person that will say, Why is so and so upset, are they mad at me? And then, I'll spend hours worrying about what I did to make it so. This, along with the fact that I continue to stick to the notion that no one REALLY cares about anyone... But before I continue. About my theory on caring. I do believe that no one really cares about anyone but themselves, and maybe one or two other people. I've discussed this before, I must have. It's the main dogma on which I pretty much base my entire existential crisis/critical existence. I've had arguments before about this. Kind-hearted folks...

Part of Obama's healthcare plan is a provision that employers with more than 50 employees have to provide a private and secure place, other than a bathroom, and free from intrusion from the public and other employees, for breast feeding and pumping for new moms in the workplace. I had no idea about this, but when I found out, my first reaction was a healthy skeptical snort, especially based on my experiences as a female physician here at this institution. This is the place that made the 9 month pregnant resident cover some guy on vacation. This is the place where a person from a position of power told me that "as a woman, you need to learn to read capsules because it's not physically challenging, and you can do it as well as anyone." (Implying that as a woman, there are some things I can't do as well as anyone?!) Also, where another female physician, one that has three kids of her own, told me that if I need a snack after 12 hours of work, I need to run, or e...

The jig is up, I'm definitely pregnant. Strangers in the elevator are asking me when I'm due, and little old ladies at the grocery store are petting my stomach. So, that's fun story #1: I'm into the 3rd trimester, which, in and of itself, is a little unbelievable, considering I just found out I was pregnant in the first place. Fun story #2 is that, apparently, I've been cast in a remake of Alien, because on a daily basis, my own belly changes shape a la Lava Lamp, and occasionally, grows lumps that look like they're about to burst open and a release a little creature that runs off squealing across the spaceship. I no longer picture a seacreature doing nosedives across the uterus to romantic music; I now picture a very uncomfortable scrunched up little fetus who's a little whiney, and keeps trying to stretch his legs, but is constricted by non-compliant walls of smooth muscle. Sometimes, I take the liberty of pushing back, and then we get into a thumb war...