Did you know that “HHSP fourth year” is an anagram of “strikingly boring” if you rearrange, remove, and add a few letters? Seriously, after years of preaching community building, I don’t know who decided that I should be secluded from my medical school adversaries (I’m not even applying to med). I’ll be honest, I never truly enjoyed sitting in a circle and singing “WE DO IT IN GROUPS” kumbaya on a weekly basis, but I sometimes long to go back to the mediocre ol’ days. I miss feeling like my emotional harddrive has been backed up after spending all my patience on a needlessly long group meeting. I miss listening to people in my class discuss their “gains” and biting back my “feedback” that no amount of creatine is going to fix their all-consuming fear of failure. I miss looking at people during class discussions and realizing that there is a high, possibly lethal, level of emptiness inhabiting their skulls.
Unfortunately, as a direct consequence of being given all this freedom for my penultimate year, I have been forced into making only the worst decisions possible in my day-to-day life. Last night, I added strawberry jam to my spaghetti. What could have possibly compelled me to that if not for the lack of cryptic guidance from an early-middle-aged facilitator who is likely a BHSc (R.I.P) nepo baby? I guess what I’m trying to say through layers of sarcasm that shield my highly sensitive heart that may or may not be a trauma response (uncovered during thread 1 of Praxis 2X03) is that I miss seeing people in the program. I’d like Stinky Rizz to please rectify this situation immediately, if not sooner.
The Procrastinator 