Life is Like a Rollercoaster, Baby, Baby

My growing frustration with the American "Health Care System" grew exponentially this week after I sat half-naked in a doctor's office and got passed frantic prescriptions for painkillers and referrals to see other doctors - all for a mysterious something that could range from a minor infection to cancer. Three doctors and nearly a month later and we should all be able to, um, at least figure out what is wrong.

So, while gripping these various scribbles on papers I found myself saying things like, "She is my HALF aunt, HALF," bitingly in response to, "It runs in the family, you know," and turning down vicodin in fear of spending the next month of my life in a total haze.

I made it about 5 minutes down the street before I called my mom. She said hello and I cried. I'm not really sure why. It's not really a big deal, but there I was sobbing on 34th and Park Ave, crying for the first time since probably December.

Apparently I have not lost my soul. This is great news! This is FANTASTIC news!

What this means is that the recent vacation was a success. I regained the ability to be scared, so feel, to express it, to want someone here to take care of me and tell me everything was going to be OK. Old habits are hard to shake, however, as I've generally kept my mouth shut and found quite a few awfully cute things at H&M that I just had to have... in addition to a Redskins ticket... and health insurance.

In times like these I think often of those who have it worse off than me. I am so incredibly lucky it almost makes me vomit. Life is hard, sure, but if I lived like a the majority of planet earth does... man, I just don't know.

On a completely unrelated note: tomorrow I have orientation. !!! I have my spiral notebooks and pens and really hope that some part of this semester involves sitting in a library scoping out hot, super-smart men. I mean, man/boys. Soul, this is what we call excited.

CUTEST!

There is the cutest little kitten in my bodega! His leg is the size of my index finger. Everyone should know.

Years Ago, too

I haven't spent this much time in DC since the summer of 2005, which I now refer to as "That Summer." This bit of time off has been good for the soul revival - not only for the reasons listed in the previous post, but also has provided some time for reflection. (notice this post is written in PARAGRAPH FORM rather than list form. Hey, I used to call myself a writer, remember?!)

I spent the last week at the beach, which I don't think I have done for that length of time since college. Most of the kids in my group of family friends were there two years ago - That Summer - and were back this time around, and brought friends with girlfriends and friends who recommended good books, and wore anti-Yankees t-shirts, and pro-Redskins T-shirts (written in Hebrew). I had a long talk with my 17 year old god brother at the end of a walkway, toes in the sand, "talking about life, straight" as he called it. And sometime since That Summer and now my entire life has changed (ok, a solid 85%), and these once little people have turned into those I would have considered peers.

So the only way to conclude a week like that (additions: Klosterman cover-to-cover, picking crabs, corona and Jack Johnson on the beach, canasta, 9-11 hours of sleep a day) is to make the epic drive to Nissan Pavilion and attend a Dave Matthews concert. And though the songs we odd, and the energy was off, some things will never change. A boy, tall, starts the talk and mentions he is a Yankees fan, loves New York City. Season tickets to the Redskins since the 1960's. Arms wrapped around me, attempted kisses. But not this time. That Summer, sure. Romantic kisses to DMB Ballads with friend of years is the DC-metro recipe for summer love, but this time there is none of that. "I'm going to grad school at Columbia," I said. Out of my league, he replied. And yes, most likely. Nice to meet you, anyway.

Where once upon a time, That Summer, there was a lot of confusion and loss and 85% of life coming to a screeching halt ready to turn in run in a separate direction, there is still something to be said for a hot, humid, DC night - singing the songs of 1997 and drinking beer in parking lots with strangers to reminisce about years ago, and recognize that though some things may stick, quite often the rest is out of your league.