Soul being devoured by World of Warcraft; I have a post in the making with some stories I haven't told yet.
I am quiet. Nothing is happening. But that is never true, and I have things to write for several of you, as well as tales to tell. I will write them; I need to do something besides play this afternoon in any case.
Summer hits like a wall as I exit the hospital, full and hot and humid, the sun lazing in the sky on an occasional patchwork of clouds, the light bright and florid and filled with the potent inertia of summer time. Sixteen years of summer vacation lay in my wake; I am trained by the heat for sloth.
Even the ice cubes, here in Indianapolis where it is 84º Fahrenheit at the airport, where I have overestimated the humidity (it is only 58%; I had thought 65), even the ice cubes taste stale. I drink my water from bottles and the Britta to avoid it, let rivulets overflow my lips as I drink to travel, frigid, down the overwarm lines of my throat, darken the dark shirt even further.
It is hot, humid, and it will get hotter. I am glad for the air conditioning, minimal as it is in this midday heat, and I stretch my memory back to recall Death Valley. There we pitched camp at 2 PM and let the dry desert heat bake us into shells of ourselves, there in the shade of a much-abused tree, where a bedraggled air conditioner cooled the camp store to 80 and that was enough to bring goosebumps to the arms; showers were a $1.25 luxury and one is not to drink the water from them. There, as here, the heat seemed to seep into my bones and slow me down.
I opened the car door to a cicada today; one had gotten in somehow and crawled over my hand in a frantic effort to escape the prison-bakery of a Ford Taurus (my Shinkun is in the shop, having his door replaced at last) that has spent six glorious hours in the sunlight. I recoiled in disgust, and then again at the realization that I was overreacting to a simple living creature.
I have things to tell you, O Best Beloved, but these things will do for now. I wear open-toed shoes to my clerkship because I forgot my closed-toe ones, but it is dark and nobody notices. The staff does not greet us, but he will happily answer questions while we watch over his shoulders - the Emergency Radiology room in the daytime is little more than a glorified Orthopaedics room, and I much prefer to hunt down the other residents who are reading chest X-rays or CT scans. I can only take so many films of pins in bones.
I got a letter today mentioning that I had received a $600 scholarship to the AAFP conference in Kansas City. It is from the IAFP, and if I read it correctly I have just received a second scholarship and we may be able to afford to fly out to the conference rather than drive nine hours each way, although I am still considering driving. I was also informed that my clerkship in August starts on the first business day and so I will be able to stay for the dance on the 31st and drive back the following day. Is anyone else going to Kansas City?
And now I must read - if I am Very Good, O Best Beloved, if I behave, I think I could take this month and be ready for my Boards in early July rather than mid-July. I would like that. I would like to soak up every minute of my vacation like a sponge in so much tropical water. I would love to be completely done with my USMLE Step 2 CK by the Fourth, so that I could enjoy the holiday without a single twinge of guilt.
Summer is a wall of inertia that twists the bones and savages the mind. The sound of cicadas crying out for reproduction circulates endlessly around the room, the house, the neighborhood in which I sit. They are horrible, squalid little beasts of pleasure and instinct.
Sometimes, in the summer, so am I.