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Sunday, Monday, happy days... - Nobody wears a white coat any more... — LiveJournal
...a tribute to becoming a doctor.
ayradyss
ayradyss
Sunday, Monday, happy days...
Fell into bed last night, too late entirely, with a pounding evil wicked headache. They were watching Trigun out in the living room, and David was over. Not a good combination.
There are occasional rare times when I am beset by wishing that we didn't have so many people around. Last night was one of them. Trigun's full of explosions and people with sharp voices, and David has a habit of talking a little louder than he needs to...and I asked them to turn it down twice, until I was sure they could hardly hear the dialogue, and Matt turned off most of the lights, so I finally didn't feel like I was going to have my head explode or cry...
It's not their fault; I don't want to spoil their fun. I don't....I'd rather suffer than be a party-pooper. God knows nobody around here seems to be having much fun recently.

Nobody fucking well talks to anyone. What, do we all have to be psychic any more?


Okay. *deepbreaths* Okay, okay, okay. I'm just overly sensitive to everyone's particular agonies at the moment. On the good side...I get to hear them. I'd rather be stuck in the middle and know what's going on than not. Even if it makes me want to throttle them. Even though I've done the same thing.
You can't avoid hurting someone by not telling them when something is wrong. If it's wrong, it'll only fester and grow...and the pain of deception, of lying by omission, is far greater when you do find out what's gone wrong...

I think it would be interesting if we could all hear each others' thoughts. Interesting...but not necessarily beneficial.


As to today. I woke up at some ungodly early hour in the morning because - get this - Keith calls Matt last night, to see if he'd gotten Keith's message from the morning. Now...Matt's phone has been beeping non-stop, all day, with the message signal, but he hadn't bothered to actually get it. The message is this: Keith has bronchitis. Can Matt preach Sunday morning at the early service?
Mind you, this is now like 7 or 8 PM on Saturday. Silly bugger should've gotten his phone, neh?
So he says yes, and settles down to write his sermon.

And that's why me and my still-lingering headache and my Benadryl hangover had to get up at 7:30 in the morning to go to church. I wasn't about to not support Matt. Not half. And he did good. He needs to work on fluidity and all, but for writing it the night before, after a few wine coolers, it was a good sermon. Everyone told him he did well...but I'm always afraid that they're just trying to encourage him. I mean...it was good, but not great. He has a lot to learn yet. Like I could do better. :P

Then I passed out in his office, slept through sunday school and second service, since he had to usher for second service. And we got food at Wendy's and I spent the whole afternoon at school, looking at Kodachromes and microscope slides. Got to go over book pictures tonight, and maybe read some stuff in the chapters. Not too terrified - you can miss a lot when there are 200 questions on the exam, and still be okay.
But that doesn't excuse me from studying...and I've exceeded my hour by half again. Maybe more later. Maybe not. Hard to say.

I wrote another poem, Clarabear. Kind of a strange one, and I don't know if I like it. I'll try to remember to post it for you.

now feeling:: tired tired
now hearing:: Loreena McKennitt - Dickens' Dublin (The Palace)

whisper a word