In Which I Am Insane

After having my little meltdown and postponing my exam, I took a few days off from hard studying as well as the internet. I didn’t check my google reader or facebook or twitter for days. DAYS. Instead, I painted my family room and redecorated a little. I worked in the yard and got myself covered with poison ivy and mosquito bites. Days like these always feel like I’m dry cleaning my soul, getting out the spots and grit left over from the day to day grind. It’s one reason that the opera singer lifestyle could never have worked for me. I am a homebody, through and through. I love to putz around my house, cleaning, changing the decorations, rearranging the furniture, dressing it for the season. After these few days, I am feeling quite refreshed. Although, I do still need to vacuum in a major way. These animals and their massive volume of fur are not to be trifled with.

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I’ve been finishing my residency application (it becomes available to apply tomorrow) and am ever grateful for my little magic anti-anxiety pill that I take every morning. Even though I am a volunteer fiend, I always feel like my CV is too thin. “I only have 40 volunteer activities!” my panicked brain shrieks at me, “maybe I could volunteer at the Humane Society or something once so I can list that!” This is totally ridiculous, since my volunteer activities are real and took a ton of time and commitment, but my brain never listens to me. Also, I finally finished my personal statement and I get the feeling that it is good enough and that I will belly-laugh at it in a few years when I am a hardened, tough resident. (please let me match please let me match please let me match)

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I’ve been making the rounds asking people for Letters of Recommendation and have concluded that there is nothing so humiliating as asking someone to publicly state, in writing, that they think you’re a good choice for a job. Auditions and interviews are one thing, and are horrifying in their own way, but there is at least that “out” that always exists for both parties. “Thanks but we’ve filled the position.” “Actually those dates won’t work for me, sorry.” But asking someone for a letter is to put yourself in an inescapable metal box with the only air vent being the mercy of the person you hope likes you enough to let you live. Maybe that’s a little dramatic. I don’t know. But it sure feels like life or death when you say, “I was hoping you would consider recommending me for a residency position” and they sigh and take a long look at you. Perhaps I should have worn lipstick? Or less mascara? Tried to cover the circles under my eyes a little better? Or not at all? Mentioned my desperation? Tried to hide my desperation? Smile? Look at the floor? There is only one thing to do, and that is to burst into tears, grab your personal rubbish statement from the desk, and run screaming from the room.

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The other day, I had a meeting with an OB that I’d worked with who had agreed to write me a letter. Upon meeting with him, he asked for my personal statement and CV, which I handed to him. He then held up my personal statement and said, “Let’s see what this says, these are always entertaining.” And then read the whole thing. Right there. While I sat across from him, watching him read it. It was then that I employed the “run screaming from the room technique”, which is how I know that it works so well.

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It occurred to me this morning that I have not even told you about the most exciting thing going on in my family. The Baby Mama is having another baby! The Best Nephew Ever will undoubtedly have to share his title with his soon-arriving little brother. It might be a hard sell though, I’m telling you what. That little nephew of mine is such a gem. As I mentioned, I painted my family room and, as such, have had up to eight giant splotches of paint samples on my wall at any given time trying to pick a color. The other day I picked him up from school and brought him over to play at our (read: Colin’s) house. He walked in and saw the walls, and looked up at me with the most genuine of faces and said, “I like your walls!” Later, he told me that his Baby Brother was going to be picking him up from Colin’s house. I asked if his Mama was coming too and he said that she’d have to, since she’s carrying his Baby Brother around.

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Colin’s transition into the Two Room has gone flawlessly, with the exception of me always trying to pick him up from his old room. Every morning when we walk in the building, he gets a little clingy and whiny, but as soon as we walk into his new room he yells “TRUCK!” and squirms out of my arms and into his life. He usually turns around and says, “Bye Byyyyeeeeee” as if to say, ‘you can leave now, omg, you’re embarrassing me.’

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I’m gearing up to hit the books again, so send me good, smart, calm thoughts, okay? Let’s just try to get through this without anyone flipping out or losing their tenuous grip on reality. It’s just an exam, one in a thousand that I’ve taken, one that millions of people have taken without dying. No reason to spaz out about this. Okay. Here we go.