To be completely honest, I've rocked back and forth between remiss and downright absent-without-leave more often than not these past three weeks. And for that I sincerely apologize. The intellectual drain of rotations is as severe as the physical strain and it's getting so that weekends are my only time to contemplate writing. I do fantasize about it at other times, but usually when something cute, wonderful, or memorable has occurred, by the time I'm home, my mind is lucky if it can say, "Huh?"
Now, this condition is not uncommon. Most of my friends are tap dancing around their mid to late 20s and when one of them comes home, so slow and heavy are the footfalls up the stairs, you'd think they were summiting Everest. Rotations are tough and residency is tougher. I've got pals here from my entering class in psychiatry, surgery, and internal medicine and they're the pudding's proof. Tired R All of Us.
But there's more than that and I'm thoroughly enjoying the dormitory environment here in the "osteopathic ghetto," as I've christened it, since the apartments in our converted house are occupied by my classmates. Barely a knock before opening the door to shout is about as polite as we get.
About week ago, a few of us spent Friday evening playing Guitar Hero, a serious challenge, I discovered, for those of us who really know what to do with a six string. The game is about counting but we want to get down with the rhythm and be "big rock stars and live in hilltop houses, drivin' fifteen cars," even if the audience is only electronic and fame and fortune as fleeting as a flip of the switch.
Oh yeah, that's right, you read it here first, Beggar plays Guitar Hero and will again -- first chance he gets. I may have a hard time getting my brain to think in the evenings, but chasing that neon rainbow? Hey, you only live once.
(Creative Commons image by Kermitz72 via Flickr; I Wanne Be a Rock Star, words and music by Nickleback)
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