you bring me to sobriety the way you intoxicate me

i awoke this morning in a blanket of apathy. It's a new face of apathy however, because when I wake (earlier and earlier) it's sans alarm and with utmost enthusiasm. i'm brimming with unharnessed energy. i do not feel confined to my bed, rather compelled, totally moved to seize my days, to explore, travel, eat, sex, love, learn. i desire play. This Apathy i feel is not because nothing compels me, it's because the world compels me.. (but)my world awakens to morning glory on the other side of the atlantic.

weight.

wait.

...but you know, I hate dreamers and for now, this is what I sense myself. Wasting my days in a state of hope and fantasy rather than in action, paralleled and entangled action.

waiting, eager, &ready for these dreams of mine to come to fruition.

maythey,theymay.may.yay.
wait. weight.

Support for the United States National Women's Rowing Team

One of my closest gal-pals 2008 Olympian and 2012 hopeful, Megan Kalmoe speaks to how you can support the United States Women's National Rowing Team bring home more hardware at the London Olympics.

Vaffanculo

I have spent the past few months unexpectedly falling in love.

Hand picked by the illuminated leader who oversees the goings-ons in our lab, G came to the US in August as part of his thesis requirement for graduating from medical school (in Milan). Not love at first sight, I reckoned him arrogant while he unabashedly regarded me a puttana (probably true, though in my defense, I was only behaving in response to my initial foul impressions of him). The more time we spent working together however, the more I came privy to his captivating cleverness and quiet humility. I began to find him unequivocally, albeit unconventionally, graceful.

Our romance evolved slowly and organically, as late nights of planning experiments led to post-work chow. He made me laugh. A lot. I realized that I laughed more in 3 nights lingering over meals with him than I had in the past three years. His dark approach to making light of the imprudence of humanity, softened me.

G manages to perfectly puppeteer the delicate balance between scary cynicism and moronic manifestations of happiness. He takes my breath away every day and I predictably swoon admiring the way his Armani jacket sits over his shoulders, or the way he habitually twirls his mop of perfectly coiled tendrils while deep in thought. He cooks (amazingly well), he shares (emotional sentiments to family heirlooms), he cares (in principle and in practice). His gaze melts me. He doesn’t fancy himself passionate, but I reckon he is. Never before a romantic, he now proudly boasts the essence of romance in a way that renders me the envy of other women.

Each word that leaves his parted lips is always prudently arranged (and never for the sake of hearing his own voice). I have never smiled so much, and I have certainly never laughed so much. He listens and pays attention. He makes me cry. He’s complex, interesting, mysterious, cool, and still hotly affectionate. He calls me “stella” and I am certain he is the only one who could totally destroy me; I revel sensing myself amidst the most thrilling risk of my life.

older, wiser

thinking

of

letting

my hair

d

o

w

n

My Best Birthday Present

thanks Kalmoe , this made my year!

sigh no more

Serve God love me and mend
This is not the end
Lived unbruised we are friends
And I'm sorry
I'm sorry

Sigh no more, no more
One foot in sea, one on shore
My heart was never pure
And you know me
And you know me

And man is a giddy thing
Oh man is a giddy thing
Oh man is a giddy thing
Oh man is a giddy thing

Love that will not betray you, dismay or enslave you,
It will set you free
Be more like the man you were made to be.
There is a design,
An alignment to cry,
Of my heart to see,
The beauty of love as it was made to be

so many flavors of delicious

Choices

"It's a book that says the same thing almost all the books in the world say. It describes people's inability to choose their own Personal Legends. And it ends up saying that everyone believes the world's greatest lie."

"What's the world's greatest lie?" the boy asked, completely surprised.

"It's this: that at a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what's happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate. That's the world's greatest lie."

-excerpt from The Alchemist

Oh the Irony

Photo courtesy of: berlin-life.com

18 people were trampled to death at the Love Parade in Germany yesterday.

Understanding Surrender

The chief difference between me and others is that I have plenty of time — not only because I am without a multitude of responsibilities and without daily tasks, which demand attention: But also because I am basically without ambition. Neither the present nor the future has claims on me.

-E. Hoffer

photos taken on the job

immunology is challenging, elusive, exciting, and strange, just as are the people who enjoy pursuit of its mystique.

our alter egos

Vive America!

Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both

parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard

Humanity i love you because
when you're hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you're flush pride keeps

you from the pawn shops and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house

Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it's there and sitting down

on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity

i hate you


-ee cummings

soil

the sound that is heard when attention made paid is not

A cry of the feral cat in heat rather

the howls of humans coalesced
over spilled milk
stinks

Dearest Liv,

Above my desk hangs a cork board that boasts a few of my favorite things:

1. Two business cards. One from a German art buyer who I befriended in Nicaragua, another from a prominent medical coroner who (I met while shadowing a cardiologist) represents San Diego county. They were equally welcoming and inviting; the German art buyer, Roswitha, invited me to spend Oktoberfest with her in her Berlin home, and Othon, the medical examiner, invited me to watch one of his autopsies "whenever I'd like". I have yet to do either, but I plan to both.

2. A napkin from a bar in Nicaragua. On one side is Diane's contact information. She lives in Leon where she helps run a nonprofit organization that provides aid for Nicaraguan farmers suffering renal insufficiency. On the back side, is Oscar's email- a self-proclaimed famous poet who I also met in Nicaragua and who gave me, along with his email, a signed copy of his published book of poems (which, as a matter of fact, is excellent!) On the front cover, he also wrote me a page long personal note in endearingly poor english.

3. A photo of Roberto, Annella (Elyse's niece), Milla, and I at GasWorks park, overlooking Lake Union and downtown Seattle. Happy times when the whole gang was together and in the place I love most.

4. Two torn pages from the notebook where I feverishly scribbled ways I could improve my graduate school application... as transcribed directly from the prophecy of the Dean at my top choice medical school.

5. A polaroid photo of Marah and me in a limousine as we make a champagne toast in celebration of her birthday. Moments before this photo was snapped, we were standing outside our hotel in Portland, feeling defeated in our failed attempts to hail a cab. After what seemed like ages (but was likely only 5 minutes), a stretch limousine approached and we giggled about how "finally our chariot had arrived". To our surprise, the driver hopped out, opened the door for his customer to exist, then turned to us with a perky smile and asked where we were trying to go. What followed was free champagne and a 45 minute scenic detour through the Oregon wine country en route to our final destination.

6. My ID and building access cards to the fantastic institute where I work doing autoimmune disease research.

7. A small, dried "bouquet" of purple and gold flowers (thoughtfully chosen Husky colors), given to me by a tall, strong, and handsome young man (with science degrees from Stanford and Cambridge, and a World Championship rowing title to boot) on our first date. He ought not be confused with the one-armed-man previously discussed.

8. Last but not least, a printed email response from one of my most insightful voices of reason. Ted is a longtime family friend who I have called my uncle from as far back as I can remember. Though there are a variety of colorful and complimentary adjectives I could use to describe such a fantastic human creation, I would best credit his character by simply sharing with you the letter he sent me several years ago...

...in response to an expressed fear that my "life" might fall "victim" to my own academic pursuits, these words below now comprise the essence of my daily prayer...

Dearest Liv,

It is one thing to stay "focused on the academic path" and quite another for it to be integrated in who and what you are - it is not an external process! (that is to say, only you would know).

That having been said it is extremely satisfying and gratifying to consider oneself an adjunct to the great body of human knowledge - when all other things fall away, life is the study of one's own mind. As the pre-eminent psychologist of our times, the two things are, for you, the same. One does not distract oneself from "life" by becoming more educated - one instead equips oneself to understand it more keenly, to experience it more thoroughly and, by god, to defeat stupid people in stupid arguments.

For you, I think, to become less thoughtful, less brilliant, less inward would be a step in the wrong direction...in terms of "Academics" and "Life experience" you need not weigh one against the other; you are both, and should proceed forward as if you and they were one, which indeed they are.

Teddy

Today's Headlines: Local News, Still Crappy

But who doesn't appreciate a good story?

what do you mean "why medicine?" ?

Tomorrow is the first day to submit primary applications for the 2011 medical school application cycle. In observation of this occasion, today's feature is both inspired and brought to you by round two.

It's cold and rainy and I'm happy- unmissable signs that I write you from Seattle where my mind, body, and spirit are delighting in the much needed break from Southern California. Playtime has been highly self-regulated however, as I'm here in effort to isolate myself from the "real" life distractions that make conquering the MCAT a la carte, an unrealistic endeavor. And though I recognize it to be a full-time gig, I also find that I am made more efficient by taking the time once every so often to keep mindful of the ultimate motive behind my mental exhaustion - the prospect of becoming a physician.

But why?! !

The personal comments section of the primary medical school application begs this very question, and it too, was the first of those asked during the first (and only) interview I was granted last autumn. Those who have had the misfortune to experience me during a time of emotional crisis, can attest to the value I place on self-actualization and introspection. Even so, I can't help but feel a bit less than dubious toward the suggestion that I am equipped with the adequate insight to faithfully explicate such a personal inquiry, mediating naivete and flippancy, AND within the confines of a character limit. You see, pursuing an acceptance to medical school has come to dominate my existence so profoundly, that posing the question "why medicine?" might as well request that I elucidate the meaning of life - and from the mouth of a twenty five year old, an attempt to answer would at best come across cliched, at worst, arrogant, and in any case, foolish. Following my pattern of self-defeating behavior however, I will opt to elaborate.

Shopping malls terrify me and consumer culture annoys me. In fact, I find the prospect of debt so burdensome that I would rather live, still, with my mother and escaped from the immurement of financial crisis, than with exercised stronghold over my social integrity. As a young adult, I lament the economic consequences of these sentiments not having been shared by more, but as a former seventeen year-old and imminent undergraduate, boom times and a cultivated bank account once sufficed to distract me from the irony that was my high school summer-job.

Nearly a decade ago, I worked to improve the lives of women by selling shoes at the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale. While I cannot say enough good things about the company itself, I am unabashed to express my then hatred for this job - perpetuated less by the irremovable scent of foot on my hands, than by the dissonance engendered sensing myself contrived. Not easily defeated, I craftily learned to reconcile this imbalance by refusing to "sell" and instead, casting a diffident line into the pool that surrounded the Jimmy Choos and Christian Louboutins – shoes so great, they sold themselves.

I can draw parallels between my experience (not)selling shoes, and the esteem with which I regard medicine. Articulating the allure of a career in the medical field is about as redundant as highlighting the aesthetic benefits of a two thousand-dollar-pair-of-heels to a shoeaholic with a recent inheritance... be it shoes or a prospective career, I'd be hard convinced that advertising does anything but belie value where quality is implicit and necessity inherent.

But really, why medicine?

In an instant, I can bullet such career perks as intellectual challenge, livable income, job flexibility, and the cross-cultural perception of doctors as noble and necessary; but the weight of medicine's appeal resides in my faith that it couples more meaning than anything I can yet comprehend. It will only be once my brain has reached the terminal end of the convoluted road that leads to its very own heart, that I will be able to respond: "this is why medicine"... and so then, will it also be revealed the meaning of my life.

Sarx

The Greek root sarx refers to "flesh as it has been cut from the body" and is the underlying sentiment of sarcasm. Admittedly, I have been chastised for indulging in this kind of cheap humor at the expense of another, though I still tend to view sarcasm unequivocally acceptable when directed at oneself. Self deprecation my friends, is the lesson of the day.

So as not to alarm anyone, (and by anyone, I mean my Mom or Dad who are the only ones still feverishly checking this blog even after six months of my writers block) let me preface the following by making clear the purpose of this entry as comedic relief. I possess neither intent to carve additional slits into my body nor be launched from any tall balconies; and besides, prescription drugs suffice to numb the pain at least for the time being.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes yes. I have been thinking, and it's become my belief that were there a formal committee dedicated to inducting worthy candidates into its privileged caste, I'd by now be maintaining a prominent leadership position in the Loser Hall of Fame. I'm not quite sure when I transitioned from bad-ass, to bad, to ass, but insidious (dis)evolution aside, this is me now: nearly 26 years old and fallen from grace.

I scribble these pages from the same bedroom once flanked with Backstreet Boys pinups, glow in the dark stars, and high school dance photos; in the same pink stucco suburban cookie-cutter home I grew old; and so, with the same mother who has never ceased to lose sleep over the frequency with which I remember(forget) to take my vitamins. We have had at least three sets of next-door neighbors come and go, but alas, I remain the same-nearly 26 and still living at home. That said, I had recently felt a kernel of hope in anticipation of the (morally debasing shroud that cloaks my happiness letting-up) springtime finale of my 2.5 year stint at the local community college, though this was soon thereafter negated by the realization that in spite of my 6.5 years as an undergraduate, I am still one semester deficient of English Composition by most academic institutions' standards. Anyway, I too have been putting my other skills to test outside of the classroom by working as the Manager of a local rowing club; this is my self-affirming way of saying that people rely on me for things like maintaining a sufficient supply of Simple Green and MRSA-grade disinfecting wipes. And don't you be fooled by those advocates of mine who chalk all this up to being a "temporary means to an end". While my return to university (ahem, uhhh, community college) WAS only meant to be two years, it will be at minimum three and a half years given my having been rejected from every single graduate program to which I applied (except of course the two whose committees were too appalled by my application to formulate any response). In either case, neither 2 nor 3.5 years is temporary by any standard, and especially not when it comprises 1/5th of life as you know/remember it. Ok, ok, things aren't really THAT bad. On the bright side, at least I've only gained 10 pounds since high school and have been able to strike some relative success in the dating scene. In fact, about eight months ago I went out on a single date with a handsome fella who I met on the internet; though I reckon I may have been too jaded to make for good company because in spite of our four hour rendezvous, I failed to notice that his left limb had been missing from the elbow onward (and yes, it had been MIA for the entirety of our date). Suffice it to say he never called again, nor did I.

Thank the heavens above for Mom, Dad, my therapist, and of course, Kate Bush & Peter Gabriel, for affording me the zest to keep truckin'... and with that my friends, I leave you with this little gem courtesy of the 1980's. Now off to wash down my Cymbalta with a tall glass of pre-bedtime self-affirmations.