Blind

Someone should just go ahead and slap a big ol' NEWBIE sign on my forehead.

Hi, I'm Michelle, and I'm an idiot.

I've been studying at the library for the past couple of days, trying to cram as much information as possible into my head. Seriously, it's like drinking water out of a fire hose. There's so much to absorb, and so little that actually goes in. Anyhow, the med school library stresses me out. Like I've said before, I constantly see people from class doing additional reading, researching confusing lecture points, and so on.

THIS IS VERY STRESSFUL FOR SOMEONE WHO IS REVIEWING HER LECTURE NOTES FOR THE FIRST TIME.

Fire hydrant! Large quantities of water rushing out at you! Mouth! NOT LARGE ENOUGH.

You understand the analogy right?

Thankfully, today I overheard some older (and clearly, wiser) med students talking about studying in the Law School Library.

Brilliant. Far away from books about mitochondria. Far away from more studious classmates. And right next to gorgeous views of the lake. Hello, study salvation. Hello sanity.

So, after class today, a couple of my friends and I walked the block over to the Law School, and tried to find the law library.

We asked the security guard (who was a little suspicious that we had no idea where the library was). We asked students. We asked professors. Each giving us more and more convoluted directions.

Student 1: Go up the stairs. Turn right. Up some more. Go through the clearing, and it'll be right there.

Random person passing by whom we thought was a student, but clearly was not: Go up the stairs.

Student 2: Library? I don't go to the library. Use the internet.

We went with Student #1. I mean, those directions seemed the most promising. So we went up the stairs. Turned right. Couldn't find any more stairs to go up, so we kept going straight. And in front of us was this glorious study space. We walked in, put down our stuff, and were just about to pull out our books when we realized that we had wandered into the Faculty Commons room instead. We'd clearly wandered too far.

We high-tailed it out of there, back-tracked our way back through an arched doorway to where we had seen several students studying and chatting. No longer too proud to ask for directions, I approached an Asian guy, tapped him on the shoulder, and when he turned to look at me, said:

Hi. Sorry to disturb you, but can you tell me how to get to the library? Confidence, my friends, will get you everywhere.

He looked at me. Looked back at his book. And then looked back at me. He was very, VERY confused.

Whaaa--?

The li-bra-ry. I enunciated. Speaking slowly. Loudly. Just in case he was an international student and didn't quite understand English. Never mind that he was reading case studies and various This vs. That verdicts. Maybe he didn't understand conversational English.

The library, he repeated after me, completely accent-free.

Yes. I smiled, nodding at him.

Just then, my two friends, who had been behind me, doubled over in laughter, came up and pulled me away as they apologized profusely to the law student. Who was still very very confused.

See. That arched doorway we had passed? Apparently had Old English text on it. Something Library.

We were IN the library. I had asked a law student IN the library WHERE the library was.

Oh my god. Cue embarrassment.

But hey, at least I found the library, right?

Stupid girls

Oh my god. I just got faced.

Only my die-hard Sex and the City fans will know what I'm talking about. How when Carrie met Nina Katz, the talent scout, Nina made a face like she had just smelled sour milk, and went Eeeeeesh! along with it. Just cause Nina was dating Carrie's old boyfriend, and knew all about the ex-files.

Yes.

I just got faced.

I was the official greeter for a faculty-student mixer tonight. Not doing anything particularly out of the ordinary. Just sitting there. Writing names and drawing happy faces on Hello, my name is... stickies. My welcomes were robotic. Overly cheery. Then, I looked up and recognized a girl from class, with a friend.

"Oh hi! Here for the dinner?" came my automatic reply.
"Hey Michelle...yup!" responded my friend, equally cheery.
"Okay, just write your name --" I responded, following the script I'd been given to the T.
"Michelle?" said the other girl, questioning.
"Yes?"
"Wait...Michelle from Northwestern?"
"...yes?"
"Oh, do you know..."

As soon as I replied in the affirmative, she gave me The Face. Like I had just boiled babies and eaten them for dinner alongside my pad thai.

Turns out that while I had been the spring fling, she had been the summer fling. Mind you, it didn't work out for her either. But somehow, some way, instead of the boy taking the blame, I was the one who was the tease who ruined him for all future relationships.

In my defense, he was already damaged goods. I didn't do anything.

I shouldn't let it get to me. Really. Who cares what he thinks? Who cares what he's saying? He was just a fling. And we all know flings are bad news. But, the thing is - I've kept my mouth shut about him. You'd think - no, you'd wish - that he'd keep his mouth shut too. I mean, whatever happened to kissing and not telling?

Honestly.

Slow dancing in a burning room

I pity the fools who date me. I come with so much relationship baggage. My parents won't approve of my boyfriends. I have a height complex. I'm non-committal. I have a List. And I tend to be distant.

But this time around, something was different. I was open. I actually told the guy that I - gasp! - liked him. That I missed him. That I needed him. I didn't think I was setting myself up for heartbreak (as cliched as that is), especially since he said all the same things.

I should have known better.

And I have known better in the past. I knew not to make myself too vulnerable. Knew to maintain distance, stay detached. I knew how not to get hurt.

No worries. Tim and I are still dating.

But last night, just as I was about to drift off to sleep, he mentioned off-hand that he was sorry for being in a weird mood.

"You weren't in a weird mood, were you?" I mumbled, hoping to appease him so we could both get in more than 3 hours of sleep.
"Yeah. I was."
"Why?"
"Because I've realized that tonight is our last night together for a long time and I'm afraid our relationship won't last."

My eyes shot open.

We were having that conversation. Now. At 2:30 AM. After two months of dating.

See, the problem is this. My parents will never let me marry a white boy. So, I can't let them know I'm dating him. Our relationship will always be long-distance for I will be in Chicago for the next four years of my life, and he's going to be in St. Louis. Let's admit it. That's hard on all parties involved. Me. Him. My roommate who has to hear me complain about the long-distance-ship of it all.

Parental approval and distance. Those are some pretty big obstacles for any relationship to scale.

I wish none of it mattered. And I live in this dreamworld where none of it does. So much of me wants to believe that as long as he loves me and I love him, none of it matters. All you need is love, right? The Beatles are never wrong.

I haven't really thought about how there's no light at the end of this tunnel. That I have no clue where I'm going with this. How there's no way I'll be able to marry him. After all, it's only been two months.

But apparently, that's been weighing on his mind. We fit together so well. We don't fight. He treats me right. I don't bug the living daylights out of him, which is a little surprising, what with the constant (window) shopping on Michigan Avenue. And with the exception of which version of The Office is better (I love Jim and Pam, while he prefers Donna and Tim), we agree on basically everything. So if we break up, it's gonna be because of the distance or the parents thing. And since that's inevitably going to force us apart, what's the point?

What's the point? The point is that we have the time of our lives right now. We make each other happy for the time being, so why do we need complicate our lives with fears of what might happen in three months? Two years? I'm still at that age where dating just for the sake of dating is okay. Acceptable. Why isn't he at that stage too?

I don't know what to do or say to make him understand that. That he makes me happy. And that while sure, we might not end up together til our dying days, I still love our time together. Maybe we're at different points in our lives. Maybe he just doesn't want to prolong the inevitable. But it might not be inevitable. We don't know what's going to happen. I just can't stand that he wants to start "detaching" himself from the relationship. Honestly, what does that even mean?

I hate not having the upper hand. For the first time in my life, I've really fallen for something. For someone. I've realized that I'm not this jaded, cynical, horrible girlfriend of a person. I could be good for someone. I could be good for him.

I don't know what to do. I know I should start distancing myself. Start detaching. But I can't. I went all in a month ago, and now I'm just hoping that my hand is enough to win the pot.

My stupid mouth

I need to learn to keep my big mouth shut.

A week ago, I applied for a position in an organization I was part of. They were looking for two show directors and a webmaster. I applied to be one of the chairs. I had a friend on the exec board, and I figured this would be a good social outlet. And besides, if there's one thing I know how to do, it's put on one heck of a show.

It doesn't hurt that I have connections. Meaning, I have a friend who's on the club's exec board. So, after the board made their decision, he informed me (off-the-record of course) that I would indeed be one of the chairpersons.

Now, I know my limits. I am no good with powerpoint presentations or anything dealing with computers. So, knowing that I am probably the least tech-savvy person out there, I jokingly asked if my partner was competent.

"Eh."

That's the response I got.

"Eh."

Turns out that for the two positions offered, they had received a whopping TWO applications. So while I attached a resume and essays that would make my college writing mentor proud, my now co-chair wrote two-sentence answers. Talk about effort.

Naturally, I freaked.

My friend then told me that they weren't going to announce the positions yet, so that if I could get a few more people to apply, they would extend the deadline and reconsider the position. I, of course, started begging and beseeching friends to think about it, bribing them with brownies and promises of fun.

Yesterday, it kind of blew up in my face.

I went to the library to study with my friend, and I mentioned aloud that I had found a couple of people who had expressed a slight interest in applying. I didn't mention how I had held them at gunpoint, and annoyed them to no end until they finally agreed that they would "think about it."
I had forgotten that sitting at the table with my friend and me was another girl who was part of the executive board. And when she heard the conversation, she looked up sharply.

"Why? What's wrong with the current girl?"

Realizing that I was treading dangerous water, I started to hem and haw, while I tried to backpedal as quickly as possible.

"I mean, do you even know her?"

"Uh....no, not really."

"Then why don't you want to work with her?"

It's a little impossible to describe to someone you don't really know how you don't want to work with someone who doesn't put in as much effort as you do. Especially when you're worried that you're going to be carrying the entire workload. True, I had never heard anything spectacularly bad about the girl, but I had never heard anything spectacularly good either. And to be perfectly honest, I was more than a little afraid that I was going to be the one who got screwed over in the end.

So as I hedged and said that I didn't actually know her, and I was sure that the board would make the right decision in the end.

That's when my friend decided to butt in. "Oh come on! Two days ago you totally didn't want to work with her, and you had all these complaints about her."

Two days ago, I thought my concerns and - all right, I'll admit it - uncharitable remarks would remain between just us. I was fuming. Absolutely livid that my friend had just betrayed my trust like that. I glanced over at my friend and gave him the Look.

"What? We're all friends here. We can be open and honest about our feelings."

I wanted to melt into my seat right then and there. The truth is, I had known the other girl at the table for a long time. That girl never says a mean thing about anyone. That girl has always been extremely nice to me. We were friendly, sure, but I wouldn't say that we were close, exactly. And in that moment, I felt like my relationship with that girl changed.

I was no longer the nice person. And she was miffed by my comments, I could tell.

She left about ten minutes later. And this whole ordeal was still weighing on my mind.

So I wrote her an apology note. I didn't even try to explain my position. I merely told her that I knew I was in the wrong for making such a snap judgment, and that I was only thinking about what would be best for the organization, but that I understood that it wasn't for me to decide. I accepted the wrongness of my position contritely and asked that we chalk it up to my having a bad day.

Today I received a response. And instead of just acknowledging that she had received my email, she went into detail about her problems with my comments - even though I had already admitted that I had been in the wrong. After reading it, I felt very lectured. Chastised. As though I had just been sent to my room without dinner.

I felt shamed. And I don't know if that was an appropriate thing for her to do. I don't know if I was more disappointed because she had found out who I truly was (in other words, not the nicest person), or because she had found out, and had such issues with it.

I need to learn how to keep my big mouth shut. It always gets me into trouble.

Get ur freak on

I'm freaking out.

There's absolutely no way I can finish this. I've fallen too far behind, and it's just impossible now to catch up. Fifteen lectures. One essay. Piles upon piles of research. Two presentations. And that's just my to-do list for this weekend.

Wait. Stop. Breathe.

You have three weeks until your test. You can do this.

Oh my freaking god.

I only have three weeks to cram all this knowledge into my head?

Shit.

Like I said, I'm freaking out.

I'll admit that I've always been prone to freakouts. But usually the little voice in my head manages to talk some sense into my overwhelmed psyche and the freakout subsides. Today was different. I knew I had work to do, but my stress levels were still at a healthy level. Armed with a grande Green Tea Frappuccino from Starbucks (I'm addicted to that stuff), I headed for the library, ready to get my study on.

That's where it all went wrong. I ran into a friend, so naturally I stopped to say hello. Jokingly, I remarked that there was so much to study. And much to my surprise, she immediately got very serious and agreed, telling me how she was going to do additional research on a lecture point, since there was a bonus question in the supplemental material about the genetics related to maternal mitochondrial damage and its corresponding neurodegenerative effects.

Bonus question? Supplemental material? Genetics? What?

I nodded calmly in agreement, even though my head was spinning. After all, I didn't want to appear like the dumb med student who goes home to take naps while the rest of her classmates all visit the library religiously to go over the day's lecture in excruciating detail.

Except I am that slacker student.

I hastily left before she could stress me out any more with how much she was behind since I knew in my head that I was clearly eons behind her. I power-walked to the library, determined to get as much done as possible. There, I walked by several study rooms, all occupied by my classmates who were drawing detailed mechanisms and fact-filled charts on the blackboards.

Oh. My. God.

Yes. I'm freaking out. I'm in medical school, and I worked hard to get here. And I'm determined to stay. I'm just a little worried I might not make the cut.

Babylon

I talked to my spring fling last night.

Yes. It was quite the uh oh moment. But also quite enlightening.

Let's back it up a couple of days. Last Friday, I opted to opt out of the first-year-med-student gathering to hang out with some close friends. I mean, who wants to get trashed in front of 170 classmates-for-the-next-four-years, when you can have a nice drink with a nice dinner with some nice people who won't hold your pathetic-non-partying-self against you?

So that's what I did.

Fast-forward a couple of hours to when my roommate called me.

Michelle! You will NOT believe who I just saw at Lizzie's!
Surprise me.
That guy from spring quarter!
What?!
YEAH!
Huh. Imagine that.
Yeah, good thing you didn't come out tonight.

And then we hung up. I was getting ready for bed, but a little part of me started to wish I had gone to Lizzie's. There's something about blasts from the pasts, especially when the past kind of just tapers off, instead of having an actual end. And let's not lie. I had a good time with him. It would be great to find out what he was up to nowadays...like what he was doing in Chicago!

But I'm a devoted girlfriend, so I stayed home and went to bed instead.

The next day, I was itching to get out (perhaps because of what happened the night before) so with my roommate and posse in tow, we headed out to a bar, where the special of the night was $25 for all you can drink. Crafty med students that we are, only a couple of us got the special wristband, and the rest of us benefited off of it the whole night. Needless to say, I got pretty trashed.

I came home to find my IM box blinking. A message from him.

P: Yo...why didn't you go out tonight?
M: I did...
P: I didn't see you. And you weren't at the past two M1 parties either...
M: And you were?
P: Yeah...I told everyone there I was an M3. HAHAHA.
M: Yeah. That's hilarious.
P: Don't be all grumpy cause I'm making more M1 friends than you are.
M: Haha, I'm not grumpy. But I am tired, so I'm gonna get going.
P: [lots of curse words deliberately deleted to protect the innocent.]
P has now signed off.

Label me speechless. How did I go from thinking he might be the most exciting boy I'd ever kissed to one of the most pathetic? First of all, he's trolling about the med student parties, pretending to be older and wiser - and I didn't have the heart to tell him that everyone knows M3s are far too busy with rotations to go to our parties. Secondly, I don't remember him being so needy.

It seems weird that an encounter with an ex-fling could validate my current relationship, but it truly did. I'm no longer itching to see him. No longer wishing for a happy ending. No longer wanting anything from him. Having that last conversation with him just made me so happy that my boy is exactly the way he is.

The whole exchange just seemed so undergrad to me. Feeling the pressure to go out and drink every night. To hook up blindly with others. Needing to drink in order to have a good time. Verbally competing to prove to others that you're a bigger party animal than they are. That was never really me. But somehow spring quarter, I got tangled up with that kind of company. It was exciting, to be sure. Yet, I'm finding that that's not me at all. Sure, I might be facing a lot more nights in, from here on out. But I can live with that.

Who knew that a conversation with the past could do so much to validate the present? I'm happy with my relationship. And I'm happy with the kind of person I truly am.

No longer doubting. Closure is a wonderful thing.