Rest stop

Martin
Ooof, so full! I want to die...

Michelle
Why did you eat it all?!?!

Martin
I had to! Your mama made it! If I didn't eat it, then it would be insulting her and so I had to eat it even though I was SO full already. SO FULL. Why did I eat that gyro?! Next time, I'm not going to eat ANYTHING before I come over...ugh, I want to vomit.

Michelle
But I told her that we had already eaten...she would have understood if you couldn't finish your plate. I didn't finish my plate.

Martin
That's because I'm a good child, and you're not.

Michelle
Dude! Whatever!

[five minutes later]

Martin
Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. So full so full so full.

Michelle
Aww, come here so I can give you a hug.

Martin
(pouting, but coming over anyways)
Blaaaaaaaaaaaaah, so full.

Michelle
Thanks for being a good sport --

Martin
(mid-hug)
LET'S RUB TUMMIES!

Michelle
. . .

Mercy

This is definitely the saddest news story I've read in a long time. Talk about a human interest feature article. I don't know whether to smile or cry.

---
Dying eight-year-old "marries" his school sweetheart
By Laura Clout
Original article copied below and can be found here at Telegraph.co.uk.

Given only weeks to live, Reece Fleming proposed to his 'special friend' Elleanor Purgslove at a laser tag party.

After she accepted, their parents arranged a make-believe wedding at Reece's home in Mackworth, Derby. He died the next day with his family.

Reece's mother Lorraine Fleming said he told her, "I can go now" after his wish had been granted.

The 28-year-old said: ""He was so proud of her, and we were proud of them both."

Reece was diagnosed with leukaemia in July 2004, when he was aged just four.

He fought the disease for four years until May when doctors told him he had just weeks to live.

Ms Fleming, said she and his stepfather Mick Thompson had tried to help him achieve as much as possible before his death, including marrying his sweetheart.

"When we found out that we only had a few weeks with him we tried to do absolutely everything with him that we could.

"Him and Ellie had been 'special friends' for a couple of years but then they broke up.

"We said we'd have a pirate party, and Ellie came. She went to visit Reece a few times in hospital as well.

She added: "We also had a football and laser quest party, apparently that's when he proposed to her."

The pair went out to dinner in the mayor's limousine and the families organised a 'wedding', complete with rings, a stand-in vicar and a certificate.

The ceremony was carried out on July 4 and the following day Reece died at home with his family and a Macmillan nurse.

At his funeral, mourners followed a horse-drawn hearse on foot.

Ms Fleming added: "Even on the Saturday that he died, he got out of bed and walked to the sofa.

"He always tried walking, right to the end, so we thought if he walked for us then we would walk for him."

Good girl gone bad

"Uh, nice med11."
"Shut up."

First impressions can make quite an impact.

As many of you know, I'll be joining the class of 2011 in August. Technically speaking, I joined that class way back in March, but my heart wasn't really in it. So I held on to my 2010 pride for just a little too long, refusing to unsubscribe from the class emails, choosing instead to gobble up every last morsel of 2010-ness, even when it was mundane things like, "I have Jimmy Buffett tickets to sell! Buy them please so that I can pay my rent in Margaritaville!" And then inevitably, five minutes later, another email would come: "Thank you Jimmy fans! The tickets are long gone...but it's okay, it's five o'clock somewhere..."

You guys probably think that the class of 2010 is made up of a bunch of rednecks, so I should probably clear that up right now. It's not. I think there's only one person in the class from Alabama, and he's Indian. And totally not a redneck. And if I'm honest (which I guess I'm not since I'm blatantly telling you that I just lied), the tickets were actually for Coldplay, which is far more hip and in keeping with the class of 2010, but makes for a far less humorous post. "2 Coldplay tickets, awesome seats, 50 each obo." "Tickets gone. Sorry."

Anyways, long digression aside, the point of this is to tell you that I finally did it. I'm finally on my proper class' email list. Hello 2011.

So like I said, first impressions are important. And I planned out my first email to my new class to perfect detail. I waited weeks for the right opportunity, and when it finally came, I spent ten minutes drafting up a two-sentence email. Just the right amount of friendliness, without sounding desperate (which I am by the way - please please please be my friend), and a free starbucks frappucino offer to go with it! I mean, who doesn't like free coffee?



Too bad that it turned out to be a big scam, and I had to send out a retracting email. (NOTE: THE ABOVE COUPON DOES NOT WORK. DO NOT - I repeat - DO NOT PRINT IT OUT AND TAKE IT TO STARBUCKS. THEY WILL LAUGH AT YOU AND CALL YOU GULLIBLE. Did you really think they would hand out free java chip frappucinos?! You silly silly child, go back to your mother's womb!)

Good one Michelle. That'll really make the friends flock to you.

So yeah, Rachel, my fellow 2010-er turned 2011-er. I agree. It was a really great med11 email.

Who reads class emails anyways?

Pretty the world

Flowers + sushi = pretty awesome.

Falling awake

I'm still in denial.

Exactly over what, I'm still not sure. So much has happened so quickly that I'm don't know how to make heads or tails out of any of it. All I know is that denial isn't just a river in Egypt, and regrets? Well, I've got plenty. Three bags full.

I miss my grandpa so much. People say that it gets better with time, but some days I can't believe that'll ever be true. It's been more than a month now since the actual funeral, but the pain still feels just as fresh. I can still conjure up the image of him in his coffin, and every time I think of it, I wish I had been strong enough to kiss him goodbye and tell him one last time how much I loved him, instead of merely placing that orchid on his lifeless sleeve.

And every so often, I get this terrible sinking feeling that I could have done something. Should have done something. Maybe even just have said something. To the doctors. To him.

I want to say that in a couple months time I'll be able to write this fabulous post about him so you can understand just why he was such a monumental figure in my life, but I - I just don't know if I'll ever be able to do him justice.

I know I need to get back out there. I can't keep sitting at home, studying to pass away the time, with my only retreat being time with the boyfriend. Even though that's what comfortable. I mean, nothing really dulls the pain as well as relearning about cell receptors and neurotransmitters and all the infinite detailed tedious specifics about this or that disease. For all my complaining about studying and how much I hate it, I've come to realize that that is the only thing I truly have any control over. And how terrible is that?

It's summer, but I'm not taking advantage of it at all. It's bright and sunny outdoors, but I rather prefer to stay at home to mindlessly pass away the days watching television and reading CNN.com. After all, as long as I know what's going on in the world, who's to judge whether or not I'm actually a part of it?

I need to get back out there. I know that. I need to soak up some vitamin D and regain some of that happy energy I used to have. But it's ridiculous how much effort it takes me to drudge up the energy to go to the grocery store a mere block away. I'd much rather eat expired yogurt and goodness-knows-what from the depths of my refrigerator.

All I know is that I've been hiding. Homemade dinners with the boyfriend. Clean dishes and fresh laundry. I'm stuck in a pattern. The sun rises, the sun sets, and I get to watch fireworks on Wednesdays.

The familiarity is nice, and if I'm honest, I'll admit that I'm far too scared to break away from it. Because this is mindless and numbing. And it's easier this way.

Oh the weather outside

So awesome.

Baby I'm yours

Thanks to that pesky little thing called med school loans, we might not have a lot of money, honey...

But you sure do know how to make a girl smile when she's walking in her front door after a long flight back to you.

Make me over

Tomorrow the class of 2010 starts their third year of med school. And they're excited. A little apprehensive maybe, but excited. Because third year means seeing real people, being in the hospital. Being a third year means they're that much closer to the endgame. It's so close they can taste it.

Tomorrow the rest of my classmates will start their third year. Tomorrow, I will sleep in and then clean my house. Morosely. Because tomorrow, I will be beyond depressed that I'm not in their shoes.

Instead, I'm stuck. Stuck where I have been for the past year. Stuck in the libraries. Stuck away from doing what I've been waiting and wanting to do my whole life - take care of people.

This year will be different. Different people. Different friendships. Slightly different coursework.

I wouldn't change what happened and what I ultimately chose, because I needed this time. And I grew so much during this time. But that doesn't mean I can't wish a little for what coulda woulda shoulda.

So tomorrow I'll be a little sad. No, tomorrow I'll be a lottle sad.

And then the day after that, I'll pick my chin up and carry on.