it is 6: 47 pm and i sit on my couch with an overheated computer on my lap .who knows if that's normal, ever since the glittery stickers on my toddler Dell faded, i have lost interest in its therapeutic needs. a new computer has also not yet found its place on my to-do list or my budget. what's the point, i would not appreciate its marvelously intricate world of possibilities. really all i need is a half-clean screen, an internet connection faster than good ole dial up and a keyboard. I would still be using my nineteen ninety seven Lebanese twenty pound dead weight if it would fit on my lap and stream netflix.
well it is now 6:55, eight minutes spent on one paragraph only took my feelings of doom to abysmal dimensions. see i was supposed to be heading to the Roasterie between 4 and 5 pm, pretend to read about lung cancer while really copying Bible verses on orange glitter paper with a teal marker, that God ordained be brought back from a bookstore in Achrafieh Lebanon, probably for this specific design of my spiritual edification.
twelve minutes of reading would have made me feel really comfortable in my newfound knowledge of chemicals i had never heard of as risk factors for lung cancer. chloromethyl esters. so i am supposed to ask the sweet eighty year old in my clinic- with whom i have just flirted a little to soften the blow of a posterior speculated nodule in the apico-posterior aspect of his left upper lobe, if he has ever been exposed to that thing.
or am i supposed to, in addition to relocating to the first world to better learn to save lives, leaving my elderly cat and my one-eyed nounours (a plushed bear typical francophile name) in the master bedroom my parents let me have in the newly built house of my youth in the Lebanese mountains, where the breeze flows through each of the vast windows, encircling your soul.... (are you still following: we were at "am i supposed to":) learn the materials involved in every single welding, construction, naval, et j'en passé! job, to pinpoint what caused his cancer.
He has it. that's all they want to know. and how long does he have, can he still help his wife pickle the tomatoes this year. sweet old man with the aggressive daughter, we all comment, but hey guess what, if it were my dad in that tiny clinic examination room, you would bet i would be aggressive to the 24 year old looking curly haired foreigner doctor with the occasional blank stare (as she is trying to remember the name of that chemical so she can ask him if he was exposed to it.)
it is now 7:14. i meant for this to be a post about how my plans for the day got messed up. i guess my patient's abysmal news trumps my OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) miseries.
off to the roasterie then. i seem to remember my marque-page (book mark) was stuck to a paragraph describing how most trials do not support the observed beneficial association or a role for supplemental beta-carotene in the prevention of lung cancer.
i mean that is great news for me, i hate carrots (and claim a deadly allergy involving terrifying dimensions of tongue swelling if i cohabitate with carrots at a relative's Christmas dinner table).
my joy of living in denial and my natural tendency to laziness also cling to evidence-based medicine to avoid searching for evidence supporting nature-based medicine.
but who knows, i mean God must have had a reason for making carrots, besides me using them as ghastly entertainment at the dinner table. let the poor man eat carrots and pickle this year's batch of tomatoes.
well it is now 6:55, eight minutes spent on one paragraph only took my feelings of doom to abysmal dimensions. see i was supposed to be heading to the Roasterie between 4 and 5 pm, pretend to read about lung cancer while really copying Bible verses on orange glitter paper with a teal marker, that God ordained be brought back from a bookstore in Achrafieh Lebanon, probably for this specific design of my spiritual edification.
twelve minutes of reading would have made me feel really comfortable in my newfound knowledge of chemicals i had never heard of as risk factors for lung cancer. chloromethyl esters. so i am supposed to ask the sweet eighty year old in my clinic- with whom i have just flirted a little to soften the blow of a posterior speculated nodule in the apico-posterior aspect of his left upper lobe, if he has ever been exposed to that thing.
or am i supposed to, in addition to relocating to the first world to better learn to save lives, leaving my elderly cat and my one-eyed nounours (a plushed bear typical francophile name) in the master bedroom my parents let me have in the newly built house of my youth in the Lebanese mountains, where the breeze flows through each of the vast windows, encircling your soul.... (are you still following: we were at "am i supposed to":) learn the materials involved in every single welding, construction, naval, et j'en passé! job, to pinpoint what caused his cancer.
He has it. that's all they want to know. and how long does he have, can he still help his wife pickle the tomatoes this year. sweet old man with the aggressive daughter, we all comment, but hey guess what, if it were my dad in that tiny clinic examination room, you would bet i would be aggressive to the 24 year old looking curly haired foreigner doctor with the occasional blank stare (as she is trying to remember the name of that chemical so she can ask him if he was exposed to it.)
it is now 7:14. i meant for this to be a post about how my plans for the day got messed up. i guess my patient's abysmal news trumps my OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) miseries.
off to the roasterie then. i seem to remember my marque-page (book mark) was stuck to a paragraph describing how most trials do not support the observed beneficial association or a role for supplemental beta-carotene in the prevention of lung cancer.
i mean that is great news for me, i hate carrots (and claim a deadly allergy involving terrifying dimensions of tongue swelling if i cohabitate with carrots at a relative's Christmas dinner table).
my joy of living in denial and my natural tendency to laziness also cling to evidence-based medicine to avoid searching for evidence supporting nature-based medicine.
but who knows, i mean God must have had a reason for making carrots, besides me using them as ghastly entertainment at the dinner table. let the poor man eat carrots and pickle this year's batch of tomatoes.
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