Yegads, it's hot...

This is New England; I was assured a summer full of snow and reindeer. Or moose at least. A moose has been spotted in Sharon, which is probably walking distance from this apartment, but do I ever see them? No. I just have enough innate knowledge of them to have my knuckles white on the steering wheel after dark, because there's no WAY I'd survive running into that. My car wouldn't handle anything larger than a chipmunk.

I did my last day of shadowing yesterday, and naturally, there was all sorts of cool stuff I hadn't seen before, in one case, that even Dr. White hadn't seen before, to make me miss it extra hard when I go back to basic sciences. I really really really like everyone there, thus after I said goodbye to people and strolled happy go lucky into the parking lot, my face started leaking.

I say that because first of all, I HATE crying, truly do, and secondly, because it wasn't accompanied by any strong depression, or warning. I had the same thing happen last Tuesday, where suddenly, face was wet and it's like "what the hell? I've have this gene inactivated for years. I had a frigging kid I did CPR on up and die on me and didn't cry, but I'm getting all wah wah now??" Not sure why I hate it so much. Probably because it seems an unfair way to ensure discomfort in other people and then causes them to tread lightly around you for fear they'll hurt your widdle feelings. Fortunately no one saw it yesterday, though I'm probably making things worse by telling you all about it, but whatever; the relatively anonymity of the internet, despite most people knowing who I am, affords me an artificial veneer of emotional protection...

ANYway, I think it's that I tend to fear change a bit, since I even felt mopey leaving Grenada, and the note I left on which wasn't altogether positive, but I'm sure I'll feel better once I'm back. I really do like school. The other thing is the inertia of my life at present. It's easy to stagnate and have medical school always be that thing you were going to do, that you're planning to do, and then you look back when you're 60 at your life, your comfortable job, your kids, and that was always the dream you never achieved, and no one ever seems to really plan for that; it just happens. This is both good and bad. Bad in the sense of not actualizing a dream, but good in a sense of... well, then you never have to be put to it. You never have to deal with having a shot at your dream and worry whether you're going to make it through and if it was the right decision.

So there's some fear there. Good, normal productive fear, I think, but fear nonetheless.

And that's that... Tuesday gets closer and closer though; I'll tell you, and I still have to pack, which I fundamentally hate.

Ah well.