I'm flying to Connecticut because I procrastinate.

A few days ago I realized that in my ultimate act of procrastination I had yet to sign up for the MCAT I'd planned on taking September 8.  Typically, premed students are advised to sign up at least 6-8 weeks in advance, but because this will be the second to last test date of the year, I'd been told to sign up as soon as I could.  I've previously been told I exhibit somewhat of a type A personality who has everything together, but in this instance, I pushed back my decision for months.

In May, I planned on taking the exam in September.  I could have signed up then, but since I wasn't sure about my study plan, I pushed back the decision of dates.  In June, I submitted my two week's notice to the doctor's office where I was employed to allow ample time for studying.  In July, once I'd settled on a date,  I debated whether to sign up to take it in San Francisco, near my home, or in San Diego, my home away from home.  But I couldn't bring myself to book the test.  Maybe it was a little bit of denial: if I don't sign up, it won't happen, and if it doesn't happen, I can't fail.  Either way, when I realized I needed to sign up for this test if I intended to take it this year, I logged into the website and attempted to view all the remaining California test dates.

There weren't any.  At all.  "Ok," I said to myself, "check neighboring states."  None.  None in California, Oregon, Washington, or Nevada for the end of August or September.  The nearest I could find was Arizona, but since I knew I'd have to travel for this exam, I put that state on the back-burner.  I began checking through states where I had relatives, one at a time, until I found one where I knew I'd feel comfortable, and I could easily get to the test center.  Where, you ask, am I taking my MCAT?  Connecticut.  A mere 2,991 miles from my home.  Not exactly ideal, but definitely going to be just fine.  My best friend lives in New Haven, and there's a test center 10 minutes from her apartment.  I immediately called her, and she welcomed me in, volunteered her car, and offered to do anything she could to help me do well.  What a blessing.  Now, five weeks away from possibly the most painful exam I'll take, I'm finally registered for the MCAT, my flights are booked, and I'll be squeezing in a bit of a vacation afterward.  Maybe that's the silver lining to make up for the complicated stress-ball that came from a little procrastination.  And maybe next time I'll learn my lesson and work to maintain my type A reputation. 

A quick shot of us in front of an AMAZING New Haven restaurant.  Yum!

Uncle Gilbert

I remember distinctly the text message I received telling me he had leukemia, and that I wasn't allowed to tell my best friend.  It was four days before Christmas 2009 and she'd be home in less than 36 hours.  The next few days were filled with a whirlwind of to-do lists to finish shopping here and deliver jam there.  We all stepped up so mama Millie could mother him.  She was by his side every moment she could be in those first few weeks.

The presents were purchased and wrapped, the jams delivered, and Christmas went on with a video camera in hand so he could watch it a few days later from his hospital bed 15 miles away.  The next year included so many trips to and from the hospital I can barely count them all.  My sole job was to guard his house.  In my trek to and from school, I passed his humble home.  I watched the windows to make sure no one had attempted a break in.  I examined the lighting to verify that the automatic timers were turning on as planned.  I mentally measured the amount of weeds and gardening that needed to be done, and called when it became too much but also when it had disappeared.  I was the tattletale when he'd been doing too much.  It was ok.  For more than a year.  And then it wasn't.

He was discharged from the hospital during the second week of March even when nothing was back to normal.  According to his doctors, there wasn't much else they could do at that point.  I couldn't understand.  There's always more treatment, more drugs, more something.  But sometimes that more truly makes life less worth living, as was believed for him.  Mama Millie spent the next four weeks doing anything and everything with him.  They drove everywhere they could just for him to see it.  She even ate McDonalds, her arch nemesis, because he wanted a burger and a Diet Coke.

Two days ago, he lost his fight.  He'd been doing so much better, even to the point where I'd stopped worrying and started to regain hope.  He started not feeling well, and the family gathered around him at the hospital as he finally surrendered.

Thanksgiving 2010 - he's down in front

He's the reason I'll donate bone marrow, should I ever match.  I've been told that it's the most painful thing one could imagine and that anesthesia is forbidden because it affects the harvested cells.  I'll donate anyways and happily, and in my mind it will be for him.  He didn't have a match.  No one had a chance to help physically save his life.  And as a result, a really good man is gone.

He never married, so didn't have a wife or children of his own to spoil.  Instead he took it out on his nieces and nephews, including me, the extra one.  He didn't care that I wasn't born into his family, or even that I wasn't officially part of it.  He cared that I was around.  He spent his time caring for those he loved and asking for nothing in return.  The injustice of his illness when terrible people live much longer lives makes me sick.  But until I call the shots, I can simply remember the man he was and pass along his legacy to the "other ones" around me.

Valentine's Day

Today is the day that men dread and women mark on their calendars the second they purchase them in early November.  This happens to be my 23th celebration of this dreaded holiday, and so far it’s the best.  I’m spending it doing what I love.

I don’t have a boyfriend.

No one is buying me flowers or chocolates.

I don’t have a group of friends for “girlie night”.

And yet, I’m content.

This week is chock full of midterms and this upcoming weekend I have a family vacation, which serves as the most stressful weekend of my year.  This year, I’ve been on the verge of a panic attack for the last three weeks simply at the mention of this forthcoming chaos.  Tonight I’m spending the evening having a romantic candlelit dinner with my pathophysiology textbook.  Did I mention that the candle will be on the other side of the room so I don’t knock it over, and that my microwaved Lean Cuisine lasagna is a far stretched from the five-course gourmet meal I was promised?  Oh.  Must have forgotten that part.

Sadly, this isn’t the first time I’ve sacrificed holidays for school or work.  Thankfuly this time, I’m completely satisfied with my decision.  That is, unless you know any availabe and attractive men who aren’t threatened by a completely overbooked and overworked woman.  In that case, I’m free, and I’d appreciate it if you’d pass along my number.

At a Slug's Pace

To complete my master's program I need to write a thesis.  To write a thesis I need research.  To do research I need a lab, and to have a lab I need an advisor (referred to from now on as PI, or primary investigator, who frequently serve as professors in fine universities such as my own).  Three weeks before Christmas, and two before finals, my PI informed me that in a few short months, he will be packing up his belongings and moving across the world to the far away state of Texas.  Had anyone else shared this news, I'd offer to buy them a pair of cowboy boots to help the aclimate to their new environment.  However, I was less than overjoyed to hear it from him, since it also means he'll be packing up his frogs - the necessary tool for my research thus far.

I spent the Christmas holiday labless, which in the science community is not far away from being homeless.  And then these little cuties were introduced into my life. Tritonia diomedea. That's science 

C'mon.  Tell me this little guy isn't cute.

for slug.  He eats sea pens and can only move by contracting in half and letting the water whisk him away from impending doom.  I'm now the wandering grad student, floating from lab to lab, trying them all on for size and creating a massive pro-con list.  I've moved from a state of anger and frustration about wasting 8 months worth of work on frogs and allowed my heart to be softened.  I've accepted the challenge of passing my knowledge on to the less qualified classmates.  In the process I've suddenly found the community I've been searching for.  Others are treking through the same unknown I am.  Does my experiment actually work?  Will I get any data? And if I do will it mean anything? How long will I be here?  How long can I afford to be here?  My eyes have been opened to students who have been here for 4 months and those here for 4 years.  Some have set up the lab with their PI, and others have skated by on simply taking pictures and comparing them.  Either way, we all have stories of our adventures here.  We know each other's labs and the crazy hours that constitute our schedules.  We all know the treachery of grading undergraduate lab work.  We all know the struggle of failure, and are constantly fighting off the call of defeat.  We also all know the local coffee shop and bakery (probably too well).  We know the quickest route to Tahoe for a weekend of letting off steam.  We know there's someone to listen to our whines.  And we know we're all in this together.  I'm not alone in my journey anymore.

Fanatic

If someone had asked me a mere two months ago what I thought of baseball, he or she would be overwhelmingly bored by my response.  I'm a fair-weather fan of the truest form: I attend games because it's an excuse to spend 3 hours in the sun on a beautiful day.  I don't do bad weather, and night games are only acceptable if there isn't a neighboring day game that will work just as well.

As the Giants, the only good team near my home, found themselves winning the National League Division Series, I found myself suddenly becoming excited.  I was ready for something good to happen.  As they began the National League Championship Series, something completely unexpected happened in my life: I began to talk baseball.  I'd watch games in between classes at a local pizza joint or watch the play-by-play coverage on a classmate's computer if the game happened to overlap a lecture.  I'd tell people about how wonderful Matt Cain must be and joke with friends about Tim Lincecum's girly hair.  I even corrected a few guys on the lineup for an upcoming game.  As they won the NCLS and headed to the World Series, even more unexpected happened.  I began recording games on MyDVR to watch later so I could see the good plays.  An orange ribbon suddenly graced the locks of my blonde hair on game days, which more than anything was an excuse not to do my hair. (Or was it?) I became superstitious, blaming the one game loss on my failure of ribbon wearing.

And then it happened.

The San Francisco Giants won the World Series.  In the shortest game of the series, lasting only 2 hours and 32 minutes, Brian Wilson and his incredible beard pitched a scoreless ninth inning, leading the team to a 3-1 victory over the Texas Rangers.  I was sitting in the middle of a lecture, after being told by our professor that if we were to continue watching the game, we weren't allowed to disrupt the class.  Talk about a challenge.  I managed to keep my rear end glued to the chair for the next 37 minutes until class was over and I was free to celebrate.

But suddenly it didn't matter.

I didn't care anymore.  My passion and my excitement were gone.  By the time I was free to share about the sweet taste of victory, tweets were already pouring in of the world being sick of it.  "I'm not there yet," I wanted to scream at them. "Let me get in my two cents."  It was over.  The excitement, the buzz, the craze.  I'd missed the moments of celebration while in class, and I did what I could to milk what little conversation I could before settling back into a normal day with a normal classload and a normal commute home.  I felt like I'd once again missed out on something seemingly important by spending my night paying attention to another lecture.  My lengthy list of sacrifices I've made in the hopes of medicine was growing by the second.  Yet, it only seemed to do so for a few of those seconds.

I still have my pink Giants hat hanging from the bulletin board behind me, but neither the team nor the sport come up in my conversations anymore.  I may have relished in the photos from the parade commemorating the win and laughed about the ridiculous traffic for it, but I was done.

This whole process has started the churning wheels in my brain along a track of wondering how many times I do this exact thing in life:  invest my heart and time (and wardrobe) into something for a few seconds, minutes, hours or days, suddenly to have it be over.  How often do I care about something or someone, to simply not be bothered by it the next day?  Even when it works my way?  I make every effort I possibly can to make sure this doesn't happen with the people in my life.  I'm not a "here one minute and gone the next" kind of girl.  But how many times do I pick a favorite restaurant, or favorite movie, or favorite friend?  I simply have to have that new dress.  Until I get it home and the excitement is wears off, that is.

I'm a fair-weather fan to the core, and I prove it everyday it seems.  Thankfully, the One who's a fan of me doesn't lose passion or excitement.  He knows exactly what's coming, including disappointments and joys, ups and downs.  He knows it all because He willed it all.  And even through the wild turns on the crazy adventure of life, He remains my biggest fan.

Will Who?

For many years I've prided myself on my willingness to follow God at the drop of a hat.  It was pretty simple when He called me to Danville, which is a mere fifteen minute drive from where I've spent the majority of years.  I was no less willing when He called me to Boulder, Colorado, and even accepted the news when He told me to stay instead.  However, when He called me to Modesto on a Thursday in the middle of the day, I was less than enthusiastic about answering.

Before you judge, there are a few things you must understand, dear reader.  First, I love the Lord.  A lot.  I've spent the last week wrapped up in Him, and my life, whether in theory or in practice, has always been His.  Second, Modesto isn't exactly where I love to spend my weekday afternoons.  It takes approximately an hour and a half to get there thanks to a ridiculous amount of ceaseless traffic, and for the time being I don't necessarily receive a warm welcome.  Third, Thursdays are a work day.  Enough said.

At eleven o'clock this morning when God decided it would be funny to lay on my heart a desire to drive to Modesto, I accused Him of insanity.  It seemed silly and beyond reason.  Accordingly, I ignored the desire, which lasted me a whopping 10 minutes.  I called work and realized that I needed to be there despite being in the midst of a seemingly slower week.  I made up my mind to drive to Modesto as soon as I was done, though I still had no idea why I was going.  Four hours of antsy work later, I was on my way.  Home.  Not to Modesto.

I still knew I needed to go, but couldn't rationalize the $20 in gas and hours of time it would take.  Ironic, since the only reason I have money at all is because God has crazily blessed me with not one, but two, decently paying jobs.  As I melted into the couch I began to understand more of God's nudging to me.  Serve.  Go serve.

So I did.  It involved hopping a fence four different times and a minor contusion to my right elbow.  (Don't you love that doctor talk?!)  It involved washing machines, picture frames and many, many Clorox wipes.  If God had asked my opinion, it would have played out completely differently.  I think the person I went to serve might be MORE mad at me than he was before.  Whoops.

The good news is that I'm not orating this tale to make myself look good.  Rather, it seems to be a perfect example of how God's will frequently does not make sense.  Thankfully, that doesn't change the fact that it's His will.

Before I left today, I attempted to call two of my closest friends to make sure I wasn't losing my mind.  My life is filled to the brim with stress, so before making decisions that matter, I like to double check my judgement right now, especially when it comes to things of a spiritual nature.  Neither of the friends picked up the phone, and then I was overwhelmed with the feeling that I already knew the answer.

I wish I had a conclusion to this tale of my epic fail, but alas, I do not.  I know that God's will is working every detail for the best.  Perhaps in a few days, weeks or months I will be able to update you on how God used me tonight.  Until then, I'll leave you with a passage of Truth I've been grasping to for the last three days.

"Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God's Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don't know how or what to pray, it doesn't matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That's why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good."  -Romans 8:26-28

Part of a Family

I’m a planner.  I have been since day 1.  When something’s wrong, I can’t move on until a plan is in place to fix it.  Over the past few years I’ve been growing in my abilities to let go, but this weekend proved to me how much farther I have to go, as well as how ready I am to take on the adventure.

I spent the days leading up to today looking forward to a day on the water.  Since my parents are both homebodies, driving from our home to the doctor’s office 10 miles down the freeway was a huge outing.  Part of my adolescent rebellion has involved traveling, seeing, and doing as much as I can.  In the process I discovered that I love boating.  It feeds my soul.  Something about the sun, wind and water all mixed together just causes the chaos in my head to settle long enough for me to enjoy myself thoroughly.  This weekend was supposed to be about getting together with some people I hadn’t seen in a while and boating, or at least that’s what I had decided without even discussing with them.

Naturally, when it didn’t work out I was crushed.  Crushed because I felt unwanted.  Crushed because I didn’t want to sit at home.  Crushed because my plans fell through.

Boyfriend did everything in his powers to make sure I felt loved and cared for yesterday.  He made plans (yay!) to head to the city with enough time to find a beach before the Giants game.  And it truly was a wonderful day.  But something was missing.  I didn’t realize it yesterday, but at dinner tonight I discovered what was out of place.

Family.

I’d been looking forward to spending the day with family.  And it didn’t happen.

Until tonight.

It wasn’t planned, and that’s part of why it was beautiful.  As we sat around the dinner table discussing bachelor parties and peeing in pools, I felt like I was part of a family.  Again.  Because I am.  Yeah, I am.  When my soon to be insurance agent sends me e-mails with quotes, they’re signed with love.  Because I’m part of the family.  When I’m invited to stay for dinner because I’m there as everyone’s about to sit down, no one’s worried about the awkwardness anymore.  It’s about family.  It’s about people who love each other and would do anything for each other.  Now this isn’t to say that we’ve arrived at a place where everything is hunky dory.  We’re a long ways off.  But we’re headed in the right direction and there’s light at the end of the tunnel.  I’m sure of that now.

Here's a photo from the last time we were a family.  We spent the day touring the SF Bay on a boat and relaxing, and it's one of my favorite memories together.

I'm not just a set of scrubs.

This morning I was reading from Isaiah 45 and was struck by verse 9.

"Woe to the one who quarrels with his Maker--
An earthenware vessel among the vessels of earth!
Will the clay say to the potter, 'What are you doing?'
Or the thing you are making say, 'He has no hands'?"

See, I spend a decent amount of time asking God what he's doing. What He's up to. Why I'm hurting. Why certain people push me away. This verse convicted me so deeply, and I think it's in part because I've been making scrubs lately.

Scrubs are expensive, especially for me because my legs are so long. It's been easier and cheaper to buy fabric and make them myself. But fabric is expensive too, so I've been buying flat sheets and cutting them up. Then I realized that what I'm doing, and what is being talked about in Isaiah, is kind of all the same.

I take my flat sheet, who if it could think would think that he was completely finished and ready to serve a great purpose of protecting my really pretty comforter, and I cut it up. Usually I'm not very nice about it and I use super sharp scissors. I shove pins into it to mark my place, and when I'm done it looks like a hot mess. Then I shove a needle into it over and over again, inflicting more pain. I fold it over onto itself and cut some more.

But in the end, I have a new outfit.  The flat sheet that thought it was finished has now become something more purposeful and more useful for what I'm up to.

The same thing is happening with me.

God is at work cutting me and trimming me. So often I feel like a hot mess. He's shoving a needle into me over and over and over again. But when he's done, I'll be something so much more incredible than a simple set of scrubs, and not just because I started out more complex than I piece of fabric.

The same is true with you.  God is at work. He's cutting and pinning. Stitching and folding. Working. Hurting. Making. Shaping. And the end result will be so much better than anything you or I could ever imagine. I can't wait for that.

I'm a Nerd.

Ok, this totally hasn't been expressed nearly well enough here, but I'm quickly showing my nerd colors to everyone in my life.  As a result, I'd like to introduce you to the following comics from a new favorite site.

On computers:

On scientists:

On life:

Update

It's been a while, hasn't it?

I still have plenty of witty and wise things to fill your minds with, but clearly they have haven't made their way to grace this blog lately.  Between a work schedule that allows me massive breaks twice a week and a class schedule that has a bit of flexibility, I haven't found a need to procrastinate in quite the same way this quarter.  I've been filling my hours with mindless conversation about relationships, polka dots and travel, three things that there aren't nearly enough of in my world.  I've consumed too much coffee (is that possible?), stayed up way too late, and lost my voice multiple times in the last week from talking too much on the phone.

Long story short:  life is good.

There's always something I'd rather happen a different way, and there's always things I have no control over, but for now things are good.  In spite of the good, though, I feel like I've lost a bit of my voice.  At one point not too long ago, I decided I would blog to find my voice.  Sometime soon I have to write one of the most incredible papers of my life summing up everything about me in one page.  Ugh.  In order to do that, I figured I could tell my story through witty and entertaining prose rather than the standard jargon I typically use.  And what better way to develop my writing than to force it upon your poor eyes?  Either way, the craziness of what is my life right now has left me dry and lackluster, and therefore has done the same to this blog.  I have dozens of half-written posts simply waiting for brilliance to strike them to life.  Maybe it will come sooner than I think.  For now I have midterms, birthday week, and getting better to focus on.  When life settles a little and the dust clears, you can count on me coming back to rant and rave more than you ever really wanted to hear.