There are now in existence an inordinate number of photographs depicting me being a complete idiot, all from the past week or so. I need to stop.

And I will. I'm done. Tonight I went to my third Halloween party in a week and I have filled my partying quota for at least a year. You can all count me out for New Years, I'll be hiding under my bed with my cat.

I am glad, though, that in the midst of working long hours and being a drunken fool I was able to help Eliz and Andrew move to their new and very cute apartment. I actually had fun and it felt good to accomplish something practical.

Anyway, I think sleep is now in order. When I wake up my life will be free of angst, right? Good. I thought so.

It's a word I learned today.

So, an interesting but very distressing thing happened tonight. One of my patients herniated his brain and arrested just before he was supposed to be discharged. We had him on the table, intubated, were doing chest compressions and I had just gotten an IV catheter in him when the clinic attendant walked up and asked if he was ready to go home. The doctor replied: "Well, at the moment he's dead so... no." (This particular doctor is an incredibly nice person who does a great impression of a raging bitch when she's stressed.) So, the attendant then proceeded to hang around to "see how things would go". Because we occasionally cure acute brain hemorrhages with CPR and then send the animal on its way. I didn't actually say that but I wanted to. It was a sucky night.

But anyway. Currently, I find myself with an overabundance of cats. I'm cat-sitting for Clytie's sister's two cats while she and Clytie are in Iceland for a hockey tournament. Having four cats in the house is kinda cool. I'm starting to see the appeal of being a crazy cat lady.

I'll be in South Portland sometime Friday afternoon. Can't wait to move boxes! :P

So, it's five am. I've just finished one of the most absurd weeks of my life and I'm seriously considering quitting my job because it makes me sad. (But it's also a really cool job that I love. I suck.) Anyway, I just spent twenty minutes writing this big long post that outlined in detail all the crazy shit that happened to me this week.

I just erased it. What's important is this: Dwight Schultz is THE MAN. And yet, if I never see the movie Fat Man, Little Boy again it will be too soon because it made me want to die. As much as my job drives me crazy and makes me hate people sometimes... I have never been asked to sell my soul. For that, I consider myself fortunate.

Not that I should really be drawing comparisons between myself and J. Robert Oppenheimer in any context. It's just wrong. And, truthfully, I shouldn't be watching movies about nuclear arms at four in the morning...

Though, that may be preferable to drunken games of ouija board on the third floor of MSPCA headquarters at four in the morning...

...not that I've ever done that.

Good night.

You Are 36% Evil

A bit of evil lurks in your heart, but you hide it well. In some ways, you are the most dangerous kind of evil.

So do people remember the House season finale last spring? The guy with the massively swollen tongue? Yeah, imagine that guy was actually a 140 pound golden retriever and you've got my freaky patient of the week. This dog's tongue was so engorged that it needed an emergency tracheostomy in order to continue breathing. It looked like, quite possibly, the most painful and frightening thing ever... also the most disgusting. I wanted to line him up with the two dogs in the room who had undergone brain surgery that day (one whose brain could be seen pulsing through his shaved skull cap and the other whose eyes were completely gone with a frankenstein-esque skin flap in their place) and hand out trophies to the freaky trifecta. It was a slow, strange night.