I prefer to look at today as a resurgence of trepanation...

instead of what it really was. A few shots in the head.

Today I went to the doctor, and after multiple shots and a handful of gauze later, I began thinking about early medicine.

About 5,000 years ago, this process would have been seen as some sort of release for me. Trepanation...or making holes in the head...was viewed in various contexts. It's main purposes were to relieve pressure on the brain, cure headaches, or even to release evil spirits.

Now, I know my venture to the doctor did not leave me with holes through my skull, as this practice would have. However, when something is taken out of your body, it is interesting to think about the symbolism behind that. Maybe what was taken out were manifestations of negative thoughts. Maybe they were accumulations of stress. Maybe they were regrets that all found the same place to lie. Maybe this is the medicine talking.

But it is interesting to feel yourself free of tangible things that have made your body their home. What has been taken out, I am not sure. I wish they represented things within me I want to rid myself of: selfishness, impatience, negativity. I know believing that is some sort of ancient medicine hogwash, but maybe thinking it will change my overall attitude.

A bearded man spitting on me and screaming "oral sex"...

that's all I remember of Ethics.

I was telling this horror story last night over cocktails with friends. I will forever be scarred by that man with hair as red as fire.

I think it's funny how, in looking back at classes that took up entire semesters...or really anything that took up a significant amount of time in life, we latch on to specific moments. Insignificant moments.

I know we must have discussed important issues in Ethics, but when I think "Ethics" I will forever see a large red-headed man, leaning over my desk, pointing at the guy sitting behind me, and heatedly asking whether or not he believed that oral sex is sex. But all I got was, "Is ORAL SEX (a little spittle landing on my desk), sex?! ORAL SEX (spit everywhere)???!!!"

Why me? Why that seat? Why Ethics?

I wonder if that is why I am opposed to any conversation centered around Ethics.

I wonder if that is why I am so unethical.

Damn you you red-headed man. I blame you for my current state.

Craptastic...

I love working with Nicki and laughing at her syntax.

Random thought: If Sylvia were alive, I would stick her head in that stupid oven myself.

Needless to say...I am currently frustrated with my thesis.

Today is Valentine's Day. Today, middle school girls all over the world are going home in tears because they didn't get a singing telegram featuring K-Ci and JoJo's "All My Life" or maybe Bette Midler's "Wind Beneath My Wings". No pink or red or colorful assortment of day old and wilted carnations. No plush bear that plays music or has some sort of lame Valentine's greeting. No box of chocolates. No heart-shaped suckers. No scratch-n-sniff stickers. Probably not even a card. For middle school girls everywhere, Valentine's sucks. (Except for the select few. You know who those select few were because they didn't lose that status until the morning after high school graduation, and some may still hold it today. Eww.) In elementary school it's okay because there are class parties with heart-shaped sugar cookies and red icing. If you are lucky, the teacher assigns bringing Valentine's to the entire class, and in that case you go home with a bag of Star Wars, Strawberry Shortcake, Garfield, Transformers, and Punky Brewster valentines (circa late 80s). This just about makes your year. In high school and college it's okay because you have close friends you can celebrate with if you don't have an actual "valentine". If you are lucky, your friends want to go out for margaritas and maybe kareoke ensues. But today I have decided that, as a group, middle school girls get the short end of the stick. Maybe not even the short end. These girls never stood a chance.

On this day, I am thankful for all the love I have, and I want to give all of the middle school girls in the world an inspirational speech and maybe a big hope-filled bear hug...not to be confused with a plush teddy bear that plays the tune to "My Funny Valentine." Sick.

A poet's last thoughts on knowledge and love...

Excepts from a poem titled "Admonitions to a Special Person", written a few months before Anne Sexton took her own life. The poem in it's entirity is fascinating; I read it as a summary of all the advice she wanted to pass on. These are the small portions I wanted to share.

Watch out for intellect,
because it knows so much it knows nothing
and leaves you hanging upside down,
mouthing knowledge as your heart
falls out of your mouth.

Watch out for love
(unless it is true,
and every part of you says yes including the toes),
it will wrap you up like a mummy,
and your scream won't be heard
and none of your running will run.

Love? Be it man. Be it woman.
It must be a wave you want to glide on,
give your body to it, give your laugh to it,
give, when the gravelly sand takes you,
your tears to the land. To love another is something
like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall
into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.

It's Super Bowl Sunday...

And I am thinking about all the people out there who are TiVo-ing the game so they can fast forward through all the commericals and watch hours of uninterrupted football.
I am the kind of person that would TiVo the Super Bowl so I could fast forward through the game and watch all of the award-winning commercials.

I realize I am in the minority, but I think my time would be best spent on the latter option.
Hmm....