Feelings make me feel weird.

Having a sudden urge for chicken noodle soup, I chasséd into the kitchen and reached for the can collecting dust in my cupboard. I plunged my hand into the dishwasher (it's where we keep clean dishes) for my housemate's can opener. Hm, not electronic, I thought. That's ok. I can bleed people--I can open a can! I would place the can opener parallel to the brim, allowing the blade to touch the very edge of the surface. Fixated upon the handle, simple, repetitive torque applied should do the trick.


Needless to say, I threw the can opener back into the dishwasher and shoved the can into the dreary crevices of my cupboard. No, seriously, I don't really know what's back there.


I had glorious, restful sleep last night, after several nights of insomnia. Of course, that means that my brain refuses to turn off tonight. It's 1:22 AM and I know I want to go to class tomorrow. Bright and early, 8 AM. I suppose I could be studying for my histology "quiz" on Monday, but that would be too productive and my brain despises productivity.


I started seeing a therapist to discuss my insomnia and my pending ADHD status. What started out as a conversation about my difficulty sleeping and concentrating suddenly turned into a survey of my commitment issues and fear of intimacy. I sulked into the leather couch and knew we weren't going to be focusing on my ADHD evaluation anymore. Feelings. Ugh, we are talking about feelings. There is no conversation topic more awkward to me than my feelings.

Therapist: Anytime you have a feeling, I want you to write it down so that we can talk about it the following week.

Shopgirl: Um, ok, what kind of feeling? A good feeling? A sad feeling?

Therapist: Any kind of feeling.

Shopgirl: Ok, because... I mean--I have lots of feelings, I guess. And I mean, when you say 'any kind of feeling,' that's kind of vague. Like, hunger. I mean, that's a feeling. And you know, sometimes I get really hungry. And when I get really hungry, I get upset because I still can't believe that I haven't eaten.

Therapist: Well, I want you focus on your deep-rooted emotions. For instance, how you feel when you feel wronged, or how you feel when something wonderful happens.

Shopgirl: When I feel wronged, well, yeah, I feel wronged. I mean, what am I... huh?

Therapist: Just write it down.

Shopgirl: Okie dokie.

I didn't want to lug my 10-pound journal and grabbed the smallest notebook I had lying around. This notebook happened to be my 4" x 8" American Medical Association spiral notebook. It even has a quick medical reference guide! That way while I'm documenting "feelings," I can memorize handy values like normal blood cell and SGPT/ALT-7 counts.

Ready to get in touch with my "feelings,"
Shopgirl.

Insomnia: 3; Me: -2

Plagued again by my persistent insomnia, I thought I'd actually get out of bed this time and get productive.

Carey Mulligan
Vogue Oct 2010

On a rampant drawing spree, I designed my Halloween costume (Michaels, here I come!), sketched a self-portrait, and got a little fanciful with Carey Mulligan's cover on Vogue. (Please pardon the crappiness in the photo--the iPhone, despite its superior features, has the most incapable camera of its smartphone peers.)

Something about the teeter-tottering of a pen or pencil in my hand is therapeutic. Whether writing or drawing, every whisk of such a simple, yet elegant tool serves purpose. A conservative scribble denotes a harsh, solid sternness, while a flirtatious swish portrays a soothing catharsis. Every mark has intention--you control it, inputing as much energy or emotion in every curve as needed.

I was never one to focus wholeheartedly into any kind of activity, except when pursuing artistic ventures. Before I found myself wrapped up in education then medicine, I spent most of my time dabbling in art. In retrospect, I don't think that I could focus on anything longer than ten minutes, unless I was working on art. To think about it, I don't know how I made it to medical school, considering my poor memory and that I have the attention span of a two-year-old. My ADHD diagnosis is pending! No, seriously.

The time on the clock is 6:51 AM. It's time to hop in the shower and make it to class today!

Hoping for a productive day,
Shopgirl.

Creatures at Walmart keep me up at night.

The creature above is just one of many depicted at People of Walmart. While I worry why a hospital in-patient is wandering the public isles, I worry more about where the opening of her gown is. God forbid she flash anybody with the goodies underneath.

Though I must say, I cannot say the same for the gentleman below. Apparently, he has decided to leave very little to the imagination.

Maybe I didn't want to know that he had a perfectly tan body, but he sure didn't give us the chance to make this decision, did he? Unfortunately, the sight of his quasi-nude body has led me to ask another question that I know you will all regret--what the heck is holding up his pants?

It's almost 1 AM and I'm online checking out news on Walmart. No, this is not a common occurrence for me. I hate that I'm still on my computer (1) constantly refreshing my Facebook News Feed to see who else is up, (2) checking mindless Internet garbage for mild entertainment, and (3) playing the same soundtrack (Where the Wild Things Are) for the last three hours. (Sorry Karen O, I love ya, but this must soon end.) What's worse is that I've got to be up for work in T-minus four hours, and none of this awake time is being utilized to do anything productive.

Numbing my mind is how I cope with stress. I was never the kind to mourn with strong outbursts of emotion, mainly because I'm not sure I know how to. And then thoughts of sleep present their own problems as they remind me of the awful nightmares I've been having lately. So until I figure this all out, mindless Internet garbage it is!

See y'all at Walmart,
Shopgirl.