So it goes

All the words I want to say.

[ranting-n-writing]

old words, old feelings

I'm going to pretend you're a passing ship 

Or a shooting star

Or a red moon

I'm not really sure that I saw you

Or that you're real

Or that you're worth a second look

Because you're already gone

Because you're a once a year thing

I'm not sure that I'll write about you

But I probably will

Because you're a pretty little entity

Because you're an interesting sight

Because I can't help but stare

But you will pass

And I'll have my words

And I'll have my fingers knotted

And I'll have a welt of disgust in my chest

At how long I kept my eyes on you

At how long I sat picking the best words to describe what you did to me

At how long it takes me to recover

[ranting-n-writing]

Long week

Some say I work a lot

60-84 hours a week

Which sounds exhausting

Draining

But it’s fun

Pulling life into this world

Showing women how to understand themselves

Navigating delicate words with heavy meaning

Some say I don’t work enough

60-84 hours a week

Lazy, only carrying the pager and shuffling through 11 lives in 4 hours

Detached, not booking that one case the PA snagged out of your door before you could finish with the woman who just told you she just got out of a toxic relationship 2 months ago and needs to talk to someone.

Lazy, again, taking 20 minutes to breathe after telling her she has cancer and needs to go to surgery.

LAZY I used to work 120 hours a week and if you didn’t cry you didn’t work hard enough.

I say I work

Hard

I care for the people who open their mouths to tell me their fears

Worries

Joys

Desires

I get to care for these people. I get their trust. What an honor...

It still humbles me every day

I work hard

And I work smart

I work to help

I don’t work to ruin myself

Yes this is exhausting

Draining

But I am lucky

I am a doctor

[ranting-n-writing]

I said, babies. He said, okay.

[ranting-n-writing]

Boo

I love you in the big sloppy way you eat summer ice cream cones on the board walk

[ranting-n-writing]

Brunch

A blue table on a dirty sidewalk, two metal chairs kissing each end

I sit at one end, thighs humidly stuck to the half warmed metal

And allow the buzz of morning voices, hum of cars slip past, and whir of coffee beans crunching, lap at my ears

One cup, half empty (or is it supposed to be half full?)

Only a salt shaker, where’d the pepper go?

I had tried coaxing him out of his nest, too stubborn, too sleepy, maybe too lazy

But I needed this moment, this time to be with my head and my sticky thighs and my salty eggs

[ranting-n-writing]

Night float: 3 AM

It’s raining out today. I’m still on night float. It seems endless when you’re into your second week of four. But I’m keeping little lights at the end of my tunnels each week. A friend visiting, a couple days off (even if it is to take a huge exam), a family member graduating. 

But I’m also trying to take time to reflect. Which I’m seeing is harder to do than I thought. Finding the time and the coming to terms with the main characteristics that make up who you are. A friend sent me a quote saying “watch your actions, they  become habits”. And I found that empowering and terrifying. 

Last night I did something that I just didn’t like in myself. I was tired. I was frustrated. I was excited I’d get to sleep a few hours and found myself standing in front of a new patient at 3 AM. And I found myself.... insensitive. I was too loud when I asked questions, I was too gruff, I think I was just rude. And the moment I realized what I was doing, I stepped back and softened. 

What was wrong with me? Here this patient had come out to me, at 3 AM, with something they were incredibly worried about... And I was being, as a coworker would say, a butthead. 

Night float has this special way of making you detached from the world, your family, your friends, your usual routines that hold your days together. So you’re forced to make new coping mechanisms to get through those 5 14 hour shifts each week. And that can be incredibly unsettling and jarring. Because you’re forced to reinvent your schedule, basically your life for a month. 

But I didn’t like that 3 AM girl. She was mean. She was uncaring. She is not the doctor I want to be. She is who I aim to shy away from. So I’m reflecting. And seeing the flaw. And trying to mend. To understand. To meditate on how I can change and not let those tiny frustrating moments wash over and control me. 

[ranting-n-writing]

Nights

Flop onto a piece of foam they say is a bed

Lay your head on a cushion they say is a pillow

Fall asleep to a floor they say is quiet

While the light from under the call room door still illuminates a better part of your nest

Close your eyes while you pray for a few moments of sleep

Of solitude 

Quiet your mind while your ears are perked for the beeper, the phone, the chirp of alarms dinging 

Sleep they say 

Sleep. 

[ranting-n-writing]

My Italian Albanian boy

As so many of these stories go There is a boy Who I need to stand on my tiptoes to kiss And when he does Kiss me My back arches in a way that feels like his kiss will knock me over And I'll collapse on the floor And lay there Looking up at him Smiling With that patchy scratchy beard of his And he'll scoop me up And hug me and hold me And those hazel eyes will stare into mine And he'll say pretty things Things that stoke this tiny flame inside my chest So that it starts to bloom I'm thinking about all the exciting things we can do I'm thinking about all the things I want to show him All the people I want him to meet I want to parade him around I want to show him off With those hazel eyes and fluffy brown hair and that patchy scratchy beard I want to show him I care

[ranting-n-writing]

A full cup

It was when I was at work. At the hospital. Do you ever have a moment, where you are so upset, so frayed, so distraught, that you can actively feel your frown? They say it uses more muscles than a smile and I believe it. That downward tug. It feels like it's reconstructing my whole face. It had just been one after another. After another. After another. Of tiny digs. Of twinges of regret. Of worries of the future. Of outright scoldings. That stacked up into me sitting in the dark call room. At the corner of the one bed that creaks far too much. My glasses palmed in my hand. With salt running down my face. I couldn't even pinpoint why I was here. Why I was crying. It had just all become so swollen. So raw and red and ragged that it needed to release. I don't know what I'm doing. I haven't for a while now. It's all so chaotic. Disorganized. I need to try harder. To find my routine. My happy little path. My road to smiling. My road to brushing off the nagging hateful mouths.

[ranting-n-writing]

Return to philadelphia (home), goodbye to cleveland (home)

I went out with a boy Our second date was at the aquarium I dipped my fingers in a pool of stingrays Hoping one would kiss my hand with a touch I stared at an octopus Mesmerized I think he stared at me. We went for a walk on the dock (He likes walks) And chatted about how many times the river had caught fire. Jump to last night. We met at a dark place filled with drunk writhing bodies He hovered He knew I was leaving tomorrow And finally, finally The chin tilt The brush of his beard The gentle lips The first kiss Finally. But today I'm gone And I can already feel the nostalgia tugging me into a bit of a fog I'm staring at my new responsibilities I'm trying to ignore them I'm trying to carve last night into my memories Before it dips away The last kiss.

[ranting-n-writing]

I had to look

I did the thing. That you're no supposed to do. Until you think You're ready to manage whatever You will find. So I looked At his page. And there it was In a relationship. Oh. I think I knew that already. But now I'm looking at her name. Right there in black n white. And thinking "nice name". And now I'm clicking on her "nice name". And oh. She has children. Oh. And now I'm picturing him with Her children. And it's all too pretty. And pleasant. And I think I'm okay. Because I can't even begin To compare myself to her. She is a mother. I am a student. He was 6 years older than me But somehow 15 years younger And now he's somehow 15 years older. He's grown up. Or I hope. Because he's got two kids now. Two. Oh.

[wnq-writers]

Even after all the pain you’ve put me through, I’d still answer the phone if you called.

confessing-emotions  (via wnq-writers)

[ranting-n-writing]

My little distraction

I didn't miss you on Valentine's Day. I missed you today when I was standing in my kitchen slicing a green pepper into finger size strips. I thought of the way you would curl your body around mine as I stood there. It would start off playful, as it always did. But at some point your intentions would turn a little more devious. And you would tug me away from my cutting board, onto the floor or the couch or the bed. You always captured my attention. You, my first of so many, always captured my sight.

[ranting-n-writing]

Valentine's Day brings out the ex in all of us

I talk about you sometimes. Over frozen yogurt. Over thick blankets and room temperature beer. For example, the day we said “goodbye”. The first time. Some days it feels like my soggy sleeves were wrapped around your chest yesterday. I can feel the memory boring into the back of my head. Like it’s staring me down. Watching how I am. What I’m doing. Waiting for the moment I remember what a first love felt like. And what a first heartache felt like. I tell myself I am stronger now. I have seen, I have been, I have loved.

[wnq-music]

This morning, with her, having coffee.

Johnny Cash, when asked about his paradise (via xanderritz)

[ranting-n-writing]

Footsteps

I flopped onto my bed. Belly full of mushroom pizza sloshing through the 3 glasses of water I had slugged to fight the salty bloat bound to come. I just hung up with my mom, headphones still stuck in my ears. And I thought I heard feet. Pounding above me. Except I'm on the top floor of a house. (Papa Noel?) And they came so rhythmically. Until I realized it was my fucking eyelids beating together with every blink. This sticking smacking sound. Eyelids are weird if you listen hard enough.

[alonesomes]

I want to come home to a dirty small city apartment and fall into bed with you and some empty Chinese food containers. Normal and nothing spectacular. Sweaty fucking. Laughing. I never used to want to laugh during sex. I used to want it to be hard and tragic but now I want it on white sheets with your soft tummy moving on my soft tummy, slow and clumsy. I want your plain white t shirt and ugly boxers. I want to be naked with you and not hate myself. I want to come home drunk and shower with you. I want to be sweaty and hideous and I want you to kiss me on my greasy head and tell me I’m your favorite, that it’s never been more unremarkable or more incredible. I want to slide into your body and sigh, smile, never cry. I want to look at you. I want to look at you.