Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Mountains out of Mole Hills

I have talents. Let me count the ways I can generate anxiety. I can get anxious about anything: when to take vacation, what elective rotations to take, how I'll find time to interview Terry Gallaway about being deaf and queer and having cochlear implants now, how and when I'll get ahold of the cardiologist or the neurosurgeon who worked with my refugee clinic kids, how I'll take down or put up the next installation, whether I should go to California in January, how to finagle a trip to NYC to meet Ana Blohm.

I have drive too and I don't understand where it comes from. I want to LIVE, to do things, meet people, take pictures, put myself out there on the street, talk to strangers, pull the world in around me. 

Today, instead, I went into orbit.   I spent two hours standing in front of a computer at JF's place and got wickedly serious and forgot who I was again, like in the think of medical scool. I had a test to prepare for and I got lost in a wave of anxiety. I'm training to save lives, to bring back the dead, raise Lazarus. I passed the dummy test. They gave me a five dollar coffee card, smiled and patted me on the back for a single chest compression. I walked out and wondered if in real life I'd ever run a code or shock someone with 200 J, bring back Jesus. It would feel good to have been anxious purposefully, and with hope, potential even.

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