Dreamt last night that dick_grayson and I were waiting in line in a concrete culvert to see Britney Spears, when Lance came up to us and showed us his ass. I don't know either, man. It was a very pretty ass, all round and tanned with just a hint of that blond-boy fuzz. Silly subconscious! I don't want to write Lance.
You know how you write a story and it stays in your mind for a while after, and it's a little bit like love? This story I just finished is so disturbing and yucky to me that the love part is kind of turning my stomach. That must be why I write the schmoop so much lately. Much easier on the digestive track.
Work is... doable. It's stressful and I feel like a knob half the time, but unlike the place in St Pete, it feels like I can do this. The system is workable. Okay, we did have to wait 2 1/2 hours for a stat med the other day, but that's kind of the nature of the biz and if it had been my shift and not my preceptor's, I'd've started calling a lot sooner and more aggressively. Yesterday wrung me out like a rag, though. My teacher's idea of teaching is to not really explain anything, but then speak sharply whenever I do something wrong. She especially likes to do that in front of patients. I think she thinks she's being nice, because she always punctuates her sharp statements with a laugh, but it's clear she's really just a passive aggressive jerk. She was much taken aback at the end of the shift when I asked her to please clarify what she wanted me to do before she found fault, so that I could actually have a chance to try it first. She apologized about 90 times and looked me in the eyes, which she had avoided for most of the day. God, I hate people who think I'm stupid. Slow, yes. But with much circling and muddling, I usually end up getting it. So fuck off, hey.
Okay, all better.