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Heart-Shaped Box

My heart is two sizes too small.
At least, that's what I've been told. I'm under a different impression. But, what do I know? 
Everyone thinks they know me. No body knows me at all.

Called the cops on my neighbors last night. Why was I surprised that they would chose ten o'clock at night as their scheduled band practice? (They, by the way, are not an excellent band, and could probably use the practice. They should just try it in the daylight next time.) Anyway, they knew who had called and I certainly am not ashamed that I did. I don't feel bad. Today is my only day off this week. I just worked six days straight, twelve hours each, and literally assisted in saving at least three lives. If I want to come home and have a relatively quiet evening that includes no band practice after ten pm, I am pretty strongly entitled to that privilege, and the police are inclined to agree. So, yeah, I called the fucking cops, unwashed-hispter-neighbor-man-child. I called the cops, just like I told you I would when we met. I ain't afraid of no po-po, and I sure as hell don't have any issues filing reports or charges--so, go ahead, bang on my door at one am, all pissy the cops gave you a warning. DON'T BE A DOUCHE.
You see, the cops and me, we're friends. We chat, we work together, we've got a solid relationship. Don't fuck with me.
It was actually highly empowering and I am glad that I did it. The guys upstairs are so fucking clueless as to the other people in this world. Forget that I couldn't sleep listening to the concert upstairs. I walked outside, across the street, DOWN THE STREET, and could still hear it like I was in the fucking House of Blues. We live on a very populated, residential street...why did they think it was appropriate? And why is everyone else on my block so fucking tolerant?! I guess I am the only one who is friendly with PD. Well, good for me then.

I got stood up twice in a week. By the same guy. First time, it was okay, because he had a good excuse and I couldn't begrudge a man trying to help his family out, even if he didn't want to. The second time, he just decided he would stop talking to me and stand me up. I don't know if it happened because I saw it coming, or if I saw it coming because I knew better than to trust it meant anything. I don't really know anymore--do my pessimistic predictions cause the outcomes or do I just know other people well enough to trust it's best to be pessimistic? Either way, I give up on trying to understand, and also on trying to find somebody to love. Forget that.
The truth is: there is only one thing in this world I am willing to risk everything for--I want to be a doctor.
I want it so bad, I can taste it in the back of my throat, like a sweet bile rising to the surface. It's constantly in the back of my mind, every day pushing its way ever forward. It's what I think about when I go to sleep, it's what gets me through the night, it's what wakes me up in the morning, and it's what gives me strength to push on through another day. I want to be a doctor more than I want to eat or drink or breathe or live. I sure as hell want it more than I want to be in love. I want to invest my love into medicine. I want to fix hearts.
And, lately, I have been thinking that I want to fix baby hearts. It's a lot of years of a lot of hard work, a lot of commitment, and a lot of emotional fortitude. But there is something about the idea that I just really, truly am passionate about. I want to fix baby hearts. Teeny, tiny little broken baby hearts. They come into this world already broken, parts of them refusing to work right, molded in the womb all wrong. They are innocent and they are helpless, and I could save them. I could help them. I could fix their little hearts.
I want to be a doctor more than anything and I will do anything to get there. So, that's my number one focus right now. Forget the people around me; all the people who treat me like I am their personal bad guy--they don't know me and they never will, so forget them and whatever they stand for. I've got people, a small handful of people, who will be my support and who I can spend what love I have on, what love isn't going into becoming a surgeon. 

Everyone else can forget I exist, can get over how much they hate me without knowing me, what I heinous bitch I must truly be. My heart, small and selfish as it may be, is set on something more important than any one of them. And that's what I live for. I live to make my heart happy.

I know I was confused about where I wanted to move--and I am sure I will be confused again--but, today, I think I am setting myself again firmly on Seattle. Sorry, to whomever wanted me back in Chicago, if you're reading, you know who you are. There is something about Seattle, there is something drawing me there. I feel like I have been through the heat, the trial-by-fire, and I've come out sore and burned and tired. I'm ready for the quiet, cool refreshment of rain. I'm ready for the downpour.

I Want to Be Enough


And PS:  Nancy turned twenty-nine this Sunday. I couldn't be there--stupid work--so I'll say happy birthday to her here. Here's to many, many, many more years; hopefully each one more cancer-free than the last! --XXOO

Comments

  1. AnonymousFriday, 29 June, 2012

    Seattle is a GREAT town you'll like it there. Pack your bags and go while you have the chance.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Skeleton_FriendSaturday, 30 June, 2012

      I think I will! It's terrifying for me. I am the type of person who needs a plan, all the time, and feels ou of control and unable to fiction without one. I am also the type of person who longs to pack my bags, jump in the car at dawn, and drive away, no plan. No destination. Just run.
      So, I'll probably find a way to do both. If I am not too chicken. ;)
      Thanks for reading!

      Delete

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