It's 4:41 in the morning and I've been up for an hour. I had a disturbing dream and couldn't go back to sleep, so I snuck out of the bedroom trying not to wake Drew up in the process. Now I'm sitting at his computer wrapped in the blanket from the couch, wearing no shoes on our ice-cold slate floor.

The dream involved my little sister telling me over the phone that our cousin Kyle visited her in Taos and tried to have sex with her. I think my head exploded next, but I woke up too quickly to enjoy the full sensation so that's just a guess.

As I lay there in bed all post-traumatic, I realized that my angry feelings were being misdirected at my cousin. I'm pretty sure my cousin in the dream was a stand-in for my dad. Not that my dad would ever molest my sister... but he and my cousin are the only members of the family (besides me and Drew) who have visited her in Taos. And recently she had a big long three-hour phone conversation with Dad that has knocked her into a deep depression. She called me after that marathon phone call with him and we had a long talk about Dad, the divorce, the estrangement... and then a week later she called me and said she was depressed. And I was too dumb to figure out why. "Is it work?" No. "Is school okay?" Yes. "Are things good with Danny?" Yeah. "Well maybe it's your goiter."

Jesus, could the elephant in the room be any bigger?!?!

I think that phone call with Dad really crossed a line, in terms of being overly familial and overly emotional considering our history with Marc (I can't type the D-word again). So I think maybe that's why my brain thought molestation was an appropriate analogy.

I really wish I could give her a call now. But it's 4:53. Should I just watch TV? It'll wake Drew up. Shit. And if I sneak back in there I risk waking him up, too. Now I'm stuck out here alone in the predawn coldness. All right, well this is not the best ending to a post ever, but it's what you're stuck with. Enjoy.

 

This is one of those boring political posts.

I try to think generous thoughts about GWB's State of the Union speech. His supposed new agenda (fighting global warming and making healthcare more accessible 'n stuff) could be seen as an empty gesture that was forced on him because of the ascent of The Pelosi. But I choose, instead, to see it as the Executive bowing to the will of the voters. Democracy in action and all that.

THEN DICK CHENEY HAS TO GO AND RUIN IT.



Mistakes? Hogwash. He goes right back to blaming the media and basically accusing anyone who questions the White House of working with the enemy.

Then, equally annoying, the rest of the news outlets just wanted to focus on the showdown at the end over his hypocrisy re: his lesbian daughter and her right to have children. I'm gay and I want to have kids, but honestly who GIVES A SHIT about his view of gay rights? Why push him on that point but let him get away with saying that Iraq has been nothing but a string of successes?!?!?! Newsflash: crotchety old bigot loves lesbian daughter but hates gays. Who. Fucking. Cares. About. That.

I'm tired of the soapy quality of political news coverage. They always go for the personal stories and it just feels so completely off point to me.

UPDATE: I just heard the Bush interview on NPR. "[Bush] responded to a question about the highly confident picture of Iraq painted by Vice President Dick Cheney by saying Cheney had 'a glass half-full mentality.'" THAT GLASS HAS BEEN EMPTY FOR A LONG TIME, GUYS.

 

So the magic got sucked out of playing the househusband. Innocent comments about the eggs at breakfast and the shrimp in last night's jambalaya have pretty much burst that bubble. Somehow now I feel the need to be cautious in my attempts to please my boyfriend, which is a pretty big buzzkill. I had fun making that jambalaya. I don't remember hearing him say he doesn't eat shrimp. Ever. And although he claims he didn't mean to say it in an angry way ("You know I don't eat shrimp, right?" -- a very pointed criticism not of the jambalaya, but of how much I've been paying attention to his eating habits these past 2, 3 years) I have to admit that I'm still pretty steamed about it 15 hours later.

Maybe I'm just on a downswing, but now I'm thinking that the fun I was having cooking and cleaning was destined to end a little sooner than I'd anticipated. It's starting to feel a lot more like work than it did last week.

How can you feel so good one day and so desperately unhappy the next? These days I'm having are too... free-form, maybe. I need the daily grind to drown out some unhappiness now and then, I guess.

I'm going to drive to the library and maybe get a haircut. I'm in the middle of four loads of laundry, but it's not going anywhere right? Right now I'm on a path to some serious unhappiness. Television shows and websites full of things I don't really care about only make me feel worse. I need to get out of here for a couple hours.

 

I have actually been writing. Just not on this blog. I wrote a short story (I know, I know) which I must admit has been a lot of fun. It's also given me the distinct (yet false) feeling that I'm accomplishing something every day.

I've been doing a lot of cooking, washing a lot of dishes, walking a lot of dog. Well, I guess I don't walk her that much, but a list only sounds impressive if there are a minimum of three things on it.

I've been reading.



I've been considering, every day, having a closer relationship with my Grandma and my Dad. I haven't done anything about it.

I've checked, obsessively, the websites for the various schools I'm still waiting to hear from. From which I'm still waiting to hear? Even though they're going to email me as soon as something changes. Still, it makes me feel better. Today I heard from the first school that gave me an interview (the one in NY). I knew it was a rejection as soon as I saw the envelope. I said, outloud, "It's a rejection. It's okay. I don't really want to go there. And it's a state school, so it's not personal." Or something like that. I felt very calm about it. Then I opened the letter and this is what it said:

"Dear Mr. Newcomer:

I am writing to bring you up to date on the status of your application for admission to the College of Medicine's 2007 entering class. [Not a good first sentence, obviously. Personally I firmly believe that all these letters should start with one of two words: 'Unfortunately' or 'Congratulations'.] Our Admissions Committee reviewed your entire application following your interview, and has decided to place your application in the 'Hold for Spring Consideration.'" [In the 'Hold for Spring Consideration' WHAT? File? Maybe they meant to say 'has decided to place your applicaiton on hold for spring consideration'?] This means that the Admissions Committee chose not to render a decision on your application at this time."

Ugh. Seriously, I would have rather gotten a rejection. This just means more waiting.

Now that I have one acceptance, why don't I just withdraw my application from schools that I'm not really considering? I guess because I want to see who will let me in. A little ego stroking. Plus I want to be able to choose one school over another, even if it's an easy choice. That's silly, right? But oh well. It's the truth.

 

Ever since I came to this spot,
You started tryin' to make me out to be something I'm not,
It's taken every ounce that I got,
Not to pop you in the face.

 

I got accepted to a medical school on Friday.

All the hand-wringing over the money I'd taken out in loans, all the hours I'd spent studying organic chemistry and cellular biology, all the tears over MCAT and the anxieties about my applications... all of that seemed so silly and inconsequential all of a sudden. Why had I been so worried? Of course I was going to get in. Such a waste of time, all that worrying.

Of course, I know that hard work is what put that letter into my hands; it didn't just happen. I think what I was actually feeling when I tore open that envelope and read "We are very pleased to welcome you..." was more just the relief I felt knowing that I didn't need a backup plan now. I am going to be a doctor, and I'm going to start becoming one in seven months.

When I was accepted into the postbacc program I felt like only time stood between me and that white coat. Then I found out how hard it is to get into medical school. They don't really tell you that upfront. There are several good, smart students -- with straight-As and interesting backgrounds and good essay-writing skills -- who never make it past the med school interview process.

I remember going to Drew's apartment one day after a postbacc meeting and saying "maybe this isn't going to happen." The first of many such anxious statements which I'm sure he quickly grew annoyed with. But it was such a revelation to me to think that maybe some of the choices I had made up to that point (moving from job to job with no clear direction, smoking so much pot, waiting so long to go back to school) really would stand in my way. I might not even get a chance to defend myself or to turn things around. It seemed so crazy to think that my ability to make so drastic a change in my life might have just... expired. It might have passed.

I don't think I was wrong to feel that way. I think it was good that I was so aware of it, and that I crafted my essays to fend off those kinds of criticisms. And it was good that I applied to a school that openly courts career-changers and people with non-science backgrounds.

I'd be very excited to go to this school. I've watched their "Welcome to ______" video four times. And teared up at all the appropriate moments. I'm waiting on answers from twelve other schools. Hopefully I'll have some choices by Spring, but regardless of what happens next, no other admissions letter could give me that same feeling again.

It felt really, really good.

 

Week One of being unemployed. I'm doing my best to be productive -- to keep busy as a way to ward off depression or anxiety. I have the rest of my life (or at least the next 35, 40 years) to work like a dog. I can handle having this time off. I need it. Drew and I need it. It just feels so unnatural at the moment.

I took Nicholas to a movie yesterday. I went to the eye doctor (because I lost my glasses in Missouri). I went to see my mechanic. Today I'm reading, having lunch wth Jana, doing laundry and taking a long run.

My Uncle Gary had a massive heart attack two days ago and I still haven't mustered the courage to call him. At first he was too critical, and then I wanted to let him rest, and now I feel like I won't know what to say.

Gary isn't even sixty yet, and he almost died. He's not overweight and he doesn't smoke. Apparently it was genetic. It came out of nowhere at 3:30 in the morning. If I knew I was going to be felled by coronary heart disease at 57 I could probably enjoy being slothful this week.

Wow, that was a little egotistical.

 

I'm completely out of the closet to my mom's side of the family, and they all know and love Drew -- even the bigoted cousins. My dad's side, however, is a different story.

Dad and Grandma, the only two left since Grandpa and Aunt Cindy passed, are very Christian. Baptist. Grandma, especially, believes in Satan and has been known to lecture her grandchildren on their susceptibility to his cunning ways. So... I'm not going to be sharing the whole "cocksucking" side of myself with them any time soon.

Nonetheless, Drew agreed to join me and my two sisters, my brother-in-law and my niece and nephew as we took on our most dreaded holiday tradition: Christmas night at Dad's house.

Last year he wouldn't turn the lights on. He claimed they weren't working, but when Aimee and I found my Aunt Cindy (who died a few months later) in a back bedroom Cindy laughed and said "These people are crazy!" She said he was refusing to turn the lights on -- some strange control issue mixed with a miser's paranoia about being overcharged for the electricity, I'm sure.

This year, strangely, he was doing really well. He had gained some weight. He wasn't talking in his breathy, childlike voice that creeps us all out. Grandma still gave out some strange gifts (my nephew Tony got a potholder and a little mini apron meant to adorn and conceal a detergent bottle). But Dad was definitely different.

I introduced Drew as my "friend". He was worried in the car ride about being questioned extensively but I rightly predicted that my dad and grandma wouldn't probe that deeply.

In the car afterwards Drew actually said "you get your looks from your dad." A comment which I still haven't acknowledged. And he said that my stepdad is far crazier -- which I have to agree might actually be true.