76 degrees and blue skies.

On my run today I worked on speed, which I've never done before. I usually just go nice and steady and tell myself finishing is all that's important. Just barely making it to the end. But this morning I pushed myself: 1 fast mile, 1 easy mile, 1 fast mile, 1 easy mile. My goal was 8:00 for fast, 10:00 for slow. I ended up doing my fast miles at 6:25 and 6:20 and my slow miles at 9:30. I hated the fast miles. I hate pushing myself the whole time. There's no enjoyment until those 6 or 7 minutes are over. It's just pure pain, feeling like you can't breathe, your brain telling you STOP IT YOU'RE KILLING YOURSELF. In the past I would have listened to that. I would have stopped. But doing well in the marathon has given me confidence that I'm capable of more than I'm currently doing. All those long runs training for the marathon taught me to ignore that voice.

I came home and took Madeline on a walk to go pick up my car. I drove it to Jana's last night and the "Low Fuel" light came on. I drove from Jana's to Chris's house. And then I made Drew drive me home. And this morning he gave me gas money. Sweet. So Madeline and I picked up the car, got gas, came home and had lunch.

I feel so high right now from that run. Also, and this is going to sound really lame, but I ran without a shirt. It's only the third time I've done that. As a super, super pasty white boy who has gotten a blistering sunburn through a tarpaulin tent it's extremely unusual for me to show any amount of skin outdoors. But I lathered on the sunscreen and I gotta say it feels GREAT to have the warmth of the sun on your skin and not worry about burning. I always worried that I'd missed a spot with my old sunscreen (a spot which would show up the next day as a big, strange-looking bright red blotch that hurt like a motherfucker) but now I've got Neutrogena Fresh Cooling Body Mist Sunblock which isn't all greasy, and which comes in a spray bottle so it's much easier to apply to my back without missing anything. It's really life-altering.

You're all tanners, I bet. Assholes. In all honesty, I feel like my life has been more adversely affected by being a victim of constant sunburning than by being a gay man. No one understands what it's like to slink around from one shadow to another, scared of direct sunlight. Every boyfriend I've had has told me I'm overreacting when I lather on the sunscreen. As a kid my best friend would chastise me, saying if I wouldn't wear so much sunscreen I'd probably tan. NO I WOULD NOT, PETER!! And then The Canadian got onto me for using an excess of SPF 45 on a roadtrip ("You're not going to get a sunburn through a glass window!"). I gave myself a sunburn just so he could see how wrong he was.

I forgot where I was going with this. Now I'm just pissed.

 

I wasn't feeling well this morning. I finally nagged myself out of bed at the last possible minute and drove to my statistics class.

Class was canceled.

I drove home on gas fumes, coasting down the hills and accelerating like my grandma. I'm officially out of money, so now I have to stay at home the rest of the day. It's just as well; it simplifies things. I have nothing to do but read and wait for the mail. And try to resist getting sick.

Yesterday the Oprah in my head told me that being anxious about moving isn't going to change anything, so I need to work on accepting it (we're moving, damnit) and then concentrate on the things that are actually under my control. I know that should be the goal, but it's hard to force it. Hopefuly the trip to Philadelphia next month will help. (I don't know why, but I can't call it "Philly". It feels overly familiar and fake when I say it.)

I'm reading The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami. The main character is an unemployed 30 year-old who is being supported by his wife. He fills his days with books, coffee and a semi-scandalous relationship with a teenage girl down the street. Maybe I should take more walks. Meet the neighbors.

[Addendum: the Oprah in my head looks like this]

 

It's 5:37am and I've been awake for an hour. I woke up from a dream set in 1993 in which I met President Clinton's press secretary who was super super excited about how Clinton was going to change the world and universal healthcare was just the beginning. So waking up was a bit depressing (although it took me a good 45 minutes to remember the dream and understand my feeling of disappointment).

Now I'm waiting for the newspaper to be delivered so I can read my Patrick's article about Hillary. That's very retiree of me, isn't it?

 

Do you think that this really means that NYT reporter Patrick Healy is gay?

I just spent 25 minutes googling him like a schoolgirl.

"Patrick Healy gay"
(multiple hits, although the majority were NYT articles he's written that mention gay issues)

"Patrick Healy gay journalist association"
(he apparently moderated a discussion they hosted with the gay former governor of NJ)

"Patrick Healy dreamy"
(I know. Embarrassing.)

I fell in love a few weeks back when I saw him on Charlie Rose. He was wearing this silly pin-striped suit and had this annoying 5 o'clock shadow going (check out the video). But he was also just the cutest, sexiest, most smartest boy in the whole wide world. And I never considered he might be gay until tonight. When I decided to google him because he didn't have any articles in today's paper. And I missed him.

 

 

Since Thursday night there's been a man baby in eastern Pennsylvania who's been feeding on my best friend's boobs.

That's how he eats. Wrong in oh so many ways.

Katie's husband has been talking about wanting kids since I first met him 11-1/2 years ago. So seeing photos of him with a baby seems right. Personally it's been harder for me to get used to the idea of Katie as a mom. I've known it was coming for a while, but I figured I'd kind of be eased into it. Cian isn't going to be saying "Mommy" for a while, right? 'Cause that's going to freak me out for sure. But this breastfeeding thing is just insane. I know it probably sounds ridiculous, but Katie's one of those people I think of as gender neutral. She's adorably androgynous, eschewing feminine fashions. Her hair is often super short, somewhat... lesbianic? boyish? I realize I'm not explaining myself, really. It's just that I'd probably be just as surprised if milk started shooting out of my own nipple. That's all I'm saying.

Okay, I'll stop going on and on about that.

Everyone keeps asking me how much he weighed. Why do people always want to know that? Is it so they'll know he's healthy or because they want to know how much damage he could have done on his way out?

She told me she didn't take the epidural and that since the birth she's only taken Motrin. I take Motrin when I go for long runs. How could Motrin possibly be enough for her when it barely masks the muscle pain in my leg?

Little Cian definitely sweetens the deal for a move to Philadelphia. It's weird to think that he'll always think of me as a doctor, when his parents have mostly known me as a semi-serious potsmoker.

 

The best reason to check out Roseanne Barr's blog: because she tells stories about her pre-fame life that include sentences like this...

"I said 'Let's go check out that woman's group by the terminal annex, that group of witches there, and see if they want to join up with a bunch of black latina lesbian jews.'"

 

And I'm not sure why.

I saw The Namesake today with my friend Noessa. Maybe that's part of it. Some of the movie's major themes: a strained father/son relationship; a boy who feels like an outsider amongst his peers (because he's an Indian American not because he's gay, but still....); and people having the courage to radically overhaul their lives.

Okay, so maybe that's part of it.

It was also a beautiiful day in L.A. and I certainly had a little bit of the oh-shit-we're-moving anxiety. But then I also got stuck in traffic for over an hour. So, you know, fuck Los Angeles.

I got a rejection letter from a med school. But it was expected (I've known it was coming for the past week because I check their website daily) and it was a school I never would have gone to anyway (so why do I check their website daily? Because it's there. Because I can.)

So, you know, it's a fucking mystery. I'm just chalking the depressed feelings up to "med school stress" and leaving it at that.

But I HATE feeling depressed. It's such a waste of time, and nothing good seems to come from it. No one knows how to comfort me (probably because it's not really possible). And when people try it just makes me feel like a big whiny baby. I've felt this way for a whopping five hours (self-indulgent to be complaining so early, I realize) but that's about four hours more than I'm willing to deal with.

Jesus Christ I love Elizabeth Edwards. I do. I love that voice. I love that hair (especially when it's all frizzy 'n fluffy and she doesn't seem to give a crap). It just seems like you can't shake that woman. I have this knee-jerk kind of need to write something sarcastic here, but I just can't do it. I keep deleting what I write. Because she really did move me today.

And honestly, the nine or ten hours I spent thinking that he was going to withdraw made me realize how much I don't want him to do that. I don't want this to be a Barack/Hillary race. I think John Edwards is a braver candidate this time around (he openly said he didn't think homosexuality was immoral days before Hillary & Barack were forced to say the same) and at the moment he's more substantive on things like healthcare (at least the guy has an actual plan you can read).

Okay, so I've done all I can do to get myself out of this depression: I've eaten ice cream, I've drunk alcohol, I've climbed into my cozy bed with a book, I've written Elizabeth Edwards a ridiculous little "You're awesome!" email... now I guess I should just go to sleep.

 

Garrison Keillor thinks I just didn't understand his humor.

 

Today, for the first time in four years, I weighed in at 165 pounds. I weigh myself on Mondays so I'll have to behave over the weekend. There's nothing worse than having to spend Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday starving yourself to make up for a cupcakey Saturday and Sunday.

I'm all proud of myself, feeling really (ahem) lean, and then I hang out with Nicholas. Sweet little Nicholas. I took him to the dog park, then to Blockbuster to rent Nintendo Wii games. He tired of those after an hour or two. While he was playing videogames I was in the kitchen making soup. So he comes in and asks if he can cook me a surprise.

Isn't that sweet? It was kind of hard for him to keep it a secret, though, since I had to help him find everything.

He scrambled some eggs ("You have to keep stirring them, moving them around," he explained) and then became extremely disappointed when I didn't have a key ingredient.

"What?"

"Weenies."

"Wheaties?"

"No. Weenies."

Uh, yeah not so much. So I heated up some leftover black bean chili for him, which he grudgingly accepted as a substitute.

I was feeling okay about the calories in this unexpected 5:00 meal. Then he made me get out the toaster. So now I will have to avoid eating for the rest of the day. But it was pretty tasty and he was awfully proud of himself.

Today he asked if I was going to go to the school down the road. So I had to tell him that I didn't get into UCLA. "So you're going away?" I told him I wouldn't know for sure until his birthday, which is in May. I know I'm going to have to tell him before then, but I'm holding out for April.

 

 

... but I thought you were interesting. I had fond feelings, despite the occasionally creepy, over-rehearsed sound of your voice. It's true that I've rarely if ever made it through an entire six hours (it seems like it goes on forever, anyway) of A Prairie Home Companion on NPR, and I just can't bring myself to rent that Altman movie despite my love of Altman. It just looks boring. But I will cop to listening to Writer's Almanac when your voice is tolerable (i.e. less creepy and over-rehearsed than usual).

To me you were kind of like my prattling, somewhat boring but world-weary Great Aunt Mildred: annoying, but in a unique and occasionally interesting way.

But today, Garrison Keillor, you turned out to be more like my racist, unemployed cousin:

"The country has come to accept stereotypical gay men -- sardonic fellows with fussy hair who live in over-decorated apartments with a striped sofa and a small weird dog and who worship campy performers and go in for flamboyance now and then themselves. If they want to be accepted as couples and daddies, however, the flamboyance may have to be brought under control. Parents are supposed to stand in back and not wear chartreuse pants and black polka-dot shirts. That's for the kids. It's their show."

I love the blogosphere. Gay bloggers everywhere are gleefully linking to Keillor's wikipedia bio which dishes on his various marriages, affairs, and the half-siblings created by both. Who, I'm sure, have absolutely nothing to say about how their dad gave them plenty of spotlight time. Since, you know, he was off fucking some other lady.

And as satisfying as that is, I'm actually really angry with him for thinking something so stupid. Not for saying it, really. He can say and write what he wants. I'm just really disappointed in him for feeling the way he does. Just when you thought the world couldn't get any stupider, it up and surprises you....

 

I finally broke down and put labels on my posts. So now when I complain about being fat you can look at every entry I've ever written about being fat. Exciting, right?

It was fun reading through things I'd written two, three years ago. Also, it was a tad alarming when I had to create a "sex" label (and note that I'm not linking you to it). I avoided a "marijuana" label and fought the urge to erase anything that might be frowned upon by superiors in the medical establishment. I couldn't do it, though. It was nice coming across this post and remembering such a great night. It was especially sweet reading my early posts about Drew, remembering the intensity of my feelings for him from the very beginning and seeing how my anxieties about forcing him to move for medical school have come to pass.

I almost had to create a "useless anxiety" label, but I figured stamping a new entry with that label (or any less nasty variant) would probably cause me to delete the post. So what's the point. You guys know that I'm mostly about wasting energy through useless, baseless anxiety.

I'm not putting the labels in the margin because I figure there are only four people who read this blog on a daily basis and they'll know how to find stuff. And also I'm just not sure I want to make searching this blog any easier than it already is. If someone who doesn't like me tracks this page down I'd really rather not make it so easy for them to thumb through the past three years of my life. I will, however, provide the full list of links (well, minus "sex") here for your perusing pleasure.

Books
Canadian, The
Chris
Dad
Dolly
Drew
Fatness
Hollywood
Jana
John
Katie
Little Sister
Madeline
MCAT
Medical School
Molly
Mom
Money
Nicholas
Politics
Postbacc Program
Psychoanalysis
Sarah
Television

 

 

Yesterday was a bit of a bust due to the ingestion of an excess of $2 wine. I did manage to go to class and take a pop quiz before I started drinking, but once I had a glass of cabernet with lunch everything went downhill. I was supposed to clean up the apartment and buy Madeline some food, but by 7pm I had done neither and Drew was on his way home. Luckily I had stopped drinking by 5 so I scrambled to pick up the dirty dishes and shamefully ran to the grocery store for some canned dog food.

Sad.

I guess one might say that I, perhaps, maybe, might have a little anxiety about this move. I've known for a while that it was a very good possibility. Last month I told my friend Katie that the chances we would move to Philadelphia were about 95%. But the difference between 95% and 100%* has proven to be significant.

I have a little over twenty-two weeks before classes start. I've decided that this week, Week #1, will be dedicated to chemical alteration and desperate thoughts and uncontrolled outbursts of "Oh shit, WE HAVE TO MOVE!!"

Today, however, I managed to take a shower and eat breakfast and now I'm going to finish picking up the apartment. I can't start drinking. Not because of will power or concern for my health, but because my car is parked on the "No Parking Thursdays 12noon-2pm" side of the street and so I'll have to move it and I'd rather not spend Weeks #1, #2 and #3 figuring out how to pay for a DUI.

*I guess technically I can't say it's 100% yet, since I haven't heard from that New York school. But I do 100% know that we won't be living in L.A. come August.

 

Applying to medical school is such a strange process. Every school has too many good applicants, so candidates end up frantically applying to too many schools so they'll be assured a spot which just ensures that every school has too many good applicants.

Pretty much everyone who applies knows this. Still, no matter how many times I've explained it to friends and family they don't seem to understand.

The fact that I didn't get into UCLA is not a shock to me. They accept less than 3% of their applicants. A lot of this is just luck and timing -- getting your application into the right hands before the class is filled up.

I will cop to being upset about UCSF when I got that letter a few months ago. I really wanted to move to San Francisco and I like that school a lot; it came highly recommended by many doctors I respect. I will also admit that I took that rejection personally. I didn't even get a chance to fill out their secondary application. That sucked.

But UCLA, Columbia... those didn't surprise me and I didn't take those rejections personally. So maybe I just shouldn't have said anything to anyone. Because some people are reacting in ways that are pissing me off. For instance, my mom just called to say this:

"Well, just remember, at least you got in somewhere." Uh... okay. Thanks.

"Mom, I'm really not upset about the school. Drew and I are upset because now we definitely have to move. We don't have the option to stay now."

"I know. And I know you're disappointed. But at least you got in somewhere."

Really? Twice you're gonna say that to me?

I know she thinks that sounds supportive. But what the fuck? I can hear other people saying "But she means well." But honestly that's not very smooth of her, is it? It's borderline offensive.

I was upset yesterday because I didn't want to have to tell Drew about it and there were lots of other headaches to deal with once I got that letter. But I wasn't upset just now when she called me out of the blue to offer that thinly-veiled criticism of the school that's already accepted my application. So, you know, save your words of wisdom for when they're needed.

It's amazing to see people reveal themselves through the things they say. Last night Drew kept telling me I'm smart. I'd say "Yeah I am." I guess he was telling me what he thought I needed to hear. Or maybe what he'd want someone to say to him if he had gotten that rejection letter.

My mom hasn't really experienced anything in her career that you might characterize as failure. She went to nursing school through our local community college and then spent the next twenty years being promoted and getting raises. Plus, she's very competitive. The whole family knows about her first grade music teacher who told her she couldn't sing. She's still hurt and pissed about that. So I guess to her a letter that begins with "We regret to inform you" is one of the worst things that could ever happen.

For me, I feel like I took an unusual path to medicine and not everyone is going to appreciate that. I didn't live my life to get into medical school. And I wouldn't do things differently, really. I probably wouldn't have taken calculus in college (or I would have done more homework and smoked less pot) but other than that I feel good about where I am and what's gotten me here.

I do wish that Drew didn't have to move. Part of me wants to say that it'll be good for him, but maybe that's just a way of justifying forcing him to do it. I need this relationship to stay strong, and I can't take for granted that it can survive anything. I'm protective of it. But now the only choice we have is to move, so we'll just have to deal with that and try to make it as seamless and stress-free as it can be.

 

Should I go to this biology class today? I really don't want to. I was only doing it for UCLA, and now that they've rejected me there's really no point. Right? UCSD and UCI would both like me to take that class, though. But I don't want to live in San Diego or Irvine. I really don't. Drew says I could commute to Irvine, but blech. No thanks.

So I don't have to go to class today, right? Are we all agreed on that?

Well then what am I supposed to do? Fuck I'm so tired of this process. I want a paycheck again. Please, God, let me find some fun part-time job that'll take care of my internet, phone, cable and car insurance bills. Bills which I've somehow managed to keep paying for the past two years (car insurance occasionally being optional, of course).

Having a conversation with Drew about this stuff is really tough. It brings up so many problems, complications, anxieties: Where will we live? Where will he work? How will we get there with all our stuff and our dog? How long before classes start should we start looking for a place? When should he quit his current job? What if I get into UCI? Isn't the tuition so much less? Shouldn't I stay in this biology class just in case?

It goes around and around and around and there's never any resolution. I just want it to be over.

In my heart, a decision has already been made. I'm ready to move. Until now, the only caveat was "unless UCLA comes calling." Now I feel like we're just grasping at straws with this whole UCSD/UCI business. It's hard to deny the fact that a state school would be a hell of a lot cheaper, though. I just feel that it's not going to happen with these schools. No one I know has gotten into a UC this year . There's just about a million too many applicants.

This is what I've been looking at online nearly every single day for the past three months:

UCSD
Application Received: 08 / 21 / 2006
Secondary Application Complete: 11 / 22 / 2006
Invited for Interview:
Hold for Interview: 12 / 07 / 2006
Final Decision Letter Sent: --

UCI
AMCAS Application Received: 7/7/2006
Secondary Application Awarded: 10/16/2006
Secondary Application Submitted: 10/23/2006
Secondary Application Payment Received: 10/24/2006
Letters of Recommendation Complete: 9/26/2006
Application Complete: 10/27/2006
Interview Status: Decision Pending
Admission Status:

Every day. It never changes. "Decision Pending." What does that mean? Should I go to biology today, UCI?

If I were single I wouldn't worry about these schools. But when I'm single and don't have anyone to answer to I don't necessarily make the best decisions for myself. The fact is that student debt needs to be a factor in this decision. Still, I should be more excited about the prospect of going to these schools. I'm not excited about them at all. And it is March already, which is pretty late in the med-school-application game.

I'm not going to biology today.

Right?

 

 

These weekly Dolly videos are really highlighting how seldom I post stuff.

I spent most of this past week in New York. I went for a med school interview, although it was also just a good excuse to hang out with my friends and see the city again. I was surprised by how much I liked that school, though. I'm not going to gush about it until I hear from their admissions office, though. What's the point in getting excited about it?

An acceptance to that school would definitely complicate things. Until now I've been planning to go to Philly. There were only three schools that I thought were better than the one that's already accepted me, and today the two that weren't in Philadelphia (UCLA and Columbia) rejected me (the third school is Penn, so that wouldn't change my plans at all). So if it weren't for this NYC school, I'd probably be packing my bags for Pennsylvania.

Now, suddenly, New York seems like more of an option.

Drew's ambivalent about moving there. I understand that. But my friends who live there make it seem so great, and I just love that city. I spent 2+ hours wandering around Manhattan Wednesday night. I love how compact it is; I love the variety of people that are all crammed onto that island; I love the subway; I love the sidewalk traffic; I love the shops and the restaurants. I just love all of it.

I was taking two classes at Pasadena City College this semester because they're required by UCLA. Now I need to decide if I'm going to drop them. I just found out that the last day I could withdraw and get a refund was two days ago. Awesome.