Real Life.

"Hi Cassandra. This is Dr.******. I've got your abstract in front of me.....it looks really good.

RELEIF.

"Anyway, if you want to call me back, I'll be in my office till quarter to six..."

I check my watch. 6:15. Too late, I think. and press 7.

"Hello, this message is for Ca-Ca-Cassandra Taaah-mack. It's in regards to your student loan...please call us back at....

7. 7. 7. Delete delete delete. The man at the Begetable stand across the street waves towards my stoop.

"Ello Mamita. You want a coke?" I smile and shake my head. "Ow about agua, mamita?" I continue to bare my overly toothy smile, jaw aching, and shake my head a bit more vigorously. Returning my gaze to my lap, I flip a few magazine pages. This is the international signal for 'leave me alone.' He gets my polite hint.

"...these videos will be charged to your account if they are not returned by..."

I mutter a few curse words and scribble "bbuster" in my dusty palm. Summer in the city is known for the thin layer of dust is castes on...everything. I flip a few more pages. Abandoned subscriptions by past tenants have left my apartment littered with issues of Men's Health and "Real Simple Magazine". I am pawing through the newly delivered installment of the latter. Beautifully tanned people, lithe and laughing, are clinking together glasses of zinfandel.

"where are you lame-o?? pick up the phone....

Jose. 7.

heeeeey caaaaass...i'll be back on the...

kiela. 7. some guy wondering why I stood him up....again. 7. bill collector. 7. An old Miles message. 7. And…….is this message from Justin?? Jesus, it's months old. 7. 7. 7. I turn the page.

Simplify Your Life!! What are you waiting for??

I look down at my now alphanumerically encrusted palm. What am I waiting for?? I thought about all the tasks I had not yet completed with the sun mocking me from behind a low building. "Chase me!" it taunts. There are bank deposits to make and folks to call back. Dishes to be washed, videos begging for return. emails, research projects, and dirty clothes all with my name written on them. What AM I waiting for, I think. After all, my life is not barreling down the road to simplicity. I certainly am not studying to become the village ascetic. And casting off worries and responsibilities along with material possessions does not seem like med student protocol. There’s just too much to do, and frankly, too much to have. You need to look spiffier. Have better study aides. practice with the best tools. Sure the administration tells you not to worry about it. And gunners endeavor to convince that they’ve sworn off text books….and so should you!! But, she who rocks the same clinical clothes every week salvaged from her high school ‘Sunday best’ collection will certainly not be laughing last…..unless, of course, she joins in with all the others laughing at her.

And then, of course there’s my career to worry about. Without the somewhat imperative medical community connections so many of my peers seem to be born with, one must work harder for every job and shine a little brighter in every interview. If you lack the genetic membership that being born with a penis will allot you, you must be sure to have that many more positive patient outcomes. If your skin seems not quite lily white enough, if your eyes sparkle with a less then azure coloring, if your parents aren’t named Smith, Browning, or Daniels, if your hair fails to lie flatly on your precious tinted scalp, if you roll your R’s, or fail to annunciate the r’s in whatever and you’re (as in “whateva, you don’t know me” or “that’s why you about to get hung up on”) you can bank on having to work two times as hard for half the recognition….and appreciation. And no matter how hard you work, how white your coat, or how large the stitching in those illustrious two letters….M…D….there will always be someone there to call you “Nurse”.

There’s your family to worry about, if they have neither retirement fund nor stock portfolios. How will you afford their care? Especially if you plan to spend the 20 years after you start signing your checks Thomas, M.D. sending said checks to POS Bank Branch, Loan Department? you could possibly compromise your principles and go into dermatology, radiology, or some other field guaranteed to have your head above interest rated waters and singing the praises of your rich republican patients, but where will that leave your soul? Hopefully aforementioned soul will be satisfied with full length suede coat, fendi purse, and enough blahniks to fill your in ground olympic size pool.

No, life is certainly not on its way to becoming innately simpler, not without a little help from me…and the editors of this veritable goldmine of information and advice disguised as complacency propaganda.

What AM I waiting for, indeed. Real Simple is Real Right. I should be sloughing off the excess and making more me time. I should be bogging myself down with less working worrying and studying and more…more zinfandel, more milk baths, more spa days, and, of course, more time with my abercrombie boyfriend….Todd. Thank You, Real Simple, for putting real shit in real perspective for me.

I turn the page and am urged to save 20% at some store I’ve never heard of on some brands I’ve never seen. Sweeeeet I say aloud and wet the folded edge of the coupon with a spit moistened finger. You can’t beat 20% off a life I’ll never live.

delete. delete. delete.

Round and Round

Someone, obviously entirely more tech savy than I, found my unprotected personal files on my very unfirewalled and very networked computer. In sifting through the pictures and rambling word documents to determine just how humiliated I should feel, I found what is to follow. I can't help but chuckle at how dead on I was. Now at the bottom of that frightening plunge, I can hardly remember the taste of anxiety I previously felt. Though, while stronger, I can't claim to be any smarter, which makes me wonder the value of it all was. Too bad what doesn't kill also doesn't make you richer. I think I could live with the value of that lesson.

**********************************
Some clichés prove to be worth their repetitive weight in truth. You hear these phrases when they will be most helpful and only come to appreciate them when they have finally manifested their purpose in your life and are no longer of any use. Is it so impressive that we do not trust them at their utterance?

In our (that is human) defense, most clichés are but partial truths, rendering themselves less then trust worthy at their immediate inception. For example, it’s true that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger-yes. But the adage is lacking in completeness. Because, honestly, what doesn’t kill you does make you stronger…..but only after it tears you down, breaks you apart and makes you wish it had twisted the knife a little to left completing its mortal mission. And, if we’re being utterly candid, it must be said that the next time any situation which could be used to illustrate this concept occurs, prior experience with perseverance in the face of horrifying, earth shattering, gut wrenching pain will be of little use and the entire lesson must necessarily be relearned.

It is to be expected that when faced with said repeat offender, the individual will accept the cliché’s sometimes credibility but attribute a certain ‘specialness’ to the current situation, which can be likened to a get out of cliché free card. “Sure sure, it made me stronger last time, but this time is different—this time it might JUST be fatal.” However when time has dulled the edge of pain that comes from the recall of said experience, one will laugh at and lament his or her inability to admit, initially, the validity of our familiar anecdote.

In knowing all this, you would think MY current situation would be a bit more…..palatable. comprehensible, even. but it’s not. the lessons past experienced seem somewhat…inapplicable. And while the brief appearance and reappearance of certain individuals in my life bear a decided resemblance to a current bit player’s manifestation in my daily existence, I find myself wondering if, unlike before, I will fall victim to this strife and self pity, never again seeing the light of happiness.

Sure, I’ve gained enough wisdom to recognize my proximity to the end of the plateau before I find my feet have wandered over the edge of the cliff, but there is very little practical use in this knowledge as it does not diminish my desire to continue along the fateful path. The value lies solely in having a vague idea of what’s about to happen before anything actually transpires. Yet like a child strapped snuggly into the car of her favorite rollercoaster, I never fail to scream at the pinnacle of each ascent, am powerless to do little else but speed down the stomach churning hill, and, defenseless against the sheer magnetism of the excitement, find my self repeatedly patronizing the sadistic contraption. So here I am again, waiting bitterly at the top of my own personal space mountain, teetering on the precipice of a yet another painful plunge into self effacing pity. Perhaps, though, this time is different. Perhaps those sonorous words are what reassure me as I grip the handrails which promise to grip me back, ensuring that, truly, this will not kill me.