I'm feeling unusually optimistic about everything. As freaked out as I was about the prospect of going to medical school, but now I'm more driven and I believe in myself more than I did before. It really helps that in the past couple of months I've met (and in some cases befriended) a few other pre-med UW students. It makes it easier I'm not in it alone, and that I'm not the only one that's stressin'.

And really, I don't have that much to stress about. I mean, this is hard work, but I'm a fast learner, and with enough practice this will be a lot easier. Much easier. I can totally do it.

I'm looking at different med schools (and grad schools as contingency) that I'm looking to apply to and I'm just getting so darned excited.

Also, the three year anniversary with the boyfriend is coming up. What to do?

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I wrote this for my ENGLISH COMPOSITION class at UW. Our assignment is to explore one of our daily habits in detail, from beginning to end, and think about where it comes from while still utilizing our "creative license". It took me forever to come to a decision, but this is what I have:

In the relief following the sudden jolt of awakening, I reach for my cell phone and touch the button that functions as the equivalent of a snooze button for the alarm function for the third time since its initial emission of that harsh ringing, which every morning forces my eyes open and my body upright. This, an apparent attempt at prolonging my all-too-short slumber, seems futile, as the realization of just what time it is dawns on me with the same sort of disappointment one associates with realizing that it is, in fact, Sunday night and not Saturday.
And thus begins my morning routine: I typically lie awake for some time after my alarm goes off, going through several mental checklists regarding how my day should go and where my priorities should lie. This habit can be traced back to a similar one that I had at the ripe age of sixteen, where I constantly found myself trying my best to roll out of bed while my mother flicked the light switch on and off repeatedly, telling me I had exactly “seven minutes” to be out the door and on my way to school (this, I would eventually learn after experiencing the breathless panic of Sleep Apnea, is not the worst thing in the world to look up to). My earliest (and perhaps most simple) motivation for getting up was simply to avoid the irritated tone in my mother’s voice at my inability to fully escape from the grasp of my reveries on her command, but as I got older my motivation for getting up and going to school, even on a test day, dwindled as I slipped into early-onset “Senioritis”. Early-morning self-talks eventually proved to be more effective than faking an illness, a method of deception I had mastered, but had also done to death.
While straining my eyes to see in the sudden, violent light that flooded the room at my mother’s will, I would tell myself, “Getting up means not having to be told exactly how many minutes there are until school starts.” When this proved to be ineffective, it became, “If I go to school, I will get to see my best friend/cute boy I have a crush on/teacher that is really funny.” Over the course of a few years, these succinct self-talks evolved from simple motivational blurbs to inescapable morning routine: reasons to go to school were coupled with elaborate ideas about exactly what I would wear, predictions of how each class would go and who I might run into, and (this being perhaps the most tedious of all) obsessive-compulsively detailed lists about my responsibilities for the day – all take place in a matter of minutes, before my head ever leaves the pillow.
On this particular morning of my college career, starting at my half-open closet door on the opposite end of the room, I thought about the events following the apprehensively awaited moment when I would roll out of bed in disdain at the thought of leaving the comfort of my pillow-top and flannel sheets. I thought about whether or not I would run into Talkie Girl on the bus, a particularly annoying student at my college that habitually chatted with the bus driver about unimportant topics so loudly that every soul on the crowded bus could hear her, and sighed at relief at the realization that the change in the scholastic quarter also meant a change in the time at which I had to be on the bus, making the likelihood of my running into her relatively small. A smile crossed my face at this notion and, finally ready to get on with the day, I jumped out of bed.
I was halfway dressed in the outfit I had chosen for myself when I spotted my apron on the floor near my shoes, reminding myself of the unfortunate fact that I had work after school today, which meant throwing on my black slacks and espresso-stained polo shirt underneath my school sweatshirt. After putting on this dreadful get-up, I come to see that my half-conscious blend of daydreams and day-planning not only failed to provide me with the correct outfit choice for the day, but had also failed to address perhaps the most pressing issue of all of my mornings – how long I had before I had to reach the bus stop. I throw on my jacket and step into my work shoes, an old pair of walking shoes that were covered in dust from now forgotten locations and white and brown flecks from where I have botched numerous espresso orders. I put on my backpack, grab my purse, and run out the door towards the bus, periodically pausing to grab adjust the heel of my shoes, which in all my hurry I had merely stepped upon as opposed to actually fitting my feet inside.
It’s mornings like this, as I run for the bus in the pouring rain with little more than a cotton sweatshirt to shield me, that I contemplate adopting another routine (mental or otherwise) for getting ready.

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Be it extremely emotional, controversial, messed up, or whatever, this entry has been password protected.

If you know it, enter it; or, ask me for it.

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I am wondering about God.

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BIOCULTURAL ANTHROPOLOGY: 3.9
JEWISH LITERATURE: 3.7
ISLAM: 3.6.

Not too bad!

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The arrival of spring break is bittersweet for me. While I'm finally out from under my mountain of books and am free to stay up late doing something other than homework, I'm left with a mild feeling of loneliness and boredom. Owen left for Korea the day after my last final, and I won't see him until school starts again on the 31st.

The day before he left we took a huge tub of ice cream from Coldstone home and watched Law and Order. We went to bed late and slept in. After that I had to say bye-bye and I've only heard from him once since Thursday.

It's nice to have free time -- I'm only working part time over break, so I have my days off to do whatever I wish. On Friday, I went out and about with Patrick and Cecilee and then slept over at her house. Yesterday, we went to a lingerie party at Natalie's (yeah, I know) and then went back to my house to watch The Office. TODAY, EASTER EFFING SUNDAY, I had to go to work because the coffee shop that I work in happens to be next to a Catholic church.

Cecilee and Patrick are coming over tonight, and when I get off work tomorrow, I'm going to go down to Federal Way and hang out with my new(est) friend.

Being away from Owen is shitty, but it will be nice to see some of my friends. I'm going to go ahead and work on my academic plan (NERDNERDNERDIAM) and sign up for some volunteer stuff, or at least get the ball rolling in that arena. I need to get on that if I'm going to apply to medical school in a couple of years.

I hope everyone else's spring break is more exciting than mine!

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