Had I known that this field would require too much thinking I would have probably pushed through with my initial career option of being an action figure cabinet arranger/decorator, yes, truly we can invent careers, because I have a special skill in posing them action figures in great poses and relevant groupings and crap, but not with this thinking business! Back when I was a clerk assisting a caesarian section operation in my OB rotation the rather chatty residents were asking me what specialty I would choose, and since I loathe children and loathe wearing scrub suits even more only internal medicine was left, so I said with much boredom, “I.M” and chatty resident said “Wow gusto nya mag-isip,” which, apparently, is a truism, and now I am trapped with too much thinking, which is probably good practice should I one day join Survivor because I would be able to think who to vote out if there are two hidden immunity idols and there’s a merge and there are nine of us and I have two people in my alliance one of whom is a bitch but still, still, what are the chances of me getting into Survivor now that I have trochar holes on my belly and I wouldn’t look good shirtless in an island and by virtue of which I would get easily voted out, and besides I would probably be deemed too whiny, too weak, too whimpery, too annoying, too predisposed to writing long run-on sentences which would only be good in a romance novel sex scene to simulate hypoxia in an troglodytic, fugly wallflower reader who would fantasize over the painted guy on the cover modelled after Fabio whose face was ruined when he was riding a roller coaster and a duck flew and slammed against his face?!?

And in this field people are so obsessed with “inputs”. What are your “inputs”? Why does this person write looooong entries without any “inputs”? I don’t know what to do I need your “inputs”. Inputs inputs inputs inputs inputs!!! And if you say inputs too many times it starts sounding bastos, just like that neuro drug Keppra. Keppra Keppra Keppra. Which reminds me, back in ophtha rotation, Len-Len and I asked the resident what the procedure was, and he said “canthutectomy,” and we giggled like morons to no end.

I long for those days when saying “I don’t know,” would put an end to things and was totally inconsequential, and the astute reader would point out annoyingly the old blog entry wherein I deemed saying “I long for” as total phoniness, but truly, I long, I LONG for those days without consequence. Back in the wilderness endorsement years when the residents were bordering on hellfire evil a question would be screamed at me and I would confidently say “I DON’T KNOW!” and the question would be passed to Smoketh, who would then say “I DON’T KNOW!” in better diction. Nobody would get sick with our “I DON’T KNOW’s”, nobody would lose a parent with our “I DON’T KNOW’s”, nobody would get bleeping intubated for our “I DON’T KNOW’s” but now, now, people could genuinely, like, die.

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