I’ve said a few years ago, when this blog was just a morula (or blastula or whatever thing you call those tiny things), that I wouldn’t write anything about residency training, or being, barf, a doctor, and that I would try to explore other facets or crap about my, barf, life. And then apparently there are very few micro-facets of living left when you go into training, and they’re not very interesting either, so even though I talk about toys or movies or the general grossness of things or stuff everything still got rooted to residency training and living in the hospital. In retrospect (parang audit), it wasn’t too bad writing about those things, because somehow writing about those things made them funnier for me and less painful than they really were, and even though none of my batchmates really read this blog (your loss, batchmates) this sort of documented the past three years– all the joys, and pains, and triumphs, and sufferings, pass me the tissue this is just so hard. I am not being unnecessarily dramatic, I only get dramatic when I feel like I am going to die, and right now, right this very moment, I feel an arrhythmia happening as I type. Fucking Extra-Large Gloria Jeans Voltage.

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