Freezing

I'm having another fit of the blue megrims. While this in itself is a bit miserable, I love the phrase "the blue megrims." I tried to google the origin of the phrase but the results were lackluster at best. However, if you are wondering what the phrase means, here you go. Megrims when defined gives you several meanings, with the first one a dull beast best avoided (and relegated to a parenthesis, HA. I choose to not use megrim to mean some form of migraine). But it can mean a caprice, a whim, a fancy. This is a bit too lighthearted for my taste tonight, though a slightly delicious term to stick in your pocket for later use. The last definition is the one I'm on about: depression or unhappiness. It's only to be expected by most rational people, I mean, look at the facts:

1. I have to be up before the sun every day. Every day. Maybe some of you like it, but I don't.

2. I have to be at the hospital every day. This does get old.

3. I never see my boyfriend on a weekday for more than 15 minutes. Don't forget: we do supposedly live together.

4. I hate being on call. And, though I wish I was evenhanded and egalitarian and didn't mind, I'm not, and I hate doing treatment shifts at the hospital after a long day or on a weekend (for those not in the know, this consists of walking dogs and occcasionally mucking about with IV medications). And this rotation requires both. Frequently.

5. I hate snow. I hate ice. I'm in Massachussets in December.

6. I hate orthopedic surgery (I have to qualify this. I hate it NOW, because my job is to stand there and occasionally offer my services as the human retractor. It might be less boring if I ever actually perform an orthopedic surgery). Guess what tomorrow holds? Five surgeries: two knees, two hips and a tibial fracture.

7. I am not good or graceful when making mistakes. I tend to berate myself which then leads to awkwardness and cringing. Which I also hate in myself, and on towards more recrimination. This past week and a half has been a good fun lesson in one small mistake after another. Nothing big and disastrous. Just a little lemon juice of incompetence dripping on the small paper cuts in my ego. (And that metaphor is enough to make me wonder if I deserve to use a keyboard.)

All this and it's no wonder I get home and freeze. I have projects multiple to finish: some creative, some practical. The lists pass through my mind as distantly as if they were someone else's shopping list. I can't even summon up the gusto to play video games, much less keep from making excuses not to go buy bread. (Joel, if you're reading this: we need bread.) I think maybe what the internet needs is a maudlin police. They could come and get me after tonight.

What I want to do is sit by a window in the dark and look out over an untouched expanse of snowy night with a bright moon, and listen to some suitable atmospheric music, and wallow in my blue megrims a little.