During our hospital-wide residency graduation the first week of January Mrs. Therese gave me a copy of Diary of Wimpy Kid. I showed this to Smoketh, who exclaimed, “That’s you!” I initially thought it’s unfair to label me as wimpy, but right now every time I’m in a drugged, introspective mood and I look back at what sort of kid I was in elementary I always want to get a Flux Capacitor, go back in time, and beat the crap out of my younger self. Beat the crap out of is not even accurate, it’s more like “blowtorch younger self to hell”. Yes, you may say that this is the sort of self-hate that creates serial killers, but that would be an insult to serial killers everywhere. I hadn’t mangled any animals, but then again I once tried to bring my totally dead pet beetle back to life by carefully blowing at it fully believing I was transferring life into it, until I lost control of my blows and blew the damn thing into a crevice on the wall where the carcass was later attacked by ants.
“D.P.!” the emcee calling the graduates one-by-one announced, and in my head, D.P. has been our senior resident in Surgery over six years ago back when I was a fourth year medical student, and she’s still graduating, this time from a fellowship program. And aptly, Mrs. Therese writes in her dedication on the Wimpy Kid book, “Happy 6th graduation!”
“Hey Marth,” I said to Marth while he was reading Urinary Tract Infection Guidelines (truly there is no time to waste). “Hey Marth, I’ve just realized, you’ll be graduating from Cardio Fellowship in 2014. And if you’ll proceed with Interventional Cardio you would graduate again in 2016. By that time there would probably be a new sub-sub-sub-specialty, probably Bundle of His or Left Atrium. You could probably take that as well and end by 2029. There’s no end to this penniless hell.”
“Yes,” Marth agreed. It’s great when friends agree with your rants.
Indeed, there is no end to this hell. Why the heck did I ever go into this career path? Why did I just go with the band wagon back in 2001? Why didn’t I just muscle up and make sure I’d make it as a porn star? Or more seriously, why didn’t I just muscle up and make sure I’d make it as a porn star? This is why you shouldn’t follow your friends, your parents, your head, or your heart in making career decisions. You should just watch reality shows (except the modeling and hair-styling ones)—because being a pastry chef, an outcast, an amateur singer, a matchmaker of bisexual millionaire swingers, or a bachelor/bachelorette would seem much more fun. And since we’re just going to live an average of 60 years anyway, fun is the way to go. Fun! AHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!! Fuuuuuun (psycho laughter)!!!!!!