Steps Two, Three, & Four: Roommates, Summer Reading, & Resignations

It occurs to me, as I begin this post, that the idea of numbering these "steps" toward medical school is acutely ludicrous. Not only are there a plethora of steps, tasks, chores--whatever you want to call them--the idea that they happen in isolation, like climbing stairs one at a time, is a false assumption. As with most life processes, everything about this change is happening all at once. Does it go without saying, then, that I'm overwhelmed?

This weekend, in addition to fighting the effects of my own physician's last-ditch effort to control my endocrine disorder (I say last-ditch because I refuse to undergo these types of physiological experiments while in school...I tried it once before...it wasn't pretty...I won't do it again...), I find myself drowning in checklists as I attempt some of the most difficult chores: finding a roommate, beginning my summer reading, and resigning from my job.

The roommate task is first on the agenda purely out of need: I need to have a roommate if I want to afford food while I'm in medical school. Simple enough, right? Oh, but no.... Placing the "ad" on the class website and in the class roommate circular was easy enough, as describing the space and its parameters proves relatively straightforward. What is not straightforward: the conflagration of emotions I feel when considering what qualities I seek in a roommate.

To date, I've been blessed. After a rough initial 10 weeks at my post-bacc program (d@mn frat boys!), I got to move into a house with one of my dearest friends. We got along splendidly (a surprise, to me, because I always carry this sense that I'm impossible to live with) and it was one of the first times where I truly enjoyed sharing my space with another person. I feel spoiled by the experience, actually, since now I will, no doubt, judge every roommate encounter against the perfection of that one.... When my roommate decided not to return for spring term, I recall panicking. I rented a room in another home, but had no choice over who the other roommates would be. Fortunately, I ended up in a house with two of the wackiest women I've ever met. We shared a huge space, so we all had ample privacy, and we all had such unique schedules (we were all in different programs) and personalities that we never felt burdened by one another. The third time I had a "roommate," the context was completely different. In this instance, I lived with my (former) boyfriend. We got along well, although I did tip-toe a lot because the place we were living was, in spite of his arguments to the contrary, *his* house, not mine. Except for my caution, I was struck at how comfortable I felt living with him and sharing space. Again, for some odd reason, I always feel like I'd make a terrible roommate....

So...in considering all of this, it occurred to me that I'm now in the position of having to choose a potential roommate. We'll be in the same academic program, so the notion of having separate schedules with which to buffer our privacy is a non-option. Then there are my expectations: how do I condition myself to consider compatibility with more importance than potential friendship? And how will I feel about sharing my first home, in which I know I will take so much pride of ownership? How does one, in any circumstance, go about choosing a stranger with whom to live? What will I do when Biddle, my cat, invariably breaks in on this poor soul while s/he is in the bathroom? I'm plagued by these questions....

And when I'm not pondering these particular questions, I'm gnawing on the first few precious pages of summer reading. I don't have all the books in yet (I was able to buy some at discount from a current student, but he hasn't had a chance to ship them yet), so I had to start with pathology. As if I know anything about pathology! It is so strange to open up a medical textbook and start reading. Why? I guess because for me, for such a long time, it's felt like unattainable knowledge--stuff to which, by intellect or status, I simply was not privy. So I find, as I begin reading, that I feel like a voyeur. Here I go again.... ;-)

To add to all the drama, I had to announce my resignation at work this week. It happened unexpectedly--I'd hoped to wait at least until I'd closed on the condo--but they requested our summer availability, so I realized that the "right" thing to do would be to go ahead and let them know that I won't be around after the first week of July or so. As it turned out, there are about 5 of us that are quitting at the same time. The bosses, consequently, are scurrying around, trying to hire more people. In the meantime, sales have (finally?) slowed to the extent that we have time, during our shifts, to be bored. Boredom is not a good state for me, especially when I'm taking medication that affects my hormones. Several times this week, I caught myself ruminating on my imminent departure, wondering how I was going to say goodbye to these people (I HATE goodbyes) and trying not to feel guilty for absconding my responsibilities there. This last point is particularly ironic--a trained monkey could probably do this job better than I can...it doesn't exactly take a whole lot of skill to work a cash register (patience, perhaps, but not skill)....so the fact that I feel guilty...well, it's amusing....

At any rate...this has been my experience over the past few days: an odd whirlwind of hormones, emotions, and tasks. Since Biddle has now planted herself between the keyboard and my computer screen, I guess it's time for me to end my midnight musings for now....