Mr. Bill

"He's an excellent specimen," says the professor.

"You're really good at this" say my lab partners as they decline to do anything but watch.

And they're right.  I am good at dissection.

It unnerves me how easily I slip into a clinical mode,

how interested I am in the structures revealed by the scalpel.

And Mr. Bill is an excellent specimen.

I don't want to lose sight that what lies in front of me

was once a sentient being, alive and purring.

So I named him.

And I apologize, and thank him.

And I talk to him as I learn from his remains.

And so do my lab partners.

He must have been a good hunter, says Dennis.

I hope someone loved him, says Mai. 

Mr. Bill probably took down squirrels, says Jenny.

We aren't callus. We handle him gently.  

I imagine that Mr. Bill is in some beautiful meadow 

full of mice and squirrels and other fun things.

I imagine that he has friends.

I hope he knows that he mattered.

That because of him,  there are six future nurses who have a better understanding of how bodies work.

And that we promise to pay his gift forward by helping people with what we learned from him.

I picture him sunning himself, basking in a contented pile with Ursa, Mr. Steve, Stumpy and Miss Puppy.  

Then I go to work.  And then home.

And Duncan and Lulu rush to greet me.  As I snuggle them I say silently

"This is for you too, Mr. Bill".

Muscle fibers, calcium, twitch..Script Frenzy! April 1-30

SCENE: INT. BEDROOM. EVENING. HEROINE IS TALKING TO HERSELF.


                              RIGHT BRAIN


Let's do this! C'mon!
                      
LEFT BRAIN
Are you out of our mind?!


RIGHT BRAIN
Pretty please?!  It's only a hundred pages! It's nothing like 50,000 words!


LEFT BRAIN
No. 


RIGHT BRAIN
(dramatically touching back of hand to forehead and sighing tragically)
But I'm so bored!


LEFT BRAIN
(rolling eyes and snorting in disgust)
I let you take Art Appreciation. Stop whining. You can write a screenplay when the semester is over.


RIGHT BRAIN
But I want to do something creative now. Now!


HINDBRAIN
SHUT UP!  I'M TRYING TO RUN A LIMBIC SYSTEM HERE! DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS IF I LOSE MY CONCENTRATION!?! DON'T MAKE ME SHUT DOWN THE FLOW OF BLOOD TO YOU TWO!


(stunned silence fills the hemispheres. )


LEFT BRAIN
Anatomy homework, then?


RIGHT BRAIN.
Ok. Can we do the coloring book?


LEFT BRAIN
Sure. Whatever.


FADE

Mind like a Hamster Wheel

It's been in the 70's all week.  It makes me want to plant, even though I know it's not really Spring...there's bound to be cold,nasty weather lurking.
Also, if I go with Plan A, I won't have time for the garden this summer. 


I made it to writing group. I did not do homework. But after about twenty minutes of fictionalizing one of my recent nightmares, my brain got into its little hamster wheel and refused to get out. Most of it has to do with school.  Plan A- A&P II and microbiology in summer school. Pro- prerequisites would be done, could take fall semester off.  Con- 10 weeks of hell.
Plan B- A&P II this summer with my study partner, micro and something in the fall. Pro- not so crazy. Con- prerequisites not done until December.
Plan C- take the summer off, take A&P II and microbiology in the fall.  Pro- summer off.  Con- study partner is taking A&P this summer, and prerequisites not done until December.


Does that one semester really matter so much?  I don't know.  I do know that I'm afraid that if I stop, I won't start again. But if my head explodes from cramming 7 body systems and multitudes of micro-organisms into it, I won't be much use to myself, let alone anyone else. And so the hamster wheel keeps spinning, and my lists don't help.  It might be just as effective to pick an option from a hat.  

Has It Really Been So Long?

I've been in school since May of last year. Haven't written a post on this blog since I started. I've been busy with classes. With work. I fell in what my hormones decided was love. (They were wrong.) Other things happened, to me and to people I love. Somewhere in all that, I stopped writing. I stopped creating. When I made it to writing group, I did homework. I stopped exercising.

All that energy has to come out somewhere. My dreams have been dark and twisted and nightmarish, yet even while they're happening, some part of me says "Wow. This is some good stuff here." Sometimes, I think the only reason I'm not certifiable is that I am taking Art Appreciation this semester, which at least forces me to look and think about art, even if I'm not making any myself. Until this week, when I did the non-representational-demonstrate-principles-of-design-and-elements-of-art collage project for class.

Now, I love making collages. Haven't done it in years, but that's not the point. The point is, despite having to follow rules (oh! the horror!) I created something I like, and I had a good time doing it. I have lots of leftover bits of paper. And glue. And no one to please but myself. So why am I writing instead of making a collage?

I don't know. What I do know is that I need to do a better job of scheduling creativity and exercise into my routine. This all work and no play....it's not working. So tomorrow, I'll actually write during writing group. Maybe talk a walk in the park afterward. Find some way to let my right brain get its ya-yas out on a regular basis. The Anatomy Coloring Book doesn't count.