One Hundred and Ninety-one, The Lich King

Wrath of the Couch Potato

One Hundred and Ninety, Epic Fail

I won't say a game is sucking my life away because that would imply that I am miserable playing it both with people I know and with people I've never met.  That, however, is not the case.  I felt a thrill of joy in the weeks leading up to the release of the expansion and now I have some goals on what I want to accomplish with it.  I've taken my first steps into Northrend and they are thrilling and sturdy ones.

One Hundred and Eighty-nine, Passion

I had a surgeon tell me about a procedure he was going to help perform back when I was on surgery.  The procedure was the one mentioned briefly in this entry.  And while to you or I it might seem like a long, amazing, and possibly tedious surgery, to him it was why he lived.  The excitement on his face was a beacon for me.  As I go through pediatrics and look back on Ob/Gyn and Surgery, I realized that I want what he has.  I want to experience the same glowing feeling, the same Drive for a particular line of work.  Doctors are in their profession for life.  I want to do something that I will thoroughly enjoy for the rest of mine.  

One Hundred and Eighty-five, Memories

One of my favorite teachers in high school taught me history.  As the Engineer pointed out to me tonight, she often would draw a boot on the board and say, "And here, scholars, is clearly a map of Europe."  Learning from her about events long gone instilled in me a deep respect and love for history.  Hearing about events that occurred centuries ago and how they shaped the world was very moving.  As you learned, some minor events could end up shaping the world (such as a single assassination in Austria).  Other events you knew would be important as you learned about them.  The number of "firsts" that this relatively young country has seen proves to me that today is a day schoolchildren of the next millennium will have to memorize (or at least to know what decade this occurred).  Today a new president was elected.  Not because the way he spoke or the color of his skin or his gender, but because of his beliefs in how to run this country.  That doesn't change the fact that history books of the future will look back and note that this was the day when a non-Caucasian person was first voted to the title of President-Elect.  What does matter is that this nation didn't vote its first black president into office.  No, I know that the majority of this nation finally voted for an American whose beliefs they likened to who happened to be a man of color.  

On that note, I begin NaBloPoMo [five days late].

One Hundred and Twelve, A Bright Red Carnation

I almost missed it as I was walking along reading my fluff book on the way to the library. But the flash of color made me pause. I turned around but didn't see anything. Then as my gaze went back downwards to reconnect with the book, I glimpsed it. In the wintery gray world, its color made it stand out like a beacon. I bent down and picked it up. I imagined how it had gotten there looking so fresh. Was it late for a previous day this month? Or possibly a thank you to a visitor? Perhaps it was just a simple way for one person to say, "I love you," to another. These and more wonderful possibilities flashed through my head. I glanced up at others passing me but they didn't see it. They didn't know another human being was passing them by on their left. I didn't want to just leave it somewhere but I knew there was no purpose to me taking it home. That's when I espied a bench. It wasn't set on the pathway, rather a few feet back within a quagmire of mud. Balancing myself on a couple of thick sticks, I gently laid it down on the bench. Jumping back to the sediment-free (relatively) sidewalk, I looked over my handiwork, proud of what I'd done. I walked away a bit and then glanced back. There it was, the brilliant flash of color in the otherwise dreary world.

Eighty-nine, Wunderkind Johnny Lee

Today some of my friends and I perused Johnny Lee's website. Lord Chaos fell in love wished to conquer universes with him his Wii Remote usage. Additionally, he has some neat photography. I'll admit that even I really like a lot of the stuff he does. And he has an uncanny resemblance to Hiro Nakamura (no, I'm not saying that because he's Oriental but because they both have a similar facial build). I admit, if I didn't have school, I'd be somewhat interested in fooling around with his technologies.

Eighty-eight, Metaphysical Medicine

Neo, there's someone who could be a great doctor (Spoiler: he did save Trinity!). Imagine having that power in the real world. Being able to scalpel cut someone open, treat them, and sew the patient shut all in a matter of picoseconds (0.000000000001 seconds). Before a drop of blood spills, you're sewing them shut. In my mind, this works in a similar manner to Fry's 100 cups of coffee. Except normal doses of caffeine have little effect on me so I might have to go even higher to kill myself, achieve a higher state of nirvana, and do super-surgery!

Eighty-one, Fourty-five Minutes Before Class

I slept well last night. I don't usually dream-and-remember. I do dream but usually I have no recollection. Every now and then I do wake up in the middle of a dream remembering specifics clearly. And then, like this morning, I wake up right after I've finished a dream. I think this is the worst because you know there's a magical world just beyond your fingertips and mentally you reach for it, trying to grasp even a single thought inspired from it but to no avail. It is lost forever to the mists. Some people take on a sour grapes attitude, "Well, if you don't remember it, then it wasn't worth remembering." In fact, I say stuff like that a lot. But something within tells me that with dreams that is not so. That what we dream of and forget is of utmost importance to who we are as a person and possibly the world, if only we could recall them.

Fourty-eight, Spic-n-Span

Some people write, others bake, others go running/biking, and others play games (myself included). But every now and then, I get this different urge. I only perform it because of how rewarding it is at the time I do it. I often have to wait for a month or so before doing it so I get the best satisfaction from it. And oddly enough, the best tools I have to do it with are my own two hands and the sweat from my brow.

Today I woke up and knew I was cleaning the bathroom. Not just a cursory job, but getting down on hands and knees to scrub the floor grit out of the tiles and wiping down every surface in that place (except the ceiling which has paint "wrinkles"). And usually it has been about a month since the last cleaning session so the tub has built-up grit in the bottom that I get a lot of satisfaction from getting rid of with the stiff-bristle brush. It's like the grit is an enemy force that has set foot in the pure land of my bathroom and I'm the one-man army to fight them back with my different magical spells like "409" and "Soft Scrub" and "Clorox." The only thing missing was some soap stuff to use on the floor to mop it with a rag and my two hands to free it of the ground-in grit.

I will hopefully add the ancient scroll of Mr. Clean and the Gauntlets of Safety to my ranks tomorrow!

Fourty-two, Ceiling Ridges

Whenever I'm in a room with the splotch ceiling paint (you know what I'm talking about, round or amorphous splotches that have little ridges sticking outwards so when you rub your hand up there you feel all the texture) I will stare upwards in low-lit areas and imagine that the miniature mountain ranges have turned into gigantic canyons. It's a simple trick of the light to do really, then the ceiling looks all wrinkly.

Sixteen, Goop

Imagining that the lava lamp in your room is about to take off like Duck Dodger's ship, straight backwards down through my dresser into the 4th year student's room down below me. That would be a surprise. Then again, we live in apartments so I'm sure we're used to oddities involving the neighbours. Just this morning after I'd woken up and had finished brushing my teeth I heard a loud thump from the floor above me. Instantly, a car alarm began going off. It went off for a while, I wouldn't be surprised if my roommate was awakened. During the minute and half it shrieked, I thought up the possibility that it might be an actual alarm clock sound. I have to admit it would be effective at waking me up, and possibly giving me injuries as I bolt out of bed banging my knee on the cabinet near my bed and tripping over my chair falling against either my computer desk or the nightstand near the doorway. One has a lot of corners and edges and made of particle-board, the other has a beard trimmer on it and is made of real wood. Maybe that's what happened to the poor soul upstairs.

Or maybe my lava lamp blasted off upwards, striking the resident's car keys at the precise speed and angle to cause the car alarm outside to go off. The sounds of the lava lamp
ripping through the floor is what shook him/her awake wondering if the world was ending. Seeing a green-gooped cylinder flying up through the ceiling would not have helped. Then, as I finished up in the bathroom and was exiting, the rocket/lamp made a quick stop to pick up some resident aliens (extraterrestrial, not illegal...although I assume without a visa, extraterrestrials would also be illegal) who setup super-speed nanobots to rapidly fix up the damage to the apartment. As I walk out of the bathroom, I look around and everything looks normal. Until I noticed the one alien who had mistakenly gone through the wrong porthole and entered into the Goop Zone of the lava lamp. He was slowly floating around bumping into other Goop Balls. Eventually his misshapen form dissolved completely and became one with the Goop.

Goop.

hehe

Goop.