This is hard. So much harder than I thought it would be. I truly believed that I was going to enjoy studying for the boards. I had visions of studying for 8 hours a day, and then going home to cook dinner, run, play frisbee, watch movies, read a book, play guitar, languish in long philosophical conversations with friends over wine or beer. This was going to be the beginning of reclaiming just a little tiny bit of my life back. I was going to be able to start being that person I used to be, or that person I really, really want to be. So innocent, so naive.
Turns out this is hard. It’s not that the 8 hours has turned into 10 and 12 hours. It’s not that I’m (not surprisingly) so much less productive and efficient than I imagined myself being. It’s not even that I am finding relearning this stuff less interesting than I had hoped. It’s the hopelessness. It’s the reality that I will spend my next 3 weeks studying all of the time only to start working 100 hours a week. Sure, it is doing something I want to do (or that I willingly signed up to do), but it’s actually that much further from being able to shape my life into something that feels more manageable, more bearable, more me.
Roughly two weeks ago I had a conversation with a colleague. Not a friend, but a classmate I know from before I even started at UW. Back then, he was making the same decision between schools as I was and we conversed a bit through email about the decision. Without knowing each other’s names, we exchanged pertinent personal background data and gave each other tips/insight into our “difficult” decision. I had a symbolic crush on him – he seemed so thoughtful, so smart, so interesting, so passionate. . .to me he was exemplary of the world I was about to enter – endless possibility, life changing, completely engaging, and the future source of my most meaningful friendships and, hopefully, lifelong partner. He remains symbolic to me because he, like so much of this experience, has been vastly different than what I expected. Almost the personification of this school, I find him subtly deceptive and frequently the bearer of cold truth. I don’t dislike him, but I am wary around him. We were at baseball game and as we walked out, we started some uncomfortable small talk about the end of the year and how great it felt and how we can’t wait until we get to start “what we really came here for.” I mentioned how nice it was to have some free time. He laughed almost ominously, “It’s nice,” he said “that we get a transition. That we get to slowly move from our old lives to this new one. That we have 2 years to adjust to being busy all the time, to never having enough time to ourselves, two years to become doctors. I don’t think I could do it overnight.”
There is a good deal of talk in medical school about becoming a doctor. We talk about the privileges and the responsibilities. We talk about the changes and the sacrifices. We talk about what it means to our family, what it means to our communities, and what it means to the greater world around us. And we talk about what it means to us. My colleague, the bearer of realities I’d rather ignore, seems to have equated becoming a doctor with sacrifice of self. I’m not sure he would describe it that way, but I think he will thrive on denying himself to serve his profession. I think he is excited about that (and in some ways, what an easy way to live .. if you know that your work is the most important thing, decisions are essentially made for you).
At this point I am far from sure about what becoming a doctor means to me. Truth is, I think I’ve been (and continue to be) in a bit of a denial about how much this process will change me. A good piece of me still believes that when I am done with these eight years, I will just return to the life that I lived before. I will have this skill when I am done, and with it I will simply slip back into the life I’ve put on hold. Intellectually I know that this is unlikely and emotionally I am beginning to realize that no matter how I resist, I will finish this 8-year process a completely different person. Obviously 8 years doing anything changes someone. I think what I have been fighting (tooth and nail) is the rather obvious idea that this process is going to change me in ways different than if I’d done something else for the next 8 years. What I think I am uncomfortable with is that there is a prescribed change that I have to go through so that I can become this doctor person. It seems like I will no longer be able to hand pick the changes I want to move through and ignore those that I dislike.
It’s a funny feeling to no longer be in control of the direction of my growth. It takes a huge amount of trust in my elders (something I am terrible at) and an even larger amount of faith that this will all turn out alright in the end. For me that faith has always been patchy at best: I did not enter this process knowing, without a doubt that I want to be (was meant to be) a doctor. I hemmed and hawed over 6 years; I weighed options, made lists of pros and cons, and, in the end, going to med school had a slight edge over the other options. I understood it as a process, one more adventure. And I suppose I still see it as that, on some level. I think the gravity of what I don’t know coupled with the unabashed expectation that this become a lifestyle has given this journey some weight. I must travel more slowly, more deliberately, more thoughtfully. Lately I do so looking backwards at what I have left behind or left and right at what I am missing. At some point I should probably do a turn around in my head and refocus my attention. I’m sure it would change the sensation I have of being swept up by things I have no control over. I’m just not quite sure how to get there, especially when I feel so empty of the doctor faith that is supposed to drag me through this.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Retreat
It's been a while, I know. . .and lots has happened and not very much has happened. I'm spending the week out on Orcas Island studying - a retreat away from the distraction that was the city. I have no internet or phone service at the house, and that is conducive to wholesome things like studying, playing guitar, and writing. The writing seems to be a bit more. . .well, reflective, contemplative, heavy, and maybe a little long, but I guess that's where I'm at these days. And I think the way that this whole blog thing works is that I post what I want to post and you read what you want to read. Or something like that.
Monday, May 12, 2008
3 types of smiles
My friend Nate finds the most ridiculous stuff on the internet during class. You can always tell how bored he is by how much stuff he texts out to everyone. Anyways. . today he sent out 3 things that made me smile, each in a different way.
The wry smile
The awww smile
And the hah smile
Oh. . and this was just a full laugh out loud for me. . I guess I'm a little mean.
(let it load first, and then watch it for full effect)
The wry smile
The awww smile
And the hah smile
Oh. . and this was just a full laugh out loud for me. . I guess I'm a little mean.
(let it load first, and then watch it for full effect)
Friday, April 18, 2008
Fun with. .
Stephen makes all of the ridiculous shit that has been going on in the democratic circus feel a little less horrific.
Go here and watch Hillary's video first, then Barack's.
And then watch this to make you wish that there still were 3 people in the democratic race, even if it might have meant another white male in office. . . .
Go here and watch Hillary's video first, then Barack's.
And then watch this to make you wish that there still were 3 people in the democratic race, even if it might have meant another white male in office. . . .
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
That Thing
Talk about Synchronicity. . .I wrote the following yesterday with the plan to post it today. . and now with osf and Toby's comments (especially Toby's) - well, yeah.
**
I’ve been thinking about compassion. Perhaps inspired by the Dali Lama’s visit, perhaps from hearing about empathy in my ICM class, perhaps from the gentleness my mom is exhibiting in the face of her father’s decline, her sister’s insecurities, and her mother’s panic. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been struggling lately – my blues are encroaching in tighter and tighter circles. I’m fighting it, but I am so busy these days that I don’t even notice what’s going on until I’m cloaked in monotony. These oh so gray days are flat, disheartening, and discouraging. It’s not depression - that is too personal – it’s more of an anhedonia borne from the underbelly of the medical profession. It’s the despair that comes from crying uncle on trying to hold onto the life that once ways; it’s the defeat you feel when you accept that your life can no longer be relationship-centered, at least for a while.
Lately compassion has been in short supply in my life. I’m worn down by my friends, I’m annoyed by a patient’s complicated presentation, I mutter about my housemates for the chaos that is our fridge. I can’t remember the last time I felt positive about a class and just about every sentence I form starts with the words, “You know what would be great,” or “Why can’t they just. . .” My parents never say the right things on the phone and even Annie, the dog, rubs me the wrong way. Basically, I’m sitting deep and dark in the thick of it.
I’m convinced that compassion is the cure. But compassion is a funny thing and while I know that I need to breathe more, compassion more towards those around me, I think that the real deficit is inward compassion. Just like that age-old adage, you can’t truly love others until you love yourself (or something like that), I’m not sure it is possible to express compassion towards others until you feel compassion for yourself. Can you even know what forgiveness feels like if you don’t forgive yourself all the shit you do wrong? And if you have never felt forgiveness, can you genuinely give it to others?
This may be coming across as all wooo-wooo-y , so let me try and clear it up a little. See, I am beginning to see that compassion is an art that walks the fine line between being patronizing and being invested. I don’t really know what it truly looks like, or feels like, because I am either too engaged or too removed. When I am too involved, my feelings become my focus and I can’t get any perspective. When I am too distant, I view those suffering with curiosity or, even worse, pity. Thus far, when I say “I have compassion,” it is linked with a sense of having figured out the other person’s problem, being beyond his or her problem, being unaffected by his or her problem – and there is some superiority in there that doesn’t belong. And there is the strange paradox that I experience which is that the more compassion I feel towards someone, the less connected I feel to them. Even my closest loved ones – when the compassion washes over, the detachment creeps in, and shortly thereafter the dissatisfaction and the loneliness. Obviously, I have some serious work to do.
This brings us back to wise words about compassion. “Be compassion,” is likely less about giving compassion to others and more about breeding compassion from within. And to do that, I think forgiveness of self is required. This means I have to forgive myself when I have to cancel an obligation. I have to have more compassion when I fail at doing daily living things (like getting my oil changed, making my bed, cooking). I have to let myself fuck up on tests, cry because I fucked up, and rationalize both of those events. When I get annoyed at my peers – forgive. When I am not exercising as much as I would like – compassion. When I skip class – permission. Even though everyone else around me seems to be handling it all so much better – compassion, compassion, compassion. That’s not to say that I should throw my hands up in a relativist fit and say, well, none of it matters anymore. Of course not – I still strive to improve all of those things, I still evaluate my (endless) shortcomings, I still fight and cry and struggle. But I work on decreasing the guilt, quieting the critic, and just slowing down the panic. Perhaps once I have that down, then I can spend some time figuring out the whole golden rule thing.
**
I’ve been thinking about compassion. Perhaps inspired by the Dali Lama’s visit, perhaps from hearing about empathy in my ICM class, perhaps from the gentleness my mom is exhibiting in the face of her father’s decline, her sister’s insecurities, and her mother’s panic. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been struggling lately – my blues are encroaching in tighter and tighter circles. I’m fighting it, but I am so busy these days that I don’t even notice what’s going on until I’m cloaked in monotony. These oh so gray days are flat, disheartening, and discouraging. It’s not depression - that is too personal – it’s more of an anhedonia borne from the underbelly of the medical profession. It’s the despair that comes from crying uncle on trying to hold onto the life that once ways; it’s the defeat you feel when you accept that your life can no longer be relationship-centered, at least for a while.
Lately compassion has been in short supply in my life. I’m worn down by my friends, I’m annoyed by a patient’s complicated presentation, I mutter about my housemates for the chaos that is our fridge. I can’t remember the last time I felt positive about a class and just about every sentence I form starts with the words, “You know what would be great,” or “Why can’t they just. . .” My parents never say the right things on the phone and even Annie, the dog, rubs me the wrong way. Basically, I’m sitting deep and dark in the thick of it.
I’m convinced that compassion is the cure. But compassion is a funny thing and while I know that I need to breathe more, compassion more towards those around me, I think that the real deficit is inward compassion. Just like that age-old adage, you can’t truly love others until you love yourself (or something like that), I’m not sure it is possible to express compassion towards others until you feel compassion for yourself. Can you even know what forgiveness feels like if you don’t forgive yourself all the shit you do wrong? And if you have never felt forgiveness, can you genuinely give it to others?
This may be coming across as all wooo-wooo-y , so let me try and clear it up a little. See, I am beginning to see that compassion is an art that walks the fine line between being patronizing and being invested. I don’t really know what it truly looks like, or feels like, because I am either too engaged or too removed. When I am too involved, my feelings become my focus and I can’t get any perspective. When I am too distant, I view those suffering with curiosity or, even worse, pity. Thus far, when I say “I have compassion,” it is linked with a sense of having figured out the other person’s problem, being beyond his or her problem, being unaffected by his or her problem – and there is some superiority in there that doesn’t belong. And there is the strange paradox that I experience which is that the more compassion I feel towards someone, the less connected I feel to them. Even my closest loved ones – when the compassion washes over, the detachment creeps in, and shortly thereafter the dissatisfaction and the loneliness. Obviously, I have some serious work to do.
This brings us back to wise words about compassion. “Be compassion,” is likely less about giving compassion to others and more about breeding compassion from within. And to do that, I think forgiveness of self is required. This means I have to forgive myself when I have to cancel an obligation. I have to have more compassion when I fail at doing daily living things (like getting my oil changed, making my bed, cooking). I have to let myself fuck up on tests, cry because I fucked up, and rationalize both of those events. When I get annoyed at my peers – forgive. When I am not exercising as much as I would like – compassion. When I skip class – permission. Even though everyone else around me seems to be handling it all so much better – compassion, compassion, compassion. That’s not to say that I should throw my hands up in a relativist fit and say, well, none of it matters anymore. Of course not – I still strive to improve all of those things, I still evaluate my (endless) shortcomings, I still fight and cry and struggle. But I work on decreasing the guilt, quieting the critic, and just slowing down the panic. Perhaps once I have that down, then I can spend some time figuring out the whole golden rule thing.
In Sync
The Dali Lama just left town. He spoke at several large events and, no, I did not get to see him, sadly. But I still received a bit of his wisdom indirectly – I actually think this city is moving a little more lightly since he was here. I have never met the Dali Lama, I have never seen him speak, and I have no personal experience with his wisdom or the clarity that people find in Tibetan Buddhism. But I have witnessed the effect he has on others, and it is powerful. I remember when I was in high school going to a symposium held by some top-level physicists who had met with the Dali Lama in an exchange of ideas, unsolvable problems, and solutions. They were glowing with their transformation and, through them, I was too – US history and geometry have slipped away, but I still hold on tight to what I learned there. And yesterday I was on the bus when two older women got on. They were carrying programs from one of the Dali Lama events that had just happened and the young man sitting next to me asked them how it was. Another lady joined in and a conversation between strangers ensued. Not many were talking, but everyone in ear-shot was listening. Compassion, they said, that was his message.
I don’t much believe in fate these days, but I do believe in warped moments of synchronicity. And I think that being on the bus at the same time as those shinning women was one of those moments. When they came on, I was having a rather negative conversation with one of my classmates. I don’t have a lot in common with her, so complaining about school is the only way we have found to fill the awkward bus time we share. There was a sharp, almost visible contrast between our dark, angry tone and their brighter airs and it was humbling. Suddenly I heard the words coming out of my classmates mouth and I was reminded of how awful complaining really sounds. This was a reminder to shut up and appreciate.
I don’t much believe in fate these days, but I do believe in warped moments of synchronicity. And I think that being on the bus at the same time as those shinning women was one of those moments. When they came on, I was having a rather negative conversation with one of my classmates. I don’t have a lot in common with her, so complaining about school is the only way we have found to fill the awkward bus time we share. There was a sharp, almost visible contrast between our dark, angry tone and their brighter airs and it was humbling. Suddenly I heard the words coming out of my classmates mouth and I was reminded of how awful complaining really sounds. This was a reminder to shut up and appreciate.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Returns
Long, long time ago, I started this blog. And I think I said something like, "1 post every 2 weeks, or so." Well, it's been longer than that. I've been a bit busy these days, and my mind has been more than a little dry. Or at least dry of things that belong here. I'm going to try and pick it up again, but I'm not even sure what is happening in the rest of world. If I'm supposed to write about what I know, it might be time for me to focus on medical school, medicine, and such.
In the mean time. .
Here's what I did for Spring Break:
And here's something that happened today - it's important.
We should be protesting the Olympics in China, and I'll try and get into that later.
In the mean time. .
Here's what I did for Spring Break:
And here's something that happened today - it's important.
We should be protesting the Olympics in China, and I'll try and get into that later.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Refreshing
Imagine a society that not only values happiness as much as success, but understands it as a means to productivity.
A community that sees pursuing passion in even the most obscure direction as critical to the community's survival.
Picture a place that gives folks freedom, and trusts them to make responsible decisions.
Then shake yourself and stop fantasizing.
Or don't and go work here:
A community that sees pursuing passion in even the most obscure direction as critical to the community's survival.
Picture a place that gives folks freedom, and trusts them to make responsible decisions.
Then shake yourself and stop fantasizing.
Or don't and go work here:
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
This is whimsical, with some good points thrown in there at the end.
I am less than happy with the way the media is treating Hillary. After several conversations with folks (my sister-in-law included), I have realized that she IS getting bashed, and a good 2/3 of it has to do with her gender. It makes her appear that much more attractive, really. And if I were a conspiracy theorist, I would note that maybe that's the grand plan after all: attack her so much that she gains popularity again, gets put up as the democratic candidate, and then the republicans take the election because people will actively vote against her. Now that would be some reverse psychology, Mr. Rove
I am less than happy with the way the media is treating Hillary. After several conversations with folks (my sister-in-law included), I have realized that she IS getting bashed, and a good 2/3 of it has to do with her gender. It makes her appear that much more attractive, really. And if I were a conspiracy theorist, I would note that maybe that's the grand plan after all: attack her so much that she gains popularity again, gets put up as the democratic candidate, and then the republicans take the election because people will actively vote against her. Now that would be some reverse psychology, Mr. Rove
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
The Choice
Very interesting article on what it is we are actually choosing between when we compare Obama and Clinton.
That link may not be around forever and I'm not very savvy in the ways of making things stay around on the internet, so let me know if you want to read it after it's gone (I have a copy of it I can forward to you).
That link may not be around forever and I'm not very savvy in the ways of making things stay around on the internet, so let me know if you want to read it after it's gone (I have a copy of it I can forward to you).
Corrected
I've been meaning to write this entry for a while. Usually I think of something I want to write about and I put it off in the name of focusing on my tasks at hand. And then time slips by fast and furious and the thought becomes forgotten, or more tragically, obsolete. This entry is important. It's so overdue it is now awkward, cliche, overdone, but it's still important, so I'm going to push aside relevance and say it. Short and sweet like.
I stand corrected. I was wrong. And I'm happy about it (shocking to hear/read me say that, I know).
A few weeks back I wrote an entry titled Physicianhood and talked about the lack of political engagement from folks in this country. Well, I stand corrected. The last 2 months (and really this last month) have seen an incredible surge of passion and concern from people everywhere in this country. My fellow medical students got excited about the caucus. They attended, they volunteered, they buzzed. The anticipation made it feel like Christmas morning. It's hard to know what it is. Maybe people are fed up, maybe people are scared, maybe people suddenly understand that politics really do effect their day to day lives, maybe people are inspired. Perhaps it's the fact that the image of the politician is getting reshaped. It's no longer just an older white male, entrenched and overdone. A politician can be female, it can be black, it can be young, it can be inexperienced, it can make mistakes, it can change it's mind. And a politician has the potential to be anyone. The cynic in me says it's a trend - it's the hip thing to do right now. Politicking has new faces, new controversy - those things create popularity. Those things get stale. But my optimist tells me to believe that this is the beginning of a new phase in our country's history. It's a baby step towards recognition of what it truly means to be a member of this world. And it's a motion, a small gesture towards changing our unsustainable ways.
Of course, more needs to happen. None of the candidates are putting forth proposals for real change. They are magicians, we are willfully enthralled. But maybe our country needs illusions of change before we can embrace the real thing. A model before construction, a dress rehearsal before the show.
Still, for now, I'm content, gleeful even, to be proven wrong.
I'd love to write more, but medical beckons with the crooked, scolding finger of an old lady.
I stand corrected. I was wrong. And I'm happy about it (shocking to hear/read me say that, I know).
A few weeks back I wrote an entry titled Physicianhood and talked about the lack of political engagement from folks in this country. Well, I stand corrected. The last 2 months (and really this last month) have seen an incredible surge of passion and concern from people everywhere in this country. My fellow medical students got excited about the caucus. They attended, they volunteered, they buzzed. The anticipation made it feel like Christmas morning. It's hard to know what it is. Maybe people are fed up, maybe people are scared, maybe people suddenly understand that politics really do effect their day to day lives, maybe people are inspired. Perhaps it's the fact that the image of the politician is getting reshaped. It's no longer just an older white male, entrenched and overdone. A politician can be female, it can be black, it can be young, it can be inexperienced, it can make mistakes, it can change it's mind. And a politician has the potential to be anyone. The cynic in me says it's a trend - it's the hip thing to do right now. Politicking has new faces, new controversy - those things create popularity. Those things get stale. But my optimist tells me to believe that this is the beginning of a new phase in our country's history. It's a baby step towards recognition of what it truly means to be a member of this world. And it's a motion, a small gesture towards changing our unsustainable ways.
Of course, more needs to happen. None of the candidates are putting forth proposals for real change. They are magicians, we are willfully enthralled. But maybe our country needs illusions of change before we can embrace the real thing. A model before construction, a dress rehearsal before the show.
Still, for now, I'm content, gleeful even, to be proven wrong.
I'd love to write more, but medical beckons with the crooked, scolding finger of an old lady.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Downsides
There are some things I love about medical school. These days, I talk about all of the things I dislike about medical school. There is so much to complain about: the busy work, the long hours, the anxiety, the feeling of perpetual incompetence. In truth, most of those negatives are just talking points, things we (medical students) use to keep the conversation going, things we use to mar the fantasies that others have about medical school. When one gets past the long hours and tedious studying, we are lucky to be learning such amazing things and privileged to get to enter into that sacred healer-patient relationship.
What is hard, what lacks any sort of consolation prize, are the relationships that are drastically altered. I knew before I started that there was sacrifice involved in this process. And I knew that I would change, my life would change. But I did not expect such an erosion of my friendships. Some of my conversations have become hollow and rushed, remnants of what once were full-bodied, lively relationships. Now exchanges are empty and the awkwardness is amplified by the echoes of experiences once shared. There was no natural end to the friendship, no easy fade-away. Instead, the separation was sudden, drastic. We were both pulled apart and thrown into our respective realities - neither party has had time to adjust to the changes, and we are left with a disconnect between the reality of our situation and the lingering memories of a friendship that once was. And this is pervasive - with my closest friends, my oldest friends, and my family. (Although an interesting side note is that some of my relationships (most familial) have improved since starting medical school, likely due to an increase in the level of respect afforded me - I can now be taken seriously, and, since communication was sparse B.M. (before medicine), the time constraint had no negative impact).
To clarify, I am not writing off my B.M friends, I know that my friendships will last this - the bonds are strong and those people I love are even stronger. Time and distance impact, but they do not destroy. But it is hard to watch this transformation without trying to control it. This will elicit groans, I am sure, but it is reminiscent of a doctor who has to accept that a patient will suffer before he or she will improve.
So this is one of those unexpected, slap-in-the face side effects of medical school. This is part of that change in identity that they talk about on the first day of medical school. It is hard to maintain connections with people you love while fostering new friendships in such an intense, demanding environment. And I know that these are choices I make, and I guess that’s what makes this so hard. Certainly the structure of medical school is not conducive to relationships, but I’m not a huge fan of using that as an excuse for choices I make. I used to think I was stronger than that. I guess that's why they teach us that song in preschool.
"Make new friends, but keep the old ones
One is silver and the other's gold."
What is hard, what lacks any sort of consolation prize, are the relationships that are drastically altered. I knew before I started that there was sacrifice involved in this process. And I knew that I would change, my life would change. But I did not expect such an erosion of my friendships. Some of my conversations have become hollow and rushed, remnants of what once were full-bodied, lively relationships. Now exchanges are empty and the awkwardness is amplified by the echoes of experiences once shared. There was no natural end to the friendship, no easy fade-away. Instead, the separation was sudden, drastic. We were both pulled apart and thrown into our respective realities - neither party has had time to adjust to the changes, and we are left with a disconnect between the reality of our situation and the lingering memories of a friendship that once was. And this is pervasive - with my closest friends, my oldest friends, and my family. (Although an interesting side note is that some of my relationships (most familial) have improved since starting medical school, likely due to an increase in the level of respect afforded me - I can now be taken seriously, and, since communication was sparse B.M. (before medicine), the time constraint had no negative impact).
To clarify, I am not writing off my B.M friends, I know that my friendships will last this - the bonds are strong and those people I love are even stronger. Time and distance impact, but they do not destroy. But it is hard to watch this transformation without trying to control it. This will elicit groans, I am sure, but it is reminiscent of a doctor who has to accept that a patient will suffer before he or she will improve.
So this is one of those unexpected, slap-in-the face side effects of medical school. This is part of that change in identity that they talk about on the first day of medical school. It is hard to maintain connections with people you love while fostering new friendships in such an intense, demanding environment. And I know that these are choices I make, and I guess that’s what makes this so hard. Certainly the structure of medical school is not conducive to relationships, but I’m not a huge fan of using that as an excuse for choices I make. I used to think I was stronger than that. I guess that's why they teach us that song in preschool.
"Make new friends, but keep the old ones
One is silver and the other's gold."
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Bye Bye John
Why did he drop out?
Well, there's a lot of speculation running around out there, but I found this this afternoon and thought it was a somewhat interesting analysis of the situation. Not sure I agree with all of it, but some interesting ideas.
More later, I'm off to physical therapy for my elbow.
http://onegoodmove.org/1gm/1gmarchive/2008/01/
why_john_edward.html
Well, there's a lot of speculation running around out there, but I found this this afternoon and thought it was a somewhat interesting analysis of the situation. Not sure I agree with all of it, but some interesting ideas.
More later, I'm off to physical therapy for my elbow.
http://onegoodmove.org/1gm/1gmarchive/2008/01/
why_john_edward.html
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