Hello my name is Bionica

Bionica is the alter ego one of dear friends has coined for me in this current unfortunate season of my life. I embrace the name and the qualities that are included within its self created persona only because the alternative consists of long sad days ruminating on my current circumstances. Bionica was born the day I broke my hand. The sky blue cast and metal hardware covering my right hand and arm might be perceived by some to be a disability but to Bionica it is a shining beacon of hope, a chance to change her life circumstances. Bionica may have to construct a makeshift claw out of a plastic bag in order to shave her left armpit but she also has oodles of time to slowly type this blog or research her bright world domineering future. Bionica may have to use every hard earned precious hour of sick and vacation leave but she will at least be able to roll and relish in the season, something that she would only have been able to graze with both of her intact appendages if circumstances were different. Bionica embraces her disability and may in fact exploit it for all of the following things; seasonal jobs, sympathy, affection, praise, attention and servant like service from her friends and family. Bionica's robotic like right arm and spirit may not be indestructible as evidenced by the snapshot of her coddling her arm in a depressive like passive stupor on the living room couch but she has the resources to rise above her circumstances in order to decorate the living room to resemble an elegant winter wonderland complete with personally one handed crafted ornaments hanging from the eerily perfect tree. Bionica forges on into a uncertain future but I cannot wait what left hand super powers she develops next.

I take Delight in Gourds

I have a confession to make, I like holidays. I don't just like them a little I like them a lot. I like having the excuse of wishing a complete stranger Happy Thanksgiving because on just a regular day I would stare awkwardly pass their shoulder pretending that they didn't exist as we rode whatever random elevator together. I look forward to watching the thanksgiving day parade even if it does just consist of large creepy dancing teddy bears and singers who lip sync songs while riding upon large extravagant floats. Side note: It also may or may not be true that during a thanksgiving parade break a commercial for the upcoming olympics accompanied by the song One Day by Matisyahu came on and it also may or may not be true that I became a little emotional. I love the huge turkey that barbeques slowly on the outside porch until it becomes golden brown and delicious. I even love that on this particular Thanksgiving my brother secretly previously drank almost all of the apple cider leaving one lone bottle for dinner. I am amused when the same bottle is opened and half the contents spill out upon the kitchen floor. I enjoy all of these moments but the thought that comforts me the most on this day is that people from all walks of life sit down together at about the same time on the same day to eat a meal together. Despite how incredibly cheesy that may sound, for one day life seems to make sense and I love it unconditionally because not a lot makes sense to me anymore.

SEASONAL LOTIONS HAVE ARRIVED

As the seasonal season approaches, I find myself quenching down the small surges of joy that arise deep within my soul as I pass the seasonal lotion display at Bath and Body Works. I know that it is all just a cheap ploy to sell more lotion but a small part of me believes that the human race in December needs to rub pumpkin spice latte all over their dry cracked winter skin. Inevitably every December, girls and a few select males build up a treasure trove of seasonal lotions that allows them to never buy lotion again for the rest of their adult lives. Unfortunately for me, I have not played my cards right. I personally have an inaccessible stash of lotions that are inconveniently located an hour and a half away from my current residence. They lie there in the dormant tomb of my childhood room for eternity. I usually never think of them. They sit cold and congealing in their plastic containers with no hope of actually being used. I imagine them gaining hope when they hear distant footsteps and then the aftermath of depression when the door remains forever unopened. They probably discuss the glory days of sitting in bright window displays watching the passing of seasonal shoppers and the touch of grandmothers reading their labels. Despite this tragic reality I inflict on innocent expired seasonal lotion bottles, I am still tempted to enter into the warmth of the current seasonal lotion display at my local mall. I want to buy the lotion that reminds me of a freshly cut Christmas tree and yes I want to give it as a gift to others who will most likely leave the unopened bottle to congeal for all of eternity. The great and shameful secret is that millions of unused gallons of seasonal lotion are probably sitting in cabinets all over America. Lotion that could soften the skin of entire third world countries. Regardless, this year I will add to my growing collection and next year I will buy more lotion at my local target. I am rich in seasonal spirit and most importantly in seasonal lotions.

The Dream?

The other day I had a dream. I did not realize it was a dream until I had the wherewithal and mental cognizance to diagnose my experience. I often find myself in this situation. Any given normal afternoon I may end up slumped over some surface in a pool of my own drool or if I'm really lucky I stumble half aware into my own bed. It is truly just a gamble where I end up. I usually vaguely recall having crazy vivid acid dropping like hallucinations that I never remember. This time I remember. There is nothing particularly remarkable about this dream. I didn't experience nirvana. I don't know the origins of the universe. I may have in fact regressed in my spiritual and emotional development thanks to this nap. Five or so minutes after entering the glorious spin zone that is my afternoon nap experience, I become acutely aware that my roommate has entered the room. I am convinced of her presence and I will not give her the satisfaction of a conversation. My nap has begun and I will let no one impede upon its glory. I keep my eyes firmly shut hoping that my comatose performance will inspire apathy and the solitude I so desire. I can sense that my roommate will not be appeased. She is restless and has decided to torture me. I can naturally decipher this fact with my comatose enhanced senses. I keep my eyes firmly shut as my gremlin-like roommate hops onto my bed and bounces up and down. I refuse to stir. She then proceeds to poke my ears. The fury explodes inside my soul. This is one action I cannot tolerate. In fact, in may be one of the most annoying practices in the history of the world. My roommate does this with the complete understanding that I am using all of my willpower to not rip her face off. I resolutely keep my eyes shut. She then feeds me an apple that has been cut up into cubes. I refuse to open my mouth to receive this mid-nap snack because I am trying to convince her that I am asleep but I eventually give in and eat cubes of apple until I am gastrically satisfied. After the apple, my roommate gives up and leaves the room. I win the battle. Hours later I wake up and realize that no one is home. I roam the halls searching for the roommate in question but I discover that I am alone. The door is locked and there is no evidence of any past human activity.

A Brief Encounter

I walked into the room with no prior knowledge and no prior judgement. I was there to be a presence and shadow for someone who needed me. I sat in my corner chair and pulled out a book. My book is my security blanket. I am never comfortable in the presence of strangers so I disappear into whatever diversion I can craft. Despite my diversion, my perception quickly filled with small observations. All who entered this room entered with a palpable sense of caution. Two police officers came to put forth their assistance. A chaplain offered up the comfort of small talk to the man I was assigned to observe. This man recognized the chaplain from his distant past and conveyed awkward thoughts of connection to bridge the expanse of time that had passed between them. All exchanges were cordial but strained. The communication was in what wasn't said.

A small sense of panic pulled in my stomach as I assembled in my mind where this man had come from. I thought the ramifications of being alone with a potentially violent criminal. I thought about the moments before when I had no fear of this man. I placed myself outside of the manufactured feeling I had created and let it dissolve. I no longer cared who my patient was or what he had done. I chose in that moment to see him as a human. I felt calm wash over my nerves. All who had interacted with my patient had a labels in their minds. I no longer cared what those labels were.

Tentatively, I put my book away and raised my eyes to the person who sat next to me. I felt incredibly vulnerable and naive. I pushed away the overwhelming impulse to grab my book and spoke. When the man responded in kind I grew bold. I offered to walk with him. Strolling through the halls of the hospital I knew that my patient could try to run, yet I had no fear of this happening. The conversation flowed. I offered what little knowledge I had and tried to encourage him. We talked of far off places in the world. He told me of his time in solitary confinement. He spoke of freedom and post traumatic stress disorder. He told me that the nicest person he had met in prison was a person who had cut up another human being and stuffed him into a car trunk. The man who had committed this unspeakable crime was one of the only people to offer friendship, advice or compassion during his entire prison sentence. I pondered how complex good and evil actually are and how interwoven they become. How can I as a new college graduate even begin to navigate the intricacy of human existence? Whom do I trust? Who do I rely on? Can I rely on anyone truly? Am I alone in this world floating randomly into obstacles that threaten to usurp me?

Today I drifted into a convicted criminal who has violent night terrors. When he left to be transferred to the locked mental ward I looked him square in the eye, shook his hand and wished him luck.

Unconcious...a State of Mind or Way of Life?

I squint my eyes trying to hone in my focus to the front of the room. My eyelids become heavy and the last conscious thought that flashes across my mind before I lose grasp on reality is, DON'T FALL ASLEEP. One, two maybe even three seconds pass. I jerk my head up as I feel a small pool of drool collect on my notes. "Damn, not again!" I think as I inconspicuously try to wipe up what has escaped from my slack mouth. I casually look at my fellow classmates trying to read the judgment in their faces. Once done surveying the fallout, I mentally slap myself and resolve to pay attention. Inevitably though, the gentle lull of my professor's voice, the click of the PowerPoint slides and the warm blanket of the room gently obscures my resolve and I fall prey to the invisible power of SLEEP.

I am still not sure whether or not I am an actual narcoleptic but being a student in the medical field has led me to diagnose myself with a whole slew of medical and psychiatric problems. Science has actually blurred the line of reality instead of sharpening the world into the black and white I so would have liked. Science deceived me! I also took an Internet sleep test and that is apparently all the evidence one needs to diagnose themselves with a serious medical condition. Will I actually ever go to a real doctor to find out? Perhaps. Until that time I dance in the grey zone never knowing when I will embarrass myself in public. I am still not entirely sure if medicine and and narcolepsy mix either.