I am an egg

Boiled, scrambled and cracked open- this is the closest I can get to define the week I have had. I started my posting in a hospital(it’s supposed to mean assisting doctors and picking up bits and pieces that help me save lives, but reality is parading the much awaited ‘white coat’-universal signature of doctors- and rethinking my life decisions and cursing TV for glorifying this profession) as part of my medical training. I always knew this profession is no piece of cake, what I didn’t expect was that your life just goes on this really long pause while everyone else just moves along. The best part, I’m just in my second year, I have like minimum 3 and half more years for a degree.  I never really had a great..or even an existing social life in the first place, but now I at least get to play the blame game. While my friends come home to doting boyfriends/girlfriends/parents and cute adorable pets, my vision always gets blurry as my eyes fill up when it lays its sight on my barely used-unjustly casted away, for no  fault of its own- bed.tired

As I tried to mend my relationship with the bed, I put aside less pivotal things, you know-eating, pooping, showering and oh, blogging. This would have never worked at home as my mother, being the gem of the person she is, and a little scary sometimes would bring down the whole house for a skipped meal. The warden of the hostel I am residing couldn’t care less about my missing excretory functions. As long as I pay for the over-priced barely edible stuff, they try to pass as food, she’s content.  I know, selfish woman.

This is basically a pathetic attempt of an apology for being so tired, lazy, homesick, bloated(refer missing gut action above) and in general absolutely uninspired to even write a decent post, one which does not involve me mentioning constipation.


5 thoughts on “I am an egg

  1. Yeah I was wondering what happened to you. 🙂 Welcome back. Though I guess you weren’t really gone. Anyway, I’ve heard hostels and places like that are rough. I have never lived in a place like that ever, but as a kid who’d read too many of Enid Blyton’s boarding school books, I wanted to so much.
    That desire left me soonish when I went out and talked to people though. 🙂


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s