(Somewhat Necessary, but Mostly Space-Wasting Because I'm Totally Not Prepared) NaBloPoMo Intro

Seriously, though, how did it get to be November? Every time I say this about (insert month here), I feel ancient. Like Aunt-Iris-Forgot-To-Take-Her-Aricept ancient.

I should probably say, up front, that I need NaBloPoMo like I need a literal hole in my head. If I were to say to Janet (my official Sleep Nazi), "What do I need more, something extra that will take 30-45 minutes of my day or a hole in the zipcode of, say, around mid-forehead?" she would probably reply, "I hear that holes in the head go super-well with this year's forecasted pattern-mixing trend."

I no longer ascribe to the "Sleep Is For The Weak" or the "I Can Sleep When I Die" camps of thought. Now I'm in the somewhat more mature "I Need Sleep Or Else I'm Certifiably Insane" or the more primal "I Need Sleep Or I'm Going To Cut Someone While Projectile Crying" camps.

Also, it should be mentioned, I am currently training for a marathon to be run in January. I love marathon training. I love how it feels to do 6 miles on a Wednesday night, jogging (I really don't travel fast enough to count as a "run" most of the time) past other runners in the dark (while taking all necessary safety precautions, dontworry) or running along the river under a starry sky, feeling sweat drip off my elbows after 2 miles and knowing I will be so completely soaked with sweat when I'm done. I also hate marathon training, because who --seriously, who? -- wants to use up semi-precious 2 hours to punish one's self after eleven hours of work? Who wants to not drink alcohol and eat well on Friday nights so that one can wake up early on Saturday morning and run 10 miles?

(Me. Because I have a weird boner about ridiculous goals. I'm kind of an extremist. I've kind of always been one. Most years, it seems, if I'm not doing something time consuming and goal driven, then I'm not living. Goals -- they put the breath in my lungs.)

There is a reason that I have been an inconsistent poster for the year I've been back here after the year I took off. Many reasons. A short list:

1) Grad student in scientific field of study. Unlike many other graduate programs, we actually get paid to go to school. My tuition is paid. I made $23,000 a year in the form of a living-wage stipend. In return, I am expected to work 50+ hours a week. I am expected to work nights, to work weekends. This process is exhausting, but natural -- many days I expect to be there only 8 hours, and end up spending an extra 2 or 3, getting stuff done. Joey has learned to tack on an extra 1-2 hours on any of my getting-home projections. If I say it'll take 3 hours, it will take 5. If I say 5, make it 7. It's so weird, to work through the week and "celebrate" about it being Friday, knowing you'll be in on Saturday and/or Sunday to do more work. This is not unique to my lab, to my school. It's status quo for science graduate work. 10 hour days aren't unusual. 8 hours on a Saturday really isn't either. Sometimes, it's exciting "I really want to see these results!" work. Sometimes, it's not. Either way, it's science.

2) Joey came to live with me. Adding a physical living person to the work-life balance equation is difficult. When he lived somewhere else, I could do pretty much whatever I needed to do during the week. When he would visit, it was all about him. It was easy to compartmentalize then. Obviously, the rewards of him living here wayyyy outpace the effort it takes to get home, make dinner, etc. And he is very forgiving about my extreme lack of ability in the home-making department. And very very forgiving about the time I need to spend in the lab. But having him be that forgiving makes it even more critical for me to put in the effort to spend good quality time with him. And most nights, warm-up-my-feet cuddles or watching Party Down and eating sorbet on our nest win out over writing.

3) Exercise. This may not seem like it should be a big deal, but it really is. When I'm working out 4-5 days out of the week, it really is a big time commitment. Especially the aforementioned marathon training, which can add 2-3 hours of time to each day and generally leaves me feeling pretty done for the day. Once you add in time to get ready, time to sit and refuel, time to shower, etc -- it's a lot of time. But it's certainly time I don't regret -- I marvel at how much better my brain feels with regular exercise. Exercise is the most socially acceptable form of selfishness -- I love dedicating that time to thinking, to being myself, to working out my problems. Having that time makes everything feel much smoother.

Written out like that, it makes it look like there could be no reason for me to do NaBloPoMo. But there is. One huge reason.

I love to write. I fell in love with writing in high school. Writing helped me through college. It helped me deal with an unfair situation in which I lost a job due to someone else's lies. It helped me through the worst times in my life, through crushing depression and my eventual diagnosis with bipolar disorder. It helped me through my first year of medical school, when I was still newly diagnosed and very bad at handling my new school work.

Once upon a time, I told myself that I had no time to exercise. Then, through a program in which I had to exercise (and was given tools and encouragement to do so), I found that I could make time. Now, I tell myself I have no time to write, no things to write about. So, here -- once more -- I'm going to try for NaBloPoMo.

And, I have to remind myself, I have another reason. I am good at writing. When I felt hopeless and useless in medical school, like a constant failure, the connections I made with people through my writing on this site showed me that I was good at connecting with people, and that my words here could help them. It gave me purpose, and I appreciate that too.

So, here we go. I'll see you, hopefully unscathed, in the other side.

***

Some housekeeping:

I'm doing this with two very good friends.

First: Allison at Tales from West Virginia -- my college roommate and one of my very very best friends. She is a librarian, lover of cats and generally hilarious person. Check her out!

Second: Rebekah at Dusting Myself Off -- my very oldest friend. We were born 12 days apart in the same tiny community, where her father was the pastor of my parents' church. She started her blog after she lost her job at a newspaper (she's been rehired!) and it is alternately hilarious, sweet and thought-provoking. And always incredibly well-written. She has gotten quite the nice following, I should add -- it definitely puts my blogging heydays to shame!

And, if you're new to this blog, here are a few good posts to introduce you to my writing and to me, in general:

Meditation Five: Light will Guide You Home and Ignite Your Bones

In which I dream about my medical school cadaver

On Deciding To Disclose

In which I disclose my diagnosis with bipolar disorder to my program director

The Hues and Overtones of Manic Depression

In which I talk about why I sought treatment and remain treated

I Kiss The Ring You Gave Me and I Swing With All My Might

In which I look back at the one year post-diagnosis

The Apologetic Touch

One of my few posts where I even approach explaining my best friend from medical school

Bright Young Things

The night that inspired this post is one of my best nights in all memory, which makes me feel -- probably falsely -- that this is one of my best posts ever.

The Occasionally Unbearable Heaviness Of Being

This one is about fantasizing about self-harm and suicide. Heavy, in general, but I'm guessing familiar to those who've experienced major depression.

Same In Blues

In which I discuss the phenomenon of 'instant nostalgia' and my tandem worry that I will be forgotten.