…than any man can bear. Rescue me before I fall into despair. I’ll send an S.O.S. out to the world….

Random garbage spewed on the city streets today.

I hope that someone gets my message in a bottle.

Reminiscing on a night spent getting blasted out of my mind.

I think I probably wrote this somewhere else before, but I always find the month of May filled with possibilities. I have always identified it with the end of the academic year, with graduations, with confirmations, with Pentecost. The point of transition, the time when the old order slows down, and the hint of new beginnings tantalizes.

I have developed the habit of coming home from work and making a beeline to my bed. I seem to be running out of gas much too early these days.

Before work today, one of my chief residents was on one of the alternative music stations in town, which was bizarre and very cool. She won an hour to guest DJ and she broadcast her own playlist.

The funny thing is that, despite my lack of organization, despite my disdain of long-term plans and schedules, my dislike of homogenous order, my claustrophobia in the face of structure, I am, deep-down inside, a control freak.

I just read this post about depression by alison on bluishorange, and I am so there.

I don’t know if it’s just the psychotropic drugs, but I feel like I’m evading something lurking in my brain. Something that I’ve tried to face down head-to-head, only to find myself defeated each and every time. So like the coward that I am, I’ve decided to try to just runaway from it and ignore it.

There is a good kind of tired, and a bad kind. The good kind lets you know that you had a good, full day, that you were productive, that you made fairly decent choices. The bad kind is like getting kicked in the face after you’ve already been shot a few hundred times. (I am thinking of the Jersey tollbooth scene in “The Godfather” with James Caan.)

It finally occurred to me (or I just remembered) who I'm writing this for. Me.

No, I haven't watched it yet, so there aren't any spoilers. I just read the review in the L.A. Times from yesterday, and it seems like it would be very much my movie, the way, I suppose, I got obsessed with "Beauty and the Beast", even.

And I thought Bruno Mars was ripping off the Police. Check this out.

Thinking about the last three months, it's kind of crazy how much has happened to me.