Burnt Out

Is what I am in the last stretch of 2nd year. I'm struggling to care, to be honest... And whenever I get to that point I remember how much nicer life was when all I wanted was to be a writer, and how I never write anymore. And then random words come into my head, such as:

I’ve been shedding stories like fish scales, or perhaps
hair from the back of an animal
on the right season.
Carpeting the spaces that I know are yours
and wondering
if some will surreptitiously stick
or if their gritty feel on the ground
will cause them to end up in a dust pan
piled up among dirt and scraps.
Unheard.

My blog-- now the random repository for my 12 a.m. slightly less than inspired words. I like it!

My new friend

The above picture represents:

a. an attempt to make med school a little happier

b. Xavi's sad lack of friends

c. a way to procrastinate on delving deeper into the wonders of the pancreas

d. a and b but not c

e. all of the above

Foreplay and needles

What's new in my life...

1) I've decided moving to Brazil makes far more sense than med school. I'll become a capoeira master and/or beach bum and I will stop looking so sickly pale. (It all has to do with Ceu. If you don't know who she is, look her up)
2) Next year, I'm gonna be touring the NW. Kinda exciting, kinda scary.
3) A photo, just for fun:

Mami y Abuela

4) I've been trying to think of the way to write this. What follows is a first attempt. It'll probably change quite a bit in the coming days.

The needle didn’t feel good in my arm.
It wasn’t a movie scene or my neighbor’s life
Where a sharp stab into my vein would precede
a freedom from the pain,
But instead
I was being drained
3 vials worth or maybe 2
With a small sting at the start and end of things
And this was foreplay.