Brain Barf

May contain traces of nuts.

Tuesday, August 31, 2004

Tree hugging, bleeding heart shit ahead.

Why can't I just stay in my little mental hole, and not rock the boat?
I don't eat pork (fetal pigs in human biology) I don't eat red meat very often, because it is usually just gross and I don't want to be a mad cow anymore than I already am. I don't eat cats (Anatomy & Physiology) Hehe..
So I was left with chicken, turkey and fish. Sheep and goats and whatever sick things you're going to say aren't even an option.
To quote a dead man, "It's OK to fish, cause they don't have any feelings." Right? Can I at least eat fish and crustaceans? I'm not sure if that quote is from the Kurt Cobain, or the Meat puppets, forgive my ignorance.
I subscribe to a few magazines, and I actually read an article in my "Orion" last night. It was called "Crimes Unseen, the dark story of America's big slaughterhouses, and the effort to make their grim work more humane." I'm going to quote one of the milder but very profound (to me) paragraphs here.
"Mohandas Gandhi said that a nation's moral progress can be judged by the way it treats its animals. Animal behavior scientists have proven unequivocally that animals are not machines but sentinent beings that experience feelings of pain, fear, anxiety, and despair. These feelings matter to the animal and they should matter to us."
There are other paragraphs that made me physically ill(honestly), and cover my eyes and cry. But I'm going to spare you, unless you ask.
There just aren't that many options out there. If I go Vegan or vegetarian, I'm paying for child labor in third world countries, cutting down rain forests and polluting the environment by having all of the exotic out of season fruits and veggies shipped in to feed me?
I guess this is another one of those issues that there aren't any hard, true answers. You just have to do what feels right for you.
Multi-vitamins and water are on the menu today.
I'm allergic to nuts. I'm so screwed.

Sunday, August 29, 2004

MFAA Mind Fuck Addicts Anonymous.

Hi, my name is Keri, and I am a MFA. ~clap~clap~clap~ (this is where you guys say, "we love you Keri.") Hurry up, I'll wait. ;o)
I'd like to thank our President, Jo for getting our little group started.
For our first meeting of MFAA, I'd like everyone to open the lesson manuals I have supplied. OK, now let's all turn to page 210 in the current GQ Big issue. Yes, that IS Johnny Cash and Jim Morrison on the same page. ~swoon~ Ladies, you may spend the rest of the time, "studying" your manuals.
Men, you get to clean up the punch and cookies.

Homework for this week is to watch "Monty Pythons The life of Brian" This movie accurately portrays my religious thoughts.

In closing, please remember, that no-one can fuck up your mind as much as you can. It's your job, not anyone elses. Take BACK the POWER! Please be careful walking out, there are twelve steps, don't fall.

Thursday, August 26, 2004

It's a bon-fire!! Bring your Weenies!

One more time.......Lynyrd baby, that's right, I own the box set. You may bow before me now. ;o)
I went out the other night, with Radiology, Phlebotomy, Nursing, a Doctor, the lab and even human resources. It's a Thursday night thing, that I think is becoming a "safe" escape for me.
Too bad it just happens to be "Karry-no-key" night at the local watering hole. The indigenous people make me itchy.
Praise Dog that the number one rule is, what goes on there stays there, because I plead the fifth on anyone singing Black Dog, Mr. Zepplin. Nuff said. ;o)
My tastes in music are very eclectic, as are most things in my life. I'll bite if it's honest and/or talented.
If one saw my CD collection, one may think that I have multiple personality disorder. Heheh, not yet... There is still time, I'm young. ;o)
I love Big band, I love Butt rock, I love classical symphonies. I love alternative shit. I love deep south soul. I love Jazz. I even enjoy Gangsta shit now and then. I own Eminem. ~gasp~ Although, I mostly love old shit.
I am an old soul, in a fairly new, regularly abused body.
I am currently partaking of Korn. Now that's some worthwhile shit.......Perhaps because I got a letter from the "mother creature" today. I'm feeling a little, Ahem, bothered.
(OK I can barely breathe because I am so fucking pissed off, that I'm having homicidal tendencies and violent thoughts that will probably lead to burning down my guest house and all of it's contents, whilst I dance naked around the bonfire, and chant obscenities, and it pisses me off more than I can express that she can still generate these kind of emotions in me because she is SO un-worthy.) ((Yes that was a 70 word sentance, but the normal grammatical rules do not apply because it is in parenthesis, and because I am really pissed.))
I should have been wiser and not read it. Mark that down as a lesson learned. "She" put the letter in a card to my daughter, and wrote on it "give this to you mom".
I swear to Dog that "she" can sense when I am feeling down and so "she" swoops in for the low blow, and the carrion feed.
Fuck you, I refuse to play. Check mate.

P.S. To whom it may concern. I cried my brains out at Amelie. I'm not sure of your motivations at the time of sending, or what exactly it meant to you, or what it should have meant to me, but it touched me in a very sincere, deep way regardless. Dog-mas (Christmas) in August, YAY!

Tuesday, August 24, 2004

Tie Chow Ski

My Dad used to tell me when I was little, that he could tell what kind of mood I was in by the music I chose to play on the piano.
Do I even need to mention the obvious -with most of you knowing that I grew up Mormon in Utah- that I took piano lessons? (don't make me get out the 'mother daughter hand made matching ankle length dresses') Yeah, I didn't think so.
It really does substitute as therapy for me sometimes, just to sit down and pound it all out on the keys. I can resolve things right then and there sometimes.
I can go for months at a time without playing, but tonight I have aching fingers and a satiated, content, weary soul. Those ivories (I don't even dare mention the ebonies) took a smackdown from me tonight.
I gave up on sight reading a few years ago, and I mostly play by ear now, and that's more my style anyhow.
I play the drums too. I've been away from them for a bit too long, but a co-worker of mine shares the same percussional passions as I, so I hope to get back into it more soon.
So this is my solution to the audio blog thing. I can't promise that I will ever be brave enough to post my voice on an audio blog, and I can't hear yours because of my Moses and his chewing fetish. So what if I posted me playing? Would that count?
I can't guarantee that I won't screw up, or that you wouldn't hear me giggling in the background, or even that I will really do it, but how many points do I get for the thought alone?

Sunday, August 22, 2004

Football makes me horny.

Because it's MY blog and I can post whatever the hell I want, that's why.
My very favorite sport on the planet is baseball, with football coming in as a distant second. Basketball sucks, fight me. All other sports aren't even worth mentioning.
The Mariners sucked ass this year. I miss Lou and his rants. I am going to turn into an Edgar stalker (EEeeeeeedgaaaaarrrrr) when he retires this year. One of the hardest things I dealt with when moving away from Seattle was giving up my season tickets, and the peanut man, and the Superman fan, and Red Dog Beer and the Safe in general. Seriously. I'm not kidding for once.
I went to the VERY last game in the KingDome, yes I did. It was a sad day to see her fall. I was also at the first rained out game in Mariners history since 1976 when the Safeco roof refused to close. I really miss Safeco Field. :o(
One of the reasons I think I love "The Brothers K" so much is all of the yummy in my tummy baseball. (insert heart, heart, heart emoticon here)
Back to football, is the nice tight pants? Is the Neanderthal-ness, testosterone over-load and just plain maleness of if all that attracts my hetro-sexual self? Or is it really because the Mariners sucked ASS this year and I'm hoping for more from the SeaHawks? Maybe Mike Holmgren can be my pseudo Lou Pinella?
Either way, they lost their 2nd pre season game.
I seriously miss Seattle and football makes me horny. ;o)
I get back there about once a month, but it's not the same.
I miss china town and Rainier Avenue. I miss the water front. I miss the crab pot. I miss Whidbey Island my "soul-spot" where I WILL retire. I miss polite drivers. I miss Woodland Park Zoo. I miss the mini-donuts at Pikes. I miss moss. I miss the art museum. I miss Asians!!! Did you know that you can miss an entire ethnic group? I do, I really do! I miss the King Jesus disciples and their soul music. I miss Anthony's on the lake, Salty's and Ivars. I miss the Freemont Flea Market. I miss the rain. I miss Rhodies. I miss Grunge and dreadlocks and smelly hippies. I miss everything being green 12 months of the year. I miss trees! I miss North Bend and all of the ecletic freaks that live there. I miss Pioneer square. I miss Pacific beach. I miss Alki Park. I even miss slugs. It's pretty bad if you even miss slugs.
I grew up in Utah. I lived there for 2/3rds of my life. But Seattle is home. It really is home to me. I'll be baaaackkk.
Miss Moss, Pish Posh.

Saturday, August 21, 2004

Hold to the rod.

Ms. Banana made me stop and think. Ouch, that hurts, I'm not going to do that again any time soon. Pardon the smoke.
I'm am a generally a very happy person, and I feel happy.
No one besides the people who step in my brain barf, and very close friends and family ever know that I have "issues." Even they don't get the raw deal that you poor folks get here.
I think I just post my pain and problems here because I don't do it anywhere else.
If you met me tomorrow, and hadn't read my Brain Barfings, you would never know any different. That is, if you didn't notice my rash. ;o) That's not a superficial front, that's just ME in all of my white and delightsome glory.
I'm sorry you guys don't get to see all of the peaceful happy warm fuzzy shit that goes on day to day in my life.
I'm finding that I tend to fiercely guard the happy shit and my family from being a topic in my barfings. Infection control issue possibly.
So here is the best I can do for you. Pink fuzzy warm bunny thoughts for you (warm tomatoes) or playboy bunny and Jack and coke thoughts-depending upon your tastes- headed your way.
For Ms.Banana, being heard is the very most that I could ever hope for.
Side note. The snorkel was replaced with curler rods and a hair net tonight on the Jack-O-Lope.

Wednesday, August 18, 2004

My Hairy Ass.

Made ya look didn't I?
I had to take my Golden Retriever Moses (aka Hairy Ass) to the Vet.
Now me being me with all of my lovely disorders, I DO NOT go very many places besides work and family stuff, not even to the store, because I don't deal with attention/spot-light/focus on me very well at all........I usually "feel" like I'm in a fish bowl and I shut down to tunnel vision and if I'm really lucky chest pains and funky breathing.
SOO there isn't much opportunity, and I'm currently comfortable with that, but I completely got hit on today, and instead of breaking out in a rash, and/or hiding under the table, or saying something socially un-acceptable so he would run away screaming, I was flattered? ....Where the heck that came from I don't know, but it was a nice feeling. Not a normal feeling for me, but a very nice change indeed.
He was very subtle, he's one of those vets that truly loves animals.......and I've been in his office many times, and I feel comfortable there, maybe because I identify with him because he seems to be more comfortable around animals than humans.....and I'm rambling here......but he was so subtle, that it wasn't freaky. Or maybe it was that I was so worried about and focused on Moses that I just reacted without turning on my anxiety switch?
Who knows, but I liked it. Baby steps.
Moses has an ear infection. :o( My vet doesn't sell Daschund butt plugs. ;o(
The next time one of my K9's needs to go to the vet I think I'll just pin a note to his fur, push him in the door and wait in the car. (but i liked it)
Praise Petunia and pass the peas, I liked it.
"So she was turned away/ To hide her face, her lips, her guilt among the trees./ Even in their leaves, to haunt caves of the forest,/ to feed her love on melancholy sorrow/ Which, sleepless, turned her body to a shade,/ First pale and wrinkled, then a sheet of air,/ Then bones, which some say turned to thin worn rocks;/ And last her voice remained. Vanished in the forest,/ Far from her usual walks on hills and valleys,/ She's heard by all who call; her voice has life."
The Metamorphoses by Ovid.

Friday, August 13, 2004

Gazillion is a real word.

I make no claims to accuracy, this post is based on pure emotion.
I got a call from my oldest sister last Thursday with instructions to blackmail, bribe, plead, beg, borrow my way out of work for this past weekend for a get-together in Idaho at my Fathers because there would be an un-precedented amount of siblings there at one time.
I did it, and I owe, I off to......well you know the song Dopey.
I drove 7or 8 or whatever hours. I arrived at my Dad's. I did the obligatory huggy family shit. I got the key to my cabin. I planned on the standard fake happy family crap for the weekend, and boy oh boy did I get more than I bargained for.
I haven't seen my Dad in about two years. His current wife doesn't care for me much. My dad (he's my dad!) misses us. He has regrets. He went head over heals (intentional typo) trying to make up for his past mistakes. I personally am way past his mistakes because I've been too busy making my own, but what a scene, him giving a shit. KodaChrome moment.
He went way above and beyond and gave us all cabins, and planned a rafting trip, and bought us tickets to the local outdoor theater for the show, Allocating Annie".
But the main event for me, that will be permanently pressed in my mind is the rafting trip. I've gone rafting before, but that was all before I signed my "hermithood" papers and I got old.
As of this weekend I may have my hermit status revoked. Fuck it all I'm still old but still kicking.
I naively boarded the raft in "Banks" Idaho with 6 of my siblings, half siblings and step siblings and my Dad. I sat on the very back left of the raft (pardon professionals, I'm sure there are correct terms for this) and I opted for a life jacket even though it really messed up my tan lines.
The first rapid was fun, a little bit of an eye opener and I had a "conversation" with my dad about the remaining trip. Then we floated over a car. That was very comforting. In all it was about an 8 mile 2 and 1/2 hour trip, but let me cut to the chase....the very last rapid, AMF I think it was called, was great we were vertical at points, and then I thought it was over, it looked over, and I started back to paddling.
I'm in the water. I can't breath. I keep getting sucked under. Here comes another wave of water, and here I go under the raft. Who knew I liked oxygen so much? I'm resigned to swimming with the fishies, my chest is on fire and bursting, but all I can think about is my family......I'm sorry I fell off the raft......don't be mad and I tried........................................... ----------------------------------------------------------
There is a big strong hand hauling my ass out from under and into the raft. My dad. I still can't breath. I've swallowed alot of water, I still can't breath. Epiphany. Much later I finally breath, and I sob at the same time.
I have a moment. I realize that any time in my life that I have been that far down, his blue veined, huge, strong hand has been there for me. I love him.
In true Hunsaker fashion, as soon as I semi-recovered, my dad says, "you were fine, I wasn't worried about you, but then (my daughter) started looking worried and so I had to pull you in for her sake.
Take this Daddy-0. I'm writing you a letter, not an e-mail, not a voice mail, and I'm telling you how much I've learned at my job, that today is the day that I need to tell you how much I love you. Didja hear that un-spoken word in our family? LOVE. I ell oh vee eeh YOU. Take that, smackdown Dad.

My arms aren't sore like I thought they would be from rowing, but my thighs are SOOoo sore from gripping the raft that I walk funny, and I should post a pic of my right leg from hip down with the bruising and scratches and my missing toe-nails from getting my ass kicked by the Payette. My 16 year old step brother had to swim for the oar and my Teva that I lost. I'm pathetic, but Life is LIFE and it is so good.

Thursday, August 12, 2004

In my best Richard Dawson voice.....Survey Says!!!

I'm a freaking whacko.
For the first time, limited edition, where available, in surround sound, you are going to hear the voices in my head.
Dialogue form.
"Hey Keri, I'm really swamped can you pick up residents 301, 316 and 330? " Of course, no problem. (Sure, I don't mind working my ass off AGAIN on your shift so your dimpled fat ass can look good, I really fucking appreciate how you left the heavy care residents for me. I'm sure they won't mind inferior care because of your laziness.)
"Hey Sis, I moving next weekend, can you help me out?" 'Of course, no problem.' (Not that I've moved your butt 5 times in the last 2 years while your worthless lazy ass husband pursued his own dreams, and seems to only show up long enough to impregnate you, but sure what the fuck I'll sacrifice MORE of my time just to help you move, even though I know you'll be back in 2 months, and even though I know you can't and won't return the favor. I've got all the time in the WORLD.)
"Hey Mom, this dinner is totally like sick OUT!" 'I'm sorry, what can I get you?' (Grey Poupon? You're right, I really should rush around MORE and try to get a better dinner fixed before I have to go to work, Crock pot dinners are what I really really hoped to focus on more in my life, and I am already looking forward to the dishes in the sink when I get home.)
"Arf Arf Arf?" 'Of course Petunia, I'm sure you didn't mean to, you just have a weak anal sphincter.' (If you shit on my fucking rug one more time wiener vorshtel, I'm going to take your color, shape and size into consideration and send you airborne like the Dog damn football you resemble.)
"Hack, cough, snort, well ma'am, the repair bill is twice what we quoted you, and I tracked mud all through your house, and my putrid sweaty ass print is still evident on your leather sofa, and I left floater Lincoln log in your toilet so big that you will have to break it apart with your plunger to get it to flush, but we take personal checks, visa and mastercard." 'Oh shuckky darn, such is life, where do I sign?' (If you drip your nasty ass sweat anywhere else on my floor or furniture, or if another foul smell erupts from any of your orifices, or if you bend over one more time and reveal the crack, I'm taking my luck with the slot machines and inserting a quarter -sans gloved hand- into your very own personal slot machine and pulling the "lever" to just see what the fuck comes out. And if you don't have the decency to shave those nasty forlorn lost hairs, then at least braid them. Got that? Mm-Kay? and my face is up here you sick nasty indigenous black toothed pervert.)
OH Jeebus, I'm on a roll, I need to stop before I get really offensive.

In my best Jack Nicholson singing voice....~Always look on the bright side of your life~ Go sell crazy somewhere else, we're all full up here.

That last post....down there....was #30. Very tempting to stop at 30. Very VERY tempting. Maybe I should have. Maybe you wish I had. ;o)
Yet here is #31 ~sigh~
Save a shopping cart and a stray cat for me, I'm well on my way, and if I'm going to be running naked through the streets, then I had better get to the tanning beds.
Anonymous ;o)

Wednesday, August 11, 2004

Crack Whore Black

The Dogs of blog won't let me post tonight. If you're reading this, you've just blown your one lucky shot on my pathetic blog. Sorry about your lottery ticket, but I don't offer refunds. Especially when I don't have (do I ever) anything purposeful to say.
Crack Whore black.
Intentional or un-intentional.
Rooster Tail.
These are all the topics of my brain barf tonight.
Let me briefly describe my hair.
I just had about four inches cut off of it. It still comes to about the middle of my back with lotsa layers (lotsa is a word, shut-up). The majority of it is my natural color, auburn brown, with blond chunky highlights.
The underneath, the very back of my hair is dyed "crack whore black" in the words of my ever loving sister.

It is necessary for my work, to usually wear my hair up(think dingleberry). I do this with a clip in a French twist sorta way.
The point of this "Barf" is to share the comments I get from my old farts.
You've already guessed it.
"I love your hair, it looks just like a skunk!!" Or, from the perverted old man, "hey, c'mere, I really like your hair, you should wear it down" Or, "it looks better than it did yesterday." Or, "your hair is.....what color is it?" Or, "I like your hair, did you do that on purpose?" Or, "Who does your hair?" Or, "I wish I was brave enough to wear my hair like that."
Dog I love um. I even got a thank you letter from the owner of the "Jack-0-lope" today. He says he really "gets a charge" out of the jack-0-lope antics. I of course, plead innocent, even though we both know that the only time that "he" changes disguises is when I work.
It's going to suck to quit. It's going to suck, and not swallow, to not have time to even volunteer. Suck. Suck-A-Rama-Rama-ding-dong.
Suck it sucks to be a chick and give a chit. I'm considering "testosterone therapy" it seems like guys can be assholes and not give a shit any old time they wish. Don't mind my lowered voice and hairy chest, but at least the waterworks will stop.
~sigh~ Suckity suck suck suck.

Monday, August 09, 2004

The reprieve is over, put your tinfoil hats on and proceed to your closet.

I'm suing God. Fart, I don't believe in her. OK, I'll sue his self-proclaimed representative and mouthpiece, that's where the real money is anyway. I'm coming after you GBH. Damned lightening took out my post. Arrghhhh. Roar!
I'll see what I can re-assemble.
My siblings and I are very very in tune with each other. We have always needed to rely on each other emotionally.
Two of my sisters went to India, Chenai a while ago. They volunteered in an orphanage for two months. The orphanage was set up in honor of my younger sisters best friends family (didja get that?). The experiences that they brought back..... Life changing and not just for them. One sister even brought a girl back with her.
"The Dalit is not only untouchable, but also unseeable, unapprochable, unshadowable and even unthinkable." Gerri Haynes.
One of their stories that has affected me is the "Untouchables"
Just the word itself. Ten times more powerful and worse than the word "Outsiders"
I can sit here and bawl at the news all day long. It doesn't mean jack diddly, in fact, I'm just wasting water and it's even worse, because I HAVE the compassion, and I'm doing nothing with it..........make any sense? I'm starting to think that my compassion without legitimate action, is really acceptance, dissedence?
Here is the forming morsel of a dream I have.
My oldest sister is an RN with many of the same desires as myself, she also inspires me daily. My other older sister is a teacher who speaks Spanish. My younger sister is currently in Guatemala pursuing her Masters degree in "crop and soil science" with the ultimate goal of teaching self sustainability on 1 acre, in third world countries. She also speaks Spanish, Portuguese and German. Keep your pants on, I'm getting to the dream. I also have a very good friend (hi!) who is a photographer, he has an amazing eye and his photography is almost spiritual to me, (I'll ask him if I can post a link). Here comes the dream.....Even though I was told five minutes ago that it is un-realistic, selfish and that I just want to fix other peoples problems and not my own. Oh shut up already with that reality and logic crap and get OUT OF MY DREAM!! ;o)
Ahem, Oh yes, the dream.
The five of us, head off with whatever organization and plight is the most needy at the time. I'm thinking "doctors without borders, ship of hope, smiles, or a local group, Physicians for social responsibility." Anyway we all journal, we do a smidgen of good, he photographs. We make it into a book. We call attention to the chosen plight, we make enough profit to donate and to repeat the process.
I have no desire to be Mother Teresa or the likes, but if my tax dollars, If I'm funding wars and sanctions that kill 5000 children in one country alone DAILY, then maybe I have to give a little back? Maybe my taking care of the old farts and crack heads just ain't cutting it? What if I only affect on family one child in some small way? That's something. I guess if I'm going to wear my bleeding heart on my sleeve I at least have to make it work for someone else, because it's not working out so good for me.
Did I mention that I'm quitting my job soon? I'm going on call for ER for weekends only, and I'm going back to school. Nervous rash and all. I'm doing it. Lardy oh Lardy I'm doing it.
Holy fuck, Amen.

Thursday, August 05, 2004

Reprieve. No Yak butter tonight.

No Jack-0-lope update. I had the night off.
I have decided to spare all of you (the collective YOU) my brain barf tonight. It is saved as a draft. Possibly a permanent "draft".

Wednesday, August 04, 2004

Bamboo slivers under your fingernails.

Daily Jack-0-lope update. Blue John Lennon sunglasses, with pink, pearl adorned bows on his antlers and a red handkerchief around his severed neck. Next week, a "wanted" poster where he used to be. The charges being....."Identity theft". Oh Gawd I crack myself up. ~sigh~

What's it gonna take folks? Paper cuts and lemon juice? Needles in your eyeballs? Do I have to resort to torture and blackmail? I'm okay with that, you just have to let me know so I can schedule it in. :o)
I have processed and digested "The Brothers K" (David James Duncan, , where are my royalties?) for the third time. It was three times better than last time (which was two times better than the first time). I had to borrow a copy from the library, because the last few copies I've bought are circulating throughout my family and loved ones.
I'm to the point where I'm going to buy a leather bound edition, change out of my Teva's and go door to door and say, "I want to share a book with you that has changed my life."
Dave, I read your book. Jo, Woman! I know you want to. Brian, you can't stay on page 18 forever. :o)
You won't be cool if you don't. Everyone is doing it. What, are you chicken? ;o)
OK, so I really wonder if the book is SOOOoooOOOooOOO good to me, because I relate to is so well? Maybe it won't be so amazing to the next person from a non-dysfunctional family? Nah...I think not. Read it already. Get! Git ur dun!

Sunday, August 01, 2004

Pickles are the bomb!!!

Pardon, but in the words of my 10 year old, Kaiya, "Pickles are the bomb!"
The simple's all about the simple things. My chosen chat/board/blogger name is some variation of "mischievous". Apparently it's very accurate and fitting. BruuHaaHaaa.
We admitted a new resident a while ago and just by appearance alone he instantly reminded me of my Grandpa. He is a retired cop and has a silver flat top and he is still quite burly. I knocked on his door. He answered, he said in a slow stroke victim way, "I hope my guard dog didn't scare you." So I looked and there by his door was a little ceramic doxen. LOL. I brought my wiener Petunia in the next day to see him. I was a little worried that I wouldn't get her back.
The other day I noticed that he had hung up by his front door, a Jack-a-Lope. So me being me, I just can't help it, while he was out, I went and raided the activity department and the Jack-O-lope wore a "warrior bonnet" an Indian feather headdress. Tonight he wears a scuba mask, and tomorrow, thanks to the dollar store, he will wear a doctors reflector and stethoscope.
The charge nurse tells me at least once a week that I'm in the wrong field, that I care too much and that I won't make it.
I dis-agree obviously. Burn out is preferable to indifference in my book.
Watch for me on the news. I'll be the chick in scrubs with an old fart under one arm and a Jack-0-lope under the other, running as fast as my nursy white Birkenstocks can carry me.