Within a span of a few months, I lost three people who were important to me. First and foremost, my grandmother, who towards the end of her life seemed to have lost the capacity to be around other people, and instead, pushed everyone away for reasons that remain a mystery to me. She denied herself care, she denied herself comfort, and she denied herself support--all of which was offered to her.
Next, of course, was my best friend, the LSU Professor, who unfriended me on Facebook because I sent him an email saying, "I just don't have anything to say" recently after my grandmother's death. I thought that was an immature, hurtful stunt, and I have found myself unable to forgive him for it.
Obviously, Morpheus would be included in this, and I have found myself going over the last emails he sent me (only in my mind, not literally), and have found no real evidence that could support any firm conclusion. They just don't make any sense in my mind. Last night, I had a dream about him. I was so happy to see him (in the dream). It's as if whenever I'm around him, I'm always in a dream (hence the name "Morpheus"). I realize now that maybe those emails will be the last conversation we will ever have, and that somehow ten years of a relationship (however you want to define it) will come down to this.
Honestly, even though I believe he is a selfish bastard, he's still the love of my life.
Wednesday, February 28, 2018
Monday, February 26, 2018
If My Night's Labours Should Be Burnt
"I feel assured I should write from the mere yearning and fondness I have for the Beautiful even if my night's labours should be burnt every morning and no eye ever shine upon them. But even now I am perhaps not speaking from myself; but from some character in whose soul I now live--"
--John Keats
--John Keats
The Woes of Microbiology, Part Three (Why I was not Comparing myself to Bill Gates)
Dear Readers:
I realized that my entry made no sense, and that the jump from Bill Gates to my B in Microbiology didn't "compute."
I'm not comparing myself to Bill Gates in any way, but the main point of the social psychology's textbook (at least in that chapter) was that people who believe that hard work and effort brings about good grades perform better in college than people who believe in innate ability that will carry them through. The book also mentioned that Asian students spend a lot more time studying than American students.
People are often also afraid to know exactly how smart they are, so often times they "self-handicap." They find all sorts of outside reasons why they couldn't study enough, etc.
I realized that my entry made no sense, and that the jump from Bill Gates to my B in Microbiology didn't "compute."
I'm not comparing myself to Bill Gates in any way, but the main point of the social psychology's textbook (at least in that chapter) was that people who believe that hard work and effort brings about good grades perform better in college than people who believe in innate ability that will carry them through. The book also mentioned that Asian students spend a lot more time studying than American students.
People are often also afraid to know exactly how smart they are, so often times they "self-handicap." They find all sorts of outside reasons why they couldn't study enough, etc.
The Nightmare
"Being in [the Desert] was more important to her than being with her family," my mother says about her mother.
Sunday, February 25, 2018
The Woes of Microbiology, Part II (It Isn't All Bad News)
My Social Psychology textbook would like to lead you to believe that Bill Gates was a product of his environment, that he had unusual access to computers, even to a "keyboard system" before it was widely used, and the ability to use the computer lab at University of Washington, opportunities that many, many children did not, and that by the time Gates was a teenager, he probably had more programming experience than any other youngster in the United States. He wasn't a gifted genius, he wasn't even special, he was a rapid combination of "dumb" luck. What they really don't make much notice of is the fact that something inside of him compelled him to use this computer lab at University of Washington, even though it was only available to him from 3 a.m. to 6 a.m. in the morning. He was, I would say, unusually dedicated to the craft. That, at least in my eyes, makes him remarkable. His mom complained, apparently, that she couldn't wake him up in the mornings for school, because why? He was sneaking away to study programming at an university.
And we all know what happened. Despite the lack of sleep, he still managed to keep up the grades well enough to make it into Harvard--not that it mattered.
On my second midterm in Microbiology, I scored a little over 84%, which is remarkable. Most of the time, you don't get a jump from a D to a B from one test to the next.
I told my mother that I've decided to go to medical school, something I've wanted to do since I was about ten years old. Most of the prerequisites I can get here at the community college (I will have to take biochem at an University, along with histology and others).
What's interesting about Microbiology? Since it's made for nursing students (we have one student who is pre-vet), it's focused on clinical studies, and this next exam is all about pathogens--disease-producing germs, which is fun. My very first interest in medicine, as a young child, was in food-borne illness, infectious diseases.
At least for the state of California, for the year 2017, accepted medical students had an average GPA of 3.71, and for their science courses, it was around 3.6. I find it odd that the science course GPA was lower than the overall GPA, but that probably speaks to how rigorous the program is.
And we all know what happened. Despite the lack of sleep, he still managed to keep up the grades well enough to make it into Harvard--not that it mattered.
On my second midterm in Microbiology, I scored a little over 84%, which is remarkable. Most of the time, you don't get a jump from a D to a B from one test to the next.
I told my mother that I've decided to go to medical school, something I've wanted to do since I was about ten years old. Most of the prerequisites I can get here at the community college (I will have to take biochem at an University, along with histology and others).
What's interesting about Microbiology? Since it's made for nursing students (we have one student who is pre-vet), it's focused on clinical studies, and this next exam is all about pathogens--disease-producing germs, which is fun. My very first interest in medicine, as a young child, was in food-borne illness, infectious diseases.
At least for the state of California, for the year 2017, accepted medical students had an average GPA of 3.71, and for their science courses, it was around 3.6. I find it odd that the science course GPA was lower than the overall GPA, but that probably speaks to how rigorous the program is.
The Problems of Life, Which No One Really Cares About
My GP explained to me the last time I saw him that he was "uncomfortable" prescribing me opioids, which is not news. He asked that I see a pain management specialist.
There is, of course, this debate, and it surrounds the idea of pain being the "fifth vital sign" (I forget what organization started this action, but at Stanford, they take your blood pressure, your temperature, and then ask you your pain level, every few hours, no matter what the previous results were). Many people believe that adding pain as a "sign" is contributing to the opioid abuse crisis.
The issue is that about 100 million people in the United States, roughly 1/3 of the population will deal with chronic pain at some point in their lives. Not all of these people will require opioids to deal with their pain, but many might have pain severe enough to warrant a prescription.
Pretending that people aren't in pain by refusing to treat the pain is misguided, and even in some cases, unethical.
Why do we prescribe so many opioids? Well, a lot of people are in pain, that's why. Are some doctors over-prescribing? Yes, and we have research to back that up--but--a lot of people are in pain.
Back to my case, specifically, I am on several pain medications, Cymbalta (which doesn't work very well), gabapentin (which works in reducing pain), and then, of course, Norco #5. The problem is, the pain is going up, and the effectiveness of the Norco #5 is going down (probably a mixture of yes, the pain going up, and then the nature tolerance that occurs since I've been taking opioids now for a year straight).
Honestly, no one seems to care enough to intervene. If I went to my GP, and I was honest with him, and said that the pain is severe enough that I'm missing class because of it, he wouldn't do anything. I've been on the waiting list for Stanford Pain Management Clinic for months, and was just told recently that they are booked until April, and that there is a small possibility that I could be seen in May. In the mean time, I don't have enough Norco to adequately treat my pain.
On March 6, I'm seeing yet another pain management specialist, but I am not holding out any particular hope that he will listen to me carefully, and take me seriously, that I have fibromyalgia.
In the Defeat by Only One
"The triumph over many can get lost in the defeat by only one."
--Social Psychology, by Gilovich, Keltner, Chen, and Nisbett, pg. 167
--Social Psychology, by Gilovich, Keltner, Chen, and Nisbett, pg. 167
Monday, February 19, 2018
Living the Fat Life, Part II
"I want you to join a weight loss group, because you haven't been able to lose the weight on your own," The Neurologist says.
I've only been overweight for a year and a half out of thirty-four years of life, yet she acts like this has been a life long problem. Haven't been able to do it on your own.
I've only been overweight for a year and a half out of thirty-four years of life, yet she acts like this has been a life long problem. Haven't been able to do it on your own.
Wordsworth
"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:"
--William Wordsworth, "Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood"
--William Wordsworth, "Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood"
Thomas Gray
"I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear
And weep the more because I weep in vain."
--Thomas Gray, "Sonnet on the Death of Richard West"
And weep the more because I weep in vain."
--Thomas Gray, "Sonnet on the Death of Richard West"
Sunday, February 18, 2018
Living the Fat Life [REVISED]
In Secrets From the Eating Lab, Dr. Mann states that eating 1,500 calories a few decades ago was considered starving yourself (scientists did a study with conscientious objectors to the Vietnam war, who submitted themselves to a diet of only 1,500 calories, and lost an average of 25% of their body weight over a period of six months, and they called the study, guess what?, starvation study, in order to learn more about what POW's endure)--today, it's considered a sensible diet.
In fact, one of the doctors at Stanford (whom I no longer work with) told me to eat 1,500 calories per day, and that if I did so, I would, of course, lose weight. The diet app I'm using tells me to eat 1,500 calories per day, and that I'm currently eating over 3,500 calories per day in order to maintain my body weight. Which may or may not be true.
The Neurologist suggested that I join "Overeaters Anonymous" because it's support, and it's free.
"OA believes that compulsive eating is a threefold disease: physical, emotional and spiritual, which, like alcoholism and drug abuse, can be arrested, but not cured."
I have major problems with that philosophy. How is being obese a problem with my relationship with God? If you want to take a much broader idea of spirituality, fine--but still, I get headaches thinking about it.
Obesity is probably a very complex problem. But, thanks to Dr. Mann, I believe it is at least in part a social problem. We encourage people to eat. Not only eat, but eat a lot. And then, we blame them when they do. We shame them when they do. I blame to a large extent advertising and the ubiquitous messages that we receive every single fucking day. You can't get away from food, even if you wanted to. Then, we have evolution, which says to eat while the gettin' is good (and, thankfully because of agricultural and technological advancements, that good is good all the time in our country). Not only are we programmed to eat when food is plentiful, but we are programmed to save it in our thighs, and in our stomachs (depending on the person and biological gender) until the last possible moment because there will come a famine, I know there will. And then, I read this, we are programmed to hate exercise because exercising means losing that hard-earned weight we scavenged for. I won't even get into the side effects of many medications of weight gain, which doctors don't understand (no one can explain to me why Seroquel causes weight gain). And we're beginning to see the complicated relationship we have with the microbes in our gut, how they might even affect our behavior, and our cravings for sweets, and how easy or how difficult it might be to lose weight.
The weird part is, which most people don't understand, I have a diet better than 90% of Americans. I can't remember the last time I had a piece of bread (although I do occasionally have pasta, and yes, I had rice with my sushi). My parents simply don't keep processed foods around in the house, although we have a bag of chips and a bag of popcorn that no one eats but occasionally (for the most part, I don't eat that either). My father does the cooking, and he always includes a vegetable and protein. Sometimes, he fries a piece of fish. For snacks, we have nuts. For breakfast, I eat fresh berries and low-fat, plain yogurt and then almonds mixed in. For lunch, depending on the day, I have a salad. In fact, I'm eating a salad right now that I bought at Costco.
My problem is, and it's quite obvious, I have a bowl of Dove milk chocolate candies on the counter in the kitchen. I gave up ice cream, and then a few days later, I found myself buying Valentine's candy.
I started eating healthier because I realized something that may or may not be true (researchers don't even know): what creates the link between obesity and certain diseases? (say, metabolic syndrome?)
Is it the fact that someone who is obese has a lot of adipose tissue?
Or is it the fact that this same person is relatively sedentary compared to his/her thinner comparisons and/or is it the fact that this same person has a less healthy diet compared to his/her thinner comparisons?
Maybe being fat kills, but maybe living the fat life kills.
I guess we'll find out.
In fact, one of the doctors at Stanford (whom I no longer work with) told me to eat 1,500 calories per day, and that if I did so, I would, of course, lose weight. The diet app I'm using tells me to eat 1,500 calories per day, and that I'm currently eating over 3,500 calories per day in order to maintain my body weight. Which may or may not be true.
The Neurologist suggested that I join "Overeaters Anonymous" because it's support, and it's free.
"OA believes that compulsive eating is a threefold disease: physical, emotional and spiritual, which, like alcoholism and drug abuse, can be arrested, but not cured."
I have major problems with that philosophy. How is being obese a problem with my relationship with God? If you want to take a much broader idea of spirituality, fine--but still, I get headaches thinking about it.
Obesity is probably a very complex problem. But, thanks to Dr. Mann, I believe it is at least in part a social problem. We encourage people to eat. Not only eat, but eat a lot. And then, we blame them when they do. We shame them when they do. I blame to a large extent advertising and the ubiquitous messages that we receive every single fucking day. You can't get away from food, even if you wanted to. Then, we have evolution, which says to eat while the gettin' is good (and, thankfully because of agricultural and technological advancements, that good is good all the time in our country). Not only are we programmed to eat when food is plentiful, but we are programmed to save it in our thighs, and in our stomachs (depending on the person and biological gender) until the last possible moment because there will come a famine, I know there will. And then, I read this, we are programmed to hate exercise because exercising means losing that hard-earned weight we scavenged for. I won't even get into the side effects of many medications of weight gain, which doctors don't understand (no one can explain to me why Seroquel causes weight gain). And we're beginning to see the complicated relationship we have with the microbes in our gut, how they might even affect our behavior, and our cravings for sweets, and how easy or how difficult it might be to lose weight.
The weird part is, which most people don't understand, I have a diet better than 90% of Americans. I can't remember the last time I had a piece of bread (although I do occasionally have pasta, and yes, I had rice with my sushi). My parents simply don't keep processed foods around in the house, although we have a bag of chips and a bag of popcorn that no one eats but occasionally (for the most part, I don't eat that either). My father does the cooking, and he always includes a vegetable and protein. Sometimes, he fries a piece of fish. For snacks, we have nuts. For breakfast, I eat fresh berries and low-fat, plain yogurt and then almonds mixed in. For lunch, depending on the day, I have a salad. In fact, I'm eating a salad right now that I bought at Costco.
My problem is, and it's quite obvious, I have a bowl of Dove milk chocolate candies on the counter in the kitchen. I gave up ice cream, and then a few days later, I found myself buying Valentine's candy.
I started eating healthier because I realized something that may or may not be true (researchers don't even know): what creates the link between obesity and certain diseases? (say, metabolic syndrome?)
Is it the fact that someone who is obese has a lot of adipose tissue?
Or is it the fact that this same person is relatively sedentary compared to his/her thinner comparisons and/or is it the fact that this same person has a less healthy diet compared to his/her thinner comparisons?
Maybe being fat kills, but maybe living the fat life kills.
I guess we'll find out.
Saturday, February 17, 2018
"I Will Be Filing A Student Incident Report..."
--My History Professor via message, referring to another student, who verbally attacked me during class on Wednesday.
I don't know, it was just one of those days.
Here's what happened.
The afternoon before, I decided to include some running and weight lifting in my program at the gym, even though I was told by doctors not to do that (but my physical therapist said it was okay, so, whom to believe?). Doctors say only yoga and walking for people with fibromyalgia, and for me, specifically, I'm not to exercise more than 30 minutes per day (which I ignore). So, here I am, sweating, running, and noticing that a lot of thin, beautiful women are at the gym, wandering around aimlessly in shorts and tight t-shirts, listening to music, and none of them are--actually exercising? Did they get thin by exercising, hence showing up to the gym, but then realized that they were thin, and didn't need to exercise, but felt guilty for not exercising, so they show up to the gym to pretend to exercise???
I wake up the next morning, getting ready for history class, and I quickly realize that I hurt from my neck all the way to my feet, and that this is an extreme amount of pain, even for me. Pills, lots and lots of pills.
I'm high, but still somewhat functional, and I show up to history class, and I talk about watching the movie Lincoln with the professor as everyone is settling in, which will change the average person's perception of Lincoln. He wasn't exactly as idealistic as we all would like to think he was (which I didn't know until I took History 207A with the same professor as I have now in History 207B). In fact, your average Northerner Senator during that time period was actually quite racist, although a few "Radical Republicans" did exist--but--
I ask my usual amount of questions since we're talking about Western expansion, and that's interesting, right? We're discussing the railroad, and cattle, and farming, and all that fun shit--and maybe I'm being more annoying than usual, who knows, right? When, in the middle of one of my questions, one of the girls in the back, who I never get a good look at her, bursts into a sort of rage about how many questions I've been asking, "Like it's been eight or nine by now, not even five or six! I'm paying for this class too, you know!" And she goes on and on.
I'm sitting there, a bit stunned (the entire episode is caught on my voice recorder if anyone is interested in listening to the entire thing).
The professor replies that she decides which questions are appropriate for the time allotted, and that my questions are on topic.
And still, the girl won't stop loudly talking from the other side of the room.
I get up to leave.
"Please don't leave, [Jae]," my professor says.
"No, I need to go." I really don't see the point in staying and listening to this since she doesn't show any sign of slowing down.
"You're not going to listen to what I have to say?!? I have a right to my opinion!" The girl continues.
"Come and see me, okay?" The professor says to my back as I'm headed out the door.
I give a weak "okay" on my way out.
I grab Beck, and leave the classroom, somewhat relieved because this day has just gotten shorter. And shorter means the sooner I can go home, and lie on my bed in comfort.
When I tell my mother the story, she asks why I let a bully run me out of the classroom. In reality, I'm not sure why I left, other than I couldn't think of a good response that wasn't rude or aggressive. I mean, a "fuck you" is not appropriate for a class setting. To just sit there and silently take it seems too docile and weak. You can't get into a screaming match with an irate, irrational nineteen-year-old on the other side of the room.
About an hour after class ended, a random classmate sent me a message, the title of which was "We Support You!", and it was, indeed, a supportive message. She commented that she found my questions helpful with understanding the material (which was nice to hear).
In the message, the professor tells me that I can file an incident report too. My mother thinks that I should since the girl's actions were severe enough to cause me such discomfort that I had to leave the room. I understand that point of view, but as I told my professor via the messaging system, the young woman did not engage in the legal definition of hate speech--she didn't disparage me by my gender nor by my disability. She did not threaten me physically. I said that if she approach me privately, and did so, I would not hesitate to go to the campus police. But as it stands, I will take no further action. If she continues to be a disturbance in the classroom, I told the professor that I knew she would handle it properly and swiftly.
All-in-all, I walked around in a haze (could have been the drugs, who knows?) for a few days afterwards. The next morning, because of the pain and lack of motivation, I missed another English class (I've now missed three lectures). I attended Microbiology lecture, but then missed lab because the pain was too great to sit in a chair for three hours.
It's interesting that when I sat down with my Microbiology professor and talked with him privately for about an hour on Wednesday (immediately after the drama-filled history class), he mentioned that he knew from my questions in class that I understood the material. He didn't mind the questions at all; in fact, at times, he seemed to rather enjoy them.
I have no idea what I'm going to do when I sit down in history class again. I have a feeling in my gut that this girl, whoever she is, I only have her first name, that she's not going to be quiet. Perhaps this is only my cynical nature speaking.
I've considered dropping the class (it's the only class I'm taking this semester that I don't need to graduate), but kind of message is that sending to not only myself but also other people?
I don't know, it was just one of those days.
Here's what happened.
The afternoon before, I decided to include some running and weight lifting in my program at the gym, even though I was told by doctors not to do that (but my physical therapist said it was okay, so, whom to believe?). Doctors say only yoga and walking for people with fibromyalgia, and for me, specifically, I'm not to exercise more than 30 minutes per day (which I ignore). So, here I am, sweating, running, and noticing that a lot of thin, beautiful women are at the gym, wandering around aimlessly in shorts and tight t-shirts, listening to music, and none of them are--actually exercising? Did they get thin by exercising, hence showing up to the gym, but then realized that they were thin, and didn't need to exercise, but felt guilty for not exercising, so they show up to the gym to pretend to exercise???
I wake up the next morning, getting ready for history class, and I quickly realize that I hurt from my neck all the way to my feet, and that this is an extreme amount of pain, even for me. Pills, lots and lots of pills.
I'm high, but still somewhat functional, and I show up to history class, and I talk about watching the movie Lincoln with the professor as everyone is settling in, which will change the average person's perception of Lincoln. He wasn't exactly as idealistic as we all would like to think he was (which I didn't know until I took History 207A with the same professor as I have now in History 207B). In fact, your average Northerner Senator during that time period was actually quite racist, although a few "Radical Republicans" did exist--but--
I ask my usual amount of questions since we're talking about Western expansion, and that's interesting, right? We're discussing the railroad, and cattle, and farming, and all that fun shit--and maybe I'm being more annoying than usual, who knows, right? When, in the middle of one of my questions, one of the girls in the back, who I never get a good look at her, bursts into a sort of rage about how many questions I've been asking, "Like it's been eight or nine by now, not even five or six! I'm paying for this class too, you know!" And she goes on and on.
I'm sitting there, a bit stunned (the entire episode is caught on my voice recorder if anyone is interested in listening to the entire thing).
The professor replies that she decides which questions are appropriate for the time allotted, and that my questions are on topic.
And still, the girl won't stop loudly talking from the other side of the room.
I get up to leave.
"Please don't leave, [Jae]," my professor says.
"No, I need to go." I really don't see the point in staying and listening to this since she doesn't show any sign of slowing down.
"You're not going to listen to what I have to say?!? I have a right to my opinion!" The girl continues.
"Come and see me, okay?" The professor says to my back as I'm headed out the door.
I give a weak "okay" on my way out.
I grab Beck, and leave the classroom, somewhat relieved because this day has just gotten shorter. And shorter means the sooner I can go home, and lie on my bed in comfort.
When I tell my mother the story, she asks why I let a bully run me out of the classroom. In reality, I'm not sure why I left, other than I couldn't think of a good response that wasn't rude or aggressive. I mean, a "fuck you" is not appropriate for a class setting. To just sit there and silently take it seems too docile and weak. You can't get into a screaming match with an irate, irrational nineteen-year-old on the other side of the room.
About an hour after class ended, a random classmate sent me a message, the title of which was "We Support You!", and it was, indeed, a supportive message. She commented that she found my questions helpful with understanding the material (which was nice to hear).
In the message, the professor tells me that I can file an incident report too. My mother thinks that I should since the girl's actions were severe enough to cause me such discomfort that I had to leave the room. I understand that point of view, but as I told my professor via the messaging system, the young woman did not engage in the legal definition of hate speech--she didn't disparage me by my gender nor by my disability. She did not threaten me physically. I said that if she approach me privately, and did so, I would not hesitate to go to the campus police. But as it stands, I will take no further action. If she continues to be a disturbance in the classroom, I told the professor that I knew she would handle it properly and swiftly.
All-in-all, I walked around in a haze (could have been the drugs, who knows?) for a few days afterwards. The next morning, because of the pain and lack of motivation, I missed another English class (I've now missed three lectures). I attended Microbiology lecture, but then missed lab because the pain was too great to sit in a chair for three hours.
It's interesting that when I sat down with my Microbiology professor and talked with him privately for about an hour on Wednesday (immediately after the drama-filled history class), he mentioned that he knew from my questions in class that I understood the material. He didn't mind the questions at all; in fact, at times, he seemed to rather enjoy them.
I have no idea what I'm going to do when I sit down in history class again. I have a feeling in my gut that this girl, whoever she is, I only have her first name, that she's not going to be quiet. Perhaps this is only my cynical nature speaking.
I've considered dropping the class (it's the only class I'm taking this semester that I don't need to graduate), but kind of message is that sending to not only myself but also other people?
Friday, February 16, 2018
Am I An Asshole Part III
When I tell my mother that the Neurologist wants me to join a weight loss program (which makes its money on the idea that you will lose weight only to regain it), my mother tells me that she will pay for it. Then she adds, "But do you really need someone to tell you how to eat right? You know how to eat right."
I complain that Noom wants $148 for an eight month program (they explain that it will take eight months for me to lose 72 pounds in which my BMI will then be around 21). "You know what I had to eat today?"
"You starve yourself, and then you gorge...Just reduce your portion sizes, and you will lose the weight."
Right, because someone will wave a magic wand, and I'll weight 130lbs again. And, by the way, I am a recovering bulimic.
I complain that Noom wants $148 for an eight month program (they explain that it will take eight months for me to lose 72 pounds in which my BMI will then be around 21). "You know what I had to eat today?"
"You starve yourself, and then you gorge...Just reduce your portion sizes, and you will lose the weight."
Right, because someone will wave a magic wand, and I'll weight 130lbs again. And, by the way, I am a recovering bulimic.
Am I An Asshole? Part II
I told my mother the story about my social psychology professor, and she says to me, "Well, you have been acting selfish lately."
Am I An Asshole? Maybe
Perhaps it should be noted that my social psychology professor has a Ph.D. in social rejection.
I was waiting for my History professor (who I have developed a minor crush on, and have considered asking her if she's gay or bi, but always talk myself out of it) because I have been missing a lot of class thanks to the Stanford team being concerned that the stress of the semester is making me sick (and yet, missing lectures is their answer).
I notice my very thin and very pale social psychology professor is walking into her office. I walk over to her door, and ask her if she's busy, if we can talk for a moment.
"It would be better if we could talk in the afternoon, but you said you have class," she says.
I explain my class schedule again.
"So, go ahead."
I ask a couple of questions about the upcoming midterm, and then a question about the last chapter we covered. Finally, feeling like this question has to be answered, "Do you find my questions annoying?"
She's not looking at me when she answers that they're usually not on topic, and that she has to get through her lecture material, etc.
"I'm not saying this to make you feel uncomfortable, but--" I pause slightly. "Why don't you like me?"
She just stares at me with those big, brown eyes. I notice how large her eyes are. She is pretty in her own way. I wonder briefly if she might be gay or bi. Then, she starts to cry. "I don't know what I did to make you think that--that you would think that--I never thought that--I hardly know you--"
Oh, shit. "I'm sorry. Obviously, this is my mistake. This is about me, okay? This isn't about you."
She nods her head, but she is still trying to control her emotions. She's trying not to cry. "I don't want hard feelings on either side, okay?"
"Sure."
"Let's hug."
We hug.
I was waiting for my History professor (who I have developed a minor crush on, and have considered asking her if she's gay or bi, but always talk myself out of it) because I have been missing a lot of class thanks to the Stanford team being concerned that the stress of the semester is making me sick (and yet, missing lectures is their answer).
I notice my very thin and very pale social psychology professor is walking into her office. I walk over to her door, and ask her if she's busy, if we can talk for a moment.
"It would be better if we could talk in the afternoon, but you said you have class," she says.
I explain my class schedule again.
"So, go ahead."
I ask a couple of questions about the upcoming midterm, and then a question about the last chapter we covered. Finally, feeling like this question has to be answered, "Do you find my questions annoying?"
She's not looking at me when she answers that they're usually not on topic, and that she has to get through her lecture material, etc.
"I'm not saying this to make you feel uncomfortable, but--" I pause slightly. "Why don't you like me?"
She just stares at me with those big, brown eyes. I notice how large her eyes are. She is pretty in her own way. I wonder briefly if she might be gay or bi. Then, she starts to cry. "I don't know what I did to make you think that--that you would think that--I never thought that--I hardly know you--"
Oh, shit. "I'm sorry. Obviously, this is my mistake. This is about me, okay? This isn't about you."
She nods her head, but she is still trying to control her emotions. She's trying not to cry. "I don't want hard feelings on either side, okay?"
"Sure."
"Let's hug."
We hug.
Am I just in a bad mood?
Apparently the district manager of the Starbucks around here, well, she came up to me, and told me that my dog, Beck, was blocking the way to the bathroom for the customers, and she had to be moved.
I wanted to tell her that in a store this small, and a dog this big, that no matter where I put Beck, she was going to be in the way--and then I wanted to cry--DISCRIMINATION!
I HAVE MY RIGHTS, DAMNIT!
I wanted to tell her that in a store this small, and a dog this big, that no matter where I put Beck, she was going to be in the way--and then I wanted to cry--DISCRIMINATION!
I HAVE MY RIGHTS, DAMNIT!
Sunday, February 11, 2018
The Woes of Social Psychology, and Why Amara Should Be in the Class With Me
I feel like, in general, my social psychology professor doesn't like me. Sometimes she ignores me outright (I admit that I ask annoying, somewhat philosophical questions that would take up the entire class period to answer, but alas), sometimes she gives negative feedback like, "but that's not really answering the question."
For instance, we were given a problem. Suppose there was a baby, who never saw another human being. Who grew up on a desert island (she meant deserted, but never mind). Who had food, water, and shelter and survived to adulthood, would this person, this human being have a sense of self?
As a class, we decided that the human would have self-awareness. He/she/it would look into a pool of water, and recognize that yes, that is me. However, would he/she/it know anything beyond that?
(I immediately thought of Tarzan during this discussion, but didn't mention it).
Now, realize, this person wouldn't know language, at least, we think she/he/it wouldn't know. But I suspected that yes, this human would have language, just not anything recognizable by us. He/she/it would know--that's a tree. That's a rock. That's something separate from me (my social psychology professor argued that that is vocabulary, not language, something very different).
About thirty minutes after class, after everyone decided that the person wouldn't have a sense of self because self comes from other people, I realized something big from being around a bunch of cognitive behavioral therapists at Stanford. Our sense of self is constantly regenerating despite our self because we are constantly talking to ourselves--about ourselves. In depressives it's called rumination. In normal people, well, it's just consciousness. Even if I never met another person, I would still have thoughts about myself, the content would just be different. I wouldn't be able to compare myself to my social psychologist, by saying, "She's thinner than I am. She's smarter than I am." I would say something similar like "blah, ah, eh..." Etc. I don't think being alone can stop us from talking about ourselves to ourselves. It's like breathing. Try to stop thinking. It's impossible.
I wish someone would lean over, and say, "Great idea, [Jae]." And then shake my hand.
For instance, we were given a problem. Suppose there was a baby, who never saw another human being. Who grew up on a desert island (she meant deserted, but never mind). Who had food, water, and shelter and survived to adulthood, would this person, this human being have a sense of self?
As a class, we decided that the human would have self-awareness. He/she/it would look into a pool of water, and recognize that yes, that is me. However, would he/she/it know anything beyond that?
(I immediately thought of Tarzan during this discussion, but didn't mention it).
Now, realize, this person wouldn't know language, at least, we think she/he/it wouldn't know. But I suspected that yes, this human would have language, just not anything recognizable by us. He/she/it would know--that's a tree. That's a rock. That's something separate from me (my social psychology professor argued that that is vocabulary, not language, something very different).
About thirty minutes after class, after everyone decided that the person wouldn't have a sense of self because self comes from other people, I realized something big from being around a bunch of cognitive behavioral therapists at Stanford. Our sense of self is constantly regenerating despite our self because we are constantly talking to ourselves--about ourselves. In depressives it's called rumination. In normal people, well, it's just consciousness. Even if I never met another person, I would still have thoughts about myself, the content would just be different. I wouldn't be able to compare myself to my social psychologist, by saying, "She's thinner than I am. She's smarter than I am." I would say something similar like "blah, ah, eh..." Etc. I don't think being alone can stop us from talking about ourselves to ourselves. It's like breathing. Try to stop thinking. It's impossible.
I wish someone would lean over, and say, "Great idea, [Jae]." And then shake my hand.
Saturday, February 10, 2018
The Woes of Microbiology
"I got a 66% on my Microbiology midterm," I tell my team at Stanford.
The attending physician looks at me with a smile. "We have something in common...Microbiology almost kept me from sitting in this chair right here."
"Really?" I say, incredulously.
"Yeah, I literally made the least possible passing grade. If I had gotten one more answer wrong on any exam, I would have not passed, and it would have been a major pain to re-do the course. Yep, microbiology, pathology, and histology. Which is why I do not use those courses now in what I do."
Just earlier the resident had told me that she spent a lot of time in office hours battling with chemistry and physics. What was remarkable, after they were discussing the struggles with both undergrad science courses, and parts of medical school, is that if these set backs affected these doctors, it did not stop them from being part of arguably one of the best hospitals in the West Coast, if not the whole nation. We're not talking about your run-of-the-mill doctors, these are people who are bright and accomplished, and have proven, in one way or another, to be special. To be stand out's. To hear them speak of struggling with organic chemistry was encouraging. They did not let these difficulties undermine their beliefs about how intelligent they thought they were or whether or not they thought they should be doctors. They just plowed through anyway. They greeted the challenges with strength and determination, which is a sign of character.
Month One
"Don't you think it was strange that he asked why I was hanging onto this so tightly--why I was so 'concerned' about him? I mean, isn't the answer kind of obvious? Why ask a question that you already know the answer to? Did he just want to humiliate me somehow when I answered that I loved him, so he could say, 'well, I don't love you back...I'm in love with this new person...I've moved on,' or something similar? Did he want to trap me into saying something to embarrass myself? Or did he really need to hear that I cared about him? Because the last time we saw each other, I told him that I loved him, and his answer was, 'no, you don't.' "
"We probably won't ever know the answer to those questions," the imaginary female therapist answers in her coolly objective manner. "You would have to ask him, directly, and you won't have that opportunity. At least for a while, and maybe never."
"Why would he want to humiliate me? Because if I said, 'it's because I love you,' that's me being vulnerable."
"Maybe he doesn't understand himself well enough to understand why he said it. Maybe he does. It's hard to say from what little evidence we have to work with."
"You know what is the sick part? Last time we had a conversation over the phone, granted he was drunk, but he said, 'I've been a dick to you' when I told him that I cared about him, that I worried about him, wondered how he was doing. And you know what, I didn't correct him. But he knows how he's treated me isn't right. He knows. He has a soul, but at the same time, he can be merciless and cruel. It's like now, he no longer has a use for me, so he wants to get rid of me..."
"People outgrow relationships and they move on. It's a natural part of life. And yes, it hurts. That doesn't make it hurt any less."
"We probably won't ever know the answer to those questions," the imaginary female therapist answers in her coolly objective manner. "You would have to ask him, directly, and you won't have that opportunity. At least for a while, and maybe never."
"Why would he want to humiliate me? Because if I said, 'it's because I love you,' that's me being vulnerable."
"Maybe he doesn't understand himself well enough to understand why he said it. Maybe he does. It's hard to say from what little evidence we have to work with."
"You know what is the sick part? Last time we had a conversation over the phone, granted he was drunk, but he said, 'I've been a dick to you' when I told him that I cared about him, that I worried about him, wondered how he was doing. And you know what, I didn't correct him. But he knows how he's treated me isn't right. He knows. He has a soul, but at the same time, he can be merciless and cruel. It's like now, he no longer has a use for me, so he wants to get rid of me..."
"People outgrow relationships and they move on. It's a natural part of life. And yes, it hurts. That doesn't make it hurt any less."
Friday, February 9, 2018
"Dreams"
"Now here you go again, you say
You want your freedom
Well who am I to keep you down
It's only right that you should
Play the way you feel it
But listen carefully to the sound
Of your loneliness
Like a heartbeat drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering what you had
And what you lost, and what you had, and what you lost
You want your freedom
Well who am I to keep you down
It's only right that you should
Play the way you feel it
But listen carefully to the sound
Of your loneliness
Like a heartbeat drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering what you had
And what you lost, and what you had, and what you lost
Thunder only happens when it's raining
Players only love you when they're playing
Say women they will come and they will go
When the rain washes you clean, you'll know, you'll know..."
Players only love you when they're playing
Say women they will come and they will go
When the rain washes you clean, you'll know, you'll know..."
--Fleetwood Mac, "Dreams"
Thursday, February 8, 2018
The Least Reliable
"Some doctors told me that the fibromyalgia diagnosis was a crock of shit," my uncle tells everyone in the room, including me.
Tuesday, February 6, 2018
The Questionable Conclusion, Part VIV
"I'm waiting for him to apologize," I say to my imaginary female therapist.
"You might be waiting for a long time," she says under her breath.
"What?"
"Even if he is sorry, even if he feels remorse, he might not say anything because that would re-open the lines of communication, and potentially be very confusing--for the both of you."
"You might be waiting for a long time," she says under her breath.
"What?"
"Even if he is sorry, even if he feels remorse, he might not say anything because that would re-open the lines of communication, and potentially be very confusing--for the both of you."
Saturday, February 3, 2018
Summary of My Life, Part II
"People also choose to enter into relationships that maintain consistent views of the self, even when those views are dark, ruinous, and tragic. These sorts of preferences guarantee that our personal lives will probably confirm our self-views."
--Social Psychology, pg. 96, by Gilovich, Keltner, Chen, and Nisbett
--Social Psychology, pg. 96, by Gilovich, Keltner, Chen, and Nisbett
Summary of My Life
"People engage in a number of self-verification strategies. We selectively attend to and recall information that is consistent with (and therefore verifies) our self-views. People with negative self-views, for example, spend more time studying negative rather than positive feedback about themselves; they remember negative feedback better; and they prefer to interact with others who are likely to provide negative rather than positive feedback [emphasis is my own]."
--Social Psychology, pg. 96, by Gilovich, Keltner, Chen, and Nisbett
Which pretty much explains my whole life.
--Social Psychology, pg. 96, by Gilovich, Keltner, Chen, and Nisbett
Which pretty much explains my whole life.
Why I Didn't Apply To Stanford
"We like to feel good about ourselves, though, so our search for similar targets of comparison tends to be biased toward people who are slightly inferior to, or worse off than, ourselves."
--Social Psychology, pg. 83, by Gilovich, Keltner, Chen and Nisbett
Which is why I didn't apply to Stanford this year.
--Social Psychology, pg. 83, by Gilovich, Keltner, Chen and Nisbett
Which is why I didn't apply to Stanford this year.
Friday, February 2, 2018
The Questionable Conclusion, Part VIII
"Why do you think he rejected you?" The imaginary female therapist asks.
I rest my chin in my hands. "Because I'm fat."
"Because you're fat?"
"I know. It doesn't make much sense. He rejected me plenty when I was thinner, but I'm surprised he didn't put that in one of those emails. '[Jae], you know you got fat, and I just don't want that...' "
"Maybe he didn't notice?"
"He noticed, okay? Everyone notices, and [Morpheus] notices everything. Some people are just more polite than others, and don't say anything."
"Have you thought maybe he didn't care about that?"
"He cares. Every man cares. Every woman cares even more. There are men, of course, who prefer plus-sized women, but I don't think he's one of them...In stupid social psychology class, we're learning about attraction and physical appearance, like your average young adult needs more to be insecure about. And that beauty is programmed from birth. Little babies know. You respond to beauty, and you are either beautiful or not. What kind of fucked up shit is that to tell a class of eighteen year olds?"
"You said you had lost some weight. Five pounds right?"
"Yes, and I gained it back, plus three more. So, really, I hit a new record, the most I've ever weighed in my life a few days ago. I have this app on my phone where I record my weight, and every time I put in a number that is higher than the first weight ever recorded, it shows up in red, and there's this upward slope on the graph. So, not only am I not losing weight, but I'm actually slowing gaining weight still. Encouraging, right?"
I rest my chin in my hands. "Because I'm fat."
"Because you're fat?"
"I know. It doesn't make much sense. He rejected me plenty when I was thinner, but I'm surprised he didn't put that in one of those emails. '[Jae], you know you got fat, and I just don't want that...' "
"Maybe he didn't notice?"
"He noticed, okay? Everyone notices, and [Morpheus] notices everything. Some people are just more polite than others, and don't say anything."
"Have you thought maybe he didn't care about that?"
"He cares. Every man cares. Every woman cares even more. There are men, of course, who prefer plus-sized women, but I don't think he's one of them...In stupid social psychology class, we're learning about attraction and physical appearance, like your average young adult needs more to be insecure about. And that beauty is programmed from birth. Little babies know. You respond to beauty, and you are either beautiful or not. What kind of fucked up shit is that to tell a class of eighteen year olds?"
"You said you had lost some weight. Five pounds right?"
"Yes, and I gained it back, plus three more. So, really, I hit a new record, the most I've ever weighed in my life a few days ago. I have this app on my phone where I record my weight, and every time I put in a number that is higher than the first weight ever recorded, it shows up in red, and there's this upward slope on the graph. So, not only am I not losing weight, but I'm actually slowing gaining weight still. Encouraging, right?"
The Questionable Conclusion, Part VII
"There is an upside to this," the imaginary female therapist tells me. She crosses her legs at the knees.
"Okay, what's that?" I say. I'm game.
"He's let you go. He's given you an answer. You don't have to worry about him anymore. You don't have to wonder about the what if's. You're no longer responsible for carrying on this one-sided conversation anymore. You can stop now. You don't have to save him. You don't have to make him better. He's on his own...You did all you could do."
"Okay, what's that?" I say. I'm game.
"He's let you go. He's given you an answer. You don't have to worry about him anymore. You don't have to wonder about the what if's. You're no longer responsible for carrying on this one-sided conversation anymore. You can stop now. You don't have to save him. You don't have to make him better. He's on his own...You did all you could do."
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