The Finite

Some of you may be wondering what was up with that sweet-ass getup I had on in that “really really green state” I was in. Well, they were a necessity, because I hate wearing a backpack while hiking a tropical rainforest because you get this sweat stain at the small of your back even if the rest of you is dry. And that kind of inconsistency can drive a person like me to insanity. And then if you need something it’s always at the bottom of the bag and there’s always that rat’s nest of stuff in there that you have to dig through as items may have become jostled during the bumpy-ass jeep ride. So I wear it all on my person, Delta Force-style and easily accessible. Those who have gone on excursions with me will know I’ve been doing this a while.

I try to be ready for things that might happen: multi-tool, camera, spare cards/batteries, phone, other phone, binocs, water, spare pens, writing pad, food, first aid kit keys (the actual kit was at home).

Here’s the parts (mostly) to that get-up, minus the Alan Grant-ish hat (seen jauntily worn on the back of the neck in the picture).

See why I stress so much about lanyards? And bag straps and belt loops in general? This is why, people.

I really hate sweat stains.

The very good point has been raised that “Unless you’re getting laid, Tommy, you have no excuse for not blogging.”

So I guess it’s time for me to start again.

Blogging, that is.

The excuse I’m going to give for not having blogged for several weeks now is the intense hospital rotation I’ve had on the South Side of Chicago. That means the Metra, the CTA, commuting for 2 hours every morning to get to the place before rounds start at 7. And I’ve realized commuting is the worst thing ever. I lose 4 hours of my day, 20 hours of my week, 15% of my month. Is anything worth that? It’s bad for productivity because I can’t do certain things on the train. It’s bad for my body that I’m stuck stationary for four hours a day. I’m pretty sure it’s bad for my soul because it makes it harder to be nice to people.

I just have this vision in my head of me a few years from now, standing on the train platform in business casual with a newspaper under my arm and one of those half-juice/half-energy drink monstrosities from the Coca-Cola company in my hand. I’ll drop my paper and drink, clutch my head and scream, “Oh, god, who am I?” And I’ll tear off my tie and throw it down on top of the paper and drink on the train platform and run into the nearest library and read Harry Potter all day.

I’ve decided I never want to live more than a 30 45 minute commute from where I work. Hopefully I can find work that’s not in the middle of nowhere so I don’t have to live in the middle of nowhere.