A Timely Diatribe

Time is a slippery bastard. I’ve never tried to catch a live eel but I imagine it’s a lot like trying to get a hold of Time. Equal parts chance and skill and knowing which gloves to wear so that you don’t get the daylights shocked out of you.

But Time is also a sneaky bastard. I’ve never been stalked by a ninja but I imagine it’s a lot like having Time run out on you. In either case you’re often dead before you even know what’s coming.

I get angry at Time all the time. I want to grab it and shake it and tell it to slow the hell down. But it hauls me along mercilessly, making me grow older, forcing my decisions, bending me to its rules. I don’t like it, but I have to live with it. Don’t we all?

(We do. Until we die. And even then, maybe).

I feel it most potently now in my fifth year of medical school. How can I be in final year? I’m not ready to be a doctor! It’s frustrating to know that no matter how hard I wish it won’t, next year will come. I will sit my final exams in June and (crossing fingers, toes and eyes) I will be a doctor in July. I can’t stop this from happening (unless I decide to fail my exams. Um, no) and the thought strips me of any sort of control I thought I had over my life, leaving me terrified.

But my answer can’t be to hide under the covers. Not anymore and not for a while, at least. Time, the tricky bastard, is forcing me to face my challenges. Like it or not, this is happening. The only difference is how I choose to meet it. The fetal position is not a valid option so I have to spend the next ten months or so gearing up for battle. I do so hate confrontation.

I think this is my roundabout way of apologizing for my absence. It’ll happen a lot. I’m convinced Time spends his days coming up with ways to stab me in the back. But I’ve got his number, even though I’m in his crosshairs.

War isn’t easy, guys.