the week in jams

Okay nerds, do I have a story for you! Ight, so there is a job position that I have wanted for years now but you need certain scores to get into job fields and that particular one required a very high score. So last year when I saw it was open, I jumped for it. I studied for two months, nose in book and all that shit. I wanted it more than anything. The day of the test approached. I could do this. I tested and missed it by ten points. Naturally I angsted for some time and realized the job would be grabbed quickly so I gave up.

Fast forward to two weeks ago, I saw the job was still available. No one had tested high enough to get it or no one who was interested had made the call to interview. So, I had two weeks to study while it is recommended that you take a few months. In two weeks I jam packed my brain. I stayed up until 4 in the morning to study. For a week. The day of the test approached. I did not sleep that night.

I left at 4:30 in the morning. There was a blizzard and our roads were awful. I drove out anyway. The snow was thick, the skies dark, but I persisted. Going at a snails pace. What normally was an hour and a half drive would take two and a half. Some roads had not been plowed and my car was little and not built for this type of snow.

I fishtailed down the street, my car valiantly chugging along. I swerved on the same road where I had crashed head on into a tree four years ago during another blizzard. I passed by it and approached the steep hill down the road.

I had trouble with this hill on a good day. I slowly approached it and began my journey upwards. I made it halfway without trouble and I was so excited. Then…my car stopped moving forward, slowly moving back down towards the bottom where another car was slowly approaching.

I kept my foot on the gas, wheels spinning and the car swerved ominously. I started to cry. I admit it. The car that was approaching luckily turned into another road, but I was still struggling up the hill. I finally moved forward, shrieking with glee as I passed over it.

I made it to the testing site with twenty minutes to spare. Luckily I had left three hours early. The other people who were supposed to test never arrived. It was just me and the proctor. We talked about Harry Potter.

I took the test which took 3 hours. Each section was timed. I could hear the timer ticking. I changed some of my answers, hoping they were correct.Three hours later, I finished the final question. I say by, waiting for my score to be announced.

The proctor finished grading and frowned. Asking what score I needed. I told him and he was silent for a long moment. Then he lifted his hand for a fist bump.

I got it. The exact score I needed. Three hours of driving and two weeks of barely any sleep and it was over. I raced to the manager of the position and they said the job was still open. I will be interviewing next week. So the take away of this is don’t give up with you first failure. Life throws lemons and all that rot, but you have to throw back.

Homestuck Characters as Let's Players Because I've Jumped the Shark
  • John: Has been at it for years and has a lot of subscribers because of it, everyone posts gifs of him reacting to different games talking about how pure and sweet he is, when he is none of those things
  • Rose: Does reviews and extensive walkthroughs. Very to the point, but will also set time aside to completely wreck a shitty game design or a nonsense plot with snarky commentary.
  • Dave: Nobody really knows why he has five million subs. He doesn't even use face cam or a decent mic, he just records 10 minutes of pure self indulgent monologue over any random video game. What's this guys secret?
  • Jade: "hey guys! welcome my weekly animal jam stream! counterstrike is pushed back a week because i got banned from my favorite server because they thought i was hacking...but that's okay! how are you doing today everyone?"
  • Jane: Gets a lot of hate from people who think she's completely sold out to her main source of sponsorship, when really she just supports the product
  • Jake: One of those European Youtubers that uses a crap ton of slang from his country of origin and has a near incoherent accent. Fails to grasp stealth based games. He also does a lot of live action videos of him taking different YouTube challenges of dubious levels of safety
  • Roxy: "Yeah, this is your average RPGMaker MV based game, the sprites are the basic pack you get in the game and they forgot to sync up the walk cycles on the NPCs so they aren't running into eachother all the time...OH MY GOD A CAT IM GONNA GO PET IT!"
  • Dirk: Professional editor, doesn't have his own channel but he does occasionally show up in videos with Jake and Roxy, to the point where fans know who he is. Doesn't really want to have his own channel because he feels that would involve pandering to the intelligence of the average Youtube user. Has far too many self image issues to put himself out there as anything more than just the dude behind the scenes making everything click.
burn it down

This week was continuity clinic, which is usually my jam, but man. Man oh man. Am I ever tired of fighting about norco.

It’s not really a fight, because I have all of the power, and that feels shitty. I inherited a LOT of patients on inappropriate opioids, and of course those are the folks who show up every time I’m in clinic, because they want refills. At the beginning of the year, my strategy was to focus on building relationships and refill the opioids until the moment was right. I eventually figured out that there is no right moment, and I’m so over the negotiations, and this week I told my main preceptor, “fuck it, let’s just BURN IT DOWN.” If you don’t have cancer, you’re getting tapered off, NOW. Because FUCK IT. I don’t want to spend three years dealing with this shit! Buuuurrnn ittt dooownnnn.

Yes, I listen. Yes, I work on comprehensive pain management plans. But no, throwing a fit will not change the fact that I have murdered the Norco Fairy. I’m the Responsible Prescriber Troll and I have BURNED DOWN the Norco Fairy’s house and she is gone forever.

It is possible that I have kind of lost it. Thankfully, I am officially on vacation as of right now. It’s gonna be hard to come back.

The Modern Lois Lane

The Modern Lois Lane is a hardened reporter, the kind who has slept in her car for weeks to get a story. She jams her foot in the door to continue asking questions and does not understand the word no. Modern Lois is the kind of woman who stares down a man and says “can I help you?”, voice like a switchblade. She is the woman who never cries, or at least doesn’t in public. And her male counterparts, they look at her and mutter “bitch” under their breaths.

Lois is the one who gets orientation pushed on her. She writes the best, with strength and composure, and her colleagues use this against her. “You’ll bring out the best in the newbies,” they say. One of them is Clark Kent, more optimistic than Mary Fucking Poppins, doe-eyed and sweet and country as all hell. He opens doors for her and genuinely asks for feedback on his work, small, fragile articles that need to be cultivated.

Lois is honest, brutal, even, and Clark accepts her words gratefully. Just like you and me, Lois feels surprised when Clark’s pieces become beautiful works out of her criticism, still naive, but full of potential. He is endearing and thoughtful and genuine. Well, would you look at that? she thinks.

But there are some things that even Lois can’t shake. A little girl, murdered and raped and abandoned on the side of the road, Lois flips the photos over and buries her face in her hands. The girl was so young, not even three, her hands not even the size of Lois’s palm. Lois feels it well up inside her, disgust, fear, sadness. This isn’t new, she thinks. This isn’t me. I’ve covered these stories before.

Clark pulls up a chair and holds her hand. He smiles, and Lois shakes her head. “You’re the last thing I need,” she says.

“We’ll find him,” Clark declares. “We’ll find the bastard.”

He blushes.

Lois laughs, because Clark Kent doesn’t say “bastard”. She looks at his hopeful blue eyes behind those dorky hipster glasses. She realizes it’s not the kind of hope she sees in other men, not that glaring sexual desire. It’s respect, for her writing, for her.

And she smiles.