hlemkle (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} darnapy) wrote,@ 2007-04-22 12:29:00 |
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Humouress greys
Was it only this week whence I resolved to abandon parrot-regurgitation of facts, and apply synthesis to clinical scenarios? An admirable habit to maintain, and today I hope to swallow a good deal of knowledge to take along for the 6th week...the end of the week every-approaching.
A career entrenched in the clinical sciences has become more attractive now that science seems to have, in my mind, the firmer grip on reality, and interestingly I dedicated an evening of procrastination to wandering the RACP and australasian society of ID web pages. Dreams dreams dreams - the recent re-instigation of podcasts (philosopher's zone; science) has proven my weakness at fiction. Not because they, or any fiction, are arbitrary, untrue, or meaningless (in fact, quite the opposite), but because my mind is too obsessive to allow it the opportunity to solve the fascinating dilemmas of every discipline. Worse: In conjuring up fanciful careers one slips from the present, into that world of dream where music bubbles through beakers and grows on petri dishes. Into repetitive visits to myspace.
My good habits have been compromised of late then. Naughtily spending the weekend wrapped in Rushdie's midnight, I am sure I would have eaten more chocolate if it were available. Part of a self-imposed ignorance-of-self (read: procrastination), escapism from negativity of thought, to recuperate, nay, mourn, the destitute social muscle that christened the weekend. I could go on in allegory.
The sponsored dinner and subsequent boozy outing was worthwhile. I don't want to dwell on perceived stigmatisations; it is enough to say that I was reminded:
i) Life is a shit test. How congruent is my person across the professions, individual authorities, the different 'classes' of society?
ii) How limited time we have this year to flex the social muscle.
But of course social pleasantries, like fiction, can be just that - without any need of exercise. I miss storytelling and being heard. Our inaugural MSAT practice was deeply satisfying (perhaps oddly so), despite the heavy emphasis placed on logistics at its start. One can feel accepted intellectually then (although I note the danger of mixing pursuit of truth with social values). I'm not entirely sure why Mick had a go at me on friday evening; resentful of his expectation that there aren't more partygoer's in town, perhaps? He certainly revealed an unlikeable part of character. But, taking a leaf from The Champ, I don't paint him black: the world, you see, if full of humourous greys.
Was it only this week whence I resolved to abandon parrot-regurgitation of facts, and apply synthesis to clinical scenarios? An admirable habit to maintain, and today I hope to swallow a good deal of knowledge to take along for the 6th week...the end of the week every-approaching.
A career entrenched in the clinical sciences has become more attractive now that science seems to have, in my mind, the firmer grip on reality, and interestingly I dedicated an evening of procrastination to wandering the RACP and australasian society of ID web pages. Dreams dreams dreams - the recent re-instigation of podcasts (philosopher's zone; science) has proven my weakness at fiction. Not because they, or any fiction, are arbitrary, untrue, or meaningless (in fact, quite the opposite), but because my mind is too obsessive to allow it the opportunity to solve the fascinating dilemmas of every discipline. Worse: In conjuring up fanciful careers one slips from the present, into that world of dream where music bubbles through beakers and grows on petri dishes. Into repetitive visits to myspace.
My good habits have been compromised of late then. Naughtily spending the weekend wrapped in Rushdie's midnight, I am sure I would have eaten more chocolate if it were available. Part of a self-imposed ignorance-of-self (read: procrastination), escapism from negativity of thought, to recuperate, nay, mourn, the destitute social muscle that christened the weekend. I could go on in allegory.
The sponsored dinner and subsequent boozy outing was worthwhile. I don't want to dwell on perceived stigmatisations; it is enough to say that I was reminded:
i) Life is a shit test. How congruent is my person across the professions, individual authorities, the different 'classes' of society?
ii) How limited time we have this year to flex the social muscle.
But of course social pleasantries, like fiction, can be just that - without any need of exercise. I miss storytelling and being heard. Our inaugural MSAT practice was deeply satisfying (perhaps oddly so), despite the heavy emphasis placed on logistics at its start. One can feel accepted intellectually then (although I note the danger of mixing pursuit of truth with social values). I'm not entirely sure why Mick had a go at me on friday evening; resentful of his expectation that there aren't more partygoer's in town, perhaps? He certainly revealed an unlikeable part of character. But, taking a leaf from The Champ, I don't paint him black: the world, you see, if full of humourous greys.
