What's Love Got To Do With It?

Is it possible to love too easily and yet somehow not really at all? Sometimes I think there's an invisible wall just below the surface of my heart. A person gets in and starts to feel the warmth but then lightly smacks into this immovable resistance. The warmth is soothing and pleasant at first, but like a shallow bath, cools all too quickly and you find yourself wanting to get out or plunge deeper - the sooner the better.

Love, by definition, is not self seeking. So why is it so hard to tear down so-called defenses?
The whole process makes me simultaneously cagey and lonely, excited and terrified, analytical and emotional; to the point that I wonder if sanity is something that I can actually claim.

And why is it that I can't seem to really write what I mean these days?

Ok, I'll say it.

QUIET!

AAGGGGHHHHH!!!!!

I went out to an east end station to precept today with the idea that I'd actually get some calls.

Ha.

One little old lady and six hours later....

Patientless Call Sheets

So now I'm precepting. Last week my Virginia Certificate arrived in the mail and so I'm spending every possible moment [within a slight degree of reason] at the station, simultaneously anticipating and dreading calls. I know that they're not going to throw me out there without any backup, that's why I'm precepting, but still. It's kinda daunting at times if a girl thinks too much.

The majority of my precepting experience has come in the form of patientless call sheets. We get dispatched and then put back in service while en route, or we arrive and discover that there's no patient, and no door to be unlocked because the kid woke up and unlocked the car already.

Sometimes, I tell ya . . . .

I won't actually SAY the "q" word, but it seems like it could apply to the western front these days. At least when I'm running.

In other news, the new job is going quite well. They decided to use me as a tech, instead of a secretary, so I get to wear scrubs and deal with patients on a face to face level, rather than sit on my butt all day and answer a phone for 8 hours. I'm happy. (besides that, there's the whole three twelve hour shifts a week aspect, which isn't half shabby when you're looking at going back to school . . .)

Last week I finally "went out" with a group from the station. It was fun. I had a few drinks I'd never heard of, successfully dodged attempts at getting me wasted and basically had a good time. While I don't understand how people find the money to do that on a regular basis, let alone why anyone would want to drink their brain away into oblivion, I'm glad I went. Buddies are good to have :-)