A is for Airport

Happy Holidays!!! I hope all of my readers had a wonderful holiday and a great start to the new year!!!

Personally, this break has been exactly what the Doctor-in-less-than-30-months ordered. Breaks always begin oddly for me. Finish an exam on Friday, get trashed visit with my friends on Friday night, fly to my destination on Saturday, be depressed and sleep for about 3 whole days, watch endless amounts of Netflix, get bored, study, hate myself for studying, dread going back to school, go back to school. The "depressed" part might sound weird... but I can explain.

Normal people experience bad days, have family issues, know people that die, go through break-ups, have their car battery die (PAMP this one's for you...), need to grocery shop, file their taxes, Christmas shop, etc. etc. etc.

Med students....  study.

I grocery shop about twice a month, usually at Walmart, after midnight, when I'm on my way home, jacked up on caffeine, starving because I just realized I haven't eaten all day, and then realize I have NOTHING but canned soup, pear cups, and hot cocoa at home. As far as bad days/family issues/death/break-ups/ real life things go, I normally do not have time to think about them because if I do, I will be sad, cry, mope about, sleep, binge eat, and essentially waste time studying, potentially leading to a bad grade on that week's exam, which would in turn affect me for the rest of the semester. In med school, if you fail a test, you spend the remaining weeks killing yourself to master that material on top of the material you're studying for that week. You live in constant fear of potentially failing a class, which means potentially delaying your education for an entire year so you can retake it.... and we all know med school costs ~$70,000 a year. Therefore, one bad test could potentially cost 70K. Now, this is an extreme, but I have seen it happen. In order to prevent it from happening to me, I've created a solution.... the little black box. Yep, I file away everything negative into that little box. And then break will start... and BAM!!!!!

Black box explodes, I deal with everything I ignored, enter immediate depression, attempt to get over it (aka.... just compress it further and restore it in black box), and then actually begin my break.

This break, I got SMART!!!! I scheduled my fright <-- accidental typo??? my flight for Monday, allowing myself two days to decompress and sleep, sparing my family from witnessing the med-student-in-shambles phase of break.

Monday rolled around, leading us to the Airport Phase of break, one of my favorites. Believe it or not, I am a Chatty Cathy. I talk to basically everyone, everywhere, unless I am really annoyed with people (which does tend to happen more frequently than I like to admit). Airports are awesome. The people watching, the lack of care for caloric intake, the race for the only outlet to charge your computer, and the great conversation... not to mention the abundance of sexy men in uniform that just make you proud to be an American. And where else is it socially acceptable to sit at a bar at 9am? I always consider dressing to the nines when I go to the airport... just in case my future husband is some really rich rockstar in commute to his next gig and I happen to sit by him in aisle 7 or at gate 10. You never know. But, in true Me Fashion, I always opt for the comfy sweats and the oversized hoodie reppin' my alma mater.

Random Insert 1: The ONE TIME I decided to dress up to go to the airport was this past Thanksgiving break (so a little over a month ago). I was flying to the coast to visit my aunt, uncle, and Memaw. My high school sweetheart was stationed nearby and we planned on getting together. He was picking me up at the airport, so, of course, I had to look decent. My flight was at 5am Saturday morning, so I did something I never do, and volunteered to DD for my friends Friday night. We went to the bars, and with water in hand, I somehow managed to do something else I never do.... lose my driver's license. What happened to sobriety and responsibility going hand-in-hand??? So, I spend two hours furiously looking for my license. As we are leaving the last bar, some random kind-hearted individual (please note the sarcasm) decides to chuck a pitcher of green Midori shots into the air, right as I am passing by. The entire pitcher lands on my head, and I am livid because I had already showered, curled my hair, and done my make up to go to the airport, since I had to leave for the airport at 4am. I get home at 2:30 am, reshower, recurl my hair, redo my makeup, and pass on any chance of sleep I may have had. Therefore, I learned two lessons. 

1. Never dress up to go to the airport.

2. Never DD. 

(Only slightly kidding.)

Anyway, back to the Airport Phase. I reach my gate in the Chicago airport, and sit next to a cute old couple. I comment on how the flight is going to be jam packed, and they inquire about my final destination. We start to talk and figure out they live 40 minutes from my hometown (this is really random, since my hometown is in the sticks and very small). We start to discuss the one topic that is universal to people from our area: football. The old debate of which football teams we support commences. My homestate is extremely divided when it comes to football, both at the college and NFL levels, and we are diehard loyal fans, therefore this debate could be a potential conversation ender. I comment on how my cousin played football in her hometown and went to the NFL, maybe they have heard of him. I come to find out that not only have they heard of him, but they live ONE block away from his family, and they procede to name every member of my extended family. Mind. Blown.  I am always amazed at what a small world it truly can be. Gotta love airports. 

Random Insert 2: I am currently sitting on the couch and my mom just got home from work.
Mom: Someone left work with dry heaves today. I better not be getting sick. 
Me: I better not be getting sick either. My snot is green. 
Mom: EWWWWWWW. That is something you tell your med school friends, NOT your mother!!! Haven't we moved past that point in our relationship? 

I take two things from this statement. 
1. My mother is inferring that I am a grown-up.
2. It is inappropriate to give details like that to non-med school friends... which I suppose I agree with, but sometimes it just slip outs.

Five minutes later.

Mom (yelling from the kitchen): Oh! You drank some milk today! Good Girl!!!!

This makes me laugh and I retract statement number one: my mother does not think I am a grown-up.