Friday, August 12, 2005
At the moment, my mind feels a little like the sand at the very edge of the beach, the grains constantly rearranged by the surf. It's been a rough week. I've burst into tears in three different offices in front of superiors. I've sat in education meetings with fat tears rolling down my cheeks for reasons entirely unrelated to the case studies being presented. I've gabbled on about meaningless topics at lunchtime in a effort to distract my companions, and myself, from the tears welling up in my eyes.
So why?
Well.... there are all the usual precipitating factors; the stress of the job; the increased workload in winter. I could even use the age-old female excuse and blame the excess hormones unleashed at "the time of the month". All these are mere precipitants. The fact is, I'm back at the crossroads.
For some years now, I've felt like a traveller at a crossroads wondering which path to take. Sometimes I stand experimentally on one or another path, sometimes I try to stand outside both to get a different view; sometimes I spot a smaller, fainter path snaking off through the grass and wonder whether I should try that instead. At times I've sprinted off up a road, only to slow to a walk, fearful of the new scenery. Several times I've rounded a corner only to find myself back at the old crossroads.
One road, the path of medicine, is familiar to me. I look behind me with pride at all the obstacles I've already negotiated, and then with trepidation at the challenges, the unseen rockfalls, to come. I remember the picture in the brochure which made me come all this way. It was a picture of a wise looking, serene woman, replete with the knowledge and grace she had gifted to the world. The other battered travellers I've met on the road so far do not fit this picture, although all of them have had their measure of wisdom and experience. Some of them talked to me for a while before plunging off down the other road.
The other road is beautiful and terrifying at the same time. It meanders among the mountain pastures for a while, stopping to admire the alpine daisies, then suddenly curves around a large rock. I can't see where it goes from here, but I have a feeling the path gets steeper. I think there may be unexpected views along this path, maybe even a spectacular summit. But it's known as a hard path, this writer's path, and not all can make it to the end.
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 11:02 pm
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Over a year since my last post. I've been busy in other forums; nibbling away at the cakecrumbs of experience in my travels; struggling to rediscover the meaning I once found in medicine. And yes, that old bugbear, romance. (What IS a bugbear exactly? must be a strange beast).
Ah yes, that "L" word. Love. How can that strange word, so lilting, so soft from the tongue, be wielded so often with the direct force of a sharp knife to the heart? Professional women lose their usual smooth assurance and gag before using it. Grown men run rather than hear it. It is bright and shiny as plastic, smooth and rich as chocolate, bitter as lemon rind and brain-dulling as absinthe.
Ah, love. I fear it and I want it.
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 11:28 pm
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