Mid-block blues.


Le costumier's rad orange dancing shoes

Le costumier's rad orange dancing shoes



We are halfway through our Identity, Microbes & Defense block, which means I’ve got the mid-block blues. Lately, I’ve been feeling pangs of friend-sickness (as distinct from home-sickness). I really, really, really miss friends that are scattered all over the place. I miss conversations with my brothers. I miss passionate discussions about stupid ‘arty’ things. I miss discussing the nitty gritty of a film, whether a campaign has hit the mark, the cut of a garment, the angle of a photo or the exact shade of blue on a logo.

I do really love the people I’ve met at uni (they make the thought of living on the Gold Coast for four years less frighteningly depressing). But, sometimes I just miss the people that aren’t here. 

A close friend of mine is on the other side of the country following an internationally renowned dance troupe as their costumier. Last summer we were both home at our parents’ places + spent afternoons hanging out in her mother’s art studio, flipping through thick fashion bibles of black + white photos of Jean Shrimpton + Audrey Hepburn. Her mother’s paintings were stacked against the walls next to my friend’s fabric piled high on a dresser, an old singer sewing machine + antique pattern making tools. When she lived in Sydney + I was in Newcastle we used to drive the two hours to each others houses just to hang out, talk about how frigging great buttons are + talk about opening a button store. 

A friend from advertising called me the other day to chat while she was driving to a shoot, bemoaning the weather because they’d had to cancel a scene with paper lanterns. She was stressed, frantic + laughing with despair at how late she was, how she had all the camera equipment in her car. Despite her assertions that her boss really IS Miranda Priestly + how sick she if of working 15 hour days as a production assistant, our chat made me miss the crazy, lead up to getting a project finished. 

There is no crazy, energetic lead up to anything studying medicine. It is a slow, steady plod. It’s eating five pancakes a day, every day. It’s a treadmill of Clinical skills, PBL, lectures, PBL, lectures, community placement, I’ll-catch-up-with-that-tomorrow-oh-shit-it’s-Monday-again-how-could-it-possibly-be-Monday-again-I’m-not-ready-for-it-to-be-MONDAY-AGAIN! It’s de ja vu, every week. It’s a tiny black hole ripped into my diary that has slowly let time drip away (similar to a small gastrointestinal bleed that goes unnoticed until the patient is severely anaemic). 

People say medicine is as much an art as it is a science…

but all I still see is science.

A slow, plodding science. 



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3 Responses to “Mid-block blues.”

  1. doctor007 Says:

    I know it really is art without the requisite creativity, isn’t it? Find your outlet, and then be as artsy fartsy as you want. I do it because I need it, too.

    Oh, and I think it’s Identity, Microbes + Defense. Because defense is immunity, isn’t it?

  2. C Says:

    ’tis Identity. Changed. You get to a point where everything is an acronym + you no longer care nor pay attention to what they spell out. Didn’t see you at M-ball?

    I’m going to get my watercolour anatomy on.

  3. doctor007 Says:

    I know, there’s a neverending stream of acronyms. I can’t wait to see some watercolour livers!!

    I was not at the ball this year, I’m going to the JDD (Jazz Dinner Dance) instead. Was it fun?

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