I decided to work from home in the early hours of the morning, breaking my new tradition of being coiffed and dressed at the ass-crack of moi and being planted in my little cubby before the masses arrive. (A girl’s gotta get some peace at some point in her day.)
So I did my thing in my quiet room (with a door! Next time I’m job-hunting, I’m NOT going to go for the cube environment. No way in hell), and I was just about to leave when I yawned. It was a Technicolor yawn, unfortunately, as the Skittles I’d nommed on for breakfast decided they didn’t want to be digested after all. I can has sick day? Oh noes, too short-staffed! *barf*
Anyway, I was slightly riveted by “Grey’s Anatomy” last night. I wish I could just identify with one character instead of all of them. Maybe I’d feel less damn depressed at 10 p.m. Eastern on Thursday nights when the show goes off and I switch to Comedy Central for the duration of the evening.
I think, if I had to pick, I’d have been Cristina this week. (It’s a lovely name, so why not?) After the fruits of her labor have yielded a prestigious award for her lackluster ex, and the new boss doesn’t have the time of day for her, no wonder she’s disengaged. She passed up the opportunity to be part of a historic surgery on the founder of some awesome technique they all use, instead choosing to stick paper clips on a Dixie cup.
And what’s sad is I was thinking, hey that Dixie-cup-stabbing kind of looks fun!
I think I’ve fallen into a patch of quicksand insofar as why I was put on this planet. I’m developing mad (and marketable) skillz and I’m really growing on a personal level, too. But while I know the point of existence is to become who we’re meant to be, well, who exactly is that person? I’m sure she’s going to be downright divine, but what’s wrong with me as-is? And why do I have to be a different person to get where I’m going?
The other storyline that caught my eye last night was the gal with the brain tumor who spun a Cinderella-like story of her man Andre, whom she wanted to see before she went into experimental neurosurgery that could (and would) kill her. Nobody believed her, that she had this man in her life — there were no photos, no eyewitnesses, no way that anyone could imagine that she could meet Prince Charming.
I was angry about that — pudgy girls need love too, people. I’ve said it before on this blog and I’ll say it again, non-skinny girls give the best head because we’re HUNGRY. 
Anyway, the patient’s sister convinced Meredith that there could not POSSIBLY be a man, which Mer of course used to attempt to convince Derek that Andre was the byproduct of brain-tumor-induced hallucinations.
What I loved about Derek was that he was willing to entertain the hallucinations. I don’t know that even he believed this man was real, but he was willing to wait until his (supposed) 3 p.m. arrival time.
What I loved more was that, in surgery as everything was going wrong, Mer perked up and announced — by intuition alone — “Andre’s here.”
So here I am at a character crossroads myself, between the disenchanted and directionless Cristina and the wants-so-badly-to-believe-it’s-real brain-tumor patient and even the now-crazy Ava who really seems to have believed she was pregnant but it was all a product of her own hallucinations. (No comments about me spontaneously exhaling my breakfast today!)
I’m rooting for hope to win out. I’m just starting to see that there’s so much more to life than what I’ve allowed into it so far. But I’ve always believed that it will take one small miracle to set off a domino effect of dreams coming true — even dreams I didn’t know I had. And maybe the key is to let others know that you have ‘em because maybe, just maybe, they would be happy to help further them along. …
