The dark and dreary midnight knell
Sweeps across the field and fell
To echo on the cold stone walls
That circle crumbling ancient halls
And sighs across the empty well
Shelter for phantom mourners only
Sere and hollow, cold and lonely
The knell resounds up a vacant stair
That ends its climb on empty air
And dies where the chapel used to be
Twice tolled it was when the knell sang last
For steady lad and pretty lass
Together they lie on the graveyard hill
But hand in hand go roaming still
And rustle the drapes as they wander past.
I got a little lightheaded at the sight of blood again today in wards. I can't tell you how afraid that makes me. I think half the problem I have is that I'm worrying about it being a problem. But I want this. I want it so bad that it scares me. And I can't afford to be squeamish. It irks me. Irks is such a good word.
I also locked myself out of the house tonight. I ended up sitting outside in the dark for two hours, waiting for my roomie to get back. My blood sugar was low and she didn't have her phone on her, so I ended up being angry at just about everybody involved. And then I got super irritated at myself for being upset with anybody but me. Because it was my fault, and mine alone. Sometimes my temper...
Also, I'm lonely here. I don't even know who I miss, or what I miss, or what I want. Sometimes I think I hyped medical school up in my mind, and it's not the way I imagined. Of course, we haven't really started yet. But there's no guarantee that I'll feel like I belong any more then, than I do now. So I'll probably be writing a lot more verses of creepy stuff.
Also, I watched an episode of Grey's Anatomy, because I wanted to know what the junk all of the hype was about--and let me say, the size of their ER is ridiculous. People are basically stacked in the ER here at Loma Linda. I am very literally having to employ some sort of weird spidey sense to be able to constantly move out of people's way without looking.
4 comments:
This is the most melancholy thing I've read that wasn't on livejournal in a long time. And it's not just the poem (though it doesn't hurt). It's the mood of the piece.
I hope my html tags worked. I needed italics.
You took the melancholy and made it something that I actually found rather beautiful.
If you're struggling . . . you can wield that struggle, whether or not you think you can. If you can't, then God can, and He's got your back.
I'm not sure if that'll help, but it helped me this summer. I think you'll be fine, though. You want this.
I should probably just start logging some of your quotes for later... You nail things sometimes.
When you mentioned being a bit squeamish about the blood, I wondered if that would happen to me, too. And then I wondered if it'd be because I'd somehow sort of subconsciously put myself with the injury or in the accident (I guess I'm imagining blood from a sporting accident or something, and also including weird broken bones and such). Do I want to take away their pain or something?
I don't know why I leave these comments. I apologize if they're ridiculous.
you miss me. clearly.
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