I’m About To Go Cytotoxic On This Test

That’s accelerated nursing program speak for “I’m about to tear this shit up,” and a quote from the kid who sits behind me. He made that statement right before the Patho exam bomb dropped. But I’m pretty sure that as soon as we actually saw the exam, we all wanted to physically tear that shit up. Like rip it up for real. And then maybe set it on fire. And accidentally burn down the classroom so we’d never have to go back.

Things we had to know everything about for a one hour exam:
– cellular physiology/pathology (middle school easy)
– inflammation
– immunopathology
– neoplasia
– genetic /developmental disorder
– alterations of the nervous system
– fluid disorders
– acid-base balance (A&P easy)
– alterations of the renal system

I got an A again. And was way more prepared for this than the Pharm exam. So I guess I’m getting back into the swing of things. But dammit, I feel like after this is all over, my I’m going to die at 50 years old instead of the predicted 90 years old. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be 90 years old anyway. That’s bananas. I look at Nonnie, who’s 80+, and I have no idea how she acts and looks so young. 24 year old Liz cannot fathom what it will be like to be great-grandmother Liz. I can’t even wrap my brain around what it’s like to be so old that your grandkids have kids. Basically, your kids have grandkids. No matter which way you look at it, that’s pretty mindblowing.

Anyway, there’s another exam tomorrow. And three next week. And projects/papers in between. I seriously keep having to give my body a pep talk. At lunch, it was like “Hey, cells. Here’s some coffee and sugar and a whole wheat bagel. You just gotta survive ’til 4. Go team.”

Now I have to give them another pep talk before we start studying all over again. Can I please get more than three hours of sleep tonight? I feel like I’m in some kind of twisted existential microcosm.


If you want to have a broken heart about life forever, you should watch that movie. If you don’t, stay far far away.

Probably the only thing that’s going to get us through this year is humor which is why I’m in love with all the boys who sit behind me.

Real utterances from two of them after our professor passed around fun size M&Ms…

– She’s trying to give us diabetes.
– Where’s the oxycontin?

Oh, nursing school. Where your professor is still the devil even when she gives you candy. And when you’d much rather have opiates to take away the pain.

I got cream cheese in my hair today. The direct cause was exhaustion.

Plus, my abs hurt like a bitch. And until I sat down at my desk when I got home, I had no idea why. Basically, as soon as my rolling chair rolled off to the side (due to a slight slope in my old hardwood floors) and I used my legs/knees/feet to subconsciously readjust, my abs burned like none other. Mystery solved. It’s a pilates-type movement. I was doing pilates in front of my desk for hours yesterday. I’m not trying to become a titanium muscle monster here because I’m a girl and I love love love being a girl and having awesome curves. People say you can do pilates religiously and still maintain your feminine figure. I’m not so sure. Have you seen Madonna? Isn’t pilates what she does? Pilates and yoga, I think. If there’s a risk that I end up looking like her after doing a lot of pilates and yoga, I’m just gonna stick to my casual runs of a few miles a day and partake in no other form of muscle-strengthening exercise.

Even the running alone already kinda makes it an issue. The last guy I made out with was like, “You’re crushing me with your thighs.” And that’s when I decided that A) we were never going to hang out again and B) I can only date guys who are at least 6’0″ and used to be swimmers, soccer players, or football players. Preferably soccer players. Their lean abs of steel make me melt. Swimmers have lean abs of steel but their triangle bodies kinda weird me out sometimes.

Ok, done blithering. Almost. All I want for dinner is shakshuka but I’m all out of eggs. I kind of want a man slave. Because then I could be like “Man slave, fetch me some eggs,” and he’d be like “As you wish.” Why can’t my dream world be a reality?


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