Doctoring has hit a new low

This morning, as Maggie and I made our requisite trip to Starbucks, I found myself next to a blindingly yellow van that advertised itself as the "Dust Mite Doctor". I thought, huh. Maybe I should've skipped the four years of intensive training and sleepless nights and copious stress and crazy debt and just bought a van and painted "Doctor of Crazy" on the side. I could've just driven around and done therapy in the back of my van. Well, okay, maybe not.

I had a friend in medical school who came in with a PhD in entomology. I called him Joe, the Doctor of Bugs. It amused the crap out of me, and he didn't mind. I don't know actually know what his area of buggy expertise was, although we had a very interesting discussion about bees once, which occurred when we went out to my friend Nicole's car and found a huge swarm of them all excited about her little Saturn. She freaked out, he leaned over and proceeded to brush his finger over the surface of the hood and lick it. Apparently, she'd parked under a tree that had weeped something all over her car that, he surmised, tasted sweet. And that's why the bees were there, that's all. She continued to freak out, I sat there laughing for like the next three minutes about the fact that he'd just friggin' licked her car.

He was a good kid. I don't actually know what happened to him. He graduated after me, so I lost track of a lot of those friends, unfortunately.

Still packing, here, although I'm running out of things to pack, which is useful, although causing me more little fits, because now I'm down to the minutia. Also in my inbox this morning, from one of those daily listserv things I subscribe to, was this quote:

Worry is a thin stream of fear trickling through the mind. If encouraged, it cuts a channel into which all other thoughts are drained. --Arthur Somers Roche

Alright, alright, I get it, thank you, Universe.