Still life, with boxes

My best friend kicks ass.

So, it's been a stressful week, to say the least. Plus the fact that I now have the plague, and the fact that the North Carolina Medical board is harassing me for "details" of why I left my old program, and I don't know what to tell them, when what I want to tell them is, it's not your damn business, I just want to move on already, let me be a doctor, for crying out loud, I'm a good one. They got my rec letters, and the stupid referral forms (filled out by people who'd actually seen me practice medicine). Medical licensure in this state may well be a priviledge rather than an entitlement, fine, I can concede that point. But they have lots of forms stating that I've been a practicing MD and that I was good at it. What happened in the "time before" was a painful experience in my life, and both my personal and professional confidence took a serious hit as a result. So now, right now, right before I take the plunge back into residency, which I have to start all over again, just like anyone who didn't have the misfortune I did and is straight out of medical school, now is NOT the time to be dredging this up and retraumatizing me, thank you very much.

But I digress.

Because as Maggie and I were sitting here, watching CSI and marvelling at the wonder of the DVR (the phone rang, and I paused it. And then I rewound, and later I fast forwarded. Live TV! So cool), and the doorbell rings. So I pause the TV again (so cool!), and I curtail the pup, and there's this man standing on my doorstep, holding these:

And I thought, is he lost? Does he need directions? Does he know that I live here now? And I must have been staring at him like, "Are you lost? Do you need directions? Do you know that I live here now?", because he says, "I have a delivery. These are for you." And I went, oh! Wow! Really? Oh! And I took them, and I read the card, and then I cried, because that girl rocks really, really hard.

And I should also have known, because she's the only one who has my new address, despite two seperate attempts to send it out (I'm having some issues with my outgoing email). Who else could both find me and send flowers right when I'm feeling like the shit that shit stepped in?

Thanks, Katie.

Oh, but here's what they look like in real life, because there's so much stuff on the table that I couldn't actually put them on the table:

There's a lot of boxes around here....