Is that a finger up my ass, or are you just happy to see me?

It amazes me the things we acclimate ourselves to as we grown older. From the relative freedoms of the less than 30 hour work week in elementary school to the rather arduous one in high school, before it scales back in college to a point in which you become so immersed in those freedoms that you don’t look both ways when crossing the street and amble out in front of the soul crushing 100 ton cement trunk of adult work life, doomed to spend the best part of every day doing things you would rather not or, at the very least, rather not every day for 8 hours or more.

I think about this as I near 30 and begin to consider my own future. It became alarmingly real as I bent over the examination table with the doctor’s heavily lubricated finger up my ass (part of a physical, not just for shits and giggles)…….I am really going to do this. Full-time or part-time, partially funded or selling any body part I have a duplicate of, it is happening. I will always be part of the machine, but I am finally starting to pick which part.

Throughout it I doubt there will be much time that I wont be terrified, doubt my abilities, or under stress, but hopefully that will lessen and not exponentially increase. Lets hope anyway.

As an addendum to this: Do you think when my doctor dreamed of going to medical school and worked hard to pull himself through it both financially and academically he thought at any moment in that time that he would spend part of any given day with his fingers in other people's orifices? I am guessing no.