So, I'm gonna be a doctor

It's true, dear reader, I have been accepted to medical school. The secretary, who made it feel as though she was one of my friends' moms by the end of my interview day, gave me a call last week as I was heading to my Grum's house for the holidays. Just like that, one day I was obsessively checking my email in hope of some kind of sign and the next it was decided, written. Needless to say I made quite a scene as soon as we hung up. I had pulled into a crowded gas station parking lot to take the call, so at least twenty pairs of confused eyes took in my party-of-one in the drivers seat as I whooped and banged on my Subaru's ceiling. I almost want to get a tattoo in celebration.

Apologies for not sharing the news sooner, but, you know, what with holidays and my former non-committed blogger status, it didn't dribble out until now.

I'm feeling now, however, that I should turn sober and introspective. Here, let me consider the weight of my chosen career and all of the implications therein. I should... but maybe I'll save that post for the first day of actual medical school. Which I can say. Because I got in. So I'm going. Which is, uh, mad cool. It's funny how I'm not really nervous about all the work and pressure and how hard the actual school->residency->practice part will be. Mostly because that's on me, I can handle that, but man does it suck to have faceless admissions boards holding your future in their hands. I'd like to thank them, for giving it back. Actually, I almost sent them a card with my deposit check that said something along the lines of "Holy Crap, I'm So Excited!" but it wouldn't fit into the envelope.