Yes, the place from that South Park episode

Colorado was incredible, as expected, and it took a lot of courage to actually get on the plane this morning that returned me to dreary Philadelphia. Crying the whole way to the airport, watching the mountains fade in the rearview mirror once again, I couldn't help but muster the idea of actually opening the car door and jumping out of the moving vehicle to avoid the inevitable painful goodbye. You think I'm joking when I say I really considered this more pleasant option.

But to avoid another fit of tears, I'll indulge on the positives of the past week. A combination of skiing, friends, drunken nights, visiting potential wedding locations, and my love made it one of the best trips of my life. Returning was like visiting your old undergrad college. It was like I never left. And boy did I wish I never had. We did all the same things we would've done last year: skied, hung out at the normal bars, saw the same old people, drank Fat Tire, drove up and around the mountains for hours, soaked in the hot springs, had dinner at our favorite restaurants, and even tolerated a visit or two to the Brewery... mine that is.

5 more years. Just 5 more. Almost 1 down, 5 more to go. Can I do it? How tempting it is to finish only 1 more year of school, drive back West with a Master's, and start my life. Picture two strong burly guys (or gals for you insecure men out there) on either side of you, each grabbing an arm, and pulling with all their might. You begin to experience the kind of torture I'm subjecting myself to. But, then again, isn't this always the frustration I blog about? I need some new material.

Here we go...

OK, so plane ride back to Philly, pretty uneventful for the most part. Finished my latest Nick Hornby book and so began on some Sudoku puzzles, occasionally daydreaming as I gazed out the window at the infinite number of farmfields below me. (Oh, and giving the finger to Ann Arbor again as we flew over... that would be about 4 times now) But back to Sudoku. Not really concentrating too hard on the puzzles due to the gazing, I was pretty slow to complete the "medium" sets. When all of a sudden, "Do you want some help? That's a 4 up there," as the woman sitting next to me pointed to the top center square in the upper right box. "Uhhhh... thanks?" Dammit, I should've put on my headphones sooner.

Alright, so, I know, planes are boring, especially when your husband has put on his noise-cancelling headphones, and you have nothing to listen to or read, so you patiently sit in the seat with your hands on your lap, sporadically bothering the nice girl sitting next to you. Before I knew it, I was in some conversation about Sudoku books and how she wished they would sell those kinds of things in Lancaster where she's from. (Apparently the Amish are not fans of Sudoku?) I debated about whether or not to tell this woman my sob story just so she would stop talking to me. "Yes, I live in Philly. Yes, I have a fiance. No, he does not live in Philly. Yes, he lives 2000 miles away. Yes, that really does suck. No, I'm not sure how it's going to work out. Actually, I'm thinking of shooting up the plane with the gun that I made out of this ballpoint pen."

I resisted the temptation, but panicked when she eyed my marinara sauce that was given with our complimentary breadsticks. Did she think I was going to share or something? I double-dipped to discourage the idea. And considered the mechanics of a gun versus that of a ballpoint pen.

Maybe I was just in a piss-ass mood (OK, definitely was in a piss-ass mood), but I felt no guilt when I blatantly put on my headphones and continued to gaze out the window and fill in the empty squares on the page in front of me. I don't mind chatting with the fellow traveler, but not today. She was going to have to read Sky Mall for the fifth time.

For the Love of Science

For the past 13 weeks, I've been forging my way through the second term of the year, trying to maintain grades, a relationship, and a life. I've managed to keep all these in check (I think), and I've had the added bonus of getting to know someone new, a very wonderful person, someone completely devoted to the field of science and medicine. So devoted, in fact, that they have given their body up for the advancement of education.

My cadaver, aka lab table 7, is an 84 year old woman... cause of death believed to be a CVA (stroke) - and confirmed by yours truly. Frail, tiny, helpless, and lying on a cold metal table, I couldn't help but wonder what this woman's life was like. What were her dreams? Was she married? Did she have children, grandchildren? Did she cook wonderful homemade meals like all grandmothers do? What was her favorite christmas cookie to bake? How many brothers and sisters did she have?

I'll never know the answers to these questions, and I can only speculate that she was a kind old woman who was generous enough to donate her body to science. Would I be able to do the same thing? Since 2nd or 3rd grade, I've developed a profound respect for Science and its progress in the medical field. But I don't know if I could donate my body to the study, knowing that it could indeed be a cadaver for medical students. Not that there's anything wrong with that, the utmost respect is always utilized while in the lab. But I don't know how I feel about med students poking and prodding at my insides, looking at whatever "anomalies" I have compared to a normal body. Not to mention all my gut fat.

I guess once you're dead, you're dead, and you really don't give a crap what happens to your lifeless body any longer. But still, cadavers hold a special place in my heart after this term. It'll be sad to say goodbye to my old woman on Tuesday. I've developed a sort of bond with her. Before I leave, I'll be sure to say thank you.

And 10 extra points to the nerds that cannot only name all the muscles in the picture, but also its innervations and functions. I know I can.