The Jump

He jumped.

No, not off a bridge. But you thought a bridge. And if you didn't think he jumped off a bridge you're thinking about it now. First, I'm controlling you. Second, you will always think about the worst case scenario.

The fact remains that he jumped.

Now you're thinking about something less serious. Maybe he's a basketball player and is taking a jump shot. Maybe he's a little kid who is bored and jumping on his parents bed. We all know that I am right. But that last bit is only because I'm controlling you.

You see how badly I need the power and the constant urge to tell you he jumped.

But, as I said before, he jumped. He jumped into the river and took a nice little swim. Of course he came out all muddied, covered in someone's feces, left over bag of chips, and empty cigarette pack. I know exactly what you're thinking--of course the cigarette pack is empty, because no smoker would leave a cigarette unsmoked before throwing the pack into the river.

Anyways, so he jumped into the river and took a swim. When he got out, the eyes of the city were on him, shocked that someone would be so ridiculous that they would throw all caution to the wind and swim through the Hudson River. At least the current was nice and strong that day to carry him all the way to Staten Island. Of course, only an idiot like that would come out the river on that lovely little island.

So he gets out and everyone is staring at him and he is being helped out the river. What a swim he had.

I know what you're thinking now too. You have no clue why I even wrote this story. You have no comprehension of why I am trying to control you with this stupid little boy who swam in the dirtiest river mother nature of made. Right?

Anyways, he had jumped off the George Washington Bridge.

A Knowledge Based Truth

It's time to return. Yet, it's time to take a step back from fiction. It's the reality of the matter that we are in it to help people. Treatment. Differential. Diagnosis. Or was that backwards? Or was that mismatched? It doesn't matter. What does matter, is that the level of stress has elevated to the point of disgrace. I recently recalled what an instructor said about a year ago: "As first years, you all care. By the time you're a third year you'll feel like a robot and all you'll be doing is looking for the right answer, disregarding the person you are treating as a person. And then you'll spend all of fourth year relearning how to be a good person." Ironically, I'm starting to see that emerge from me. And I could say I saw it coming and should have prevented it. But it's not my fault. Heck, I can't even blame the teachers or the school. It's the system.

This might end up being a bit of rant right now. But that's what I do. I rant. And clearly, it's the system. The liberal hippie mindset that we should all get four years of freedom to enjoy ourselves. Yeah, it was great. I had a blast. But seriously, what did I get out of those four years? I made it to 22, met a few interesting people, did some cool things, and learned obscure facts. But now, in another four years I'm supposed to turn around and help people. I think we can all agree, until the length of each day increases by a couple of hours, that is impossible.

Of course, it is inappropriate to go on this rant since thousands of mindless souls have succumb to this yellow brick road in the past, and thousands more will enter and stroll along in the future. But as I am on the road, I have the gifted opportunity and bestowed knighthood to just be a bit disgruntled, a bit stubborn, and perhaps ... positively a coccus.