scribbled on a napkin in early 2007 as a med student for the 2nd time:

“Flats crossed at the ankle, gypsy earrings of the luckiest girl alive. A year ago this time I was making lattes and selling cookies to tourists. Now I have a residence at a table in a coffee shop where every day I study things I care about or don’t and listen to spanish pop for endless hours that at times seem to surround me like a cage but most of the time flash me reminders that I am blessed.”

...

at a particular moment I suppose we all think we are the luckiest people alive. and then we look back and realize we were in a prison of our own making and the happiness we thought we had was yet another artificial invention. I don’t know what was wrong with making lattes and selling cookies to tourists. sounds pretty good to me.

sparse paycheck.

whatever.

what will I be doing a year from now that will make me realize what made me unhappy today…