Saving the World

Oh, the burden upon my furry shoulders.

Okay, so it's not, like, the whole world. It's just a dinky little medical school in Canada. Just a dinky little medical school in Canada, you say? Isn't that kind of like guarding a tiny little litter box in, say, Windsor Castle? The freakin' Vatican?

Well, sort of. It's pretty little. One of the littlest in Canada.

That's why it's so endearing to me, I guess.

That's why I'm so friggin' pissed off that they let that last bumbling, inept managewhore bulldoze it into the ground. It's like that abusive spouse that you left. It's like that unhealthy pack-a-day habit you nixed. It's like that cold bottle of beer screaming at you from the fridge on a Monday night, when you know better.

You just can't say no. You can't turn your back on it.

As much as I hate it, as much as it drains me, as unfair as it is that I'm making $15K less per year working ten times harder than she did while she did NOTHING, just to clean up her mess, as much as it tires me out so bad that I can't cook dinner, as much as it burns me out by the end of the day, as much as I want to run to the top of that beautiful 19th century double-brick mansion that houses the School of Medicine and shout "I quit!" from the ornate Victorian balcony up there in the turret...as much as I hate it...I love it.

*sigh*

I am such a sucker.

Okay, medical school. I'll save ya. I'll pay all your damn outstanding bills and I'll get you through the friggin bird flu just like I saw you through SARS. I'll try to rally up a discouraged and battle-worn group of dedicated staff and try to pick up the pieces left by that fvcktard who treated work like it's a goddamn seven-days-of-the-week-Friday-afternoon-social-club and got away with it. I'll do it.

An extra $150 bucks a month. That's it. Probably not even that, after taxes.

So, why?

Well, I guess I'm hoping that some day, I'll see that girl in third year walking to the launch pad at Cape Canaveral, waving to her family. Maybe that dude in second year who doesn't say much in person but who writes really enthusiastic emails will find a cure for cancer. Maybe that chick who just slid through from the waiting list to get into first year will save my kitten's life someday.

Oh, I'm such a fucking pushover.