I don’t know what riveting activities occupied you this fine weekend but I can tell you my Saturday was rockin’. I spent the better part of the day doing something I’ve been putting off for a while now. I finally opened a file on my desktop called CV. Yes, after 2 long years, my dusty resumé was excavated from the bowels of my computer. I’ve been meaning to update it for ages, but I’ve been stuck on how to mix fancy pants psychiatrist with author of book about croissant gorging and the state of my arse. Tricky, very tricky.

Anyway, it’s time to start reflecting on my next career move, so the logical first step was to have a look back at what I’d done so far. All I could think as I was reading through my work history was who the hell is this about? After a couple of years in pajamas chained to a laptop and a plate of pastry, it’s hard to believe that I ever did anything of significance. I must say I look a whole lot smarter on paper.

No wonder I wanted a break after that mess I was into. I needed a nap partway through reading the bloody thing. Too many duties and tasks and responsibilities. Too serious. Too tedious. Too everything. Fifteen years spread over seven pages. Of course what isn’t on any page are the relationships I had with patients and co-workers, the wonder and art of healing, all the good stuff that made the toil worthwhile.

I did manage to weave in the blog and the blook at the end under the heading Creative Writing. I like how it looks in there among all the dry medical jargon and degrees. Maybe it suggests a free spirit, a bohemian artiste type or at least someone who has a hobby besides eating and nagging. Or maybe it makes me look like a sketchy mafia doc who was trafficking narcotics in the alley behind the hospital, escaping prosecution by hiding out in a small French town. Either way, it takes the geek factor down a notch and adds interest to what reads as a somewhat bland life.

Now it’s all slick and shiny, ready for, well, I don’t know what. Who the hell will ever read it remains to be seen. Even if nobody sees it I think it was useful to remind myself that I too was once useful — a player on the scene, a mover and shaker, bringing home the bacon and sticking it to the man. I still say waiting for a man to bring me a plate of bacon isn’t a bad gig at all. Maybe I’ll hold on to those seven pages for just a little longer.

 

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