Aint no party like a Clerkship-Gif party

And now, because I am too unimaginative to draw any more comics at the moment, I bring you a brief story about third year medicine: Internal Med rotation. 

Day 1: Internal med rotation. 

Expectation: Track down your attending and have a professional sit down with them. Because it's important to figure out everyone's roles and expectations. 

Reality: Its probably gonna be a week or so until you figure out how to find your attending, and by then you've annoyed everyone you've come in contact with that actually knows how to be an integral part of hospital society. So instead of a happy meeting with your preceptor and your residents it goes a little more like this:

First Academic Half-Day:

In the morning you're assaulted with a 3hr reminder of how little your brain retained from last year and so your answer to "what is an anion gap" is all like...

To get through it you decide to haul out your trusty laptop and serf 9gag ... but the room has no inter web. So you're like:

Expectation: At the end of half day you figure you'll go have a leisurely lunch and then mosey your way up to the floor. Because I mean... you're probably gonna go home at like 3 or 4pm so how much work could you possibly do?

Reality:

You finish your first day or two with any optimism of "man I'm totally smart I can totally nail this clerkship thing" with utter defeat ...for now.

Because gosh darn it you're gonna be a mofo'n doctor ! TOMORROW YOU WILL NAIL THIS SHIT. GO YOU

Wake up in da morning with your favourite jams on. GET PUMPED. TODAY YOURE GONNA ROCK IT

Because if there's anything 2nd year taught you... its:

How hard could this possibly be?

I mean, you've done CPR and First aid like 6 times now. Easy Peese.

NEWSFLASH:

TO BE CONTINUED...

-------------------------------------------------------

My bedroom floor is a complete anarchy of socks.
Clean socks... dirty socks... boys socks... my socks...

The weird part is that there is literally NO other clothes on my floor.

Which leads me to wonder at what point did Sleepy-A think all clothes must be folded and tucked away except socks (the most vulnerable of all my laundry to dog attacks except for my bras)?

Because for whatever reason, now my floor looks like some kind of hipster-indie artpiece/collage made entirely of unpaired cotton foot-holders.

...The more you know! *rainbow*