A word on the title

I had a friend wonder today if my blog title mentioned scalpels because I was planning on going into surgery. No, my dear readers, this pocketdoc is not destined for a spot in the OR, board scores nonwithstanding. I plan on doing other things in my life like having a family, and being a surgeon doesn't really allow for a lot of that. I just thought that 'scalpels and cephalopods' had a nice alliteration-type ring to it, happened to incorporate a symbol of the medical profession and some of my favorite creatures, and present a contrast between surgical steel and the jelly-like malleability of octopi and their brethren. I suppose it could have been 'stethoscopes and cephalopods,' but I like 'scalpels' a bit better...it sounds a little more edgy, no?

First Post

So...
I've given in to the cyber-demons. I have always thought that blogs were ridiculous; venues for the self-absorbed and under-noticed to vent their little grievances and feel vindicated. I guess I've joined their ranks.

I've been inspired (you could call it) by two of my fave bloggers (found here and here), both of whom are strong women and have been through a lot, emerging with writing skills and humor intact.

I definitely don't claim to have seen a fraction of the hardship either of the two above ladies have experienced; in fact, my life has been damn near a cake-walk compared to the amazing stories of V and W. However, I've always loved to write and I've been woefully negligent to my hand-written journal lately, so I thought that I might try dragging myself into the 21st century.

That said, I was wondering tonight as I washed dishes and stared vacantly across the "Central-American ghetto-esque" landscape that stretches outside my apartment if anyone else I knew was, at this moment, screaming in anguish at their test scores. I imagined the cut scenes, rapidly flashing from one cramped apartment to the next, focused on the gaping mouths of my colleagues as they read their cruel results on impersonal monitor screens across the city. Surely I wasn't alone in my agony? I didn't wish failure on anyone, not even the smug, too-cool-for-school assholes that sat in the back and smirked at the profs, but surely I couldn't be the only one who failed, right? And what do I do now?

I'm in the 99th percentile of failing. It's a "High Fail." That's like winning first prize in the shit-eating contest. And all because of one measly point.