The tree is up, the frost is on the goose, the pumpkin is getting fat.
Or something like that. The tree (a nice Fraser fir) is indeed up, all six feet of Seuss-inspired silliness of it. I went to a local Walgetmartorama to look at artificial trees and came away unutterably depressed, so I broke all the apartment complex's rules today with my Fresh Cut Tree! Hooray!
The cat is disturbed by the presence of a tree in the living room, but she'll live.
What I want for Christmas, the non-commercial version:
1. To be listed under "Nursing Staff" on Cut to Cure.
2. To get a submission accepted for Grand Rounds. Note that I haven't actually submitted anything yet, primarily because the people who are listed are, like, geniuses. And I feel like an idiot. A neurologically-focused idiot, but a moe-ron nonetheless.
3. Three or four days off in a row with nobody calling me to see if I want an extra shift, or if I'd be willing to be on call. Everybody's been sick lately, what with induced labors and broken backs and the flu.
4. A comic strip that is as unironic and simply beautiful as the old "Peanuts" was.
5. Six more residents like Dario, Mia, Christos, and Jay. Another attending like Kevin: "I went to the Kellogg School of Management so I could manage cornflakes more effectively." Another surgeon like Duke or Bruce.
6. Failing that, no more like Dr. Chucklehead.