it would not be called research, would it?
If you've been over to The Amazing Lace recently, you know that the action is hopping. Things are hot. People are knitting lace, writing poetry, and performing daredevil stunts of staggering genius. While I couldn't even hope to approach most of them (people are writing sonnets and poems in iambic pentameter, among other things), I did have a little bit of a poem that I jotted down during some lecture last week. I stuck it in the pocket of my white coat, thinking that at some point in my 3o continuous hours in the hospital this weekend, I'd have five minutes to blog it.
How wrong I was. Intern call is way different than med student call. From just about 0600 Saturday until 1200 Sunday, I didn't sit down once, unless it was to put something (work-related) into the computer. I did get to lay down and doze for about 30 minutes, but that was it. It was a good night and I'm not complaining - But, no poem. Now I'm home briefly before collapsing and I realize that I left the poem in my white coat. So here's the post-call free association poetry you get instead (Sorry!):
The amazing lace pace.
The amazing lace race.
The amazing race pace lace.
The lace pace race pace lace.
Actual knitting to return tomorrow. The clogs may even make their first appearance.