I miss my mom.

It's 2am. Many of you may read the title and think, "I'm so sorry, her mom died." I don't know which kind of sorrow I'd prefer. Sure, I suppose I don't have it too badly. At least I have a mom, at least I know who she is, at least she offers me no malice. But, here's the thing, my mom is gone. I'm at school now, getting my PhD, well trying. And she's gone. No phone calls, no "I love you"s, no words of wisdom from a sage woman who has been taught by time. Just silence. Yes, I have seen her in the last two months, a sort of emptiness in her eyes. She's like an observer looking into her own empty box. Alcohol...I don't know. Schizophrenia, I also have no idea. But there's talk ... of both... but I don't know. All I know is that I can't see what's in the box. All I know is that the phone doesn't ring, there's no advice there, and it feels like no love. I think there's love, but I don't know. I'd make the phone ring, but I don't know her number. By the way, I'm "Just Christine" now... and she doesn't know. I miss you, Mom. Love, "Just Christine"

hey, this is to the two followers I have. Scooch over to medical maniac. I'm going to be posting on that for a while, and I kinda want people to read. The website is Themedicalmaniac.blogspot.com

Women

It's very true. There has not a single day ever gone by that I have not wished for the ability to help women. Not that I don't want to help me, but I think I have found my passion. I sit again at my desk recognizing in myself the intense desire to make the world a better place for women...all women. Gay, straight, tall, short, fat, skinny, and absolutely average-- we all deserve a chance to believe in ourselves. Today, I thought of a couple careers. A postpartum counselor was one. Another was an obstetrician. I wish I could find the link in the chain that continues to lead me to these ideas. Help! Day by day though, I think I get closer.

Over the past few weeks, I have been seriously considering what I would like to do with my life. My thoughts have been on traveling, teaching, helping people, and going back to school. I know that someday I want to get my Master's degree, but I have never known what suited me the best. Last night I was lying awake, because I was experiencing mild insomnia, and I started to think about beginning a non-for-profit organization for real girls of America. I thought I might call it the Real Girl Advocates of America, RGAA for short. I realized that there has been a consistent idea on my mind since I was a freshman in high school. That idea was women; I'd always thought how great it would be if we females finally realized our first priority, ourselves. I understand that mothers need to think of their kids, and doctors need to think of their patients, but I want to speak out, loudly, against what is happening to our emotions from influences in the media, from our peers, and even in our closets. I'm not saying that we shouldn't buy Gucci; I'm only saying that Gucci should feel more proud to be on us that we feel wearing it. I know I don't have a lot of followers, and I will probably change my mind about what I want to do with my life tomorrow, but tell me what you think anyway.

A story I wrote, first draft, lot of tense mistakes and grammatical errors... I want feedback on structure and content only

April 10th 11:11am.
So fascinating to see Big Ben, we always ventured to the tourist attractions. I hated looking American during a time like this so I always stood behind the camera. Mad that I was never in the pictures, Elisa offered her look of disappointment and reached her arm out as if to present the other tourists that could take the picture for me.
“You know what my wish is” she exclaimed
“Don’t tell me or it won’t come true” I took the shot, I never missed that perfect moment in between condemning or commending when she gave me a loving smile. It was in every photo.
The next minute, off we would be on the tour bus through Great Britain.
Wasn’t this fun!
April 16th 11:11 pm
What a sweetheart. Could I have asked for a better friend? The light blue themed hotel room awakens the brightness in her eyes; it always comes out when she talks to her husband.
“Make a wish” I yell it from the bathroom
“I already did it. No honey, I was talking to Elisa”
I can hear in her voice how much she wishes he hadn’t been a dolt and stayed in New York.
There she sat in our ‘otel in Pari’ looking down at the pictures she took of us.
She looks so happy right now; she never looks this happy.
I won’t tell her now
April 22nd 11:11 am
“This breakfast is huge, I have to take a picture.”
She laughed in disapproval of my excessive touristic qualities of taking pictures of large Italian portions.
“Ah, don’t miss it.” She pointed to her watch. Our routine forced me to close my eyes and think of the thing I wanted most, but being in Italy with your best friend having the time of your life was all I knew to ask for.
Her eyes wandered from contact with mine. I wanted to ask her what was wrong, because I could see it. But it seemed it had just been her thoughts being overwhelmed by how much we had seen in the last few days. I was overwhelmed too; I know I wouldn’t have been able to take any more thrill for a few months.
April 25th 11:11pm
“Elisa, come look at this one” It was one of me with a huge bratwurst in my mouth, hilarious. “Wait, what’s wrong”
She knew, she always knew.
“No, oh no, I’m not telling, we are having too good a time, my wish right now is that you not ask me about it” I wouldn’t want the awkwardness to ruin the trip; I knew she would try to make it the best time of my life if I told her.
It already was.
April 30th 11:11am
Interest in what Elisa had to tell me had overtaken my joy for the rest of our trip. It was finally the flight home and she promised she would tell me as soon as we shook off the excitement of this adventure.
“We’ll be sharing stories about this trip for years,” I said “the excitement will never die”
She kneeled to look through her bag “I think I can’t take this through security, let’s put it in the luggage” She grabbed a tissue and did her theatrical sneeze, the one she used to tell me she wanted to avoid whatever the current subject was. I’d take the hint, but I need to badger her when I get home. There is too much suspense in this for me to handle
“Hey don’t forget” I saw the airport clock, surprised that I caught the time in such a chaotic airport. “Wish”
April 30th 11:11 pm
On the flight home, she looked so content, but I could tell that my not telling her had turned the volume of her happiness down. Her carry on, full of more pictures than necessities, lay under the seat. Half open I saw that they were all of only me, except one.
I remember that day, she said she felt pretty and gave her 1500 dollar piece of equipment to the Asian guy standing behind her. This picture did not have nearly the quality that hers always did, but it was of both of us. I pressed it to my heart and made my wish. Too many tears to take home—I decided then to leave them in Europe. "Well, we'll talk about it tomorrow. There's always tomorrow..." I whispered.
November 21st
I remember when she told me. I remember my heart stopping and a welt growing in my throat. I didn’t want to cry, but now that’s all I could do. Elisa, God Dammit Elisa. Months. I looked through the pictures, so many of her. Every time I saw her face in them, I couldn’t decide what feeling I was having. Then I saw it, the one with both of us. I had forgotten about that day, how perfect it was, how happy she was that for once I stood on the same side of the camera as she was. I looked down at the picture, hoping she would jump out of it to hug me and tell me it was all a joke, and then I looked at the clock.
11:10am

Don't Understand

Today I talked to my friend Matt on the phone. And usually I'm happy that he calls, and I actually was initially. But there was a cold element to his voice, a distance that was almost physically painful. And then I just got angry. For no real reason I began to get mad at him, for not being around, for not calling me sooner, for not loving me as much as he used to. I had absolutely no trigger to make me feel this way except the painful distance. I love him so much that I want to be recognized by him as useful and intelligent. But it seems sometimes that I'm not, sometimes when I talk to him I feel frivolous and unnecessary. Our conversation wore out. Something it doesn't do very often. That also makes me sad; so I called another friend to see if he could cheer me up. And in the first second he did. Why do people influence my emotions so deeply and quickly? It's a good day, I have had a positive attitude all day long. What happened?