2.0

'Most men die at twenty-five, but aren't buried until they're seventy.'

In my second year of medical school, I made a conscious effort to turn my brain off. To keep things short, it was probably a rebellion thing, having been a model student/nerd for all the prior years. I'm not sure why I'm telling you this in public, but then again this space should be desolate considering the length of my hiatus. 

I just read somewhere about a small study concluding that we are happiest doing mindless tasks, but there surely is more about life beyond online shopping and going to work without my brain. In no way do I intend to drop everything and backpack around South America, but I'd like to have more to derive happiness from than just a difficult drip in the convoluted veins of an oedematous granny. 

It has been an embarrassingly long time since I have read (frantically scrolling through Wikipedia because I have no idea what on earth is wrong with my patient hardly qualifies). I brought home with me Murakami's Norweign Wood today - it was shelved under 'Literature' - as my first step to becoming a person of culture. 

And while we are on the topic, perhaps I ought also to invest in some new glasses from Oliver Peoples to look the part.