self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
I'm a transhumanist doctor. In a better world, I wouldn't need to add that as a qualifier to plain old "doctor". It would be taken as granted for someone in the profession of saving lives.
At any rate, I intend to live forever or die trying. See you at Heat Death!
Friends:
A friend to everyone is a friend to no one.
User ID: 454
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
1d ago
Boooo
(Good one)
I'm sorry. I recall seeing your comment, but I lacked the context for a proper response. I suppose the title of the book is all the context I really need, unless you want to talk about it. I hope you figure things out, and find someone new, who is better for you.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
2d ago
They could just have normal coffee or tea?
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
2d ago
Phlebas is a decent but underwhelming book. The rest of the series is great. The only other one I was somewhat disappointed by was the Hydrogen Sonata. Lovely name, but a disjointed, unsatisfying mess by Banks standards.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
2d ago
Ugh, this reminds me to post my review that compares the Golden Oecumene against the Culture. My backlog is getting out of hand.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
2d ago
I've done my fair share of psychedelics, but I have my limits. As far as I can tell, my personality remains intact, I've just learned to be more fond of myself and value my limited amount of time under the sun appropriately.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
2d ago
Boba tea. Women love it, I'm perplexed by the appeal. Or matcha, which has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. It tastes like liquid grass.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
3d ago
To be fair, I have written the story. Every detail of that day, somewhere in the ballpark of 9600 words. The problem is that it is too personal, and making it safe or suitable for public consumption would take an enormous amount of time.
Hey, at least I was coaxed into spilling one of the more cinematic moments. There was so much, that day, it took at least 5 hours to cover most of it. Why? I forget. Human memory is imprecise. I wanted to capture what I felt in the heat of the moment. I am, despite my best efforts, a romantic. And I'm very good at missing opportunities and then making up for it the first chance I get.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
3d ago
I'm grateful, I really am. All I can promise is that this is a considered decision, and I haven't cut things off.
I will note that I'm not as old as you seem to think I am. Far from it. I'm in my late 20s. I intend to bite the bullet in the next 2 or 3 years, 5 max. I'm quite far from worrying about only having the leftovers of the dating pool at hand, and I keep that a live concern.
I may or may not have fractured my thumb, so I'll keep it brief.
A sober, frugal Dutch doctor who wants a farm and a family, and you're passing on this because she's too organized?
She's not "too organized", I might be lacking in that regard, but I'm not scared off by people who have their shit together. She's too busy, I think. She's intent on entering a brutal specialty for further training, and she's moved/moving to a different city. Not too far, by itself, but in conjunction I'd be surprised if I saw her more than once every other week for the next few years. Even worse if either of us seek a competitive job later, which might require serious geographical upheaval.
I don't want to make demands of her. It's one thing to make those adjustments when you're engaged or married, and it's another to enter a relationship like that. You probably don't understand what an absolute pain in the ass rotational training is, especially when both parties are doctors. She clearly loves her career, and is visibly worried about how that'll impact having a family. I don't go around giving IVF advice for nothing, she's well aware of the health risks of delaying pregnancy, and my impression is that she wants to hold off for a good while.
You're not supposed to "keep up" with her!
True story: I was walking her back to a party, which she had delayed going to for the said 4 hours. We took a shortcut through a uni campus. I was a few steps behind.
"SMH! You walk awfully slow for someone with such long legs."
"I used to run everywhere, once. These days, I'm older. I like to linger and smell the roses."
She raised an eyebrow, "I don't see any roses."
I shrugged. "It's a metaphor, I'm not hallucinating." I sniffed a flower of uncertain taxonomy.
"I thought you'd keep up." She declared, walking off at speed, looking back over her shoulder with a smile.
"I'm still here, am I not?" I resumed chasing her at my own pace. One step behind.
No, she does want someone who keeps up. I can keep up. I'm just tired, sometimes, very often. I'm not too far from taking a stand, digging in my heels, and declaring this is where I'll live now. I just want it to be where I want to be.
You're not internet semi-famous for nothing, and that charm and turn of phrase makes her feel as insecure as her conscientiousness makes you feel.
I genuinely don't think that's the case. I'm not insecure that she, in her chosen field, is visibly more competent. I'm good at my job. She told me she appreciates that. I can pick up on the insecurities she does have: her body, the tension between her career goals and her craving for a family. I don't contribute to these.
I almost let a good woman go for the same reason: I was insecure she would keep charging ahead, and I could barely keep my phone charged. (plus I was enjoying my own grippy-socks/grippy-box decisions). But I didn't, and kid number three is slowing mom down enough that I can just about keep up.
I'm glad you got the happy ending. I'm quite sure I'll get mine too. Say hi to the kids and the missus for me.
Don't walk, run back to her, with as grandly romantic a gesture as her Northern European temperament and the rules of the NHS HR department will allow.
We don't work together any more. But if I see her (big if), I'll bring a bouquet of roses, and ask her to smell them while I stand by and grin like a loon.
At some point in the last few months, without ceremony or consent, I became the most responsible person in my family. There was no coronation. Responsibility in families obeys a conservation law: it never disappears, it just migrates toward whoever flinches last. My parents are getting old and fretful. My brother, now that med school has stopped supplying its ambient excitement, is possibly mildly depressed, and his relationship of five years has come apart in his hands. Seeing it coming didn't dull the pain.
All of which culminated in my vacation falling apart, and me frantically darning it back together. He didn't apply for his visa in time; then, at our parents' gentle nudging, he postponed the whole thing to September. How kind of everyone involved. It's not as if I needed that vacation myself. I was fucking counting on those two weeks to undo several months of pure misery, which, granted, is a lot to ask of two weeks. I was asking anyway.
So I coped. I spent time in Glasgow, which I've warmed to; I can see myself living there in the long run, and God knows the demand for psychiatrists exists. I went to Loch Lomond, which is absolutely gorgeous, and overrun with tourists trailing dogs and small children, a combination calculated to make my heart ache. I ended up in Pitlochry, realized I'd left my keys behind, and did something I'd always meant to do and never had: backpacking.
Or an approximation thereof. I crashed at a hostel, despite being able to afford an actual hotel without checking my balance. Mixed experience. The kids were all on their phones. I looked comprehensively out of place, dressed in work-adjacent clothing and boots never designed for hiking. I could not have given less of a fuck.
I didn't sleep well. My bunkmate has an INCREDIBLY clingy nephrologist girlfriend, who began video calling him at eight in the morning. Ringer on. He slept through it. I did not. She kept this up for fifty minutes, per my watch. I silenced several calls. I tried to shake him awake and failed; the man was auditioning for the morgue. I considered throwing his phone in the bin and, in a display of restraint that should count toward my revalidation, relented.
Eventually I picked up the fucking phone myself and informed her that her boyfriend was not dead, merely doing a very good job acting like it, and that she might be better served dating an ENT specialist who could address the hearing loss, or someone from GI who could work up the clonazepam autobrewery syndrome he had evidently developed. She sounded understanding, or at least relieved to hear a male voice, then immediately pivoted to texting him, with a follow-up call ten minutes later. He did apologize at some point. I have forgiven him, because his life is clearly its own punishment.
I believe I've mentioned a cute Dutch doctor before. The one I was rather confident had a crush on me. With my tolerance for workplace drama being what it is, I'd kept things strictly platonic, barring some barely contained wheezing at her accidental innuendo. My Emotional Support Lesbian (asexual) had long lobbied for me to make a move. I always declined, explaining that I knew perfectly well my reluctance was downstream of a bad inferiority complex and a healthy impostor syndrome, and that knowing this did precisely nothing to dissolve it. Insight, as I tell my patients, is necessary but not sufficient.
She rotated to a different department, but I saw her again before she left. She got to see me doing much better than I'd been when we first met. Without going into detail, I managed to pay down some of the enormous mental debt I felt I owed her. It's a very good story, it really is, and I can't be arsed to write it. I returned favors. I was there for her on the day the NHS cracked even her armor. And we ended up on what even the most self-loathing, insecure version of me couldn't classify as anything other than a date, accidentally on purpose. Four hours. I could practically feel the ionizing radiation as she assessed me for husband material, and, unless I've badly misread the dosimetry, found me to her liking. Not the first sign, either, unless someone wants to tell me that Dutch women casually announce "It's such a shame that men are scared away by competent, career-oriented women" while you're mid-bite of a sandwich. I choked slightly. As I've always said: true of many men, but not me.
I hadn't expected to see her again, and I'd already gotten the platonic farewells out of the way, wishing her well on a career that plainly requires no blessing from me. She is very good at her job. Good enough that I genuinely wondered what the fuck I'd been doing at her age. I got better at some point, is my defense.
I will probably not move ahead with it, and it hurts to write that sentence. I have nothing against women with careers; I just watched myself fall for one. What I have is a finite battery and a realistic model of what it means to love someone who lives at a hundred miles an hour and fits more into an evening than I do into half a week. Distance. Rotational placements. I might be able to keep up. I'm not sure I have the energy to find out. I did have the energy to write 9000+ words about her that evening, because that is the only way I know how to process anything: I pin the longing to the page, next to the pain, where neither can hurt me on the move.
All I can say is that I said and did the things that the SMH of three months ago, that shivering, scared and sorry bastard, had wished he could say and do. I'd like to promise there will be no regrets. I'll settle for reporting that I took the worst of them out back with a shovel and came home alone. I've never been one to hope too hard for second chances (a lie), and I got one I could never have dreamed of. It's a considered decision. It is also a painful one; the two categories overlap far more often than anyone admits. I hope she finds what she's looking for: a family, a farm and a future. And at least she leaves with my link to a LessWrong essay on embryo preservation, plus my own comment underneath. I am exactly that kind of nerd.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
4d ago
Don't even ask. I mean, do, but if you're looking for exercise, it's mostly been impromptu backpacking and solo adventures. I think I did push-ups, once, last week.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
4d ago
I can see the humor in it. I don't feel very gay about it still.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
4d ago
All I care about is the object level question.
A man can wear pink, listen to Lana Del Ray, and paint his nails while not being gay, if he does not have sex with men given the opportunity, and declines to report any such desire.
I don't wear pink, I don't listen to LDR, and I remain straight. I also think traps are hella gay. You are free to accept or deny this, of course. But you sought truth, and there it is.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
5d ago
I forgive you for the unforgivable sin of not knowing the ins and outs of my dating life, particularly aspects I haven't written about before. I do appreciate the concern, I just wanted you to know that I have about the right degree of concern myself. And that instead of simply sitting there being concerned, as would be tempting to some, I'm taking action.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
5d ago
I used to do that back when I was less gainfully employed. I mean, I was still gainfully employed, I just had more free time.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
6d ago
I'd give someone carrying a knife a questioning look, but wouldn't worry past that. As you can see from this thread, some men have strange hobbies. I'll live in peace, as long as it's not a machete or a Bowie knife.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
6d ago
A phone. Earphones in their case. A vape. Liquid for the vape. My hopes and dreams in the rear pocket, so I can sit on them.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
6d ago
Gay pubs are absolutely not the right venue to meet women, but I don't really go there to meet women. I go there for for the booze, and because that's where a few of my non-work friends live and try to die.
I meet women the old-fashioned way: on dating apps or at work. Well, at least one of those is lindy. I will ignore the monthly arranged marriage my dutiful elderly parents drop on my doorstep like a mouse missing a head.
Women without emotional baggage? Where does one find one of those? They clearly aren't looking for psychiatrists.
Jokes aside, I am dating someone with just enough to fit in the carry-on allowance. And we go to places other than gay clubs. I just had a lovely day with her at Loch Lomond.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
6d ago
It seems to me that your chief complaint is that I'm too secure in my masculinity. Uh, what am I supposed to be doing about that? No, seriously. I have few qualms about hanging out with gay people or in gay spaces, or both at the same time, because I genuinely don't particularly care how that comes across. It's clearly not affecting anything IRL. God knows most women would prefer their would be husbands be more like gay men in some regards, as long as they don't actually sleep with other men.
I'm not entirely straight myself, but from observing, listening to, and reading the accounts of fully heterosexual men, any kind of sexual contact with another male is gross and disturbing
.... Fellas? Is it gay to kiss your homies goodnight? Oh, only if you use tongue?
I don't really care that a drunk dude, in a gay bar, pinched my ass. I laughed and waved him off. If he'd gone further, I would have made it very clear that his approaches were unwelcome. If he still kept it up, his nose might have a quick date and breakup with my fist. It's never gone that far, because gay men aren't barbarians. A polite "very kind of you to like me, but you're wasting your time" is usually met with laughs and/or apologies.
Some straight men would be more physical and angry about things, but you wouldn't catch them in gay spaces either.
And now, if you're postulating that this is some kind of weird fetish? All I can do is sigh and turn off my phone. Or just go to sleep, because I need the alarm in the morning.
Aren't you in a (presumably monogamous) relationship with a woman?
I don't think anyone has started taking testosterone while I wasn't looking.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
6d ago
Don't you start growing a sense of humor on me. It's upsetting and unnatural.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
6d ago
Do you think my "jokes" about feeling like it's time for me to settle down and have a wife and kids are just jokes? They aren't.
I am acutely aware of the risks of pushing these things too far. I only need to look at that uncle of mine for a good example of the worst case scenario. By his accounting, a lothario in his 20s and 30s, then turning 50 and feeling awfully fucked and lonely (not mutually exclusive things). To his credit, he did try. He was married to a woman for a year, and she had BPD.
To my credit, while I was with my ex with BPD, I had the brains to not marry her. Despite being intensely in love with her, and seeing a future together. If she hadn't been crazy, I would have been married with kids.
In other words, if you're telling me to settle down, you're preaching to the choir. That's been the plan for several years. The hard part is finding someone who I think fits the bill. The good news is that that's going well. I'd like to be a good husband and father, and not just in possession of more than my fair share of dad jokes. If I need examples, I just have to look at my dad and my grandpa.
You might ask where the delay arises? Well, you try marrying when you're in such a transitional stage of your life, rather unmoored geographically. It's not easy. I met someone I could see myself marrying last year, and as predictably as I had feared, geography ended things.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
6d ago
I'd left my coat in the closet. Next to the real skeleton I owned in med school. I mean, I do own one still, it's just a bit hard to access.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
6d ago
I find it modestly amusing, until someone like @Amadan comes in and misses the running joke. It's been known to happen.
More importantly, ego boosts from male compliments can be real, but should be downscaled. To quote myself:
As wise men have said: if you're struggling on the local dating apps, it might not be your fault and there's hope for you yet. But if you go to a gay bar and don't get hit on, it might be time to see if monasteries are recruiting.
If I wanted to brag about women, I would brag about women. I'm too busy doing other things to them.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
7d ago
I noticed that error, and also expected that you'd be here to correct me before I could get to amending it. In return, I can recommend Dyson Sphere Program as something that might be to your taste. You might even learn to build that Space Elevator that's your true calling. To code.
I was rather surprised to see how outright hostile the sentiment was towards Americans, while attending a reasonably high profile comedy show in Edinburgh tonight. Even directed at the poor sods who responded when the MC/individual comedians asked if there were Americans in the crowd. Apparently "I didn't vote for him" is no defense.
I ran into a very nice gentleman from Washington state while sheltering from the rain under the alcove of his building, next to the venue. I told him that while the show was nice enough, he's better off pretending to be Canadian. He was a tad bit strange, since, as he explained and then demonstrated, he'd stepped out to get soaked in the rain in lieu of a shower. That is probably whimsy and not pathology, but I opted to stay dry.
To be fair, I was sampling from the most vocally leftist/progressive strata of Scottish society. The average Scot seems to be much less deranged, and outright welcoming of the odd American tourist. Anyone else notice such obvious hostility in other countries?
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