I looked through my high school blogs, and turns out I used to be good at this blogging thing. Now I'm better at keeping my mouth shut. I also found this, the results of the career aptitude test I took the semester before I graduated:

Book Editor
Dramaturg
Marketing and Sales Development Coordinator
Feng Shui Consultant
Freelance Writer
Website Designer
Sportswriter
Museum Curator
Film Critic
Film Editor
Editorial Cartoonist
Casting Director
Media Analyst
Criminologist
Architectural Color Designer
Chief Knowledge Officer
Information Broker
Musicologist
Creative Director
TV Host

That's in decreasing aptitude order. Feng Shui consultant is my #4 career match. Seriously. And I love how different this list is from what I'm doing now. I mean, the editing stuff's on there, but I hate my editing classes. What on there indicates that I'd wind up as a physiology major? Maybe that's why this semester seems so hard. I should be in some more dramatic, specialized career. Although, if you'd notice, many of the careers on my list are the type that you really can only get if you're immensely, immensely talented. How many people actually get to be TV hosts? Or dramaturgs? Or even editorial cartoonists?

But anyway, I do love physiology. Even though I get the feeling in certain classes that everyone else is in on something that I'm somehow missing. Like there's some secret that they all share and I got left out of it. It's this vague, nebulous sort of lingering paranoia that I get. It's disconcerting.

But my OChem teacher recited "O Captain, My Captain" in class Wednesday, and I totally was in on that while the rest of the class largely wasn't. I memorized that poem in 8th or 9th grade, and I knew where Dr Peterson messed up. It's amazing how poetry makes things so much better, isn't it? A little Prufrock, for instance, goes a long way.

Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

I used to recite Prufrock every time I went through the New Gate in Jerusalem. That's how Breanne and I first bonded. I put a line from that poem in a letter to her a few weeks ago (she's in the MTC now), and she said it was exactly what she needed to hear. Poetry is good medicine.