Orientation’s in two days now; every day seems a little stranger and stranger. Each morning that I wake up, today being no exception, I get this feeling that these days I’ve been spending here in Vermillion, acclimatizing myself to the more southern part of this fine state, are nothing but a delay, a postponement of that great challenge that lurks right behind those white coats presented on Friday.

I could not, however, be more excited. My textbooks have been sitting on my shelf, calling to me, beckoning me even to start on this path, to open both the books and soon the human being, in an unbelievably intimate and, if Kundera’s to be believed, blasphemous manner (late in The Unbearable Lightness of Being Tomas reflects upon his career as a surgeon, including the first time he ever performed surgery. What he saw, he claims, upon that first incision of the scalpel was greatest blasphemy- to see something that was never to be seen).

That being said, being in Vermillion has so far been quite enjoyable. It has a charm to it, the way most small towns do, that feels warm and welcoming, with bartenders who listen to the Hold Steady and have Velvet Underground/Andy Warhol tattoos to the motley bunch one can meet merely based upon a misidentification.