I wonder if I could, if I put my mind to it, decide to drop out of waiting tables, study really hard, reenroll at a college somewhere, take all of the physics and biology and stats classes that the school offers, go to every single class and spend all of my free time studying, get an A on every test and quiz and homework assignment, start studying for the MCAT (MKAT?), spend all of my time studying for that test, going so far as to take prep classes and to hire an expensive MCKAT tutor, ace the test, apply to medical schools, ace medical school, ace my internship, ace my interviews, ace my residency, ace not only every single test that I take but also tests that I give out to patients, get awarded these ridiculously high level doctor awards, set unbelievable records, like, doctor who sees the most patients a day, everyday, in the world, and another record like, only known doctor in human history who has never made a mistake, never lost a patient, never sees anything less than a one hundred percent recovery on every single person who even so much as steps foot in the hospital where he works, work every single day to the point that, towards the middle of my career, the American Medical Association decides to change the Hippocratic Oath with a new Oath of my own writing.

I’m sure there is a path for me to whatever I want to do in life. I’m still in my twenties, I theoretically should be able to fulfill any dream. Like becoming a doctor. You just have to put in the hours right? You just have to set a schedule and not stop for anything, right? You just have to sacrifice everything else in your life and devote every single breath and heartbeat to working towards that dream, to making sure you’re completing that goal, right?

I just spend way too much time f’ing around. And while it would be amazing to get up in the morning, look myself in the mirror and think, goddamn it Rob, you did it, you’re a doctor, a real doctor, I don’t think I’d be really into it. It’s like, if somebody came into my house, with a gun, and sat me down at my kitchen table, and, with the gun to my head, pulled out some textbooks, opened them to page one, and told me to start studying, and then he kept doing that, every single day, every page he’d turn and make me read, out loud, and he’d make me run all of these memorizing drills and force me to use flashcards, and he’d have to hold a pen in my hand and force me to apply to all of the best medical schools, to really concentrate on writing the very best application essays, and if he kept doing that, just threatening to kill me if I even so much as stopped studying and working for one second, well then I think I wouldn’t have a choice but to become a world famous doctor. I mean, I don’t want to get shot. That’s what happens when somebody comes up to you with a gun, right? You do whatever they tell you to. “Do as I say or it’s curtains!” I never got the curtains phrase, like I know it means “I’ll kill you,” but what do curtains have to do with getting killed? I’m sure the answer is out there, somewhere, in some history of the English language textbook, but I bet you it’s probably really straightforward and boring.

I wish I had that in my life, somebody with a gun to make me stop wasting so much time, somebody to really make me commit myself to doing something all out, professionally. I wonder if I can hire a hit man to do it. That would probably be pretty expensive. From what I’ve read about hit men and have seen about them in the movies, they’re pretty expensive, and that’s just for killing somebody. How long does it take to kill somebody? From a professional point of view, if I were the hit man, I would want it to be as fast as possible. Like, kill this guy. OK, give me the money. OK, BAM! Dead. That took like two seconds. The longer you take, the less money you’re making per hour. And so for me to hire a hit man to follow me around, twenty-four seven, making sure that I’m working hard, sticking to my goals, that’s probably going to cost a lot, like way more than I can afford.

And what if after a couple of weeks we start to grow attached to each other? Like we develop a friendship. And we start cracking jokes. Like he’ll start using the gun to scratch my head when I’m studying something especially hard, and we’ll both laugh, but a really controlled laugh, only for a second, because he’ll realize that the laughter means a bond is developing between us, so he’ll straighten up quick and say something like, “All right, back to work, knock it off.” And I’ll get quiet and serious and he’ll be quiet and serious but then maybe ten seconds later we’ll both start cracking up at the same time, like we couldn’t hold it in at all, and this time the laughter is really intense.

So yeah, once that happened, I’d start to doubt that he’d actually kill me if I stopped studying, even if only for a second, and I’d test it out, and maybe he wouldn’t shoot me. After all, I’d be paying him a lot of money, and if he actually shoots me, then I can’t pay him any more money, and so he’d have to go back to being just another contract killer, which, after not killing anybody for a couple of weeks, he’d realize he like the non-killer life a little better. And so yeah I’d stop studying for a second and he’d let it slide. And then it would be a full minute. And then just one episode of Community, come on, just one movie, let’s go out for pizza. And then we’d both be sitting around my living room watching online videos and eating snacks, and I won’t be a doctor, and eventually my money will dry up, and he’ll have to leave, not because he wants to, but because, hey, a guy’s gotta eat, right? And so yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever be a doctor. An MD. Who knows, maybe I’ll get some bullshit PhD someday. But probably not that either. Dissertations sound awful.