15 March, 2009. 2:10 AM.

Oh my. Pachanga. Enough said.

Meh, elaboration. So Matt was on the standby crew for BEMCo for Pachanga tonight. For anyone not part of the Brandeis community reading this, Pachanga is a twice-yearly dance party known for being filled with drunken people. I didn’t go last semester, but decided to go this time. Whoosh.

I didn’t drink at all prior to going (and I’m not writing this statement as an under 21 individual trying to protect herself), but many (most?) people going did. Arrived at 10:15 ish, Brandeis and Waltham police were already there. Went through a metal detector (only had my keys). No drinks inside. There were suited people for security around the doors that were emergency exits only.

I saw Matt at the beginning of the night. He told me to have fun, and that I had better not see him for a while. I’m not supposed to let bad things happen to me when he’ll have to deal with it. I went into Levin and was there for the better part of three hours, leaving at one. I saw him once filling out paperwork and once running to get something. Nothing really to report, despite this long entry.

Nothing was happening when I was leaving, so I figured it was safe to say goodbye, despite the fact that I couldn’t hear much that he said to me.

The other night, I was asleep and Matt wrote a note to me about these entries, mostly about confidentiality things that I needed to fix, but also about why I write this. He explained that there’s really no danger as an EMT here—I feel like I knew that, but needed someone to say it before I could believe it. He said that the biggest danger to his person was that he would trip wile running to a call. When I asked Vince for consent to post these entries, he mentioned talking to a professor about emotional regulation in healthcare workers. I suppose that that’s my main concern. I’m not worried that Matt’s going to get hurt, but that something that happens in the field will hit him in a way we never expected. He’s fairly good (read: the master) at compartmentalizing. In spite of this, I think I’m worrying less, which is nice, for both of us.

I feel silly for writing this sometimes. I feel like I’m complaining, even though I’m not—I wouldn’t have my life any other way (and I’m happier than I’ve been in years and yes, this entry just went here). At this point, I don’t really care if people read this, or if they get anything out of it. I’m recording these things so that I remember them. If you’re with me, it’s all the better.