28 January, 2009. 11:58 PM.

Matt’s on call again, for the fourth time in two weeks. But he’s not on for all of February, so things will be a lot calmer then. It’s icy as all hell outside—I slipped outside his building and dragged my soaking wet and slightly injured self inside, rather unhappily. I’m worried for a few reasons—that there will be a lot of calls, due to the crazy weather, and that he’ll get hurt running to a call. He tells me not to worry, but let’s face it—I can’t really help it.

I ask if he wants to stay over, and he says that he’s not sleeping over while on call anymore. He says that I’m jumpy enough as it is—I don’t need his pager waking me up in the middle of the night making it worse. I don’t care about my heart racing whenever someone gets a text message in class, but I’ll probably sleep better without having to worry about making sure he can get out of bed quickly or that I haven’t knocked his radio off of his belt.

We meet up a few hours later, go back to my room, talk for a while, and around midnight he leaves, having “tempted fate enough.” I decide that it’s high time I put all my meds in one place—if anything ever did happen to me, in the current state my room is in, the EMTs would have to go through about a dozen bottles labeled as Levoxyl before they found anything besides spare change and dinosaur-shaped sprinkles. Also, should stop putting Tylenol and ibuprofen in the container labeled only for the latter. When Matt asks for Tylenol and I give him two, he asks how much each is, I say I don’t know, he looks on the bottle and sees that it doesn’t match—yeah. We’re both hoping that I never get BEMCo’d because that would be an unnecessary complication for everyone.