Excellent. Fantastic. Superb.

These were just a few of the words that came to mind when my soon-to-be neuroanatomy professor emailed the class informing us of some optional but useful christmas reading. The title of the book really draws you in "Sidman's Neuroanatomy, A Programmed Learning Tool" and makes you yearn for more.

Just say it to yourself a few times, Sidman's. ssssidman's, mmmmm.....sssssidmannn's.

I'll attempt to restrain myself for you, gentle reader, knowing that with each elegant brain region formally named, your already insatiable hunger for neuroanatomy grows.


It's not that I don't enjoy neuroanatomy, it's more that with two weeks until winter break cabin fever is setting in, sans the cabin. I might argue that cabin fever is less taxing than finals, simply because cabin fever doesn't involve scantron tests and powerpoint.

My state of mind is best illustrated by an anecdote from today on the elevator. While conversing with a fellow med student, a dental student from my undergrad school hopped aboard on his way to anatomy. "Hi, Steve," (his name isn't actually Steve, rather, I think Steve is a funny name. Sorry everyone out there named Steve.) I said. "Headed up to anatomy?" "Yep, Chris, we're almost done, it's the only class that I'm getting a B+ in and I hate it."

It was at this point that I exchanged glances with my med school friend and you could tell that we were both scanning the elevator for a blunt object. Constant, high grades to us, like the yeti, have become the stuff of legends. We've heard stories but can't confirm the report.

"well, good luck!" I said, while swearing under my breath.


Ah, I guess this is what tests and depression does...