It's like living in a Bob Ross painting.

Hello from the mountains of Western Pennsylvania! I'm in the heart of coal/steel country, where people say "yins" and the accent indicates our proximity to West Virginia. Although it is very pretty out here (the fall foliage reminds me of my days in the Hudson Valley), it makes where I was in central PA look like a bustling metropolis. I went to the local mall for some retail therapy, but I couldn't find the usual mall staples like Ann Taylor, Banana Republic, NY & Company, etc. So I kept walking around, thinking they were hidden in some magical wing. Nope. Desperate, I walked into a strange store called Boscov's, got freaked out by the neon lighting, and ran out. Now I get excited to go to Wal-Mart (maybe Dollar Tree, if I'm feeling dangerous).

Weston: Why are you climbing the scarecrow?
Me: Because I don't know what else to do! 

I'm in the middle of my psychiatry rotation, and I have to admit, it is much more exciting than I anticipated. The hospital is the type I hope to work for after I graduate--a large (500+ beds) Level I trauma center (with a big cafeteria with good food and good hours). There are separate units for adult, gero, and child psychiatry, and each is very active. My favorite experience has been the child psych week; I liked it so much that I still visit in the evenings and help the nursing staff when it's really busy. Plus, this being my fourth straight month on an away rotation, I know what it's like being in a strange place, away from family and friends, sleeping on a strange bed, so I figured I'd be a friendly face to the kids while they're adjusting. Some come from really tough home situations, and when they're discharged, part of me is sad because I know that chances are, their home situation (which contributed to the actions that landed them in the unit in the first place) isn't going to change, which will lead to continuation of these unhealthy behaviors. Thinking back to the newborns all wrapped up in blankets in the nursery last month, I want to cry because they're born with a clean slate, but it's the unfit parents and the malignant home life that lead to the classroom violence and the suicide attempts and the angry outbursts. They don't stand a chance. The little boys labeled as "out-of-control" are, deep down, the same as the well-behaved ones. They just want to play with trucks and get into tickle fights and eat ice cream three times a day, away from a stressful home/school setting. They say that it takes a special person to be a child and adolescent psychiatrist, and they're right. My attending delivers wonderful care to these children and their families, is an empathetic patient advocate, and still has enough energy at the end of the day to raise her own boys.

"Aww, look at the little kids playing underneath the
John Deere sign...wait, are they playing in CORN?!" 

Now, while I have enjoyed my time here (and I hear child psychiatrists are in high demand), I miss getting my hands dirty. More than that, I miss civilization. I've been keeping busy on the weekends by travelling to Pittsburgh to celebrate my long-awaited entry into my mid-twenties and to State College to go pumpkin picking, but I can't wait to sleep in my own bed, eat some decent food, and hit up the outlets. The outlets outside of Pittsburgh didn't even have a Yankee Candle, which is mind-boggling. Where else am I supposed to pick up my discounted, autumn-scented candles?