I'm sitting in the Wallace Medical Concern downtown office off on Overton street just off of 21st. I'm two blocks from the trendy 23rd street and just on the edges of the pearl district. Because I'm working down town today, I gave a ride to my two roommates working downtown today with their placements at El Programa Hispano. It was weird to wake up and hop on the freeway and come into the city to work. This is the real world. I have a job - minus the pay, but a job none the less. When I'm done with work at six, or done with clinic at 10, I got home and don't have to do anything. I can sit around and work on the puzzle in the living room with my roommates without a lab report hanging over my head. I wake up in the morning and don't have to remember to print out my essay that's due or make sure I have all my notebooks for class. I make my self a sandwich and head off to work. It's weird. I don't feel old enough to have a "job."
That was what was on my mind this morning as I crossed the bridge to head into Portland.
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