Cecilia Reyes

My desk is clean, and I signed a lease, so I guess it's time to say this:

I'm on my way out. The bags are almost packed, the apartment's ready for me, and I've got a nice week of vacation on a beach planned somewhere to make this easier.

I won't pretend like this isn't hard. Most of you mean a great deal to me, and it'll be weird not seeing you around. But that's what we have group texts for, right?

The medlab has never been more full, so I'm sure you'll all manage just fine without me. But I'm a text away if you need me, and I've got a place in the city if you need to flop on the couch. (And I'll be at Cornell when you inevitably need medical attention from a surgeon of top caliber.)

I've got a few more hours of packing, but... tonight we celebrate? And then tomorrow, I move out.

I need to put someone in charge of making sure the staff in the medlab eats. And maybe also that people sleep when I tell them to. That second part does not apply to me.

I'm not soliciting volunteers. You know your self-worths, and you know which ones of you I'm not likely to find annoying.

This is when I start to really miss Jennie. Or even Amelia.

Back to work.

Okay. After hours of labor, the Christmas pasteles are ready. Come to the kitchen.

Right. No way around it, I guess:

The medlab's a bit of a mess. The hallways have looked better, although some of the lights blew out, so you can't really see right now. Which is good for you, honestly, but bad, because it made it hard to avoid some of the puddles.

Anyway, some of us are dealing with that, plus some other things which HIPAA dictates I not mention in detail.

Please cease your usual hovering and scurrying, because I'm not here for it, and I don't really mind being called a bitch, if you know what I mean.

Also, the rest of you could maybe try not to do anything too risky and nonsensical, since we're down a gurney and are paying attention to more important tings.

I got a little carried away, like sometimes happens when it snows and then it's 28 degrees outside, and you feel a little housebound.

Let me back up.

My mother made this arroz con leche when I was growing up for, like, every big occasion. It was rice pudding but sublime. There's cinnamon and citrus and booze-soaked raisins and cherries and a few other special ingredients that I'll keep to myself. But for every occasion. Christmas, Dia de los Reyes, Easter and then also, kind of randomly, Valentine's Day and things like that.

Whenever we had a big feast at home or church or for after the Puerto Rican Day Parade. She'd always make it and it would feed, like, an army of people. Which means that when I learned to make it, I too learned how to feed an army.

Anyway, I was thinking of her, and it was snowing, and long story short, there's enough rice pudding for a Bronx block party in the fridge right now. And not to be outdone, I also made coquito, which I guess is like a coconut eggnog, that tastes particularly great with rum added to it if you're a human of legal drinking age.

Happy Friday, I guess.

It snowed in the Sahara Desert. Happens every few decades, I guess. It's been years since I thought snow was impressive, but sometimes things get a different aura when you put them in the right context.

It's nice to know that you can still be wowed by things that seem pretty ordinary, I guess compared to the kind of extraordinary things we see here on a regular basis.

There's magic, and there's magic. At least, that's what I think.

These pumpkins are it. I thought we had an understanding that you don't mess with the impressive, imposing scalpel queen, people.

Truce is broken. Maybe it's time to move out.

Well, July finally got to me. I'm taking a much-needed vacation. Not saying where, because I know how this place disturbs peace, but trust that I'll be in another time zone, with my phone mostly off.

Knowing the way drug companies work, bet you anything OsCorp was trying to make a mutant cure and stumbled upon this ataxia thing. That's where the big money is.

Over the years, I've cultivated a healthy distrust of pharma.

Today was 100 different kinds of suck. And that was before the dog got sick.

To recuperate, I shall be watching Heathers in a public viewing space. Those of you who have nostalgia or remember when Winona Ryder had promise are welcome. Those of you who wish to educate yourselves about this great piece of pop culture are welcome as well.

Those of you who are actual terrors should perhaps stay away.