Matchmaker, matchmaker make me a match . . .

Find me a find, catch me a catch.

My match list is due February 25, the submission thereof will determine my fate.

I have been having anxiety dreams: ones where I match, don't match, locations where I match, I don't match and become a crazy cat woman with husband, and strangely, one where I was an African servant in Dutch West Indies in the 18th century. I don't think that was an anxiety dream.

For those who don't know what match is:

The to-be-a-doctor regulating body decided that the most judicious manner in determining where residents are place is through a computerized system where the applicant enters in their top 20 choices, the residencies enter in their top applicant choices, and voile! Come March 19th, we are "matched" to our respective top choices/applicants. If you've ever done one of those find-your-match-Valentine's-surveys in college or high school, residency match sort-of works like that, only instead of matching characteristics, you put the top 10 beefsteaks (or wenches) you'd like to date, and vise-versa.

Sort of. There is a strategy to it.

So this is occupying my mind greatly. If I seem distracted in the coming weeks, it's because I'm writing a paper, creating two presentations, working on two consult services, and doing match-stuff.

And so tonight, I'm going for steak and beer.