Stuff and nonsense

Finally got around to vacating the nest
But my knowledge of survival was pedestrian at best
—Darren Hanlon

Where o where has all my spare time gone? After laundry, ironing, unpacking, grocery shopping and cooking, there just doesn’t seem enough hours in the day to do whatever it was I was supposed to do to fulfil my inner couch potato. I’m becoming a (gag) domestique. Feminists everywhere pour upon me your scorn and disgust!

Others disagree however. One biological parent today sent me the following cryptive SMS for no apparent reason:

“Tell T that I’ve fixed the computer. Btw, rhubarb leaves are poison.”

Btw, rhubarb leaves are poison??? Could he BE any more random? I had to re-read the message 3 times to make sure I wasn’t imagining it. And just to clarify, I am not generally known as girl-who-lives-on-staple-diet-of-leafy-rhubarb (c’mon, cut me some slack here), nor do I think my IGA actually sells rhubarb leaves. This message wasn’t the end-point of a conversation revolving around vegetarian dishes. No, this is the random, paranoid way in which Parent thinks, and believes it is his fatherly duty to warn me of such evils running rife in the world. He probably imagines me walking around ditzily in a fog, wandering on to the paths of oncoming traffic and incomplete roadworks.

And if you think THAT is weird…most parents on Day of Move like to give their offspring timeless advice eg. “Now that you’re independent…” etc. What does mine say as I step out of the house? “Buy the green labled salt. It has iodine.”

Most strange personality traits can be traced back to some genetic component, obviously.

Not a particularly exciting poem, but it kinda flows right?

The usual apologies apply.

…

Under the numb release of sleep I forget
Love’s indifference in an age of apathy.
Everything, in time, comes to pass. I let
Fate guide a moment lacking longevity,
Now if only I could end this moment! Your
God is voiceless to my grief, and if mere
Actions speak then His are clear. The core
Truth is that I could not bear your loss. For us there
Should be no elegy, no distant memory.
Defy time’s drive – come back to me.

Deep penetrating foot ulcer

+

topically applied vegemite

=

florid sepsis*!

* Sepsis: The presence of pathogenic organisms or their toxins in the blood or tissues. Btw these medical definitions are not for my readers but for my own regressing education.

So, how does it feel to finally have a real job?

Don’t ask me, I wouldn’t know.

I’m stuck in the little dark and damp corner of the hospital they like to call the Psychiatry block. It’s so far away that whenever I get a Code Blue on my pager I instinctively ignore it because I know I’m at least a 10-min-run away from any action. Not only is it amputated from the hospital in terms of distance, but everything else there runs differently ie. slower, stupider. No snazzy discharge programs for us. We have the latest technology – Microsoft Word! There had better not be any emergencies whilst I’m there cos I have to wheel the portable >20-year-old oxygen and suction tanks to the bedside. And some (not all, but a noticeable few) nurses are…well, let’s just say it’s a good thing they wear badges otherwise one could certainly mistake them as patients.

Anyway, the one thing I can’t begrudge against Psychiatry is that it is outstandingly slack for an intern. I nicked off for 1.5 hours on the first day of my job during my “lunch break” – no, not because I’m trying to get myself fired (although that is a mode of action to be considered in the near future), but because I underestimated how long my oromaxillary surgeon’s appointment would take.

Wisdom teeth removal: Part 2

Yes, wasn’t that a fun lead-up to Xmas. However, it wasn’t a tenth as bad as I thought it would be; no nausea, no pain, no traumatic flashbacks of people shoving tubes down my throat (I love you O my anaesthetist). It wasn’t so bad dribbling blood and having the swollen cheeks of a 2-year-old.

So all was well, right? Wrong. 2 days ago my left jaw started swelling up again. I was hoping against all hope, willing him not to say it, but it was too late: Congratulations, you have a fully-formed abscess! So the next 60 minutes was of me struggling in the chair as he cut open my gum and squeezed out my tender infected abscess, and then of me spitting out a lot of evil-tasting blood and pus.

I hate doctors. Oh shit, I am one.

Happy New Year everyone! May you all have a harmonious and creative 2007.

Hahaha I am only able to write this post in my new house because we’re “leeching” (the boys tell me that technically it’s not illegal) someone else’s broadband…this year is off to a good start indeed.