I am in a state of indecision. Possibly due to yet another of my old school friends getting engaged. It's bridal bouquets and babies everywhere you look among my former classmates.
So it's prompted a bizarre look at the future. Pretty far into the future, actually, considering that the next six to eight years are pretty set in stone - stuck in my university area finishing degree and doing foundation years. No, I'm looking at old wrinklies future time...
I love R. But he has the temper of a petulant toddler. It is evident in his father. And mine. Isn't it said that you choose a man who reminds you of your father?
I hate the strops. The grumps. The tantrums. The sulks. The mardys. The 'I'm going to sit in my bedroom for the remainder of this evening, refuse to emerge, and refuse to communicate even through the bedroom door'.
Keep telling myselt it's all good practice for when the patter of tiny feet is finally heard in my life.
I can't help thinking that I only consider that R and I have a long term future because he is my first proper boyfriend. My first love. My longest relationship. Maybe if I had more experience in this, I wouldn't cling on to R like a liferaft to a Titanic survivor. I would be able to let him go, knowing that there are many more fish in the sea.
But R and I both know that we are not the people to give second chances. We are both on our second chances for minor indiscrepancies, many months past. But for big things? If I walked away, the path back does not exist. And if he left me, for whatever reason, I stand on too many principles to take him back.
The question remains, am I wasting time with R? Is Mr Right hiding just around the river bend, but I have to actually put my oar in the water, and push? Not just blindly float.
Meh, I'm on a down day. It's a week short of our 6 month anniversary. I'll keep floating. Life has waves. I just need it to lift and let me see the horizon again.
Monday, 29 December 2008
Sunday, 21 December 2008
Home SweetnSour Home
After many, many hours cooped up in a sardine tin, I am HOME!!!
The sofa has never been so comfy.
Lets see how long it takes for the novelty to wear off and my mum to badger me into doing chores again...
The sofa has never been so comfy.
Lets see how long it takes for the novelty to wear off and my mum to badger me into doing chores again...
Sunday, 14 December 2008
Like a phoenix...
Procrastinating like a true med student. So I'm finally here, cooped up in my little room in halls. And I'm not exaggerating about the little. If I tip my chair back, I hit the bed. If I sit on the end of the bed, I kick the wardrobe. I can almost touch both sides of the room at once. I do love it though :) Covered in Zac Efron posters, shelves packed with my books and DVDs (House boxsets are hugely detrimental to anatomy study), fairy lights dangling above my desk... It's my space and no one else's.
And the reason I'm back to blogging? I have to do a mini-presentation on 'Outline the main inequalities in health in Britain' tomorrow morning. I've known this for six weeks. I have 5 papers printed out and highlighted. But no actual written notes... It was all damn perfect til the one paper I thought had all the answers turned out to be based on a Dutch population. Doesn't quite match the requirement of 'in Britain'.
Nearly done with it now. Three pages of prose (never did get the whole idea of bullet points) about the Black Report, child poverty, socioeconomic groupings, and 'why eczema has a higher incidence in the highest socioeconomic classes despite no biological reasoning for this'. And I enjoyed writing it :S
Probably because I actually felt like a medical student, perusing papers from journals to find proof that supported what I wanted to say. Not just Wiki-ing the title and copy-pasting. Add to that the fact that I actually have to trek to the hospital for tomorrow's tutorial and I may as well throw the stethoscope round my neck now.
And the reason I'm back to blogging? I have to do a mini-presentation on 'Outline the main inequalities in health in Britain' tomorrow morning. I've known this for six weeks. I have 5 papers printed out and highlighted. But no actual written notes... It was all damn perfect til the one paper I thought had all the answers turned out to be based on a Dutch population. Doesn't quite match the requirement of 'in Britain'.
Nearly done with it now. Three pages of prose (never did get the whole idea of bullet points) about the Black Report, child poverty, socioeconomic groupings, and 'why eczema has a higher incidence in the highest socioeconomic classes despite no biological reasoning for this'. And I enjoyed writing it :S
Probably because I actually felt like a medical student, perusing papers from journals to find proof that supported what I wanted to say. Not just Wiki-ing the title and copy-pasting. Add to that the fact that I actually have to trek to the hospital for tomorrow's tutorial and I may as well throw the stethoscope round my neck now.
Friday, 11 July 2008
I love my boyfriend....
The day after Pre-Spain Drinkies (2), H and I were at the pub as normal. It sounds like I'm out every night painting the town red, but honestly, this was one crazy fortnight. It's not normal. I'm still recovering from sleep deprivation...
Anyway, H got a text from S saying he was coming to take us out, and had R with him. Cue H and I getting very excited, then horrified as we realised neither of us had perfume, make up, mints, hairbrush, etc.
I missed the look on J's face when R walked in. Apparently it was a mixture of jealousy and fury.
We went for a drink at 'our' bar, and then when we went to move on to a different bar, we realised that most places in town had shut. So we ignored the normal option (give up, go home) and instead did this.
Drove to Tesco to buy a DVD, wine, vodka, cherryade, cookies, Doritos, dip and Ben & Jerrys ice cream. Then drove to S's to watch the DVD while consuming everything else we'd bought. There's something surreal about eating Phish Food at 2am while watching Blades Of Glory.
But less surreal than realising its four am and that the sun's coming up. So we piled back in the car and drove. Drove for miles, out into the country, looking for somewhere to park to watch the sunrise. Aren't our men romantic?
We missed it. At least, we think we did. We were facing the wrong way, or behind trees, or just totally lost. It was a fun crazy road trip though. By this point it was five. Again, we could have called it a night then.
Nope. We headed over to H's, who lives practically surrounded by fields, grabbed a couple of blankets, and headed to the top of the nearest hill to watch the rest of the sunrise. We saw the first early morning blackbirds. We saw foxes frolicking across the meadows. A sparrowhawk circling the dewy fields. Rabbits leaping from grassy tussock to tussock. And a snail, who tried to invade our blanket. He went for a short flight.
It was so incredibly romantic, to be laying on a blanket watching the dawn chorus with R laying next to me. H and S were a short distance away, supposedly out of sight (although from what S said to me later on msn, he saw plenty of me and R). There's a fantastic video on R's phone of S and H wandering across the field in opposite directions to find bushes to pee in, and then you can hear R and I talking, and then a scream (from me) when S creeps up and puts the snail on R's head. But it captures that morning perfectly. The four of us hanging out companionably, yet having a lovely time with our other halves.
I saw R again the next afternoon (well, I guess it was that afternoon really). He'd had no sleep, having left H's at half six to be at work for seven, whereas H and I had crashed out on her sofa for a few hours. I went to decorate the house. Painting while hungover and sleep deprived is not generally a good idea. L found it entertaining anyway.
And I met R's mum for the second time. I met both his parents the first day I helped out with the house. His mum had turned up while we were wandering in from the garden, arms round each other, and although I wasn't introduced as the girlfriend, it was certainly implied. His Dad may have not immediately approved of me because at the time he appeared I was splattered with paint, as was R. Not much paint had made it onto the walls.
But his mum definitely likes me. Possibly because while R was arguing with her about something, I ignored him and started washing down the brickwork on the front of the house, which she'd been on at him to do for ages. See Mrs R, I'll be the perfect daughter in law. Did I really just say that? Argh.
Basically its all going fabulously. I was round at the caravan last Saturday (because the house is as yet not habitable) and hung out with R and L for a few hours. R and I went for a walk round the village, and then when we got back he asked me out :)
Then we broke up half an hour later.
It wasn't my fault! Much...
L and I were joking about how R was clearly second best because I'd got with S just weeks before. Then I was kidding about, saying R and I were only sharing in Spain because it was either that or two other lads.
R got majorly oversensitive about it. And broke up with me. Mardy arse.
So we both sulked for half an hour or so, while I sat under L's duvet on one sofa and R sat under his duvet on the other. Then much sweet apologising and kissing and making up followed. Which meant he had to ask me out again. Haha.
I am falling in love with R so fast it's unreal. He's the first thing I think of when I wake up, and I don't go to bed without texting him first to say good night. He does the same. The background on his phone is a picture of me on our last date, mucking around wearing a roman helmet at the museum. His profile pic on FB and msn is of the two of us out for a drink. I can't go more than a few days without seeing him. He blew off his man-date with S to hang out with me tonight so we don't spend the entire weekend apart.
We're quite coupley. He feeds me jaffa cakes. I change the settings on his phone. He lets me pack my excess baggage in his suitcase for Spain. I talk about him non-stop at work. His friends know everything about me. I refer to him as 'the boyfriend'. When we're together we're always touching, holding hands, hugging, kissing.
I love how we can go from a really romantic kiss to wrestling on the floor, from holding each other close to tickling, hand-holding to thumb-wars. We just click. He doesn't mind me going off on random tangents in the middle of conversations, whether its about umbrellas or some crazy idea for winning the apprentice. He mocks me for everything, but is quick to say sorry and kiss me if he oversteps the mark.
We have the nuttiest conversations about everything. Tinkerbelle wings on humans, stealing roadsigns, hats, just random crazy ideas about nothing. Occasionally now I'll make a comment when I'm talking to another friend and they'll look at me as if I'm cuckoo, and I have to remember that not everyone understands the conversations R and I have.
I don't care. This is my own little world, and right now it has R in it. I'm trying to be oblivious to the fact that this ends in September, that I wouldn't trust him being so far away and that I wouldn't cope with being away from him for so long. I know we're only been together officially for 6 days, but I can't stop myself.
I want to copy that scene from A Walk To Remember. When she says 'Promise me you won't fall in love with me'....
Anyway, H got a text from S saying he was coming to take us out, and had R with him. Cue H and I getting very excited, then horrified as we realised neither of us had perfume, make up, mints, hairbrush, etc.
I missed the look on J's face when R walked in. Apparently it was a mixture of jealousy and fury.
We went for a drink at 'our' bar, and then when we went to move on to a different bar, we realised that most places in town had shut. So we ignored the normal option (give up, go home) and instead did this.
Drove to Tesco to buy a DVD, wine, vodka, cherryade, cookies, Doritos, dip and Ben & Jerrys ice cream. Then drove to S's to watch the DVD while consuming everything else we'd bought. There's something surreal about eating Phish Food at 2am while watching Blades Of Glory.
But less surreal than realising its four am and that the sun's coming up. So we piled back in the car and drove. Drove for miles, out into the country, looking for somewhere to park to watch the sunrise. Aren't our men romantic?
We missed it. At least, we think we did. We were facing the wrong way, or behind trees, or just totally lost. It was a fun crazy road trip though. By this point it was five. Again, we could have called it a night then.
Nope. We headed over to H's, who lives practically surrounded by fields, grabbed a couple of blankets, and headed to the top of the nearest hill to watch the rest of the sunrise. We saw the first early morning blackbirds. We saw foxes frolicking across the meadows. A sparrowhawk circling the dewy fields. Rabbits leaping from grassy tussock to tussock. And a snail, who tried to invade our blanket. He went for a short flight.
It was so incredibly romantic, to be laying on a blanket watching the dawn chorus with R laying next to me. H and S were a short distance away, supposedly out of sight (although from what S said to me later on msn, he saw plenty of me and R). There's a fantastic video on R's phone of S and H wandering across the field in opposite directions to find bushes to pee in, and then you can hear R and I talking, and then a scream (from me) when S creeps up and puts the snail on R's head. But it captures that morning perfectly. The four of us hanging out companionably, yet having a lovely time with our other halves.
I saw R again the next afternoon (well, I guess it was that afternoon really). He'd had no sleep, having left H's at half six to be at work for seven, whereas H and I had crashed out on her sofa for a few hours. I went to decorate the house. Painting while hungover and sleep deprived is not generally a good idea. L found it entertaining anyway.
And I met R's mum for the second time. I met both his parents the first day I helped out with the house. His mum had turned up while we were wandering in from the garden, arms round each other, and although I wasn't introduced as the girlfriend, it was certainly implied. His Dad may have not immediately approved of me because at the time he appeared I was splattered with paint, as was R. Not much paint had made it onto the walls.
But his mum definitely likes me. Possibly because while R was arguing with her about something, I ignored him and started washing down the brickwork on the front of the house, which she'd been on at him to do for ages. See Mrs R, I'll be the perfect daughter in law. Did I really just say that? Argh.
Basically its all going fabulously. I was round at the caravan last Saturday (because the house is as yet not habitable) and hung out with R and L for a few hours. R and I went for a walk round the village, and then when we got back he asked me out :)
Then we broke up half an hour later.
It wasn't my fault! Much...
L and I were joking about how R was clearly second best because I'd got with S just weeks before. Then I was kidding about, saying R and I were only sharing in Spain because it was either that or two other lads.
R got majorly oversensitive about it. And broke up with me. Mardy arse.
So we both sulked for half an hour or so, while I sat under L's duvet on one sofa and R sat under his duvet on the other. Then much sweet apologising and kissing and making up followed. Which meant he had to ask me out again. Haha.
I am falling in love with R so fast it's unreal. He's the first thing I think of when I wake up, and I don't go to bed without texting him first to say good night. He does the same. The background on his phone is a picture of me on our last date, mucking around wearing a roman helmet at the museum. His profile pic on FB and msn is of the two of us out for a drink. I can't go more than a few days without seeing him. He blew off his man-date with S to hang out with me tonight so we don't spend the entire weekend apart.
We're quite coupley. He feeds me jaffa cakes. I change the settings on his phone. He lets me pack my excess baggage in his suitcase for Spain. I talk about him non-stop at work. His friends know everything about me. I refer to him as 'the boyfriend'. When we're together we're always touching, holding hands, hugging, kissing.
I love how we can go from a really romantic kiss to wrestling on the floor, from holding each other close to tickling, hand-holding to thumb-wars. We just click. He doesn't mind me going off on random tangents in the middle of conversations, whether its about umbrellas or some crazy idea for winning the apprentice. He mocks me for everything, but is quick to say sorry and kiss me if he oversteps the mark.
We have the nuttiest conversations about everything. Tinkerbelle wings on humans, stealing roadsigns, hats, just random crazy ideas about nothing. Occasionally now I'll make a comment when I'm talking to another friend and they'll look at me as if I'm cuckoo, and I have to remember that not everyone understands the conversations R and I have.
I don't care. This is my own little world, and right now it has R in it. I'm trying to be oblivious to the fact that this ends in September, that I wouldn't trust him being so far away and that I wouldn't cope with being away from him for so long. I know we're only been together officially for 6 days, but I can't stop myself.
I want to copy that scene from A Walk To Remember. When she says 'Promise me you won't fall in love with me'....
Officially the other half of R
Ok, so much has happened since I last managed to scribble anything down here that I'm a little lost myself. The basics are that R and I are now officially an item. As are H and S. Where would life be without Facebook's relationship status'?
I've lost track of how many times I've seen R. There was the pub/bowling night, which was pretty amazing. Stunningly amazing. Dinner at the pub was alright. I met his friend and housemate L, and we got on like a house on fire.
Then R, L, H, HW, and I went bowling. A bit of competitive banter between me and R, and L, and then we all got thrashed by L. Although he later described me as a 'worthy opponent'. Love it....
What happened after we left the bowling alley was just... surreal. I'd spent the evening being mocked for never having seen classic Disney, so we got out to the car park and R put his car stereo on, and puts 'Under The Sea' on. Somehow, over the next hour, the five of us ended up dancing in the moonlight, in this empty car park, to Disney tunes, and oldies Queen songs, and some funky S Club.
The following weekend I somehow managed to get roped into decorating. I'm not arty. I'm not even co-ordinated. Yet R and L willingly handed me a paint brush and let me loose on their new house. Muppets....
Another reason that R is totally amazing: he made me conquer my fear of heights.
He put the ladder up and then told me to climb up, while holding it secure. Oh, I should also mention that this ladder was positioned ON THE STAIRS, so I was as far from the floor as was humanly possible.
I was stood at the top of this ladder, holding tightly onto it with one hand, and gingerly painting with the other, when I turned slowly to ask for more paint to realise that R was just sat in the hallway, watching me. Not holding the ladder. Needless to say he ended up with a considerable stripe of paint down him for that.
But after that, I was up and down the ladder like a little painty monkey, standing backwards on the top rung and leaning out across the stairway to paint the whole hallway. A kind of Van Gogh - Tarzan hybrid, if you will. With two ears....
Then the following night was Double Date II. S was finally back from the wilds of the Lake District, so the four of us went for dinner. H and I displayed our wonderful lack of punctuality by only being half ready when the guys showed up at H's to pick us up, so guess which muppet had to wander downstairs sans make up with damp hair to open the door?
I got home at 3am the following morning, with the massivest grin plastered across my face.
Dinner at a lovely italian restuarant (paid for entirely by the men) was followed by drinks at what has now become 'our' bar. We played some pool, had a few drinks (supposedly paid for by us girlies, but I don't think it worked out like that), and the two couples had a little kiss n cuddle on their respective ends of the sofa.
Then we headed back to S's. I'd asked R a few days beforehand if I could borrow a DVD; namely Enchanted. Yes, the Disney one with Patrick Dempsey in it. Yep, R owns that. And knows all the words to the songs. So he'd brought it with him, and we all piled into S's front room to watch it, with some rose that S had nabbed from H's bbq the week before....
Driving home as the sun rose was kinda cool. I missed most of it. I was half asleep, stretched out across the back of the car with my head on R's chest and his arm round me. S was doing his normal 'I am a cop and therefore shall drive as if on blues n twos' driving, and R asked him to slow down, and then told him off for driving round corners too sharply cos I was asleep! Sweet... And then when we got to mine he had to wake me up. I would have resorted to poking, if not tickling. R didn't. Lovely, sweet R.
That night (being the same day that I'd got home at 3am) the four of us met up AGAIN, for Pre-Spain Drinkies, as it's now popularly known. Plus M, M's new whore, RF, and L. No, L and M's W aren't coming to Spain, but we felt like being inclusive. Especially cos some of the real crew couldn't make it.
S was doing all the introductions, because none of us knew M's W, and he introduced me as R's other half :)
And then nearly a week later R finally asked me out....
I've lost track of how many times I've seen R. There was the pub/bowling night, which was pretty amazing. Stunningly amazing. Dinner at the pub was alright. I met his friend and housemate L, and we got on like a house on fire.
Then R, L, H, HW, and I went bowling. A bit of competitive banter between me and R, and L, and then we all got thrashed by L. Although he later described me as a 'worthy opponent'. Love it....
What happened after we left the bowling alley was just... surreal. I'd spent the evening being mocked for never having seen classic Disney, so we got out to the car park and R put his car stereo on, and puts 'Under The Sea' on. Somehow, over the next hour, the five of us ended up dancing in the moonlight, in this empty car park, to Disney tunes, and oldies Queen songs, and some funky S Club.
The following weekend I somehow managed to get roped into decorating. I'm not arty. I'm not even co-ordinated. Yet R and L willingly handed me a paint brush and let me loose on their new house. Muppets....
Another reason that R is totally amazing: he made me conquer my fear of heights.
He put the ladder up and then told me to climb up, while holding it secure. Oh, I should also mention that this ladder was positioned ON THE STAIRS, so I was as far from the floor as was humanly possible.
I was stood at the top of this ladder, holding tightly onto it with one hand, and gingerly painting with the other, when I turned slowly to ask for more paint to realise that R was just sat in the hallway, watching me. Not holding the ladder. Needless to say he ended up with a considerable stripe of paint down him for that.
But after that, I was up and down the ladder like a little painty monkey, standing backwards on the top rung and leaning out across the stairway to paint the whole hallway. A kind of Van Gogh - Tarzan hybrid, if you will. With two ears....
Then the following night was Double Date II. S was finally back from the wilds of the Lake District, so the four of us went for dinner. H and I displayed our wonderful lack of punctuality by only being half ready when the guys showed up at H's to pick us up, so guess which muppet had to wander downstairs sans make up with damp hair to open the door?
I got home at 3am the following morning, with the massivest grin plastered across my face.
Dinner at a lovely italian restuarant (paid for entirely by the men) was followed by drinks at what has now become 'our' bar. We played some pool, had a few drinks (supposedly paid for by us girlies, but I don't think it worked out like that), and the two couples had a little kiss n cuddle on their respective ends of the sofa.
Then we headed back to S's. I'd asked R a few days beforehand if I could borrow a DVD; namely Enchanted. Yes, the Disney one with Patrick Dempsey in it. Yep, R owns that. And knows all the words to the songs. So he'd brought it with him, and we all piled into S's front room to watch it, with some rose that S had nabbed from H's bbq the week before....
Driving home as the sun rose was kinda cool. I missed most of it. I was half asleep, stretched out across the back of the car with my head on R's chest and his arm round me. S was doing his normal 'I am a cop and therefore shall drive as if on blues n twos' driving, and R asked him to slow down, and then told him off for driving round corners too sharply cos I was asleep! Sweet... And then when we got to mine he had to wake me up. I would have resorted to poking, if not tickling. R didn't. Lovely, sweet R.
That night (being the same day that I'd got home at 3am) the four of us met up AGAIN, for Pre-Spain Drinkies, as it's now popularly known. Plus M, M's new whore, RF, and L. No, L and M's W aren't coming to Spain, but we felt like being inclusive. Especially cos some of the real crew couldn't make it.
S was doing all the introductions, because none of us knew M's W, and he introduced me as R's other half :)
And then nearly a week later R finally asked me out....
Wednesday, 25 June 2008
R 3
Yet another milestone - third date!
R met all of my mates last week when he turned up at the pub, and everyone thoroughly approved of him, thank goodness. So tomorrow I have to endure curry night with the lads at their local, and then bowling.
The bowling I can cope with. Give me competitive sport over conversation any day. R and I can have more psychological banter over who's gonna win and then I can pull a cute face when I lose dramatically. Perfect.
R met all of my mates last week when he turned up at the pub, and everyone thoroughly approved of him, thank goodness. So tomorrow I have to endure curry night with the lads at their local, and then bowling.
The bowling I can cope with. Give me competitive sport over conversation any day. R and I can have more psychological banter over who's gonna win and then I can pull a cute face when I lose dramatically. Perfect.
Sunday, 22 June 2008
Making up for a lifetime of singledom
Jelly still has the massivest grin pasted across her face.
Not only was the double date absolutely fabulous, but R is still texting me as frequently as ever, and there has been another date since.
We took H along with us, cos originally it was gonna be a group night out, and then one by one everyone bailed, so we went to play pool and then H buggered off home about half way through the night.
Which was nice timing, actually, considering that R and I were just at the hand-holding, sitting-very-close-together, mushy-early-romance point then.
So we had half a night hanging out with just the two of us, and I think we managed it alright. Not too many silences, and any silences you do have while curled up on a window seat together don't tend to be too awkward anyway...
Finally I drove him home and we then proceeded to spend a further half hour parked on his driveway getting further aquainted. Fortunately his housemates were out...
I don't think anything can beat the first kiss moment, but a seriously amazingly second date kiss was alright by me. And the car still smells of him. It's all I can do not to inhale deeply every time I get in it now.
Oh, and Double Date II is already in the diaries for next weekend. S is away this week, so I have to put up with a mopey H while trying not to waffle on about how unbelievably lovely R is, especially since I promised I wouldn't put her in the 'friend-in-the-middle' position.
K knows about R and I. It isn't gonna be pretty when we next meet. Bring it on, girlfriend. He's mine... :D
Not only was the double date absolutely fabulous, but R is still texting me as frequently as ever, and there has been another date since.
We took H along with us, cos originally it was gonna be a group night out, and then one by one everyone bailed, so we went to play pool and then H buggered off home about half way through the night.
Which was nice timing, actually, considering that R and I were just at the hand-holding, sitting-very-close-together, mushy-early-romance point then.
So we had half a night hanging out with just the two of us, and I think we managed it alright. Not too many silences, and any silences you do have while curled up on a window seat together don't tend to be too awkward anyway...
Finally I drove him home and we then proceeded to spend a further half hour parked on his driveway getting further aquainted. Fortunately his housemates were out...
I don't think anything can beat the first kiss moment, but a seriously amazingly second date kiss was alright by me. And the car still smells of him. It's all I can do not to inhale deeply every time I get in it now.
Oh, and Double Date II is already in the diaries for next weekend. S is away this week, so I have to put up with a mopey H while trying not to waffle on about how unbelievably lovely R is, especially since I promised I wouldn't put her in the 'friend-in-the-middle' position.
K knows about R and I. It isn't gonna be pretty when we next meet. Bring it on, girlfriend. He's mine... :D
Friday, 20 June 2008
Jelly and R, sitting in a tree...
I cannot wipe the grin off my face.
The most amazing, weirdest double date occurred last night. H, S, R and I went for a drink. Somehow in a few hours it morphed from a planned Pre-Spain drinkies event into a seriously mushy sweet date.
So... several wires have been uncrossed, and even more tangled.
S is with H. I am with R. Everything is looking fabulous.
The most amazing, weirdest double date occurred last night. H, S, R and I went for a drink. Somehow in a few hours it morphed from a planned Pre-Spain drinkies event into a seriously mushy sweet date.
So... several wires have been uncrossed, and even more tangled.
S is with H. I am with R. Everything is looking fabulous.
Sunday, 15 June 2008
Reflections... ...snoitcelfeR
I'm starting to seriously question whether I can cope with Medicine. I don't think I'll have issues with it intellectually. In fact, I cannot wait to start with the textbooks and labs and research journals...
But I do worry about coping emotionally.
I've been a volunteer on a medical ward at my local hospital for fourteen months. I love most of the staff, and occasionally I enjoy the afternoons I spend there. I'll admit that I relish the afternoons when the F1 on call adopts me and lets me shadow for a few hours (last time, I got to listen to aortic regurgitation! Whoosh! Whoosh!). Mostly I clean stuff, and tidy up, and run the odd errand. Mostly to send sample off to the lab, or fetch stuff from other wards, or, on special occasions, to get ABG results (I got to use the machine myself! I think the bloke who demonstrated it thought I was just a dumb doctor, rather than clueless volunteer), etc.
There is the occasional shift where I come home emotionally drained.
Memories of spending hours with a chap who had advanced Parkinsons, trying to persuade him to stay in his chair. He was so strong that once he was stood, I was powerless to stop him, so it was a case of prevention by distraction. I can still see him turning slowly around the centre of the ward, dancing with his wife.
A succession of shifts doing one-on-one work with a bloke in his 50's who'd had a stroke. He was physically fine, just prone to confusion and wandering. I used to sit in his side-room with him and read Heat magazine, or play draughts, or chess. We'd sit for hours and listen to the music chart on the radio. I'd mock him gently for wearing his trackie bottoms half-way down his bottom like some young chav.
And today.
I heard the yells and screams from the staffroom, where I'd escaped to in order to text R (and S - we haven't been for that coffee yet). I could also hear moo-ing. I returned to the ward to find an exasperated bank nurse. She had a distressed old dear in pain from terminal cancer that was refusing to calm down.
I spent the following two hours sat with this woman, holding her papery thin hand, stroking the velvet skin, softly in fear of tearing open the fragile veins. Telling her everything was ok; telling her that she needed to stay in bed to gather her energy; telling her that the nurses were looking after her, doing their best to get her well again.
I could see the tumours. A massive swollen abdomen, like a full-term pregnancy. A mass the size of her head protuding from her chest. Every so often she would shift, writhing from the pain in her bones, riddled with metastases.
She refused her tablets. Refused the soluble paracetamol I proffered. And sobbed. Cried. Dry tears, with a desperate plea in old eyes. Help me. Let me go. Let me die. And begging, in a low mutter 'I give up. Let me die. I just want to go. Let me give up. Let me die. Help me. You're a volunteer. Help me with this please. Just help me die.'
She'd spent the early afternoon telling every other member of staff to go away. Only once did I get told to leave, and that was when, against my better judgement, I was trying to get her to drink the paracetamol while the nurse gave her a Clexane injection. Every offer of tablets, painkillers, insulin; all met with a polite, but firm 'No thank you.'
She drifted in and out of sleep by the end of my shift. I sat by the bed, one hand gently clasping hers, my smooth tanned skin against her wrinkled bruised. Her eyes, once bright with sparkle, were dull, half-closed. I read, analysing an article that a nursing student friend had had published recently in a prestigious journal. I was thinking of my future, of a career in medicine. She was thinking of the past. She has no future.
One thing she said will stick with me for a long time. 'You don't know what it's like to be like this'.
She's right. I never want to experience the pain of metastatic cancer. I don't want to pass away in pain. I don't want to be so alone at the end that a volunteer sits with me.
But, when I get to that point, I want to be that defiant. I want to be as polite, yet firm. I want to wind the nurses up, yet be the type of person that they still care about even after their shift ends.
I don't know if I want to die on my terms. It got me thinking about euthanasia, and I don't want to go into it here, because I will just go round and round in circles, but how is it fair that I can walk out of here because of a petty argument and kill myself if I want to, yet a lady who has lived her whole life and wants to end the pain that she's in, can't?
I left her asleep, calm. Serene, compared to how I'd met her earlier. The nurses thanked me. I wanted to thank her, for letting me in, allowing me to see beyond 'death by cancer' and learn.
It's still haunting my mind. There is no way of walking out of the hospital doors, leaving everything there. I bring that emotional baggage home.
How do I cope with this? Will this get easier to deal with? I don't want to end up as an emotionless drone just to save myself from falling too deep into the lives of my patients. Is it humanly possible to emotionally connect with another human being and then walk away unattached?
I don't want to lose myself in the emotional trauma of the job, though...
But I do worry about coping emotionally.
I've been a volunteer on a medical ward at my local hospital for fourteen months. I love most of the staff, and occasionally I enjoy the afternoons I spend there. I'll admit that I relish the afternoons when the F1 on call adopts me and lets me shadow for a few hours (last time, I got to listen to aortic regurgitation! Whoosh! Whoosh!). Mostly I clean stuff, and tidy up, and run the odd errand. Mostly to send sample off to the lab, or fetch stuff from other wards, or, on special occasions, to get ABG results (I got to use the machine myself! I think the bloke who demonstrated it thought I was just a dumb doctor, rather than clueless volunteer), etc.
There is the occasional shift where I come home emotionally drained.
Memories of spending hours with a chap who had advanced Parkinsons, trying to persuade him to stay in his chair. He was so strong that once he was stood, I was powerless to stop him, so it was a case of prevention by distraction. I can still see him turning slowly around the centre of the ward, dancing with his wife.
A succession of shifts doing one-on-one work with a bloke in his 50's who'd had a stroke. He was physically fine, just prone to confusion and wandering. I used to sit in his side-room with him and read Heat magazine, or play draughts, or chess. We'd sit for hours and listen to the music chart on the radio. I'd mock him gently for wearing his trackie bottoms half-way down his bottom like some young chav.
And today.
I heard the yells and screams from the staffroom, where I'd escaped to in order to text R (and S - we haven't been for that coffee yet). I could also hear moo-ing. I returned to the ward to find an exasperated bank nurse. She had a distressed old dear in pain from terminal cancer that was refusing to calm down.
I spent the following two hours sat with this woman, holding her papery thin hand, stroking the velvet skin, softly in fear of tearing open the fragile veins. Telling her everything was ok; telling her that she needed to stay in bed to gather her energy; telling her that the nurses were looking after her, doing their best to get her well again.
I could see the tumours. A massive swollen abdomen, like a full-term pregnancy. A mass the size of her head protuding from her chest. Every so often she would shift, writhing from the pain in her bones, riddled with metastases.
She refused her tablets. Refused the soluble paracetamol I proffered. And sobbed. Cried. Dry tears, with a desperate plea in old eyes. Help me. Let me go. Let me die. And begging, in a low mutter 'I give up. Let me die. I just want to go. Let me give up. Let me die. Help me. You're a volunteer. Help me with this please. Just help me die.'
She'd spent the early afternoon telling every other member of staff to go away. Only once did I get told to leave, and that was when, against my better judgement, I was trying to get her to drink the paracetamol while the nurse gave her a Clexane injection. Every offer of tablets, painkillers, insulin; all met with a polite, but firm 'No thank you.'
She drifted in and out of sleep by the end of my shift. I sat by the bed, one hand gently clasping hers, my smooth tanned skin against her wrinkled bruised. Her eyes, once bright with sparkle, were dull, half-closed. I read, analysing an article that a nursing student friend had had published recently in a prestigious journal. I was thinking of my future, of a career in medicine. She was thinking of the past. She has no future.
One thing she said will stick with me for a long time. 'You don't know what it's like to be like this'.
She's right. I never want to experience the pain of metastatic cancer. I don't want to pass away in pain. I don't want to be so alone at the end that a volunteer sits with me.
But, when I get to that point, I want to be that defiant. I want to be as polite, yet firm. I want to wind the nurses up, yet be the type of person that they still care about even after their shift ends.
I don't know if I want to die on my terms. It got me thinking about euthanasia, and I don't want to go into it here, because I will just go round and round in circles, but how is it fair that I can walk out of here because of a petty argument and kill myself if I want to, yet a lady who has lived her whole life and wants to end the pain that she's in, can't?
I left her asleep, calm. Serene, compared to how I'd met her earlier. The nurses thanked me. I wanted to thank her, for letting me in, allowing me to see beyond 'death by cancer' and learn.
It's still haunting my mind. There is no way of walking out of the hospital doors, leaving everything there. I bring that emotional baggage home.
How do I cope with this? Will this get easier to deal with? I don't want to end up as an emotionless drone just to save myself from falling too deep into the lives of my patients. Is it humanly possible to emotionally connect with another human being and then walk away unattached?
I don't want to lose myself in the emotional trauma of the job, though...
Saturday, 14 June 2008
Bitchin'
H has just really wound me up. Not even about the ultimatum thing, which to be honest, was something that needed saying at some point, and at least she did it tactfully.
When I said I'd speak to S about it, she started saying 'oh we could go for a drink with him after dance and then i'l just disappear to the bar so you two can talk'.
Yes, H, when I was 14 and needed your help to talk to boys, that would have been fine. However, I'm 19. I've grown up a bit. I don't have any issues with going out for a drink or coffee or whatever with S, just the two of us, and breaking the news myself.
I know she was trying to help, but it just irks me that she still seems to think I'm incapable of dealing with men. Ok, so I needed it pointing out to me that it was mean for me to continue hanging onto S and R, but I did realise that, I was just still in denial stage.
Surely its a forgivable offence if you take into account the mitigating circumstances that S was the first guy to show an interest in me that I didn't go to school with, that didn't know anything about me except how I am now? S was the first guy to show an interest in me in years. A took me out because he was forced into it by AH. J and I go back so far I don't even remember it starting.
I was so bowled over by the fact that a gorgeous, sexy, charming guy, one with a sensible job that even my mother approved of that I kinda lost track of the fact that we don't have much in common beyond H and Spain.
Who wouldn't be flattered by a bloke like S texting them constantly telling them they were sexy? I thrived on the attention.
I didn't count on meeting R. He didn't figure in my plans for a hassle-free summer romance with S before I left for the North.
Now I've got it sorted in my head. I want R. I'm falling for R, big time. I got myself into this 2-bloke mess, I'm quite capable of getting myself out of it.
H isn't one to talk, anyway. I don't think I'd have failed to notice that M was a whore.
When I said I'd speak to S about it, she started saying 'oh we could go for a drink with him after dance and then i'l just disappear to the bar so you two can talk'.
Yes, H, when I was 14 and needed your help to talk to boys, that would have been fine. However, I'm 19. I've grown up a bit. I don't have any issues with going out for a drink or coffee or whatever with S, just the two of us, and breaking the news myself.
I know she was trying to help, but it just irks me that she still seems to think I'm incapable of dealing with men. Ok, so I needed it pointing out to me that it was mean for me to continue hanging onto S and R, but I did realise that, I was just still in denial stage.
Surely its a forgivable offence if you take into account the mitigating circumstances that S was the first guy to show an interest in me that I didn't go to school with, that didn't know anything about me except how I am now? S was the first guy to show an interest in me in years. A took me out because he was forced into it by AH. J and I go back so far I don't even remember it starting.
I was so bowled over by the fact that a gorgeous, sexy, charming guy, one with a sensible job that even my mother approved of that I kinda lost track of the fact that we don't have much in common beyond H and Spain.
Who wouldn't be flattered by a bloke like S texting them constantly telling them they were sexy? I thrived on the attention.
I didn't count on meeting R. He didn't figure in my plans for a hassle-free summer romance with S before I left for the North.
Now I've got it sorted in my head. I want R. I'm falling for R, big time. I got myself into this 2-bloke mess, I'm quite capable of getting myself out of it.
H isn't one to talk, anyway. I don't think I'd have failed to notice that M was a whore.
Friday, 13 June 2008
Ultimatums, decisions, and soppy Jelly's...
H issued an ULTIMATUM, of sorts. Pick R or S, and stick to that decision. Tell them.
So... it didn't take much deliberation. S has been invited for coffee later this week. He is under the unfortunate illusion that it's a date.
H has also given me the script, or at least a rough outline. I quote:
"I really like you but if we do share a room in spain, I don't want you to be under the illusion that anything's gonna happen cos I don't really want that. You're a fab friend but I think we'd be better just staying as friends and if you're honest, I don't think you'd be into starting a relationship with me anyway"
I do plan to edit that somewhat...
I want to manage to get what he said about "being cautious about getting involved in anything in case it doesn't work out and messes up Spain" into the conversation without it being blatantly obvious that I'm simply throwing his words back at him.
That sounds like I'm being bitchy about this. Let's get this clear. I'm not.
The guilt of stringing along two guys was starting to set in, and I realised that even if R said he wasn't interested, I'd be too busy getting over that to go out with S anyway. Yes, first meeting to love in less than a week. I REALLY do fall head over heels sometimes.
So... it didn't take much deliberation. S has been invited for coffee later this week. He is under the unfortunate illusion that it's a date.
H has also given me the script, or at least a rough outline. I quote:
"I really like you but if we do share a room in spain, I don't want you to be under the illusion that anything's gonna happen cos I don't really want that. You're a fab friend but I think we'd be better just staying as friends and if you're honest, I don't think you'd be into starting a relationship with me anyway"
I do plan to edit that somewhat...
I want to manage to get what he said about "being cautious about getting involved in anything in case it doesn't work out and messes up Spain" into the conversation without it being blatantly obvious that I'm simply throwing his words back at him.
That sounds like I'm being bitchy about this. Let's get this clear. I'm not.
The guilt of stringing along two guys was starting to set in, and I realised that even if R said he wasn't interested, I'd be too busy getting over that to go out with S anyway. Yes, first meeting to love in less than a week. I REALLY do fall head over heels sometimes.
Thursday, 12 June 2008
Man waffle... ignore if wanting to preserve own sanity
Summer seems to be set on roller-coaster mode. One second I'm on top of the world, the next I'm wondering what tripped me up.
Just as I was falling for R, obstacles are appearing. Namely K (not K, my CPN...another K), H's other best friend (complicated? No..). She has apparently fancied R for ages. And was unfortunately with him last night when I was texting him. So she got a pretty good idea of the situation straight off.
Of course she had a slight advantage in knowing I was the enemy a good twenty-four hours before I was aware of this. So she used this time wisely to sow seeds of doubt, and subtly drop into conversation every tiny negative thing she could think of about my personality, friends, past boyfriends, etc.
No wonder I got a frosty reception when I saw her today.
Bitch.
Pointing out to my (potential) boyfriend that there's no way I'll sleep with him because of my faith is just scraping the barrel to piss me off. It's not something I'm ashamed of, and my religious views are stated quite clearly on my Facebook page! I don't keep it a secret!
What bothers me more is that K has now left H a little bit trapped between us. H is being amazing about it so far, passing on everything K says about me, and providing plenty of man-advice... which I can always do with!
I'm trying my darnest to follow the damn advice, but it involves playing it cool and not texting him as often. I'm only allowed to text him if he texts first, and I have to leave a suitable (i.e. >1/2 hour) delay before I reply. Thank goodness for msn... although I'm not allowed to initiate a conversation on that either.
Sigh...
I think I may have just nabbed myself a copy of the video of his last school play. Ok, so it was in exchange for the dvd of my dance school show, but what he doesn't know is that even my parents failed to recognise me in it :) And I can't see any downsides to him seeing me in a leotard and tights.
S hasn't text me since last night. The conversation revolved entirely around what he insists on referring to as 'S-loving'. Hmm... think we need to have words about Spanish sleeping arrangements if things go the way I'm hoping...
Just as I was falling for R, obstacles are appearing. Namely K (not K, my CPN...another K), H's other best friend (complicated? No..). She has apparently fancied R for ages. And was unfortunately with him last night when I was texting him. So she got a pretty good idea of the situation straight off.
Of course she had a slight advantage in knowing I was the enemy a good twenty-four hours before I was aware of this. So she used this time wisely to sow seeds of doubt, and subtly drop into conversation every tiny negative thing she could think of about my personality, friends, past boyfriends, etc.
No wonder I got a frosty reception when I saw her today.
Bitch.
Pointing out to my (potential) boyfriend that there's no way I'll sleep with him because of my faith is just scraping the barrel to piss me off. It's not something I'm ashamed of, and my religious views are stated quite clearly on my Facebook page! I don't keep it a secret!
What bothers me more is that K has now left H a little bit trapped between us. H is being amazing about it so far, passing on everything K says about me, and providing plenty of man-advice... which I can always do with!
I'm trying my darnest to follow the damn advice, but it involves playing it cool and not texting him as often. I'm only allowed to text him if he texts first, and I have to leave a suitable (i.e. >1/2 hour) delay before I reply. Thank goodness for msn... although I'm not allowed to initiate a conversation on that either.
Sigh...
I think I may have just nabbed myself a copy of the video of his last school play. Ok, so it was in exchange for the dvd of my dance school show, but what he doesn't know is that even my parents failed to recognise me in it :) And I can't see any downsides to him seeing me in a leotard and tights.
S hasn't text me since last night. The conversation revolved entirely around what he insists on referring to as 'S-loving'. Hmm... think we need to have words about Spanish sleeping arrangements if things go the way I'm hoping...
Wednesday, 11 June 2008
MAJOR NEW DEVELOPMENTS *anti-climax alert*
Yet again, Jelly getting all giddy and excited about tiny little things that she should really learn to read less into.
S has sent me a text last thing at night pretty much every night since we've known each other, so I'm used to gettin a text late at night just sayin 'night night hun xx' or my personal favourite 'night night sexy, ya know i'd be cuddling ya all night if i was there xx'.
I got my first goodnight text from R the other night. It was simply 'night Jelly' (of course, he used my real name, not Jelly, but you get the gist), because I hadn't text him back from a previous little text convo we were having.
Tonight I got a goodnight text with a kiss. This is significant (to me, at least. To anyone else, it means nothing. Less than nothing).
There are never kisses on R's texts. I've always been careful not to put any little x's on my texts to him either, while I'll nearly always add 'xx' to the end of any text to S, just because it's blatantly public that I fancy the pants off S.
So now I'm off to sleep, or at least to lay in bed and gurgle excitedly about text kisses :)
Sad, moi? Never.
S has sent me a text last thing at night pretty much every night since we've known each other, so I'm used to gettin a text late at night just sayin 'night night hun xx' or my personal favourite 'night night sexy, ya know i'd be cuddling ya all night if i was there xx'.
I got my first goodnight text from R the other night. It was simply 'night Jelly' (of course, he used my real name, not Jelly, but you get the gist), because I hadn't text him back from a previous little text convo we were having.
Tonight I got a goodnight text with a kiss. This is significant (to me, at least. To anyone else, it means nothing. Less than nothing).
There are never kisses on R's texts. I've always been careful not to put any little x's on my texts to him either, while I'll nearly always add 'xx' to the end of any text to S, just because it's blatantly public that I fancy the pants off S.
So now I'm off to sleep, or at least to lay in bed and gurgle excitedly about text kisses :)
Sad, moi? Never.
Whoever runs this bus company is having a laugh at my expense...
Buses come in threes, yes?
Uh. No.
The Jelly-Man bus company sends them in fours.
Mr Not-Quite-Perfects-Best-Mate has appeared.
Let's start at the beginning, with J (aka Mr I-Thought-We-Were-Well-And-Truly-Over-Months-Ago). Now there is a long history with J and I. He's been kind of a back up for nearly three years. I'm his back-up.
Yes, that sounds like we were simply using each other, and that's a pretty good way to describe it. If we were at the same party, or even just hanging out at the pub with mates, we would end up getting together. I'm not proud of this.
J has always resisted my attempts to move this from a casual arrangement to more of a relationship, always claiming that he was happy with how things were. Until I, according to a mutual friend, 'completely broke his heart' by talking about S in front of him. So there was a pity snog. I'm even less proud of that. So the next day, when he sent a text fishing for clues about where 'we' were going, relationship-wise, I dug the knife deeper. Told him I wasn't looking for a relationship and that I was concentrating on other stuff in life. Last I heard, he was hanging onto this glimmer of hope that there may be an 'us' in the future. He's sorely mistaken.
A was Mr Perfect. Who just wants to be friends. But persists in touching my knee or arm if we're sat together talking, who still acts as flirtatiously towards me as before our date. I'm still pretty certain that if he changed his mind about the friends thing, I'd be straight there.
S is my dream come true. Sort of. Attentive, sweet, caring and yet there's a malicious side that lurks. S is gorgeous; toned and fit from his job. Independant, strong-willed, yet docile as a puppy when he wants to be. And incredibly ticklish.
There's no twisted history here. It's a classic boy-meets girl... ending in a kiss that made me feel like I was floating. My stomach somersaults every time I allow my mind to wander to that night. I cannot wait to go on holiday with him. Sun, sea, sand... and anything else beginning with S, in Spain.
R is the latest addition. S's closest friend since childhood - oh, what a tangled web we weave. I have spent hours on hours talking to R online, but if you asked me what we talk about, my reply would be to ask you to define infinity.
I won't say that I was instantly attracted to him when we met, because I had eyes only for S, but R and I just click. I cannot remember meeting someone and being able to talk for hours instantly, without any awkward silences. He knows about S and I. According to my friend H, that may be why he likes me; the competition.
I don't want to be trapped between S and R. I like them both, in completely different ways. S physically attracts me. It makes me smile when he texts me, to be called sweetie and hun and sexy bum :) I don't care that he wants to play it cool until we get on holiday, because I can see what he's thinking: there's no point in messing this up before we even leave the country.
I have denied fancying R. Constantly denied it, to myself and to my friends. But that doesn't change that fact that I can't wipe the grin off my face if he texts me. We have a lot in common. A similar sense of humour. I could say that about me and S. But R is special. Apparently we spent the first night we physically met talking constantly, trapped in our own little world, while S and our other friends looked on. I got suitably berated later for my 'APPALLING' behaviour. My only defence is that S completely blanked me for the first half hour; wouldn't even look in my direction. I think I'm forgiven a little harmless flirting. Or at least it was harmless then. The monster has grown...
You can't lose hours of your life talking to someone that you don't like. We have our own little in-jokes already. We have days out planned, just the two of us (the first of which just got cancelled due to a premature end to this heatwave). I started talking to him because he's also coming on holiday with us. I wanted S, so I befriended his friends.
And then fell for one of them...
Uh. No.
The Jelly-Man bus company sends them in fours.
Mr Not-Quite-Perfects-Best-Mate has appeared.
Let's start at the beginning, with J (aka Mr I-Thought-We-Were-Well-And-Truly-Over-Months-Ago). Now there is a long history with J and I. He's been kind of a back up for nearly three years. I'm his back-up.
Yes, that sounds like we were simply using each other, and that's a pretty good way to describe it. If we were at the same party, or even just hanging out at the pub with mates, we would end up getting together. I'm not proud of this.
J has always resisted my attempts to move this from a casual arrangement to more of a relationship, always claiming that he was happy with how things were. Until I, according to a mutual friend, 'completely broke his heart' by talking about S in front of him. So there was a pity snog. I'm even less proud of that. So the next day, when he sent a text fishing for clues about where 'we' were going, relationship-wise, I dug the knife deeper. Told him I wasn't looking for a relationship and that I was concentrating on other stuff in life. Last I heard, he was hanging onto this glimmer of hope that there may be an 'us' in the future. He's sorely mistaken.
A was Mr Perfect. Who just wants to be friends. But persists in touching my knee or arm if we're sat together talking, who still acts as flirtatiously towards me as before our date. I'm still pretty certain that if he changed his mind about the friends thing, I'd be straight there.
S is my dream come true. Sort of. Attentive, sweet, caring and yet there's a malicious side that lurks. S is gorgeous; toned and fit from his job. Independant, strong-willed, yet docile as a puppy when he wants to be. And incredibly ticklish.
There's no twisted history here. It's a classic boy-meets girl... ending in a kiss that made me feel like I was floating. My stomach somersaults every time I allow my mind to wander to that night. I cannot wait to go on holiday with him. Sun, sea, sand... and anything else beginning with S, in Spain.
R is the latest addition. S's closest friend since childhood - oh, what a tangled web we weave. I have spent hours on hours talking to R online, but if you asked me what we talk about, my reply would be to ask you to define infinity.
I won't say that I was instantly attracted to him when we met, because I had eyes only for S, but R and I just click. I cannot remember meeting someone and being able to talk for hours instantly, without any awkward silences. He knows about S and I. According to my friend H, that may be why he likes me; the competition.
I don't want to be trapped between S and R. I like them both, in completely different ways. S physically attracts me. It makes me smile when he texts me, to be called sweetie and hun and sexy bum :) I don't care that he wants to play it cool until we get on holiday, because I can see what he's thinking: there's no point in messing this up before we even leave the country.
I have denied fancying R. Constantly denied it, to myself and to my friends. But that doesn't change that fact that I can't wipe the grin off my face if he texts me. We have a lot in common. A similar sense of humour. I could say that about me and S. But R is special. Apparently we spent the first night we physically met talking constantly, trapped in our own little world, while S and our other friends looked on. I got suitably berated later for my 'APPALLING' behaviour. My only defence is that S completely blanked me for the first half hour; wouldn't even look in my direction. I think I'm forgiven a little harmless flirting. Or at least it was harmless then. The monster has grown...
You can't lose hours of your life talking to someone that you don't like. We have our own little in-jokes already. We have days out planned, just the two of us (the first of which just got cancelled due to a premature end to this heatwave). I started talking to him because he's also coming on holiday with us. I wanted S, so I befriended his friends.
And then fell for one of them...
Friday, 6 June 2008
Siesta.. no chance!
Spain is booked. At last. Nearly a thousand pounds has disappeared from my account in one fell swoop.
Now all I need to do is sit back and wait for everyone's money to roll in...
I cannot wait for this holiday! Last year's trip to Spain was good - this is gonna be even better!
I keep thinking of it as a Big-Brother style house. Eight people who don't really know each other that well cooped up with lots of alcohol and a pool.
Let's meet the cast:
Firstly, there's H. It's her family's villa. So naturally, she gets first dibs on bedrooms. Bang goes the ensuite at the top of the house with the ocean view and balcony. H is my bestest buddy in the whole world and has been so for years. She's my gossip queen, and company for coffee. We are battling not to be the fattest girl on holiday. Yes, you read that right. Two very slim built teenage girls are actively fighting not to be the pudgiest in our holiday crew.
There's the resident couple: A and F. A is my ex, and H's. He's a really close mate, and loves being the alpha-male protecting his clique of women. F and I have become really good mates while A has been at uni this year. Expect much giggly bitching, cocktail drinking, and backing each other up to annoy the blokes. A and F have the separate flat by the poolside due to their couple status.
Then there's the playboy: M. In recent weeks, H has fallen in love with M, despite him being completely (amazingly) honest about his status as a man whore. She has been cruelly rebuffed. Nah, it all got sorted far too humanely and politely for my liking. He opened his big gob at the pre-spain drinkies evening and told everyone he was sleeping with the police force whore - cue classic H face-drop. Cue much muffled yelling at M by me, while H escaped to the bar. I got a copy of the emails sent the following day (H sent them to me! I do not hack other people's emails! Only their facebooks...) and it was such a mature conversation it almost made me sick. I would have been all 'i want to castrate you with a blunt tea spoon' and they were getting all philosophical about relationships and trust and honesty and urgh... pass the sick bucket now. Back on topic, M is hot. And he knows it. H and M are supposedly sharing a room, but I think he may be relegated to the sofa by night 2.
S is M's housemate. And my holiday hottie. And my room-mate for the duration of the vacation. Oooh I can't wait!! Many a saucy text has been exchanged regarding the sleeping arrangements... I think S will be the source of practical jokes and the king of wind-ups. Any excuse to tickle him will be fine by me... I bagsied the room I had last year, a big double overlooking the pool and the ocean, and right next to the kitchen and bathroom. There is a door leading straight out onto the steps to the pool area, but I don't think we ever found the key.
R is S's friend, the equivalent to my H. R drew the short straw. As it currently stands, R is sharing with E, another bloke. They have the teeny weeny twin room next to mine and S's. R's a sweetie. Absolutely hilarious, my laugh-a-minute buddy and fellow parent of Jude Fernando, our hat-child (don't even ask... but there is a Disney film in the pipeline starring Keira Knightley and Orlando Bloom to play me and R). Oh we're gonna have fun...
E went to school with H, A and I. He's our classic english tourist. Turns up at the airport in socks-n-sandals, a hawaiian shirt, bermuda shorts, and a straw hat. A and E intend to consume more Jagemeister during these 10 days than they managed last year. We need to replicate last year's classic holiday photo of the two of them sat on the edge of the pool with all the empty bottles between them. Sarky, laddish and seemingly asexual, E will be chief guiness drinker and proud winner of the worst sunburn award. I can guarantee that in advance.
That just leaves me. Jelly, taunter of men-folk, house-mother, queen of the suncream and adoptive mother of Jude the hat. Currently seeing S in a very casual, not really anything actually going on way. Would willingly snog M if the opportunity arose. Must try harder not to shamelessly flirt in a timeless way with A over our shared history, particularly in front of girlfriend F. Falling in love with R (more on this breaking news another time). Planning on developing a perfect even bronzed tan, going running at least five times while on holiday, and swimming before breakfast. I think H and I need to go one better than last years episode of topless sunbathing... maybe nude swimming? If we could just guarantee that we wouldn't be spied on by A this year..
Going back to Anorexia: Battle of the Summer Flab...
H and I have a bit of banter from time to time about our size. We're both around a size 10.
Despite me being about six inches taller, our hips are exactly the same height. This means that H has supermodel legs on a tiny body. I have the legs of a rugby player attached to the upper body of a ballerina.
H has a chest that guys approve of. I stand by the phrase 'any more than a handful is a wasteful'.
I have a flat stomach to rival Kate Moss, gained through eight months of hard labour at the gym, and several years of holding my abs taut to fake the flat stomach look. H has 'The Podge', as we have affectionately nicknamed it.
Neither of us wants to be the fat one on holiday. And seeing as F is a verifiable beanpole, this has left H and I frantically doing pre-breakfast sit ups, afternoon jogs, and secret gym trips. The coffee and cake trips have become water and fruit trips.
We both know full well that the lads love us both to bits and won't give a monkey's which of us is carrying less weight, but the battle to look the best in a bikini is taking its toll.
Even the lads are gettin in on it. S tried to invite himself along on H and I's afternoon jog! Ok, so it may have been more about him ogling at us in shorts than wanting to get into shape (although, oh my gosh, if he gets any more into shape I will not be responsible for my actions if I go anywhere near him.. phwoar).
Crazyness...
Now all I need to do is sit back and wait for everyone's money to roll in...
I cannot wait for this holiday! Last year's trip to Spain was good - this is gonna be even better!
I keep thinking of it as a Big-Brother style house. Eight people who don't really know each other that well cooped up with lots of alcohol and a pool.
Let's meet the cast:
Firstly, there's H. It's her family's villa. So naturally, she gets first dibs on bedrooms. Bang goes the ensuite at the top of the house with the ocean view and balcony. H is my bestest buddy in the whole world and has been so for years. She's my gossip queen, and company for coffee. We are battling not to be the fattest girl on holiday. Yes, you read that right. Two very slim built teenage girls are actively fighting not to be the pudgiest in our holiday crew.
There's the resident couple: A and F. A is my ex, and H's. He's a really close mate, and loves being the alpha-male protecting his clique of women. F and I have become really good mates while A has been at uni this year. Expect much giggly bitching, cocktail drinking, and backing each other up to annoy the blokes. A and F have the separate flat by the poolside due to their couple status.
Then there's the playboy: M. In recent weeks, H has fallen in love with M, despite him being completely (amazingly) honest about his status as a man whore. She has been cruelly rebuffed. Nah, it all got sorted far too humanely and politely for my liking. He opened his big gob at the pre-spain drinkies evening and told everyone he was sleeping with the police force whore - cue classic H face-drop. Cue much muffled yelling at M by me, while H escaped to the bar. I got a copy of the emails sent the following day (H sent them to me! I do not hack other people's emails! Only their facebooks...) and it was such a mature conversation it almost made me sick. I would have been all 'i want to castrate you with a blunt tea spoon' and they were getting all philosophical about relationships and trust and honesty and urgh... pass the sick bucket now. Back on topic, M is hot. And he knows it. H and M are supposedly sharing a room, but I think he may be relegated to the sofa by night 2.
S is M's housemate. And my holiday hottie. And my room-mate for the duration of the vacation. Oooh I can't wait!! Many a saucy text has been exchanged regarding the sleeping arrangements... I think S will be the source of practical jokes and the king of wind-ups. Any excuse to tickle him will be fine by me... I bagsied the room I had last year, a big double overlooking the pool and the ocean, and right next to the kitchen and bathroom. There is a door leading straight out onto the steps to the pool area, but I don't think we ever found the key.
R is S's friend, the equivalent to my H. R drew the short straw. As it currently stands, R is sharing with E, another bloke. They have the teeny weeny twin room next to mine and S's. R's a sweetie. Absolutely hilarious, my laugh-a-minute buddy and fellow parent of Jude Fernando, our hat-child (don't even ask... but there is a Disney film in the pipeline starring Keira Knightley and Orlando Bloom to play me and R). Oh we're gonna have fun...
E went to school with H, A and I. He's our classic english tourist. Turns up at the airport in socks-n-sandals, a hawaiian shirt, bermuda shorts, and a straw hat. A and E intend to consume more Jagemeister during these 10 days than they managed last year. We need to replicate last year's classic holiday photo of the two of them sat on the edge of the pool with all the empty bottles between them. Sarky, laddish and seemingly asexual, E will be chief guiness drinker and proud winner of the worst sunburn award. I can guarantee that in advance.
That just leaves me. Jelly, taunter of men-folk, house-mother, queen of the suncream and adoptive mother of Jude the hat. Currently seeing S in a very casual, not really anything actually going on way. Would willingly snog M if the opportunity arose. Must try harder not to shamelessly flirt in a timeless way with A over our shared history, particularly in front of girlfriend F. Falling in love with R (more on this breaking news another time). Planning on developing a perfect even bronzed tan, going running at least five times while on holiday, and swimming before breakfast. I think H and I need to go one better than last years episode of topless sunbathing... maybe nude swimming? If we could just guarantee that we wouldn't be spied on by A this year..
Going back to Anorexia: Battle of the Summer Flab...
H and I have a bit of banter from time to time about our size. We're both around a size 10.
Despite me being about six inches taller, our hips are exactly the same height. This means that H has supermodel legs on a tiny body. I have the legs of a rugby player attached to the upper body of a ballerina.
H has a chest that guys approve of. I stand by the phrase 'any more than a handful is a wasteful'.
I have a flat stomach to rival Kate Moss, gained through eight months of hard labour at the gym, and several years of holding my abs taut to fake the flat stomach look. H has 'The Podge', as we have affectionately nicknamed it.
Neither of us wants to be the fat one on holiday. And seeing as F is a verifiable beanpole, this has left H and I frantically doing pre-breakfast sit ups, afternoon jogs, and secret gym trips. The coffee and cake trips have become water and fruit trips.
We both know full well that the lads love us both to bits and won't give a monkey's which of us is carrying less weight, but the battle to look the best in a bikini is taking its toll.
Even the lads are gettin in on it. S tried to invite himself along on H and I's afternoon jog! Ok, so it may have been more about him ogling at us in shorts than wanting to get into shape (although, oh my gosh, if he gets any more into shape I will not be responsible for my actions if I go anywhere near him.. phwoar).
Crazyness...
Sunday, 1 June 2008
Never volunteer, always delegate
My bestest buddy H is away travelling in Asia for several weeks. So guess which numpty volunteered to organise our summer holiday while she was away?
Never again, I swear.
The logistics of dates and people was sorted before I was handed the reins, so it wasn't supposed to be complicated.
Have you ever tried booking flights for eight people? Of which you've never met three of them? Also including two who are away at uni? And one who can't pay until the end of the month? Oh, and one who only needs a flight home as he's meeting us in Spain?
Nightmare.
Never again, I swear.
The logistics of dates and people was sorted before I was handed the reins, so it wasn't supposed to be complicated.
Have you ever tried booking flights for eight people? Of which you've never met three of them? Also including two who are away at uni? And one who can't pay until the end of the month? Oh, and one who only needs a flight home as he's meeting us in Spain?
Nightmare.
Thursday, 29 May 2008
Men are... just plain confusing
Despite saying I wouldn't mention Mr Not-Quite-So-Perfect-But'll-Do-For-Now, I will anyway. There have been certain ups and downs since I last wrote.
Major up: 5 hours at his house Sunday night while his housemates were out on the town. I left at 1.30am feeling like a very happy bunny indeedio.
Ok, so the highlight of the evening came four hours after I arrived, and after I'd spent three and a half hours sat across the room from him on a different sofa. Now that's dedication. But after much tickling - you wouldn't believe that a man would be curled up whimpering like a toddler at a bit of tickling, but clearly he's a wuss - and beatings with the remote (Accidental, my arse!) there was finally kissing and cuddling :D Woo! Cue one very happy Jelly.
Major down: the text a day or so later. Do you see a pattern emerging? I do. I think what I should learn from this experience is that my phone should stay resolutely in my handbag for an entire 24hrs after any kind of Jelly-man contact. For my own safety, if not for the safety of the entire male population. Ok, so it wasn't a 'lets just be friends' text, which I'm grateful for. It was a 'No of course you didnt outstay your welcome! Im just cautious bout gettin involved in something, it not workin out, and ballsing up the holiday'.
Fair play to him. It's a valid point. So I'm now trying my hardest to play it cool and not text him every second of every day, despite the fact I'd love to.
I swear men are like buses. None for absolutely ages, then three come along at once. Yep, not only is there Mr Perfect (who I'm still completely in love with), Mr Not-So-Perfect, but there's also Mr I-Thought-We-Were-Well-And-Truly-Finished-Months-Ago.
Hmm.. life is strange. But very good :D
Major up: 5 hours at his house Sunday night while his housemates were out on the town. I left at 1.30am feeling like a very happy bunny indeedio.
Ok, so the highlight of the evening came four hours after I arrived, and after I'd spent three and a half hours sat across the room from him on a different sofa. Now that's dedication. But after much tickling - you wouldn't believe that a man would be curled up whimpering like a toddler at a bit of tickling, but clearly he's a wuss - and beatings with the remote (Accidental, my arse!) there was finally kissing and cuddling :D Woo! Cue one very happy Jelly.
Major down: the text a day or so later. Do you see a pattern emerging? I do. I think what I should learn from this experience is that my phone should stay resolutely in my handbag for an entire 24hrs after any kind of Jelly-man contact. For my own safety, if not for the safety of the entire male population. Ok, so it wasn't a 'lets just be friends' text, which I'm grateful for. It was a 'No of course you didnt outstay your welcome! Im just cautious bout gettin involved in something, it not workin out, and ballsing up the holiday'.
Fair play to him. It's a valid point. So I'm now trying my hardest to play it cool and not text him every second of every day, despite the fact I'd love to.
I swear men are like buses. None for absolutely ages, then three come along at once. Yep, not only is there Mr Perfect (who I'm still completely in love with), Mr Not-So-Perfect, but there's also Mr I-Thought-We-Were-Well-And-Truly-Finished-Months-Ago.
Hmm.. life is strange. But very good :D
Sunday, 18 May 2008
Take a bow...
The dance show has finally been and gone, and already I'm missing the shrill screaming of the baby ballet group trying to be first in line for the glitter spray, not to mention Mr Clearly Gay tap dancer trying to steal my eye-shadow.
I've had a fabulous week in rehearsal, spending every waking minute thinking about lighting and costumes. My adult stage debut was hardly a roaring success, but it's passed without major incident (barring one massive stumble in a pirouette on the only night my family were in the audience).
I cannot believe I didn't get into this before. I adored every second of being on stage, knowing that there were 150 people who'd paid to watch me (and the other dance school students) perform. I'm already signed up to continue with ballet for the next term, as well as starting jazz (tomorrow! Can't wait!)
I still have my stage make-up on, so I look like a clown, pretty much, but I'm loath to take it off cos I love the whole effect with my neon dance clothes and leg warmers.
Here's hoping that Scotland has adult dance classes!!
I've had a fabulous week in rehearsal, spending every waking minute thinking about lighting and costumes. My adult stage debut was hardly a roaring success, but it's passed without major incident (barring one massive stumble in a pirouette on the only night my family were in the audience).
I cannot believe I didn't get into this before. I adored every second of being on stage, knowing that there were 150 people who'd paid to watch me (and the other dance school students) perform. I'm already signed up to continue with ballet for the next term, as well as starting jazz (tomorrow! Can't wait!)
I still have my stage make-up on, so I look like a clown, pretty much, but I'm loath to take it off cos I love the whole effect with my neon dance clothes and leg warmers.
Here's hoping that Scotland has adult dance classes!!
Saturday, 17 May 2008
Budge over Bridget, this is Jelly Jones, chronic singleton
And the curse of the chronic singleton has struck again.
Shock horror, I got a text on Thurs afternoon, thanking me for a lovely evening, telling me I was an amazing girl, and then going on to say that Mr Perfect would just like to be friends. Apparently, there was no chemistry. Bastard.
However, when God closes a window, He opens a door. Ok, so I probably shouldn't take religion out of context to make a point about relationships, but Mr Not-Quite-As-Perfect-But-The-Best-Option-I've-Had-In-A-While has appeared in my life.
Yet another friend of a friend. I really should stop relying on my mates to set me up with lads. However, this one, S, actually seems to enjoy my company and wants to meet up again!
So I'm mentioning him no more, in case I curse yet another promising relationship.
Shock horror, I got a text on Thurs afternoon, thanking me for a lovely evening, telling me I was an amazing girl, and then going on to say that Mr Perfect would just like to be friends. Apparently, there was no chemistry. Bastard.
However, when God closes a window, He opens a door. Ok, so I probably shouldn't take religion out of context to make a point about relationships, but Mr Not-Quite-As-Perfect-But-The-Best-Option-I've-Had-In-A-While has appeared in my life.
Yet another friend of a friend. I really should stop relying on my mates to set me up with lads. However, this one, S, actually seems to enjoy my company and wants to meet up again!
So I'm mentioning him no more, in case I curse yet another promising relationship.
Thursday, 15 May 2008
Perfection in man form
I had my first ever first-date last night. Don't get me wrong, there have been boyfriends, just no first date.
A is perfection in man form. We were introduced by AH, a mutual friend (who I owe muchos drinks to for setting us up!) and after much texting in the intervening two weeks, we met up last night for what was supposedly a quick drink.
Three hours later, we went home, having had a long chat about... pretty much everything. Families, futures, college, school, uni, friends, sport, music, God, America, the definition of 'modern history'. You name it, it was probably discussed.
Of course, at some point he did inevitably discover that I am certifiably crazy and a complete control freak with major OCD issues. So he spent the next hour or so pushing my drink (which he paid for - gotta love a proper gentleman) around the table, knowing that he was driving me nuts.
But he was so adorably gorgeous, sweet, funny, caring, cute, etc, etc, that I could easily put up with the drink-pushing.
I did manage to say the dumbest, blondest things ever. "Do they have camels in Texas?" I don't know, Jelly, why the hell would there be camels in Texas?! I have no idea what possessed me to say something so blatantly stupid.
My only gripe is that he loves to travel, wants to see the world. I want to stay in the UK, permanently. But I guess that's a difference that we can iron out should we ever need to (not that I imagine it will get to that point, given my history of mucking up relationships).
I have no idea what he thought of the evening, other than AH assured me via text this morning (while I was supposedly hard at work in the office) that she'll get all the goss off him tonight, and his so-far lack of texts post-date is just him being 'a typical man, not wanting to seem too keen'.
Or so I hope...
A is perfection in man form. We were introduced by AH, a mutual friend (who I owe muchos drinks to for setting us up!) and after much texting in the intervening two weeks, we met up last night for what was supposedly a quick drink.
Three hours later, we went home, having had a long chat about... pretty much everything. Families, futures, college, school, uni, friends, sport, music, God, America, the definition of 'modern history'. You name it, it was probably discussed.
Of course, at some point he did inevitably discover that I am certifiably crazy and a complete control freak with major OCD issues. So he spent the next hour or so pushing my drink (which he paid for - gotta love a proper gentleman) around the table, knowing that he was driving me nuts.
But he was so adorably gorgeous, sweet, funny, caring, cute, etc, etc, that I could easily put up with the drink-pushing.
I did manage to say the dumbest, blondest things ever. "Do they have camels in Texas?" I don't know, Jelly, why the hell would there be camels in Texas?! I have no idea what possessed me to say something so blatantly stupid.
My only gripe is that he loves to travel, wants to see the world. I want to stay in the UK, permanently. But I guess that's a difference that we can iron out should we ever need to (not that I imagine it will get to that point, given my history of mucking up relationships).
I have no idea what he thought of the evening, other than AH assured me via text this morning (while I was supposedly hard at work in the office) that she'll get all the goss off him tonight, and his so-far lack of texts post-date is just him being 'a typical man, not wanting to seem too keen'.
Or so I hope...
Nyargh!!!!
I'm typing this at the Hometown library, cos the interweb at home steadfastly refuses to acknowledge my laptop's existence.
I had a long, detailed account of my fabulous first date last night, and then - POOF - 'cannot connect to server'.
I hate government provided public services.
I had a long, detailed account of my fabulous first date last night, and then - POOF - 'cannot connect to server'.
I hate government provided public services.
Wednesday, 30 April 2008
Normality postponed (temporarily)
Ok, so the abject happiness I was expecting didn't happen. Nor did the discharge from mental health. So I have another two weeks before I am 'normal'. Kind of a probation period, according to K, to see how I get on without her support.
So far, so not good.
I cried on leaving the centre. Partly cos I absolutely adore K and I'll miss having our weekly chats. Partly cos, like, what the hell will I do with my Wednesday afternoons now?!
But mainly cos, once again, I am out in the big wide world with a handful of leaflets and a head full of psychobabble.
I sat in the car and screamed like a big wussy baby.
Then a song came on the radio that had so many happy memories. Laughing with my bro, A. Driving six hours with H to hear this sung live.
And it made me smile.
Despite the fact that the rain is coming down in blankets, not sheets. Despite the fact that there is a massive pile of ironing calling to me. Despite the fact I have to go back to work tomorrow and face the arsey manager again.
I'm still smiling.
Therapy has made me a new person. Yep, there'll be setbacks. But I can cope with that.
Life's ups aren't half as good without the downs to define them.
So far, so not good.
I cried on leaving the centre. Partly cos I absolutely adore K and I'll miss having our weekly chats. Partly cos, like, what the hell will I do with my Wednesday afternoons now?!
But mainly cos, once again, I am out in the big wide world with a handful of leaflets and a head full of psychobabble.
I sat in the car and screamed like a big wussy baby.
Then a song came on the radio that had so many happy memories. Laughing with my bro, A. Driving six hours with H to hear this sung live.
And it made me smile.
Despite the fact that the rain is coming down in blankets, not sheets. Despite the fact that there is a massive pile of ironing calling to me. Despite the fact I have to go back to work tomorrow and face the arsey manager again.
I'm still smiling.
Therapy has made me a new person. Yep, there'll be setbacks. But I can cope with that.
Life's ups aren't half as good without the downs to define them.
Monday, 28 April 2008
Dr Jelly is in the house...
My super-diagnostic powers have been proved correct.
Remember the two calls last week?
1 stroke, back home waiting for a follow up in Out Patients.
1 NSTEMI, admitted to CCU and now transferred to a regional cardiac care centre.
Shut up, anyone who says that's a barn-door diagnosis. I know it is. But it doesn't detract from my feelings of intelligence and clinical intellect. Much.
And while watching Street Doctors on telly the other day:
The patient was explaining the problem he had with his hand, and before the doctor on telly got a word in, I leaned over to my Mum and said "I bet you a cup of tea that it's Dupuytren's contracture."
One cup of tea and one smily Jelly when the doctor finally spoke. Go me!
I am a diagnostic genius :)
Let's hope it's as easy as this when I am actually a doctor.
Remember the two calls last week?
1 stroke, back home waiting for a follow up in Out Patients.
1 NSTEMI, admitted to CCU and now transferred to a regional cardiac care centre.
Shut up, anyone who says that's a barn-door diagnosis. I know it is. But it doesn't detract from my feelings of intelligence and clinical intellect. Much.
And while watching Street Doctors on telly the other day:
The patient was explaining the problem he had with his hand, and before the doctor on telly got a word in, I leaned over to my Mum and said "I bet you a cup of tea that it's Dupuytren's contracture."
One cup of tea and one smily Jelly when the doctor finally spoke. Go me!
I am a diagnostic genius :)
Let's hope it's as easy as this when I am actually a doctor.
Sunday, 27 April 2008
Vegetarian, ye shall die a painful death
As told to me by a senior colleague the other day.
Ok, so she may have phrased it differently. The gist of it was that all vegetarians are anaemic and protein-deficient and don't have enough Omega-3 and something else. I think I tuned out for a bit.
I'm not the most strict vegetarian you'll ever meet (or meat, geddit? No? Oh...)
I eat my veg, but I hate most types of fruit, and if you take me to Damons, I will be ordering the BBQ ribs. The sauce is so fantastic it makes up for the rubbish meat underneath.
I don't even like the taste of meat any more. It's been five years since I was an omnivore and I don't think I'd go back. I love my Quorn, and my vegeburgers, and nut cutlets and everything.
But Ms "Ye shall burn in hell for your dis-service to the meat industry" has obviously implanted some thoughts in my head.
Meaning that breakfast now includes an Iron and Vitamin C tablet.
I'm also drinking Diet Coke plus antioxidant. Not for its super-drink powers. Just cos it was BOGOF in Tesco and I fancied trying it.
The verdict? No. Diet Coke and green tea were never meant to be in the same drink. Ever.
It does make me feel more healthy from drinking it. Not physically more healthy, obviously. But easing my conscience, like those freaks that think buying a Prius makes them eco-friendly, ignoring their three other cars with a carbon footprint the size of a Yeti. Numpties.
Ok, so she may have phrased it differently. The gist of it was that all vegetarians are anaemic and protein-deficient and don't have enough Omega-3 and something else. I think I tuned out for a bit.
I'm not the most strict vegetarian you'll ever meet (or meat, geddit? No? Oh...)
I eat my veg, but I hate most types of fruit, and if you take me to Damons, I will be ordering the BBQ ribs. The sauce is so fantastic it makes up for the rubbish meat underneath.
I don't even like the taste of meat any more. It's been five years since I was an omnivore and I don't think I'd go back. I love my Quorn, and my vegeburgers, and nut cutlets and everything.
But Ms "Ye shall burn in hell for your dis-service to the meat industry" has obviously implanted some thoughts in my head.
Meaning that breakfast now includes an Iron and Vitamin C tablet.
I'm also drinking Diet Coke plus antioxidant. Not for its super-drink powers. Just cos it was BOGOF in Tesco and I fancied trying it.
The verdict? No. Diet Coke and green tea were never meant to be in the same drink. Ever.
It does make me feel more healthy from drinking it. Not physically more healthy, obviously. But easing my conscience, like those freaks that think buying a Prius makes them eco-friendly, ignoring their three other cars with a carbon footprint the size of a Yeti. Numpties.
Friday, 25 April 2008
"Never mind the patients, this is giving me mental health issues"
^My colleague, trying to figure out if some patient really had a history of psychosis.
I spent all morning with brain-ache. I thought I'd got my head round the Mental Health stuff I'm doing at work, but it seems I haven't. Of course, I pick the week that my supervisor is on holiday to become a doofus.
It doesn't help that the full extent of my medical knowledge on this consists of personal experience and google.
But it was a great way to spend four hours today, looking like I was working really hard but actually just reading through patient's notes. I think I've perfected the art of looking busy.
So the product of four hours work? Three emails sent out, 4 pages of notes written, and one quarter-hour meeting with a colleague to try and decipher the damn thing.
Meaning the most productive thing I've done all day is watching Ashley Tisdale vidoes on YouTube.
I spent all morning with brain-ache. I thought I'd got my head round the Mental Health stuff I'm doing at work, but it seems I haven't. Of course, I pick the week that my supervisor is on holiday to become a doofus.
It doesn't help that the full extent of my medical knowledge on this consists of personal experience and google.
But it was a great way to spend four hours today, looking like I was working really hard but actually just reading through patient's notes. I think I've perfected the art of looking busy.
So the product of four hours work? Three emails sent out, 4 pages of notes written, and one quarter-hour meeting with a colleague to try and decipher the damn thing.
Meaning the most productive thing I've done all day is watching Ashley Tisdale vidoes on YouTube.
Thursday, 24 April 2008
To the pointe
Ballet starts again tonight! I am possibly the least graceful or elegant person you'll ever meet. No sense of timing, rhythm, balance.
But at every opportunity my toes are pointed. I wear thin flats at work so whenever no-one is looking, I can stand en-pointe. Badly.
The show is, like, four weeks away and I am terrified. I don't know the routine properly, and I still struggle with some of the moves. I can't do a consistent pirouette to save my life. Argh!
I'm not a natural performer. I only started ballet less than a year ago. I'm unfit. I'm the wrong shape. I'm the shy-body. But I am longing to prove myself.
To prove to myself that I can dance. To prove to myself that I am good at creative things as well as academic.
So I can continue to pretend to be a female version of Billy Elliot when I'm alone, that I'm not just kidding myself that I can dance. So when someone asks, "do you dance?" I can say "Yes. I performed in my dance school's show this year."
So if you happen to be at an amateur dance show in a few weeks time, spare a thought for that tall, awkward looking dancer. The one looking at her fellow dancers, not the audience. The one stumbling through the moves. The one half a beat behind the rest of the group.
She'll be loving every minute.
But at every opportunity my toes are pointed. I wear thin flats at work so whenever no-one is looking, I can stand en-pointe. Badly.
The show is, like, four weeks away and I am terrified. I don't know the routine properly, and I still struggle with some of the moves. I can't do a consistent pirouette to save my life. Argh!
I'm not a natural performer. I only started ballet less than a year ago. I'm unfit. I'm the wrong shape. I'm the shy-body. But I am longing to prove myself.
To prove to myself that I can dance. To prove to myself that I am good at creative things as well as academic.
So I can continue to pretend to be a female version of Billy Elliot when I'm alone, that I'm not just kidding myself that I can dance. So when someone asks, "do you dance?" I can say "Yes. I performed in my dance school's show this year."
So if you happen to be at an amateur dance show in a few weeks time, spare a thought for that tall, awkward looking dancer. The one looking at her fellow dancers, not the audience. The one stumbling through the moves. The one half a beat behind the rest of the group.
She'll be loving every minute.
Wednesday, 23 April 2008
Normality (t minus 1 week)
As of next Wednesday, I am officially normal.
My CBT course will be over and I will be freed from the clutches of the Centre.
I will finally get to wave goodbye to my buddy K.
I will never again have to beg for time off work to go to appointments.
Next week, I am officially discharged from the mental health team's caseload.
I'm gonna be a sane member of the public again!
Ok, so a little exaggerated, but I am just so ecstatic to be done with it. I've been on the mental health team's books since November, but I had my first psychiatric assessment as a toddler.
In this referral, I've had:
1 assessment
8 CBT sessions
9 Dr's appointments
7 blood tests
1 ECG
11 CPN appointments
900mg fluoxetine
10,000mg propranolol
Ok, so I still have 4 months of taking fluox, but that's for maintenance rather than treatment. I am officially in recovery!
I even double-checked with a friend. Apparently, I am noticeably happier and less stressed! Woo!
According to K, I'm visibly more confident.
I feel more confident.
I feel stronger.
More able to deal with what life might throw at me.
Ready to deal with my arse of a manager. I'm a new me. I'm not gonna take that patronizing shit any more.
Get ready world. There's a new Jelly in town.
My CBT course will be over and I will be freed from the clutches of the Centre.
I will finally get to wave goodbye to my buddy K.
I will never again have to beg for time off work to go to appointments.
Next week, I am officially discharged from the mental health team's caseload.
I'm gonna be a sane member of the public again!
Ok, so a little exaggerated, but I am just so ecstatic to be done with it. I've been on the mental health team's books since November, but I had my first psychiatric assessment as a toddler.
In this referral, I've had:
1 assessment
8 CBT sessions
9 Dr's appointments
7 blood tests
1 ECG
11 CPN appointments
900mg fluoxetine
10,000mg propranolol
Ok, so I still have 4 months of taking fluox, but that's for maintenance rather than treatment. I am officially in recovery!
I even double-checked with a friend. Apparently, I am noticeably happier and less stressed! Woo!
According to K, I'm visibly more confident.
I feel more confident.
I feel stronger.
More able to deal with what life might throw at me.
Ready to deal with my arse of a manager. I'm a new me. I'm not gonna take that patronizing shit any more.
Get ready world. There's a new Jelly in town.
Tuesday, 22 April 2008
Engage brain before opening mouth
I actually spoke to Prince Harry (aka F2 Dr) today. Like, actually held a conversation without stuttering, stumbling over my words or blushing. Even I'm shocked.
We talked about nursing clinics.
At no point did we discuss movies, music, university, specialties or how he likes his coffee. You know, the important stuff. We discussed nursing clinics.
Which is why I am now working my way steadily through a dairy milk and an iced caramel macchiato. I do not care that it will make me fat. Calories will heal the pain of my stupidity.
Despite the fact that I have worked at our surgery for damn near nine months, I told him that there were no nursing clinics on that afternoon. He was a tad surprised, considering that he'd driven in specifically to observe one and that it was on his timetable.
Was there a nursing clinic that afternoon? You bet your ass there was. There were three. Three nursing clinics, that I was mysteriously oblivious to despite spending all morning staring at the appointment system.
I felt like a numpty.
We talked about nursing clinics.
At no point did we discuss movies, music, university, specialties or how he likes his coffee. You know, the important stuff. We discussed nursing clinics.
Which is why I am now working my way steadily through a dairy milk and an iced caramel macchiato. I do not care that it will make me fat. Calories will heal the pain of my stupidity.
Despite the fact that I have worked at our surgery for damn near nine months, I told him that there were no nursing clinics on that afternoon. He was a tad surprised, considering that he'd driven in specifically to observe one and that it was on his timetable.
Was there a nursing clinic that afternoon? You bet your ass there was. There were three. Three nursing clinics, that I was mysteriously oblivious to despite spending all morning staring at the appointment system.
I felt like a numpty.
Saturday, 19 April 2008
Future husband, where art thou?
I've just joined the Facebook group for my uni course. It makes it feel all official and real, somehow.
The strangest part is actually having a conversation with people that I'll be spending the next five years with. My Facebook buddies are gonna be my future best friends, lifelong enemies, possible husbands, etc.
So why on Earth are none of them even remotely hot??
I'm now desperately hoping that I haven't picked the medical school with the highest proportion of girls and gay men. I will be requesting a transfer if that happens.
The strangest part is actually having a conversation with people that I'll be spending the next five years with. My Facebook buddies are gonna be my future best friends, lifelong enemies, possible husbands, etc.
So why on Earth are none of them even remotely hot??
I'm now desperately hoping that I haven't picked the medical school with the highest proportion of girls and gay men. I will be requesting a transfer if that happens.
Friday, 18 April 2008
Loving the job, but hating it's downsides
Today I took two emergency calls, among the billions of other calls asking for routine things like appointments.
One via the bat-phone, our bright red phone that is specifically an emergency line. You answer it expecting the next thing you do to be calling an ambulance, or at the very least, the on-call GP. Most of the time, I'm sorely disappointed that it's just someone who's punched the wrong number on our switchboard.
However, today it was real. Today I took a call from the daughter of an old chap who had angina. He was, apparently, white, clammy and breathing heavily.
Normal procedure is to transfer the call through to the on-call GP, who either calls 999, goes out to see the patient, or tells them to take Gaviscon (or similar).
The line was engaged.
There's nothing in my protocol for what to do if I can't get hold of the doctor, for whatever reason. So I did what I thought; I told the daughter to put the phone down, and dial 999 now.
It's apparently fortunate I did, rather than wait for the doctor's phone line to become free to get a second opinion. He's in hospital now. That's the last I heard.
With it being a Friday, the first news I'll get will be a Notification of Death later next week, or (hopefully) a discharge letter.
I felt great for a while, because after I told the GP what had happened, she praised me on how I'd dealt with it and said I'd done the right thing. My manager echoed those same sentiments later. I would like it in writing, preferably, so I can show my other manager (the arsey one) when I have my appraisal in a month or two.
The second call didn't come via the bat-phone. I wasn't expecting it to be how it was.
At that time of day, it's all calls for blood test results, or afternoon appointments. So a little old lady telling me that her friend is very unwell indeed does not fit with what I expect.
From what she tells me, and the little I know of her friend's medical history, I think it's a stroke. A fairly major one, at that.
Once again, I attempt to transfer through to the GP. Fortunately, this time she picks up. I hand over all the info I have, and minutes later, I get a return call asking me to print off a Home Visit sheet - she's going out to see this old girl immediately.
I went home shortly after, so once again I won't know til at least Monday what happened.
The GP agreed with my diagnosis on both occasions, which put me on top of the world (briefly). Yes, I realise that those are barn-door diagnoses, but give me some credit - I'm not even a first year yet.
It just irks me that the highlight of my day is two people being seriously ill. I know that it means that they will now get the treatment they need, but I don't like the way it makes me feel - that someone needs to be ill for me to enjoy my job.
It does make me hope, however, that I will still be as enthused about working in Medicine and helping to save lives in five, ten, twenty years time as I am now.
One via the bat-phone, our bright red phone that is specifically an emergency line. You answer it expecting the next thing you do to be calling an ambulance, or at the very least, the on-call GP. Most of the time, I'm sorely disappointed that it's just someone who's punched the wrong number on our switchboard.
However, today it was real. Today I took a call from the daughter of an old chap who had angina. He was, apparently, white, clammy and breathing heavily.
Normal procedure is to transfer the call through to the on-call GP, who either calls 999, goes out to see the patient, or tells them to take Gaviscon (or similar).
The line was engaged.
There's nothing in my protocol for what to do if I can't get hold of the doctor, for whatever reason. So I did what I thought; I told the daughter to put the phone down, and dial 999 now.
It's apparently fortunate I did, rather than wait for the doctor's phone line to become free to get a second opinion. He's in hospital now. That's the last I heard.
With it being a Friday, the first news I'll get will be a Notification of Death later next week, or (hopefully) a discharge letter.
I felt great for a while, because after I told the GP what had happened, she praised me on how I'd dealt with it and said I'd done the right thing. My manager echoed those same sentiments later. I would like it in writing, preferably, so I can show my other manager (the arsey one) when I have my appraisal in a month or two.
The second call didn't come via the bat-phone. I wasn't expecting it to be how it was.
At that time of day, it's all calls for blood test results, or afternoon appointments. So a little old lady telling me that her friend is very unwell indeed does not fit with what I expect.
From what she tells me, and the little I know of her friend's medical history, I think it's a stroke. A fairly major one, at that.
Once again, I attempt to transfer through to the GP. Fortunately, this time she picks up. I hand over all the info I have, and minutes later, I get a return call asking me to print off a Home Visit sheet - she's going out to see this old girl immediately.
I went home shortly after, so once again I won't know til at least Monday what happened.
The GP agreed with my diagnosis on both occasions, which put me on top of the world (briefly). Yes, I realise that those are barn-door diagnoses, but give me some credit - I'm not even a first year yet.
It just irks me that the highlight of my day is two people being seriously ill. I know that it means that they will now get the treatment they need, but I don't like the way it makes me feel - that someone needs to be ill for me to enjoy my job.
It does make me hope, however, that I will still be as enthused about working in Medicine and helping to save lives in five, ten, twenty years time as I am now.
Thursday, 17 April 2008
Sweaty, smelly & dog tired... but feeling absolutely fantastic
I love my gym. Honestly, I would live there given the opportunity. I can only hope that the Uni gym is as nice.
Despite not having set foot in there for two months (ocmplete lack of energy and motivation), I managed to do an hour of cardio in the gym and then swim for half an hour. And then went all wrinkly by sitting in the hot tub for too long. But, uh, the first bit was good.
I'm not a weights girl, I like my skinny arms and wrists and I'd like to keep them that way. But give me a treadmill and my iPod and I'll be happy as Larry (whoever the hell Larry is, anyway).
It's like that scene from Scrubs where Dr Cox asks Elliot how she copes, or something, and her reply is "crank the treadmill up to x degrees and just run through the tears". My kind of girl. Defo.
The day after my marathon gym session: everything hurts. I winced at every step climbing up to the office this morning.
I gave my boss the biggest evils when he asked me to walk all the way across the building and back just to pick up his coffee. Get it yourself, lazy arse.
Despite not having set foot in there for two months (ocmplete lack of energy and motivation), I managed to do an hour of cardio in the gym and then swim for half an hour. And then went all wrinkly by sitting in the hot tub for too long. But, uh, the first bit was good.
I'm not a weights girl, I like my skinny arms and wrists and I'd like to keep them that way. But give me a treadmill and my iPod and I'll be happy as Larry (whoever the hell Larry is, anyway).
It's like that scene from Scrubs where Dr Cox asks Elliot how she copes, or something, and her reply is "crank the treadmill up to x degrees and just run through the tears". My kind of girl. Defo.
The day after my marathon gym session: everything hurts. I winced at every step climbing up to the office this morning.
I gave my boss the biggest evils when he asked me to walk all the way across the building and back just to pick up his coffee. Get it yourself, lazy arse.
Wednesday, 16 April 2008
Give me my laptop now (not caring that it will depreciate in the five months til uni and be shit and out of date)
The Mac vs Windows argument is over. It got sidetracked slightly by geeks. I do not want Linux.
I like over-commercialised, capitalist products that have brand names that I recognise.
It's why I buy music from iTunes instead of illegal downloads. It's why I have an iPod, not a general mp3 player.
You buy a Ford car, not a generic, cheap, manufactured in somebody's spare room car with a name that has far too many x's and k's and z's. Those consonants are for long words and foreign languages.
That part of the argument was over quickly. It went something like this:
And then someone pointed out the comparable expense of a Macbook. COMPLETELY IGNORING ITS SLEEK GORGEOUS LOOKS. Ugh. Some people have weird priorities.
I like over-commercialised, capitalist products that have brand names that I recognise.
It's why I buy music from iTunes instead of illegal downloads. It's why I have an iPod, not a general mp3 player.
You buy a Ford car, not a generic, cheap, manufactured in somebody's spare room car with a name that has far too many x's and k's and z's. Those consonants are for long words and foreign languages.
That part of the argument was over quickly. It went something like this:
And then someone pointed out the comparable expense of a Macbook. COMPLETELY IGNORING ITS SLEEK GORGEOUS LOOKS. Ugh. Some people have weird priorities.
Wednesday, 9 April 2008
The A Word
Ever since my Mum told me that as a child, I was 'probably autistic', it's been going round and round in my head.
It would explain a lot. Like how I don't always understand questions unless they're phrased directly without tons of metaphors and colloquialisms. And how I am a tad OCD about having my cupboard doors and drawers completely shut. And how I don't adapt well to change. And I always feel socially inept.
I've always been very against the labelling of children. I don't see why you have to diagnose a child as dyslexic because they have trouble spelling or reading; to me, the label is simply an excuse. Just like ADHD - a perfect excuse for why little Jimmy won't behave.
But autism is something that I don't think is debatable; people have it or they don't. There would be no reasoning behind saying your kid isn't autistic if they are, because without being statemented, they can't get support at school.
But if I allow myself to carry this label of 'childhood autism', how does that affect me from now? Will I use that as an excuse every time I make a social faux-paus or don't understand what somebody's said? Am i going to be able to make new friends at uni if they're aware of this label?
I know I'm being hypothetical; there's no diagnosis, and what's the point in looking back at how I was as a small child and analysing my behaviour until we can say yes, you are autistic, or no, you're not.
If I had started secondary school with a label of autism, instead of just being 'that shy geeky girl', would I have the friends I have now? The qualifications? Would I have ended up a social outcast, like the Aspergers kid a few years above me?
I don't know what to do with this information. I'd feel stupid mentioning it to my GP, cos she's a close family friend and she's like an aunt to me. I don't want to discuss it any further with my Mum, cos she'll feel bad for mentioning it in the first place.
I can't just bottle it up and let it eat away at me, though. Therapy has taught me that much. On that note, I may discuss it with my CPN. It feels like this post is just a load of if's and but's, but it feels better to just put what I'm thinking in words.
It would explain a lot. Like how I don't always understand questions unless they're phrased directly without tons of metaphors and colloquialisms. And how I am a tad OCD about having my cupboard doors and drawers completely shut. And how I don't adapt well to change. And I always feel socially inept.
I've always been very against the labelling of children. I don't see why you have to diagnose a child as dyslexic because they have trouble spelling or reading; to me, the label is simply an excuse. Just like ADHD - a perfect excuse for why little Jimmy won't behave.
But autism is something that I don't think is debatable; people have it or they don't. There would be no reasoning behind saying your kid isn't autistic if they are, because without being statemented, they can't get support at school.
But if I allow myself to carry this label of 'childhood autism', how does that affect me from now? Will I use that as an excuse every time I make a social faux-paus or don't understand what somebody's said? Am i going to be able to make new friends at uni if they're aware of this label?
I know I'm being hypothetical; there's no diagnosis, and what's the point in looking back at how I was as a small child and analysing my behaviour until we can say yes, you are autistic, or no, you're not.
If I had started secondary school with a label of autism, instead of just being 'that shy geeky girl', would I have the friends I have now? The qualifications? Would I have ended up a social outcast, like the Aspergers kid a few years above me?
I don't know what to do with this information. I'd feel stupid mentioning it to my GP, cos she's a close family friend and she's like an aunt to me. I don't want to discuss it any further with my Mum, cos she'll feel bad for mentioning it in the first place.
I can't just bottle it up and let it eat away at me, though. Therapy has taught me that much. On that note, I may discuss it with my CPN. It feels like this post is just a load of if's and but's, but it feels better to just put what I'm thinking in words.
Good/Bad
Woo! My mummy works at a charity shop occasionally and on the rare occasion that I popped in to peruse the goods, some old GP had just donated a ton of medical textbooks! So I've now trebled my book collection, and the average age is more than my own!
However, Mum thought last night was an appropriate time to suddenly tell me, without any warning, that had I been born nowadays, I would have been considered autistic. Thanks a bundle.
However, Mum thought last night was an appropriate time to suddenly tell me, without any warning, that had I been born nowadays, I would have been considered autistic. Thanks a bundle.
Tuesday, 8 April 2008
I'm turning into my mother
I swear, the older I get, the more like my mother I become.
Today, I went shopping with my best friend, H. We went round several shoe shops looking at gym trainers (I know, aren't we cool?) and I persuaded her to buy the cheap ones. Not because they were pretty, or a cute colour, or the most functional, but because they were the cheapest.
On the way home, I proceeded to lecture her on the importance of a university degree in getting a decent job, and how jetting off to Malaysia every few months interspersed with bar work was not a productive use of a gap year. I AM TURNING INTO A MONSTER.
I'm not joining my mates at the pub tonight because I want to curl up in front of Holby City with a nice glass of wine and retire early to bed with my new, glossy copy of Lippincott's Biochemistry. How sad. I'm only eighteen, for goodness sake! Just how dull and straight-laced am I gonna be at forty? I should be out getting smashed off my face on illegal drugs and copious amounts of alcopops, and coming home at dawn, yet my favourite social activity is lounging in a coffee shop - any coffee shop, I don't care which - with my oldest jeans and mis-matched socks on, and a fleece that my cat has moulted all over, with a giant mug of caffeine. And coming home in time for tea.
I think I need to act my age a bit more.
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Prince Harry arrived at work yesterday. Not the real one, obviously, but the new junior doctor bears more than a passing resemblance.
All of my female colleagues were admiring this new chap, until they realised that they have sons older than he is. Ha, he's all mine now, ladies. In my dreams, of course. Although at last check, I was the only young, single female in employment there.
It was just a shame that he turned up on the day that I:
a) Hadn't washed my hair
b) Had forgotten to put my contacts in
c) Had only rolled out of bed ten minutes before starting work
d) Was only staying awake through sheer willpower and a caffeine overdose
In summary, I looked like hell. Not to mention that I had a cough that could be heard all over the building, and that was producing blood as well as copious amounts of gunk. A very pleasant image indeed.
In future, I will wake up with enough time to find a clean work shirt, pop socks without ladders and cat-hair-free trousers. I will wash my hair, put my contacts in, and do my make-up. I'll even put on perfume. I'll get to work on time, and SMILE.
I think all those combined will kill my workmates with shock. The only day I ever manage to look half-decent is my day off.
Today, I went shopping with my best friend, H. We went round several shoe shops looking at gym trainers (I know, aren't we cool?) and I persuaded her to buy the cheap ones. Not because they were pretty, or a cute colour, or the most functional, but because they were the cheapest.
On the way home, I proceeded to lecture her on the importance of a university degree in getting a decent job, and how jetting off to Malaysia every few months interspersed with bar work was not a productive use of a gap year. I AM TURNING INTO A MONSTER.
I'm not joining my mates at the pub tonight because I want to curl up in front of Holby City with a nice glass of wine and retire early to bed with my new, glossy copy of Lippincott's Biochemistry. How sad. I'm only eighteen, for goodness sake! Just how dull and straight-laced am I gonna be at forty? I should be out getting smashed off my face on illegal drugs and copious amounts of alcopops, and coming home at dawn, yet my favourite social activity is lounging in a coffee shop - any coffee shop, I don't care which - with my oldest jeans and mis-matched socks on, and a fleece that my cat has moulted all over, with a giant mug of caffeine. And coming home in time for tea.
I think I need to act my age a bit more.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Prince Harry arrived at work yesterday. Not the real one, obviously, but the new junior doctor bears more than a passing resemblance.
All of my female colleagues were admiring this new chap, until they realised that they have sons older than he is. Ha, he's all mine now, ladies. In my dreams, of course. Although at last check, I was the only young, single female in employment there.
It was just a shame that he turned up on the day that I:
a) Hadn't washed my hair
b) Had forgotten to put my contacts in
c) Had only rolled out of bed ten minutes before starting work
d) Was only staying awake through sheer willpower and a caffeine overdose
In summary, I looked like hell. Not to mention that I had a cough that could be heard all over the building, and that was producing blood as well as copious amounts of gunk. A very pleasant image indeed.
In future, I will wake up with enough time to find a clean work shirt, pop socks without ladders and cat-hair-free trousers. I will wash my hair, put my contacts in, and do my make-up. I'll even put on perfume. I'll get to work on time, and SMILE.
I think all those combined will kill my workmates with shock. The only day I ever manage to look half-decent is my day off.
Sunday, 6 April 2008
Internet
I just got rickrolled by little bro. If you have no idea what I'm on about; Google is your friend. However, I love it - is it sad to admit that I like Rick Astley?
Also, totally addicted to the 'how fast can you type' thing. I'm crap at it, but it's so addictive.
And this cartoon from xkcd.com sums me up perfectly:
Also, totally addicted to the 'how fast can you type' thing. I'm crap at it, but it's so addictive.
And this cartoon from xkcd.com sums me up perfectly:
Saturday, 5 April 2008
Update
Reunion was fun, in the end. Going into work for an 8.30am start after only 4 hours sleep was less fun, but except for a very hoarse voice, which I put down to coughing up colourful gunk for days, I think I got away with it.
Although a few people I would have liked to have seen were off gallivanting around Asia or Australia or already back at uni, it was great to get the whole year group back together and catch up.
The after-party was pretty good, trailing round three or four bars and ending up in a new club in town with a flashing dance floor - so retro.
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Maude (my car - don't mock me for naming it) has got another step closer to the scrap yard. On picking up a friend to drive to school for reunion, I discovered that the drivers-side door was well and truly jammed.
I lost all dignity trying to clamber over the gearstick in a mini-skirt and heels from the passenger side to get to my seat.
It's not booked in at the garage yet, cos I can't manage it til payday, but the good news is that the lock now has around a 40% success rate - slightly embarrassing if it chooses to jam as I'm trying to nonchalantly get into my car while talking to a (extremely gorgeous and lovely) male colleague.
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In other news, I tidied my bedroom for the first time in months, and have thrown out so much stuff I've rediscovered the colour of my carpet. I even hoovered.
Although a few people I would have liked to have seen were off gallivanting around Asia or Australia or already back at uni, it was great to get the whole year group back together and catch up.
The after-party was pretty good, trailing round three or four bars and ending up in a new club in town with a flashing dance floor - so retro.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Maude (my car - don't mock me for naming it) has got another step closer to the scrap yard. On picking up a friend to drive to school for reunion, I discovered that the drivers-side door was well and truly jammed.
I lost all dignity trying to clamber over the gearstick in a mini-skirt and heels from the passenger side to get to my seat.
It's not booked in at the garage yet, cos I can't manage it til payday, but the good news is that the lock now has around a 40% success rate - slightly embarrassing if it chooses to jam as I'm trying to nonchalantly get into my car while talking to a (extremely gorgeous and lovely) male colleague.
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In other news, I tidied my bedroom for the first time in months, and have thrown out so much stuff I've rediscovered the colour of my carpet. I even hoovered.
Friday, 4 April 2008
Patients from hell
Sometimes I really want to throw things at our patients. It is not an emergency just because you're going on holiday tomorrow. Threatening me with "I'll go to OutOfHours" doesn't bother me - in fact, I'd love it if you did, cos you'll wait twice as long AND it leaves me with one more appointment to give to somebody who's really ill.
I hate that sweet little old ladies will wait a week for an appointment with cardiac chest pain because they don't want to make a fuss, but a person who works 9-5 will insist on an emergency appointment for their ear infection.
I hate that sweet little old ladies will wait a week for an appointment with cardiac chest pain because they don't want to make a fuss, but a person who works 9-5 will insist on an emergency appointment for their ear infection.
Thursday, 3 April 2008
Driving like a funky thing
Is it sad that just because British Summer Time has officially started, I have the sunroof on my car open all the time, even though it's actually blowing a Force 9 gale outside? But its sunny, meaning roof stays open.
There may be a small part of my mind that thinks it looks kinda funky to be driving around with the roof open and the radio on. It'd make an even cooler image if my car wasn't rusty, missing two hubcabs, with a smashed headlight, plenty of bird poop and dust, and a massive dent in the boot. Out of those five, only one is my fault - if I put it in the garage, it would have less bird poop.
As for its other faults - meh, it still drives.
There may be a small part of my mind that thinks it looks kinda funky to be driving around with the roof open and the radio on. It'd make an even cooler image if my car wasn't rusty, missing two hubcabs, with a smashed headlight, plenty of bird poop and dust, and a massive dent in the boot. Out of those five, only one is my fault - if I put it in the garage, it would have less bird poop.
As for its other faults - meh, it still drives.
Wednesday, 2 April 2008
Reunion
It's the school reunion tomorrow night, and I'm not overly convinced that I want to go. Out of the 150 people I went to sixth form with, I think there's only twenty or so that I'd actually like to see again, and out of that twenty, I've seen nineteen of them in the past two weeks.
I have absolutely no desire to stand around making idle chit-chat with people I was never friends with about how hammered they got at the union last week and how little work they've done; nor am I that keen to see any of my old teachers. I'd like to walk in, collect my certificates, and walk out again. But social etiquette will probably prevail, and tomorrow night you'll find me making idle polite small talk with people I have so little feeling towards, I don't even dislike them anymore.
I have absolutely no desire to stand around making idle chit-chat with people I was never friends with about how hammered they got at the union last week and how little work they've done; nor am I that keen to see any of my old teachers. I'd like to walk in, collect my certificates, and walk out again. But social etiquette will probably prevail, and tomorrow night you'll find me making idle polite small talk with people I have so little feeling towards, I don't even dislike them anymore.
Tuesday, 1 April 2008
Vanity (or my seemed lack thereof)
I got contacts last week. It's been a dream come true to be able to wear sunglasses. I haven't worn sunglasses since I was five (I'm now eighteen), but I seriously doubt that Minnie Mouse frames are in vogue anymore, so I think shopping is due.
Although the novelty of being spectacle-free is wearing off sharpish. It's got something to do with the time it takes to go through the whole routine: wash hands, rinse lenses, rinse case, pull eyelid up, pull other eyelid down, place lens on eye, blink rapidly at dust in eye, retrieve lens from cheek/sink/floor, rinse lens, try again. Then repeat on the other side until eyesight becomes equal.
It doesn't help that I collected a new lens on Saturday, with a different prescription to compensate for my eyes being a weird shape (my optician's words, not mine) and I think I may have forgotten to wash the solution off properly. Suffice to say I was curled up on the bathroom floor wimpering like a girl, while trying to claw the lens back out of my now extremely red and slightly puffy eye.
Maybe my glasses weren't so bad, after all.
Although the novelty of being spectacle-free is wearing off sharpish. It's got something to do with the time it takes to go through the whole routine: wash hands, rinse lenses, rinse case, pull eyelid up, pull other eyelid down, place lens on eye, blink rapidly at dust in eye, retrieve lens from cheek/sink/floor, rinse lens, try again. Then repeat on the other side until eyesight becomes equal.
It doesn't help that I collected a new lens on Saturday, with a different prescription to compensate for my eyes being a weird shape (my optician's words, not mine) and I think I may have forgotten to wash the solution off properly. Suffice to say I was curled up on the bathroom floor wimpering like a girl, while trying to claw the lens back out of my now extremely red and slightly puffy eye.
Maybe my glasses weren't so bad, after all.
Monday, 31 March 2008
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