The amazing thing about doing Graduate Medicine is how much it's like Primary School. We all seem to be regressing to a strangely childlike state. Maybe it's because of the fact that we're largely in the same groups for most of our classes, just like in primary (or, ok high-) school. Instead of seeing that girl in your Social Psychology class but rarely other than then, you see the same people all the time. It's like you're back in class 6C, strangely close. Plus, our anatomy homework is colouring-in, which is kind of neat.
Also, it seems to be causing people to act as if we were small again. In lunch time breaks, people play frisbee on the oval, or sit in little circles, eating their lunches out of lunch boxes. Nerds go to the library and study (or, as it might be, write blog posts) in just the same way as we used to go and do tests on TheSpark.com. "How gay are you?" "What will you die of?" "What are the major risk factors in osteoporotic hip fractures?"
At first, shyness abounded, like that first day in a new school, or the first day of year 7, before we rapidly coagulated into little clumps and lumps: the people who went to the same junior school/ undergrad degree over *here*, the people who are delighted to note that they both totally love Hello Kitty over *there*, and those not so quickly absorbed wandering around with their mounting anxiety thinly veiled.
After a couple of months, there are friendly cliques. These lack the impermeability of those of early high school, reminding us of year 12, when we had the shared experience of a common room and a little notional maturity to allow communication between groups. But people sit in roughly the same place in classes, and organise themselves excursions and activities, like hiking or study days or drinking until they fall over, as their various skills dictate.
Perhaps the most obvious sign of all this strange regression, nicknames abound. I think it must be a decade since I last heard someone called something like "Smell-eanor" (all in friendliness, of course). Moreover, the nature of the course means that I've seen (and, indeed, touched) considerably more of my classmates shirtless in the last 2 months than in my entire undergrad degree.
The weird thing about this is that it's not just our interactions regressing, but our behaviour too: everyone seems to act like an exaggeration of their own type. The fidgety one. The quiet one. The loud one. The guy who insists on asking a question in every lecture. The class clown. The slightly odd girl who knits in class (not previously something I'd've listed as a major type). It's a strange thing to feel yourself doing this.
I keep catching myself doing things I've been glad to've stopped in the past. I catch myself showing off, or talking too loudly, or deliberately trying to look interesting. “What is that? Who does that? This is 15 year old behaviour," I tell myself. "Ok, maybe just the one crazy homemade garment."
Maybe I'm kidding myself: now I come to think about it, maybe I'm always like this, but I worked most of the time for so long that I've forgotten what I'll get up to when left unsupervised. I wonder if it's pathological that I always seem a little bit odd, slightly off-kilter. (I wonder how it's taken me this long into this oddly-toned blog post to notice that I'm sort of mimicing the style of the book I'm reading: that explains a lot). Does a normal person feel the need to keep asserting themself (as a "Self") like this? Now I come to ask this, the answer is obviously yes.
If we weren't all self obsessed, and determined to be seen as the unique and beautiful snowflake each and every one of us, to the same extent, is, you wouldn't get fashions. Or 80 slightly different shades of nail polish to ensure that we can express ourselves. Or "skins" for phones and iPods. Or "How well do you know Rachel Jones?" facebook quizzes (who cares? I do not feel the need to define myself by the quality of knowledge I have about 230 of my acquaintances, and even if I did, I do not feel that knowing what your "favourite childhood colour", "most-luvved drink" or "**current** pet" is indicative of the quality of our friendship. (Also, what's with this trick question thing? "Current" pet? Don't let's even begin to dissect the layers of demandingness there)).
Maybe this whole regression thing is just a sort of last hurrah. We all know, we keep being reminded, that soon we will be incredibly responsible grownups, needing to look professional every day, having to take responsibility, working odd hours with no breaks. Perhaps the natural reaction to that is to want to dye your hair purple for the sheer joy of it, or go to Cargo Bar, or play at lunchtime. Still, it's strange to me that so many people are married, and have grown-up jobs, and it's strange and lovely that there are cakes on birthdays, and frisbee at lunchtime. Even if the guy who brought the frisbee is actually someone's Dad.
PS: I accidentally managed to delete the comments on this blog. Sorry mysterious commenters, I do value you, honest!
Friday, May 22, 2009
Saturday, May 16, 2009
In Which a Blog is Prodigally Returned-to, and a Brief Update leads to Not Particularly Interesting Self-Affirmation.
So, someone the other day asked me why I never seem to post on my blog anymore. The answer to this is threefold: firstly, I was posting largely as procrastination, before, and I've finished my thesis, so now I don't spend hours in front of my computer pondering absently. Secondly, I do not, at present, have the internet at home. Thirdly, to be honest, on account of the first point, I'd almost forgotten that I had a blog at all.
Anyway, I'm on it now. But as usual, it's taken me so long to hack into my own account (which is to say, remember both the login name AND password) that I've completely forgotten what I was going to post about. As such, I will simply update my blog in terms of "here's what's changed since last time" and hope that I remember while I do that.
Last time I posted anything I had just handed in my thesis, just started going out with a Young Man,and just had an interview to see if I would get into Medicine. The answers to the questions implicit in these events are, in reverse order, Yes, No, and Maybe. Which is to say: I got into Medicine, Simon and I broke up, and I got Honours, but not quite such impressive marks as I'd've liked.
The experienced reader, at this point, thinks unsurprised thoughts about this last point. "Of course you didn't go all that well, you idiot. You wrote the same number of words in blog posts in the two months before you handed in your thesis as you wrote in your Entire Thesis! Perhaps a little undivided attention whould have been a good idea, hmmm?" Well, you're right, but I think it's unkind of you to mention it.
Anyway, there's a thing: Undivided Attention. I have totally lost the ability to ever have that. Reading old posts, with all their parentheitical distractions, I almost doubt whether I was ever much good at focusing, but I'm certainly shot now. In lectures, I knit. In front of the TV I paint and unpaint my nails, or sew, or something. In a tutorial, the other day, I took it into my head to mend a shirt in class.
Who the hell could possibly think that was a good idea? Does that, one fears one's tutor inevitably asks himself, really show appropriate Respect for The Problem Based Learning Process? I really was listening and stuff, honest, it's just that I'm so fidgety that it seems that I ought to at least fidget constructively. It's weird. Anyway. I'm sure it will be fine, and even if I flunk out of medicine on account of it (deeply unlikely? Computer says yes!) at least I can open some kind of awesome cafe where I bake cupcakes and suchlike, and then while people drink their tea, I sew the buttons back on their mending and so on.
Hey wow, best idea ever? Don't try to tell me there wouldn't be a market for that. It would be like being a 1950s housewife for a job, but without all the weird sexual repression. I could probably wear 1950s dresses the whole time for effect. That would be Pretty Sweet, quite frankly.
In the meanwhile, though, I think I'll keep Doctorin' as Plan A, because although it was all a bit much at first, it's pretty cool now. The lectures still sort of seem to be either much too complex and involved (these are the specific protein weights for all the genes involved in cancer - what? Seriously? You don't expect me to remember any of this, do you?) or repetitive in explaining pretty simple things (it took an hour yesterday for them to tell us - again- that drug use was a complex issue, and it was important not to discriminate against drug-using patients), it seems to be kind of coming together a bit.
Also, the other day, for no very convincingly understandable reason, instead of a 2 hour hospital clinic tutorial on Orthopaedic examination, we (2 students)were sent to stand in theatre while someone had their hip operation. This was unexpectedly rewarding, if not particularly educational. We couldn't really see what was actually happening (or I couldn't; maybe Tall Cam could see over the shoulders), but it was cool to see the setup and there were blood splashes on the plastic curtain, and smoke which I hadn't expected but which was not as distressing as I might've expected if it had occurred to me to expect it. Also, I managed to solve the problem of being completely supernumerary by holding the (awake but spinal-blocked) patient's hand and saying "everything's ok" in a clear, confident voice every time he looked terrified.
I'm given to understand that this sort of thing is awfully good for people, just as you might more or less expect, so leaving aside that the sedatives will have given him amnesia and he won't remember it, I feel like I did a Good Thing.
This seems reassuring. It's nice to have one's secret hopes that one would remember to be Thoughtful in a minor crisis confirmed.
Man, boring reading, much? I promise that my next blog post will contain 100% more tigers, dinosaurs and UFOs fighting each other with Swords. I cannot promise that the sentences would be shorter, but if this is really bothering you, read Cake Wrecks instead.
Anyway, I'm on it now. But as usual, it's taken me so long to hack into my own account (which is to say, remember both the login name AND password) that I've completely forgotten what I was going to post about. As such, I will simply update my blog in terms of "here's what's changed since last time" and hope that I remember while I do that.
Last time I posted anything I had just handed in my thesis, just started going out with a Young Man,and just had an interview to see if I would get into Medicine. The answers to the questions implicit in these events are, in reverse order, Yes, No, and Maybe. Which is to say: I got into Medicine, Simon and I broke up, and I got Honours, but not quite such impressive marks as I'd've liked.
The experienced reader, at this point, thinks unsurprised thoughts about this last point. "Of course you didn't go all that well, you idiot. You wrote the same number of words in blog posts in the two months before you handed in your thesis as you wrote in your Entire Thesis! Perhaps a little undivided attention whould have been a good idea, hmmm?" Well, you're right, but I think it's unkind of you to mention it.
Anyway, there's a thing: Undivided Attention. I have totally lost the ability to ever have that. Reading old posts, with all their parentheitical distractions, I almost doubt whether I was ever much good at focusing, but I'm certainly shot now. In lectures, I knit. In front of the TV I paint and unpaint my nails, or sew, or something. In a tutorial, the other day, I took it into my head to mend a shirt in class.
Who the hell could possibly think that was a good idea? Does that, one fears one's tutor inevitably asks himself, really show appropriate Respect for The Problem Based Learning Process? I really was listening and stuff, honest, it's just that I'm so fidgety that it seems that I ought to at least fidget constructively. It's weird. Anyway. I'm sure it will be fine, and even if I flunk out of medicine on account of it (deeply unlikely? Computer says yes!) at least I can open some kind of awesome cafe where I bake cupcakes and suchlike, and then while people drink their tea, I sew the buttons back on their mending and so on.
Hey wow, best idea ever? Don't try to tell me there wouldn't be a market for that. It would be like being a 1950s housewife for a job, but without all the weird sexual repression. I could probably wear 1950s dresses the whole time for effect. That would be Pretty Sweet, quite frankly.
In the meanwhile, though, I think I'll keep Doctorin' as Plan A, because although it was all a bit much at first, it's pretty cool now. The lectures still sort of seem to be either much too complex and involved (these are the specific protein weights for all the genes involved in cancer - what? Seriously? You don't expect me to remember any of this, do you?) or repetitive in explaining pretty simple things (it took an hour yesterday for them to tell us - again- that drug use was a complex issue, and it was important not to discriminate against drug-using patients), it seems to be kind of coming together a bit.
Also, the other day, for no very convincingly understandable reason, instead of a 2 hour hospital clinic tutorial on Orthopaedic examination, we (2 students)were sent to stand in theatre while someone had their hip operation. This was unexpectedly rewarding, if not particularly educational. We couldn't really see what was actually happening (or I couldn't; maybe Tall Cam could see over the shoulders), but it was cool to see the setup and there were blood splashes on the plastic curtain, and smoke which I hadn't expected but which was not as distressing as I might've expected if it had occurred to me to expect it. Also, I managed to solve the problem of being completely supernumerary by holding the (awake but spinal-blocked) patient's hand and saying "everything's ok" in a clear, confident voice every time he looked terrified.
I'm given to understand that this sort of thing is awfully good for people, just as you might more or less expect, so leaving aside that the sedatives will have given him amnesia and he won't remember it, I feel like I did a Good Thing.
This seems reassuring. It's nice to have one's secret hopes that one would remember to be Thoughtful in a minor crisis confirmed.
Man, boring reading, much? I promise that my next blog post will contain 100% more tigers, dinosaurs and UFOs fighting each other with Swords. I cannot promise that the sentences would be shorter, but if this is really bothering you, read Cake Wrecks instead.
Monday, November 17, 2008
In which “Fun Festive Gift Suggestions” are Preemptively Vetoed
It is, as they say, coming on Christmas. You can tell, because all the catalogues are gleefully appealing to the altruism of every buyer and sneakily suggesting that nothing would be so thoughtful or appreciated as a nose-hair trimmer, or a loaf of wholegrain bread, or a bracelet with “Mum” engraved on it, by the simple expedient of using bows in all the catalogue photos. This season brings with it a particularly interesting phenomenon: the heyday of the sort of item which no-one could ever conceivably want themselves, but which, we are told, would be a font of endless joy to our nearest and dearest.
You can generally spot these things by the descriptor appended to the shiny image: “hours of fun” is a red flag, for instance, as is a declaration that “[these people] and [these other people] alike will enjoy this [thingy]”. The people who fall victim to these most severely seem to be the people who study, or unwisely display an interest in, any slightly obscure area. I don’t know who else this applies to, but I assure you, gentle reader, that Latinists have it hard.
You can tell these particular gems from the fact that the blurbs are reviews are always packed full of as many Latin words, parenthetically translated, as literarily possible. Every year, it seems, someone comes out with a book of ‘totally cool Latin phrases! Amaze your friends, and insult them without their knowledge! Cool, huh?’ etc. Maybe, maybe these books are a source of endless fun to, I don’t know, unusually precocious 8 year olds with an age-appropriate sense of humour, but I really don’t see, otherwise, to whom they could appeal. Why would I want to insult my friends? Especially without-their-knowledge,-but-to-their-faces? My friends are a smart bunch. They’re essentially going to be on to me if I shout “stultus es!” at them, in a context of their hypothetical stupidity. Even if they miss the exact import, they’re going to notice that I’m talking in another language, one which I know that they don’t know, and which I’m using to deliberately exclude them from understanding. Not to put too fine a point on it, that’s about as rude as telling someone they’re stupid anyway. As I recall, it’s called structural vocal ostracism, or something, and it’s awfully bad for people.
In short, the ability to insult people in other languages is not something I ever need. And even if I did, I have to background knowledge to do it myself. And it would be more fun to use obscure English anyway. These sorts of things seem utterly pointless, but I always seem to end up with them.
Essentially, my point here is that whilst I appreciate the thought, when you see books amusingly titled Ad Nauseam or similar, maybe keep looking. (Although if you’ve given me one in the past, I did appreciate it, honest, it’s just that the one you gave me entirely fills that niche, and I don’t need any more.) If you really feel an overwhelming urge to spend that money on me in a bookshop, a voucher would be fine. Or a book which is actually good.
Similar, though less infuriating, are books which are just collections of cool words from the dictionary. I think this sort of book would be more interesting and cool to have about, but it does sort of negate that thrill-of-the-chase you get from flicking through the dictionary yourself. Also, any word so obscure as to be only listed in the fully extended OED tends to make people want the kick you in the head for using such self-indulgent vocabulary, in my experience. Books on grammar are likewise not something most people are going to need more than one of.
But! This reminds me! A great triumph has occurred, bringing joy to the hearts of pedants all over Sydney. That hairdresser with window-writing a foot tall on George St, next to the bus stop has removed the offensive apostrophes from their “STREAK’S TINT’S” sign! Verily, there is hope for humanity!
{Lastly, and irrelevantly, there is a patient in our waiting room, again, taking notes of the things she presumably wants done from the Cosmetic Surgery magazine which some cynical Plastics Dude has put in our waiting room. Don’t do it, lady! You look lovely as it is.}
You can generally spot these things by the descriptor appended to the shiny image: “hours of fun” is a red flag, for instance, as is a declaration that “[these people] and [these other people] alike will enjoy this [thingy]”. The people who fall victim to these most severely seem to be the people who study, or unwisely display an interest in, any slightly obscure area. I don’t know who else this applies to, but I assure you, gentle reader, that Latinists have it hard.
You can tell these particular gems from the fact that the blurbs are reviews are always packed full of as many Latin words, parenthetically translated, as literarily possible. Every year, it seems, someone comes out with a book of ‘totally cool Latin phrases! Amaze your friends, and insult them without their knowledge! Cool, huh?’ etc. Maybe, maybe these books are a source of endless fun to, I don’t know, unusually precocious 8 year olds with an age-appropriate sense of humour, but I really don’t see, otherwise, to whom they could appeal. Why would I want to insult my friends? Especially without-their-knowledge,-but-to-their-faces? My friends are a smart bunch. They’re essentially going to be on to me if I shout “stultus es!” at them, in a context of their hypothetical stupidity. Even if they miss the exact import, they’re going to notice that I’m talking in another language, one which I know that they don’t know, and which I’m using to deliberately exclude them from understanding. Not to put too fine a point on it, that’s about as rude as telling someone they’re stupid anyway. As I recall, it’s called structural vocal ostracism, or something, and it’s awfully bad for people.
In short, the ability to insult people in other languages is not something I ever need. And even if I did, I have to background knowledge to do it myself. And it would be more fun to use obscure English anyway. These sorts of things seem utterly pointless, but I always seem to end up with them.
Essentially, my point here is that whilst I appreciate the thought, when you see books amusingly titled Ad Nauseam or similar, maybe keep looking. (Although if you’ve given me one in the past, I did appreciate it, honest, it’s just that the one you gave me entirely fills that niche, and I don’t need any more.) If you really feel an overwhelming urge to spend that money on me in a bookshop, a voucher would be fine. Or a book which is actually good.
Similar, though less infuriating, are books which are just collections of cool words from the dictionary. I think this sort of book would be more interesting and cool to have about, but it does sort of negate that thrill-of-the-chase you get from flicking through the dictionary yourself. Also, any word so obscure as to be only listed in the fully extended OED tends to make people want the kick you in the head for using such self-indulgent vocabulary, in my experience. Books on grammar are likewise not something most people are going to need more than one of.
But! This reminds me! A great triumph has occurred, bringing joy to the hearts of pedants all over Sydney. That hairdresser with window-writing a foot tall on George St, next to the bus stop has removed the offensive apostrophes from their “STREAK’S TINT’S” sign! Verily, there is hope for humanity!
{Lastly, and irrelevantly, there is a patient in our waiting room, again, taking notes of the things she presumably wants done from the Cosmetic Surgery magazine which some cynical Plastics Dude has put in our waiting room. Don’t do it, lady! You look lovely as it is.}
Monday, November 03, 2008
In Which a Thesis has been Handed In, and a feeling of Pleasantly Aimlessness Prevails
So, at last those of us in my Ancient History class have slain our various thesis-beasts, which is nice, not least because it means I’m finally not sick any more. I didn’t actually feel very stressed many days (maybe 4 or 5 all up), and it never reduced me to tears or tantrums (remarkable mainly because of how distressingly easily I’m reduced to either), but apparently I was more stressed than I felt, since I got a nasty cold in late July and didn’t get better until mid-October. I got worse, at times, and improved occasionally to a mere cold-like state, rather than the fluey depths I had occasionally sunk to, but it’s really nice to be not sick at all, now, which hasn’t happened in some months.
What else is new? Well, obviously there are some things, but the miracle the internet being what it is, just about anyone liable to be reading my blog already knows that I have obtained for myself a Young Man for high quality with which to en-boyfriend myself. (So to speak) The problem, of course, is that saying “boyfriend”, which is obviously right, sounds so Dolly-magazine, somehow, but how else ought one describe such a person. I’m quite partial to “Young Man”, myself, which is sort of retro. It comes of reading too many Agatha Christie books in my youth. People’s maids are always spending their afternoons-off stepping out with their Young Man. Also, I think it’s one of those joking terms my mother always used, and now I keep saying it absent mindedly. Anyway, long story short, that whole thing is Pretty Neat. He’s pretty awesome, you guys.
Also, tomorrow is Melbourne Cup day! And in a moment or rare goodwill, my manager (who was a bit of a jerk last week, but let us pass serenely over that) has given me the day off, so I can go to Penrith and attend my parents’ Melbourne Cup party, which was always a fixture of some excitement in my youth. This is particularly handy since one of the nurses who’ll be there lives next door to Simon’s (the Young Man in question above) parents, randomly, so since I’m 100% confident that his mother will have wandered over to chat and check my credentials, given her reaction on learning that their neighbour was our family friend, I’d rather like to scope out how that’s likely to have gone.
Other exciting news includes the Rapid Approach of Christmas. This is made all the more exciting by the fact that the Swing Dancing people are having a Christmas dance, and some of us are learning a routine. It will be So Awesome, you guys. Anyone at all interested should definitely think about coming to the beginner class this week, since this Thursday is the first week of term, so you could get pretty passably good at it in the 6 weeks between now and the dance. C’mon, you guys! It will be great, and you should definitely check it out! It’s at 7pm, costs $12, and is at Swingtime, at the corner of Parramatta and Missenden Roads. Dooooooooo iiiiiiiiitttt….
What else is new? Well, obviously there are some things, but the miracle the internet being what it is, just about anyone liable to be reading my blog already knows that I have obtained for myself a Young Man for high quality with which to en-boyfriend myself. (So to speak) The problem, of course, is that saying “boyfriend”, which is obviously right, sounds so Dolly-magazine, somehow, but how else ought one describe such a person. I’m quite partial to “Young Man”, myself, which is sort of retro. It comes of reading too many Agatha Christie books in my youth. People’s maids are always spending their afternoons-off stepping out with their Young Man. Also, I think it’s one of those joking terms my mother always used, and now I keep saying it absent mindedly. Anyway, long story short, that whole thing is Pretty Neat. He’s pretty awesome, you guys.
Also, tomorrow is Melbourne Cup day! And in a moment or rare goodwill, my manager (who was a bit of a jerk last week, but let us pass serenely over that) has given me the day off, so I can go to Penrith and attend my parents’ Melbourne Cup party, which was always a fixture of some excitement in my youth. This is particularly handy since one of the nurses who’ll be there lives next door to Simon’s (the Young Man in question above) parents, randomly, so since I’m 100% confident that his mother will have wandered over to chat and check my credentials, given her reaction on learning that their neighbour was our family friend, I’d rather like to scope out how that’s likely to have gone.
Other exciting news includes the Rapid Approach of Christmas. This is made all the more exciting by the fact that the Swing Dancing people are having a Christmas dance, and some of us are learning a routine. It will be So Awesome, you guys. Anyone at all interested should definitely think about coming to the beginner class this week, since this Thursday is the first week of term, so you could get pretty passably good at it in the 6 weeks between now and the dance. C’mon, you guys! It will be great, and you should definitely check it out! It’s at 7pm, costs $12, and is at Swingtime, at the corner of Parramatta and Missenden Roads. Dooooooooo iiiiiiiiitttt….
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Wordle!
Monday, September 29, 2008
In which Jobs, Careers, Ambitions, Vocations and Things Done because they Seem Vaguely Like A Good Idea At The Time are largely indistinguishable.
Tomorrow is the day of my big interview for Post-Grad Medicine. Holy Cow! To begin, though, a caveat: A great many people are given interviews, and only a few of them get in. The people who do get in tend to be highly motivated as well as pretty smart, and generally are people who actually, oh, I dunno, studied for their GAMSAT for more than one afternoon. In short, a day tripper like me very probably won’t get in. So while I appreciate the sentiment, let’s take all the “oh, you’re smart enough! You’re sure to get in!” stuff as read, shall we? Because everyone’s friends must say that to them, and let’s face it, most of them are wrong.
Hey, that reads pretty arrogantly, huh? Sorry guys, it’s just that everyone says the same lovely thing, and it’s a bit pressure-y. The flipside of “you’re clever, of course you’ll get in!” is, in essence “you didn’t get in? You mustn’t be so clever after all, oh well.” Or it is if you’re morosely overanalyzing the fact that you didn’t get in and now have to become a plumber or a geologist. Although obviously I really appreciate the sentiment, so thanks.
But here’s the thing, right: What if they ask “why do you want to be a doctor?”? Other questions I figure I can handle as they arise, but this one they might reasonably expect me to know the answer to. But here’s the problem: I don’t. I have no idea.
I know I do really want to do it, but I guess the reasons are all too pragmatic and blunt or too romantic and silly. So, actually, yes, I would like to “help people”, but that’s an answer I bet they’ve heard 8 million times that day. Also, I’d be lying if I said that the fact that doctorin’ tends to be passably lucrative hadn’t crossed my mind. Plus, it seems really interesting. Lastly, there seems to be a sort of inevitable inertia towards a medical career in my life. Both my parents are doctors, and I’ve worked in doctors’ surgeries basically forever. It’s all I know, other than those jobs picture books listed when I was three. (So my other options are “fire fighter”, “police officer”, “school teacher” and “builder”, I guess?) (Man, I guess policing would be pretty cool. I do look good in blue, and everyone digs chicks in uniform. Plus, I could rise through the ranks and end up a general, or whatever the police equivalent is, surely?)
Which isn’t, on the whole, an unreasonable complex of reasons (the medicine stuff, the the police blather). It’s not awfully snappy, though, is it? It doesn’t scream “This girl has it all together, and has thought this through”, so much as “vague, mercenary, clichéd, apathetic” (and easily distracted).
Essentially, then, this is my plan: hope no-one asks that. Which seems fair enough, really, since surely everyone will have a well-articulated version of “I just want to help people, y’know?” written on the back of their hand. Which is frankly silly. If helping people was your only motivation, you’d do nursing. Or one of those other unappreciated jobs which makes people’s live genuinely better. You wouldn’t be doing the comparatively glamourous degree and ending up doing cosmetic surgery in Mosman. In fact, most jobs could be described as “helping people”. If no-one thought that what you were doing was helpful, no-one would pay you to do it.
Also, people keep telling me that it’s a “vocation” or a “calling”. Especially people like florists or newsagents or miscellaneous people who presumably have no better idea than I have. What is that? What does it even mean? Like some people are born with birthmarks in the shape of stethoscopes, and that’s how you can tell, or something.
Aaargh, too complicated. In less stressful and excitably overthought news, I totally bought the Fountains of Wayne album with Stacy’s Mom on it for $10 today. Yessss… (She’s got it goin’ on!) Plus, I had a really fantastic morning, and surely, surely I’ll get better soon, and not be sick any more, which is nice to look forward to.
Hey, that reads pretty arrogantly, huh? Sorry guys, it’s just that everyone says the same lovely thing, and it’s a bit pressure-y. The flipside of “you’re clever, of course you’ll get in!” is, in essence “you didn’t get in? You mustn’t be so clever after all, oh well.” Or it is if you’re morosely overanalyzing the fact that you didn’t get in and now have to become a plumber or a geologist. Although obviously I really appreciate the sentiment, so thanks.
But here’s the thing, right: What if they ask “why do you want to be a doctor?”? Other questions I figure I can handle as they arise, but this one they might reasonably expect me to know the answer to. But here’s the problem: I don’t. I have no idea.
I know I do really want to do it, but I guess the reasons are all too pragmatic and blunt or too romantic and silly. So, actually, yes, I would like to “help people”, but that’s an answer I bet they’ve heard 8 million times that day. Also, I’d be lying if I said that the fact that doctorin’ tends to be passably lucrative hadn’t crossed my mind. Plus, it seems really interesting. Lastly, there seems to be a sort of inevitable inertia towards a medical career in my life. Both my parents are doctors, and I’ve worked in doctors’ surgeries basically forever. It’s all I know, other than those jobs picture books listed when I was three. (So my other options are “fire fighter”, “police officer”, “school teacher” and “builder”, I guess?) (Man, I guess policing would be pretty cool. I do look good in blue, and everyone digs chicks in uniform. Plus, I could rise through the ranks and end up a general, or whatever the police equivalent is, surely?)
Which isn’t, on the whole, an unreasonable complex of reasons (the medicine stuff, the the police blather). It’s not awfully snappy, though, is it? It doesn’t scream “This girl has it all together, and has thought this through”, so much as “vague, mercenary, clichéd, apathetic” (and easily distracted).
Essentially, then, this is my plan: hope no-one asks that. Which seems fair enough, really, since surely everyone will have a well-articulated version of “I just want to help people, y’know?” written on the back of their hand. Which is frankly silly. If helping people was your only motivation, you’d do nursing. Or one of those other unappreciated jobs which makes people’s live genuinely better. You wouldn’t be doing the comparatively glamourous degree and ending up doing cosmetic surgery in Mosman. In fact, most jobs could be described as “helping people”. If no-one thought that what you were doing was helpful, no-one would pay you to do it.
Also, people keep telling me that it’s a “vocation” or a “calling”. Especially people like florists or newsagents or miscellaneous people who presumably have no better idea than I have. What is that? What does it even mean? Like some people are born with birthmarks in the shape of stethoscopes, and that’s how you can tell, or something.
Aaargh, too complicated. In less stressful and excitably overthought news, I totally bought the Fountains of Wayne album with Stacy’s Mom on it for $10 today. Yessss… (She’s got it goin’ on!) Plus, I had a really fantastic morning, and surely, surely I’ll get better soon, and not be sick any more, which is nice to look forward to.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
In which Memory is short and an Attention Span is shorter
Last year I had a silver bracelet on which I had engraved a Latin word. It was a word I picked because I felt that in some way it “summed it all up”, and it would generally all be ok if I just bore it in mind. It was an abstract noun, a word which in English would have ended “-ty” (you know, like “authority” or “clarity” or something) which means in ended in “-tas” in Latin. I remember looking it up, researching it to make sure all the implications of it were good, everything. It seemed Significant at the time, and I was sad when the bracelet broke and got lost one day.
The thing is; what the hell was that word? I really have no idea. I think it was something to do with wit or friendliness or something like that, but I really don’t know. How is it that I write so many useless things down, in notebooks, in blogs, everywhere, but there’s no way for me to check this? How transient and passing are these fancies of mine that something so important (well, "important") is so utterly gone from my memory? This seems in some way indicative of Problems.
Also, aaargh, what am I doing typing this? I need to get on with this horrifying chapter draft!
The thing is; what the hell was that word? I really have no idea. I think it was something to do with wit or friendliness or something like that, but I really don’t know. How is it that I write so many useless things down, in notebooks, in blogs, everywhere, but there’s no way for me to check this? How transient and passing are these fancies of mine that something so important (well, "important") is so utterly gone from my memory? This seems in some way indicative of Problems.
Also, aaargh, what am I doing typing this? I need to get on with this horrifying chapter draft!
Monday, September 22, 2008
In which Three Questions are asked, and none adequately addressed
Question the First: Is music (especially lyric-heavy pop) good for us? I wonder whether it warps my thinking sometimes. I always do that; listen to pop music and then overthink it to a ridiculous degree. Sometimes I catch myself twisting my perceptions of my life to make it fit with the lyrics. This is definitely bad, I’d imagine. You know, you listen to a great catchy song about how annoying it is to be given a lot of advice (or whatever) and even though you don’t actually mind, you find yourself going “yeah!” and resenting something you actually appreciate normally.
Probably this stems from my vain (as in “you’re so vain”, not as in “it was all in vain” attempt to extract compliments and comfort from songs in high school. So when Green Day tells you that “she’s an extraordinary girl” (or, indeed, a “rebel”), I (and at least 5 other girls that I know of) go “aw, thanks, man! It’s true, I am pretty great. Awesome.” And so on.
This is a well-attested phenomenon, I know that R.E.M. wrote “Everybody Hurts” to make teenagers feel better (which is why it’s so simple in structure, to be more accessible to angsty 16 year olds).
Eh, this is uninteresting perhaps, but still, it intrigues me that sentiments that I would normally dismiss out of hand have such an impact when sung.
This leads us to…
Question the Second: Why is it that figuring out what we oughtn’t do doesn’t stop us?
I’ve noticed recently that a lot of people do irritating things, things which I know I do (or have done) but not previously realized are annoying to innocent bystanders. Surely this sort of this should make me better? I’d realize that when I show off absentmindedly, (or whatever), my dear friends suffer through the urge to stab me in the throat. So why do I still do it?
Lastly, and much less introspectively (thank goodness) is Question the Third: Why, in this recent series of Doctor Who, is it so often presented as being Not Okay to kill people but Heroic & Perfectly Fine to kill people and sacrifice yourself at the same time? Seriously, it happens a bunch of times! Every third episode had people heroically leaping to their deaths with villains in their arms, practically. Why is that sort of thing fine, but heaven help you if you kick a Dalek? Honestly, it seems a little suss to me.
Probably this stems from my vain (as in “you’re so vain”, not as in “it was all in vain” attempt to extract compliments and comfort from songs in high school. So when Green Day tells you that “she’s an extraordinary girl” (or, indeed, a “rebel”), I (and at least 5 other girls that I know of) go “aw, thanks, man! It’s true, I am pretty great. Awesome.” And so on.
This is a well-attested phenomenon, I know that R.E.M. wrote “Everybody Hurts” to make teenagers feel better (which is why it’s so simple in structure, to be more accessible to angsty 16 year olds).
Eh, this is uninteresting perhaps, but still, it intrigues me that sentiments that I would normally dismiss out of hand have such an impact when sung.
This leads us to…
Question the Second: Why is it that figuring out what we oughtn’t do doesn’t stop us?
I’ve noticed recently that a lot of people do irritating things, things which I know I do (or have done) but not previously realized are annoying to innocent bystanders. Surely this sort of this should make me better? I’d realize that when I show off absentmindedly, (or whatever), my dear friends suffer through the urge to stab me in the throat. So why do I still do it?
Lastly, and much less introspectively (thank goodness) is Question the Third: Why, in this recent series of Doctor Who, is it so often presented as being Not Okay to kill people but Heroic & Perfectly Fine to kill people and sacrifice yourself at the same time? Seriously, it happens a bunch of times! Every third episode had people heroically leaping to their deaths with villains in their arms, practically. Why is that sort of thing fine, but heaven help you if you kick a Dalek? Honestly, it seems a little suss to me.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
In Which Religion and Sexuality are discussed in a Doubtless Unbecomingly Superficial Fashion
First up, it turns out that having a blog is weird: all sorts of people read them, and you never know, ‘less’n they post comments. This is obviously unimportant, but a couple of people apparently read this (or have dabbled in reading it) who it wouldn’t’ve occurred to me would number amongst my readership, which surprises, intrigues and sort of flatters me, so I thought I’d take a moment to go “Cor.”
I don’t know why this should seem like it’s of any moment, since this blog is very clearly just me blathering, which happens to any of my friends, acquaintances or innocent bypassers who stand still for long enough, but there you go, there’s no point second guessing it, since my childish irrational enjoyment presumably harms no-one. (If this is wrong, and somehow this is all, in fact, causing you any sort of pain, physical or otherwise, it might be an idea to let me know, and I’ll stop.)
Also, um, hi!
Anyway, back to it. All this Thinking-about-the-audience thing might be good for making your content appropriate, but since I don’t actually know who y’all are, it’s essentially only a way to make myself selfconscious when discussing sensitive issues, such as this evening’s. Wiser people might take this as a sign that the topic ought to be avoided, but since by definition, I can’t be “wiser” where the original benchmark for wisdom is myself, let’s pretend that I have some kind of reason for not acting with that hypothetical wisdom, and get right down to it, shall we?
I was talking the other day with a bunch of friends when someone made a (to me) fairly startling assertion. It was suggested (pretty forcefully) that Christian people (who were assumed to be a rather more monolithic group than I would like to think them), since they “all think that being gay is a sin” (which hopefully they, um, don’t all do, right? Reassure me, Christian friends), had no right to go around the place enjoying the music of gay people, and in general, blatantly accepting them in their lives and society. This seems, to me, to be pretty problematic, so I figured I’d discuss it here to sort it out, rather than getting it out of my system in a series of weirdly awkward conversations.
To start with, though, I wish to make it clear that I judge no-one for the views so far expressed to me. These people are my friends (no matter which direction their prejudices are aimed), and I pretty much dig all of you guys, foibles and all. It has long been my contention that we, all of us, have our own little “patches of crazy”, of which we are, ourselves, usually unaware. You’ll be having a conversation with a perfectly lovely, reasonable and rational friend and suddenly they’ll say “Well, obviously, Elvis is still alive” or “I mean, gay marriage would make REAL marriage meaningless, and would be an abomination, of course I’m against it” or “Aliens shot JFK, obviously, and the government doesn’t want us to know, so they faked the moon landings” or “The death penalty is totally a good idea! Sometimes you can just tell when someone’s guilty, I read it in the Telegraph!” or “I don’t know what possible drawbacks there could be in privatising the police force” or “I think lots of people would be interested to read my overlong, overblown thoughts on sexuality and religion and everything on a blog!”. Or something. The point is, you pretty much have to just nod, smile, try not to think about it too hard, and try to steer the conversation towards a neutral topic, like penguins, or something.
So, is it in any way conceivable that she could have been right? That it could actually be better in any sense (assuming for the moment that All Christians think that being gay is as serious a sin as the Old Testament would have us think it) to have them deny themselves the music of gay artists, to bar gay friends, and generally to unhypocrtically reject everything gay? Surely not, since this would pretty obviously cause a fair amount of suffering for the rejected gay people, even leaving aside the silliness of having to throw out CDs when it turns out that the singer quite likes other lads, or whatever. Also, that sort of thing would, in turn, be UnChristian, right? But this was maybe her point, that their position was untenable in the first place. But whose beliefs hold up to this sort of scrutiny? Not mine, I bet. It’s basically impossible to live an entirely unhypocritical life, I should think. Her atheistic how-dare-they-judge-people thing seemed pretty judge-y, to take the obvious example.
Moreover, isn’t it kind of problematic in this modern age to suggest that “being gay” is all there is to a person? That their sexuality taints and colours everything that person does? Call me crazy, but that seems kind of, um, wrong. Isn’t this why people are often afraid to come out to their friends and families? That people will think that their sexuality somehow Changes Everything?
Seems to me that being gay has about as much impact on someone’s identity as being Christian would, although obviously that old question of genetics vs. choice would weigh in there. Not that I’ve ever really approved of that discussion. Whether it’s Nature or Nurture, sexuality is pretty clearly a powerful imperative and it’s clearly silly to suggest it’s a choice or laziness or whatever, since it would, in that case, be easier not to deal with all the hassle of being “queer”. And even if it IS a choice, so what? What possible relevance could it have for anyone else?
Actually, this is what’s always bugged me about the conception of homosexuality as a sin; if it is, isn’t it essentially a victimless crime? If two gay people are happily in love, and both feel that their lives are the better for it, what harm does it do to anyone? Seriously, unless the girl you’re madly in love with is a lesbian, I don’t see how it should matter to you. And if that is the case, then there’s the strong possibility that she wouldn’t love you back even if she was straight.
Statistically speaking, Hypothetically Rejected Dude, what percentage of straight ladies are in love with you? Yeah, so your odds weren’t so great that the only obstacle was her being gay anyway. And if it were, then her being straight would kind of make her a different person (although not all that much, obviously, back to our there’s-more-to-a-person-than-their-sexual-orientation point), so maybe you wouldn’t be in love with her then. Maybe you just like people who are unavailable, have you thought about that?
... and so on. My point is, why all the fuss?
A far a precedent goes, the Old Testament was pretty clear about homosexuality. In the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, as I recall it, two male angels visited the house of Lot, who lived in Sodom (or Gomorrah, who can say? Who, in fact, cares?) to warn him of the impeding destruction of the town, and the men of the town came to his house and said “We hear you have some hot guests. We want to have sex with them,” and Lot, horrified said “No, but look, I’ll tell you what, here are my hot virgin daughters, have sex with them instead”, and the townsfolk went “nah, thanks all the same”, and Lot and his family fled, with his wife being pyroclastic-flowed into a pillar of salt en route, on account of how she glanced back at the town as fire was being rained on it.
Now, there are a bunch of problems with that story, but really, to me, the stand out question is “What the fuck kind of father are you, Lot? No wonder your town and wife got burned up!”.
The New Testament, happily, is rather lower on unconvincing stories of homosexuality and essentially random lashings of heavenly wrath, and considerably higher on “love thy neighbour”, including Christians, Jews, gentiles, tax collectors, prostitutes, betraying disciples, and, presumably, gay singer/songwriters. Better still, it is generally considered to trump the Old Testament. I’m given to understand that it still feels a little uncomfortable with Oxford St, but not, one suspects, any worse than with pre-marital sex, which is pretty ubiquitous.
I have more, even less well-organised, thoughts on this, but I would appear to have written almost 1,500 words, so maybe it’s time to stop. I guess my point essentially is, as my little sister’s ex boyfriend used to say “why you gotta be a hater?”
I don’t know why this should seem like it’s of any moment, since this blog is very clearly just me blathering, which happens to any of my friends, acquaintances or innocent bypassers who stand still for long enough, but there you go, there’s no point second guessing it, since my childish irrational enjoyment presumably harms no-one. (If this is wrong, and somehow this is all, in fact, causing you any sort of pain, physical or otherwise, it might be an idea to let me know, and I’ll stop.)
Also, um, hi!
Anyway, back to it. All this Thinking-about-the-audience thing might be good for making your content appropriate, but since I don’t actually know who y’all are, it’s essentially only a way to make myself selfconscious when discussing sensitive issues, such as this evening’s. Wiser people might take this as a sign that the topic ought to be avoided, but since by definition, I can’t be “wiser” where the original benchmark for wisdom is myself, let’s pretend that I have some kind of reason for not acting with that hypothetical wisdom, and get right down to it, shall we?
I was talking the other day with a bunch of friends when someone made a (to me) fairly startling assertion. It was suggested (pretty forcefully) that Christian people (who were assumed to be a rather more monolithic group than I would like to think them), since they “all think that being gay is a sin” (which hopefully they, um, don’t all do, right? Reassure me, Christian friends), had no right to go around the place enjoying the music of gay people, and in general, blatantly accepting them in their lives and society. This seems, to me, to be pretty problematic, so I figured I’d discuss it here to sort it out, rather than getting it out of my system in a series of weirdly awkward conversations.
To start with, though, I wish to make it clear that I judge no-one for the views so far expressed to me. These people are my friends (no matter which direction their prejudices are aimed), and I pretty much dig all of you guys, foibles and all. It has long been my contention that we, all of us, have our own little “patches of crazy”, of which we are, ourselves, usually unaware. You’ll be having a conversation with a perfectly lovely, reasonable and rational friend and suddenly they’ll say “Well, obviously, Elvis is still alive” or “I mean, gay marriage would make REAL marriage meaningless, and would be an abomination, of course I’m against it” or “Aliens shot JFK, obviously, and the government doesn’t want us to know, so they faked the moon landings” or “The death penalty is totally a good idea! Sometimes you can just tell when someone’s guilty, I read it in the Telegraph!” or “I don’t know what possible drawbacks there could be in privatising the police force” or “I think lots of people would be interested to read my overlong, overblown thoughts on sexuality and religion and everything on a blog!”. Or something. The point is, you pretty much have to just nod, smile, try not to think about it too hard, and try to steer the conversation towards a neutral topic, like penguins, or something.
So, is it in any way conceivable that she could have been right? That it could actually be better in any sense (assuming for the moment that All Christians think that being gay is as serious a sin as the Old Testament would have us think it) to have them deny themselves the music of gay artists, to bar gay friends, and generally to unhypocrtically reject everything gay? Surely not, since this would pretty obviously cause a fair amount of suffering for the rejected gay people, even leaving aside the silliness of having to throw out CDs when it turns out that the singer quite likes other lads, or whatever. Also, that sort of thing would, in turn, be UnChristian, right? But this was maybe her point, that their position was untenable in the first place. But whose beliefs hold up to this sort of scrutiny? Not mine, I bet. It’s basically impossible to live an entirely unhypocritical life, I should think. Her atheistic how-dare-they-judge-people thing seemed pretty judge-y, to take the obvious example.
Moreover, isn’t it kind of problematic in this modern age to suggest that “being gay” is all there is to a person? That their sexuality taints and colours everything that person does? Call me crazy, but that seems kind of, um, wrong. Isn’t this why people are often afraid to come out to their friends and families? That people will think that their sexuality somehow Changes Everything?
Seems to me that being gay has about as much impact on someone’s identity as being Christian would, although obviously that old question of genetics vs. choice would weigh in there. Not that I’ve ever really approved of that discussion. Whether it’s Nature or Nurture, sexuality is pretty clearly a powerful imperative and it’s clearly silly to suggest it’s a choice or laziness or whatever, since it would, in that case, be easier not to deal with all the hassle of being “queer”. And even if it IS a choice, so what? What possible relevance could it have for anyone else?
Actually, this is what’s always bugged me about the conception of homosexuality as a sin; if it is, isn’t it essentially a victimless crime? If two gay people are happily in love, and both feel that their lives are the better for it, what harm does it do to anyone? Seriously, unless the girl you’re madly in love with is a lesbian, I don’t see how it should matter to you. And if that is the case, then there’s the strong possibility that she wouldn’t love you back even if she was straight.
Statistically speaking, Hypothetically Rejected Dude, what percentage of straight ladies are in love with you? Yeah, so your odds weren’t so great that the only obstacle was her being gay anyway. And if it were, then her being straight would kind of make her a different person (although not all that much, obviously, back to our there’s-more-to-a-person-than-their-sexual-orientation point), so maybe you wouldn’t be in love with her then. Maybe you just like people who are unavailable, have you thought about that?
... and so on. My point is, why all the fuss?
A far a precedent goes, the Old Testament was pretty clear about homosexuality. In the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, as I recall it, two male angels visited the house of Lot, who lived in Sodom (or Gomorrah, who can say? Who, in fact, cares?) to warn him of the impeding destruction of the town, and the men of the town came to his house and said “We hear you have some hot guests. We want to have sex with them,” and Lot, horrified said “No, but look, I’ll tell you what, here are my hot virgin daughters, have sex with them instead”, and the townsfolk went “nah, thanks all the same”, and Lot and his family fled, with his wife being pyroclastic-flowed into a pillar of salt en route, on account of how she glanced back at the town as fire was being rained on it.
Now, there are a bunch of problems with that story, but really, to me, the stand out question is “What the fuck kind of father are you, Lot? No wonder your town and wife got burned up!”.
The New Testament, happily, is rather lower on unconvincing stories of homosexuality and essentially random lashings of heavenly wrath, and considerably higher on “love thy neighbour”, including Christians, Jews, gentiles, tax collectors, prostitutes, betraying disciples, and, presumably, gay singer/songwriters. Better still, it is generally considered to trump the Old Testament. I’m given to understand that it still feels a little uncomfortable with Oxford St, but not, one suspects, any worse than with pre-marital sex, which is pretty ubiquitous.
I have more, even less well-organised, thoughts on this, but I would appear to have written almost 1,500 words, so maybe it’s time to stop. I guess my point essentially is, as my little sister’s ex boyfriend used to say “why you gotta be a hater?”
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
In which room-tidying prompts procrastinatory self-examination and rhetorical questions are over-indulged in.
So, I’ve been cleaning my room this evening, as every good citizen ought to do, occasionally (and some more than most, if they’re of a generally untidy mien). Turns out, it’s way tiring. How is it that I have so much stuff? And so much stuff which is just “stuff”?
Why did my mothe-... I mean Santa Claus... feel that I should be given a mint condition 2008 dollar coin – “Sure to appreciate in value!”- in my stocking this past Christmas? And what’s to be done with it now?
Why did I put up, for so long, with having SO MANY power cords underfoot at my desk? Why did this still include 2 external disk drives (obsolete), 2 chargers for my old mobile, and the charger for my camera, which I haven’t seen since over a year ago? Where the hell is my camera, anyway?
What does it say about me that I’m so tired after tidying only: shoes, beside my desk chair, the area in my cupboard with scarves in it, and my jewellery shelf? That I’m lazy or that I’ve hit my lifetime accessory quota and will soon have to seek help, never to be allowed to buy another earring? Why, if I have so obscenely many earrings, can I never find ones that are quite what I’m after (maybe because they’re buried under a pile of miscellaneous earrings, who can say)?
Who the hell thought it would be a good idea to put some kind of menu button on this keyboard where the Delete key used to be?
Why does this version of Word not allow me to Customize Keyboard Shortcuts? I spelled customised the way they liked and everything! What the hell happened to “File”, “Edit”, “View”, “Paragraph”, “Tools” and “Help”? If the software designers are so aware that this is infuriating that “no, you can’t have the old kind back, tough bikkies” is in the FAQ, why don’t they just make it an option?
Back to the room, why would you design a shoe rack with bars so widely spaced that the heels on ladies’ shoes fall through when you put them on it?
Where is the correct place to store a dressing gown which is often damp from being worn fresh out of the shower?
Can I bring myself to throw out those old mascaras that are a bit past it now, but not empty, and which were pretty expensive when I bought them? Why do I own so much Estee Lauder makeup when I’m a student who doesn’t bother to wear makeup on a daily basis?
How can people who do wear makeup on a daily basis bear it? Doesn’t it get awfully tiring and dull? And bad for the pores, or something?
Why on earth would anyone ever design a room with only one powerpoint, and that single, so that without powerboards and double adaptors I could either have a radio or a light or a computer (with no externally powered plug-in things) or a centrally powered alarm clock or an electric blanket or a phone charger, but never more than one? Would it make me a better person to have pursued such an option rather than having 2 powerboards running from the one plug?
Why do I own so many corsets, fascinators, outrageous hats, hair feather ornament things and petticoats? Is it possible that when I’m in shops I forget what life I actually lead and get myself confused with movie people? Do I, on some subconscious level, think that by buying the accoutrements for a life of adventure, I’ll somehow get one, and become a Secret Agent, or similar? (This is a distressingly convincing explanation).
Should the full stop go inside or outside the parentheses when the whole sentence is in the brackets?
When will I face the fact that the longer I sit here writing this crud, the longer it will be before I’ll be able to excavate my bed in order to sleep on it?
Why did my mothe-... I mean Santa Claus... feel that I should be given a mint condition 2008 dollar coin – “Sure to appreciate in value!”- in my stocking this past Christmas? And what’s to be done with it now?
Why did I put up, for so long, with having SO MANY power cords underfoot at my desk? Why did this still include 2 external disk drives (obsolete), 2 chargers for my old mobile, and the charger for my camera, which I haven’t seen since over a year ago? Where the hell is my camera, anyway?
What does it say about me that I’m so tired after tidying only: shoes, beside my desk chair, the area in my cupboard with scarves in it, and my jewellery shelf? That I’m lazy or that I’ve hit my lifetime accessory quota and will soon have to seek help, never to be allowed to buy another earring? Why, if I have so obscenely many earrings, can I never find ones that are quite what I’m after (maybe because they’re buried under a pile of miscellaneous earrings, who can say)?
Who the hell thought it would be a good idea to put some kind of menu button on this keyboard where the Delete key used to be?
Why does this version of Word not allow me to Customize Keyboard Shortcuts? I spelled customised the way they liked and everything! What the hell happened to “File”, “Edit”, “View”, “Paragraph”, “Tools” and “Help”? If the software designers are so aware that this is infuriating that “no, you can’t have the old kind back, tough bikkies” is in the FAQ, why don’t they just make it an option?
Back to the room, why would you design a shoe rack with bars so widely spaced that the heels on ladies’ shoes fall through when you put them on it?
Where is the correct place to store a dressing gown which is often damp from being worn fresh out of the shower?
Can I bring myself to throw out those old mascaras that are a bit past it now, but not empty, and which were pretty expensive when I bought them? Why do I own so much Estee Lauder makeup when I’m a student who doesn’t bother to wear makeup on a daily basis?
How can people who do wear makeup on a daily basis bear it? Doesn’t it get awfully tiring and dull? And bad for the pores, or something?
Why on earth would anyone ever design a room with only one powerpoint, and that single, so that without powerboards and double adaptors I could either have a radio or a light or a computer (with no externally powered plug-in things) or a centrally powered alarm clock or an electric blanket or a phone charger, but never more than one? Would it make me a better person to have pursued such an option rather than having 2 powerboards running from the one plug?
Why do I own so many corsets, fascinators, outrageous hats, hair feather ornament things and petticoats? Is it possible that when I’m in shops I forget what life I actually lead and get myself confused with movie people? Do I, on some subconscious level, think that by buying the accoutrements for a life of adventure, I’ll somehow get one, and become a Secret Agent, or similar? (This is a distressingly convincing explanation).
Should the full stop go inside or outside the parentheses when the whole sentence is in the brackets?
When will I face the fact that the longer I sit here writing this crud, the longer it will be before I’ll be able to excavate my bed in order to sleep on it?
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