Where have I been?
All over.
It's all different and yet all the same, here at casa del Dickersby.
The crazy? Usual.*
The work? Usual.**
The personal life? Looking up.***
The health? Eh...****
We've moved office at work. If I choose to I now have the dubious honour of walking past an abortion clinic stake-out every morning. It doesn't do much for my good humour, looking at Catholic propaganda first thing.
On the plus side we're right near an awesome cake shop. And the office is all shiny and shit.
Meanwhile, in an attempt to mix it up and not have a shitty life, the Monkey and I are off to Fiji for Xmas. It's not the high season, but here's hoping it rocks anyway.
* Still on 100mg Zoloft to prevent me eating my own head. Still don't really understand the *meaning* of happiness.
** Still more things to juggle than hands to do it with; still enjoying it all, in principle.
*** The monkey husband has officially moved back in, after a 6 month hiatus; but there's still a long road ahead.
**** I'm still on a ludicrous level of medication post-stroke. Who has a stroke at 31? Me, apparently. At the moment I'm waiting on a transesophageal echocardiogram – the leading cause of random TIAs in 'young people' is a minor heart defect.
Hello, interwebs!
two girls walk into a bar
Wendy* and I went out to a local student haunt, the name of which rhymes paradoxically with 'clever mind', on Tuesday night.
Things often go pear-shaped at the clever mind and Tuesday was no exception. In fact it was the most stellar example to-date of why I hate students.**
Wendy and I were minding our own business, discussing girly things likle unicorns and rainbows, when this guy from the next table came over to ask, "Can I borrow your ash tray?"
"Sure" says Wendy, and passes it over.
My eyes follow him back to his table where I notice that the assembled group of young men now have not one, but three ash trays.
My curiosity is aroused. It will be the only thing.
I ask them what they need our ash tray for when they already have two of their own.
"We just want the cigarette butts," I'm told.
"What - why?"
They won't say but I can tell they want to. After some prompting they gleefully relate their proud and noble plan. The butts are for a special party trick.
Who amongst us has not wondered:
How many cigarette butts can be made to fit under the foreskin of the average Australian male?If you had asked me on Monday night, I'd have said NOBODY HAS EVER WONDERED THAT BECAUSE IT'S A FUCKING STUPID THING TO DO.
Apparently I was Wrong.
The answer, proven not once but thrice over the course of Tuesday evening is more than 27. What was not immediately clear, and probably never will be, was why.
Why would anybody want to do that to themselves, why would their friends encourage them, and why would it be considered appropriate to make unsuspecting females look at it?
The whole thing was the most puerile, disrespectful display I've had the misfortune to witness since I had the unhappy acquaintance of a group of catholic school boys in 1993.
* Drunk alter-ego, not her real name.
** I don't hate all students, just large assemblies of drunk ones under the age of 25.
taste the rainbow
I feel oddly euphoric.
I'm not really looking forward to going to work tomorrow, but it'll be fine. For now, there's still a couple of hours left before I really should let the weekend end and go to bed.
Clean sheets. I love clean sheets. Maybe I'll even go to bed early and read - bliss.
The odd euphoria doesn't last, unfortunately. It oscillates. The good stuff I was feeling a few minutes ago has already turned to melancholy. The upside is that I'll likely be 'up' again in a few minutes.
I don't know why I'm like this right now but it's pretty much how my whole adult life has played out, more or less.
I'm simultaneously excited, discouraged, bored and confused. It's like watching cable TV except that I can't walk away.
I should not:
- bake cookies, because then I have to eat them all by myself
- be so mesmerised by boobs
- keep going to bed late and therefore waking up tired
- continue to hold in my venom just because I've learned not to say what I think
- keep beating myself up about my weight
- avoid the blogosphere because I am lazy
- swallow battery acid
more crazy-sister shenanigans
Following on from this post, here's how my little-sis managed to leave a bad taste in my mouth post-Bali:
- Existential crises characterised by late-night tears and monologues about utopian fantasies after lights out.
- Fiscal conniptions regarding hypothetical credit card fraud.
- A melt-down in customs that would have done anyone on Border Patrol proud.
Good times... good times.
The teeth are crappy, and no doubt expensive
A bit of one of my top molars came loose last night. I've put it on the kitchen window sill and marvel at its small, white shininess while making tea.
Meanwhile, hot things, cold things, crunchy things, gelatinous things - indeed, all things - hurt when I eat them.
I have spoken to my dentist and am now on a cancellation waiting list. If no one cancels today then I will have to wait until Wednesday to be seen.
This is what I get for not making a dental appointment when I already knew for sure that I needed work done.
