Nausea, Nauseating, Nauseated

I confess that perhaps, my resident and reg were right. I am nauseatingly enthusiastic.

Keen, as my resident would say. Keen keen keen, and all that said with bug-eyed, grit-teeth conviction.

I found myself excited abt the blood gas machine today in ED. The idea that colored printouts with acid-base graphs would come up was kinda cool. Very exciting. The idea that Rez and I were going 50% of the doctors available tonight was exciting too. But this was also 10am and I thought I'd have gotten some sleep after that.

It's now 5pm and I've slept 1.5hours. I'm sure to embarass myself tonight, if for no other reason then sheer fatigue.

I've been nursing a headache, referred from my clenched jaw and bruxism, for a day or so now. Somehow last week, I must have so happily gotten into the night grinding that I was unable to open my mouth fully for the pain come daybreak. Good grief.

I've come to the conclusion that my enthusiasm is directly proportional to my fear and dis-ease. Since I am always uncomfortable and nervous, I project as very excited and happy. It's a strange series of unfortunate coincidences.

This morning I also almost walked into my formed boss. The one who offered to by my fine jewelry. I was also already late. I wondered abt the justice in my life.

Gar.

I suddenly feel sleepy.

And enthusiastic.

Jaw hurts.

Keep your grandma at home tonight.

Muchos Gracias

I had pictured my home laid bare. Torn from limb to limb by crazy, drunken fiends (aka invited guests), a mini riot started on my street.

Nay, that's not how things transpired but I'd like to thank everyone who fronted to the wee house warming anyway ;)

Thanks especially to those who turned up extra early to keep me company and to A and L-S who got music organized even if my budget stereo could not accomodate it.

A huge thank you to Acb (who doesn't know this site exists, much less will see my thanks) who made food from scratch, put up with my spack attack re: mad facial rash, brought along beer, helped me clean up after the fact and who puts up with me in general. - It is you I adore... even if some barbie doll will probably lure you away at plastics dressing clinic.

To those who couldn't make it, you were missed.

House house Thought

Garh!

For the last 2 days I've had to think abt, clean and pay for stuff to be done to my humble abode.

The kitchen has finally been tiled. Hours were spent chatting with the genuinely very nice tiler becoz I felt it impolite to slink back to bed after the 0700 wake-up call. Tradies are a unique bunch. 0700 on a Saturday is ungodly.

So since then, I've had to clean up (ewwww.... gritty substances coming into contact with my fingers... ewww), do more laundry (aka still cleaning up), and now have finally found time to browse Etsy again while scoffing down 1/4 of a mud cake.

I feel vaguely unwell for various reasons, none of which is genuinely somatic.

I'm balking at the mess contained within my home, the prospect of a party (w/ very few friends), at starting another week at OPH with the world's laziest surgical registrar and at the sun. The sun in particular, for it beats down upon me relentlessly as if to say "you can hide no more" becoz it is spring.

I am nauseated at myself and everything else.

I.. I.. I..

I don't know if I ever mentioned my saddest, most awkward moment in Russia to anyone but the girl who stood with me as it occured.

Maybe that was becoz I never quite lost the sense of disquiet that filled me when it occured.

Outside the Park Kultury metro station, my 'home' train stop, there was a series of little cart-stalls selling a lot of food and one or two with books and magazines.

Sometime into the middle of my stay there, I found myself ever able to drink kvas, a beverage the color of cola that was apparently traditional in some way. It contained a tiny amount of alcohol and carbonation and tasted rather like chinotto in retrospect. I liked the stuff, god knows why, and was queing up to buy a cup when the little old lady approached me.

Tiny and wearing a kerchief, she shuffled up to me, hands cupped. I towered over her like the horrible Western tourist I was and was startled to see her beg. She reminded me of my own grandmother and it appalled me that no one seemed to notice her.

Park Kultury wasn't a tourist hub and we appeared to be the only foreignors around. Perhaps elderly people begging were commonplace for the locals but certainly, they weren't for me. At least not then - in all our weeks there - as this was the first time I'd ever seen a pensioner beg. Not a maimed war veteran, not a gypsy, but an old woman like my grandma.

I fished out my wallet and, forgive me, chose the smallest denomination ruble bill I had. 50 rubles, if memory serves (probably doesn't). I gave it to her tentatively becoz she'd started to move down the kvas queue by this stage.

She took my hand and looked up at me. "Spaciba" she said, eyes meeting mine.

I didn't cry then, confused and startled. But everytime since, the memory has forced tears.

The Russians, at least those I encountered, were not a touchy-feely bunch. Almost surly in their reserve, none of us really had any friendly encounters with the locals outside our lecturers. The last person on earth I thought would take my hand was an elderly Russian woman, forced to beg from a Westernized chink.

I instantly regretted my stinginess. I should have given her more, goddamn it. If she had been my grandmother, wouldn't I have hoped someone would give her more? What would more have meant to me? One less souvenir?

How could someone let their grandmother beg like that? How could any state let the pensions persist without adjusting for inflation? How could any state reduce its old and infirm to begging?

She shuffled away.

I stared after her a moment and then at my feet.

Her face haunts me even now. Her quiet way. Spaciba.

Turns out this happens a lot in modern Russia.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/5413226.stm

Some Movies

In a bid to keep myself from dangerous pursuits (drugs, alcohol and self-harm), I took to renting DVDs over the last two weeks. To that end, I have seen the following:

• Beautiful Boxer (Thai)

I liked this one - a slightly romanticised version the true story of a champion Muay Thai fighter and transvestite. It was recent and won either honorable mention at some poncy film festival or an actual award.

I liked it more before I realized that a paucity of dialogue may lull one into the false impression that everyone featured is profound.

Still, Muay Thai is beautiful and I have a soft spot for alternative lifestyle choices.

• Y Tu Mama Tambien (Spanish)

This film had an alarming amount of sex and full-frontal male nudity (good grief, why?). It was funny in a strange, pointless kind of way. I loved the narration which broke in every now and then with a depressing tidbit - past and present.

I was horrified to discover that the famed Gael Garcia Bernal has the same profile as one Gregory L. Paulson, my former fiance. I imagine he doesn't look quite so Greg-ish in all films but the similarities here were alarming. It made some of the sexual content hard to reconcile.

This film actually had substance, and allowed some guilt-free voyeurism. Not quite sure why it was such a big deal when it came out but it was good nonetheless.

• Kandahar (Urdu/ Pashtun?)

Another lauded film. It begs the question: are these accolades truly deserved or handed out to people the judging commitee pities or finds sufficiently topical?

There were beautiful scenes here... which were drawn out for several minutes too many.

The plot was flimsy and, frankly, stupid.

The doctor character was a great inclusion though. Probably the film's only saving grace.... that and the fact that it was short.

• Gen X Cops (badly dubbed English. Probably Cantonese to begin with)

I love a good HK gangster flick.

This was just terrible, not helped by the lack of genuine Chinese spoken on the copy I watched. Terrible. Yucky yucky.

The Gen X Cops were alright-looking. As one expects HK pretty boys to be, all streaked hair and poses. The story was shit though. I tried for 3 hours but couldn't stay awake for the while thing.

It was 1:20pm.

If that's not telling, I don't know what is.

...In other news... hmmm. I don't think there's other news.

Tick tock.

Acb returns to Perth sometime this weekend. I'm not sure how this will actuallywork out. It seems a lifetime since last we were together. And in that time, I've filled the void with work.

Sweet work.

Saving Grace

Yesterday was a bad day.

No longer able to distract myself, the night fell on a scene of neurosis-fuelled inebriation. There was a poorly painted canvas and several poorly constructed and even more badly decorated bits of furniture.

I thought today when I rose, hung over and feeling sorry for myself, that perhaps, I would have calmed down before making it to my psychologist. That I would report, objectively and with an abstract detachment, my fall from grace the night before. I would talk abt it as an incidental, no longer appreciative of the moments themselves or their origins.

Not so.

Thankfully.

I went to my psychologist today feeling as wretched as the night before. Or perhaps less so for I was sober and lacking the honesty that comes with drink. I felt poorly in the car on the way there. Awash with self-pity and self-loathing.

Self-loathing mostly.

And she challenged me to examine my thought processes, to question what I thought was truth and fact. She challenged me to make the calls required, to send the sms-es.

And for that, I am grateful.

For that, I am ashamed and disgusted with myself, having seen the facts for what they are and were.

I wonder now, how I could have gone on without her. Certainly, I would have gone on. On and on. I have lasted decades feeling wretched. At that rate, I would surely last millenia.

She is slowly changing my life. Slowly changing me. Making me a better person. Making me someone I can live with and live as.

I cannot imagine a day when I don't wish to hurt myself. To lynch myself, to flog myself for every indiscretion, real or percieved. When I don't embarrass and irk myself. But perhaps, this day could exist now.

Must Find

Must find way to keep from feeling awful abt self all the time.