Pig-pig, pig-pig

Guess who's moving in?

F-CRAP

Dammit.....

You made me commit :P

Stupid hearts, why do I love you?

Wombat in Snow

New house, new job (sorta), stuffed toy wombat and love.

I've got it all.

Screw you bitches, I'm going skiing

I have decided that next year, I shall go fucking skiing by my fucking self. I don't need no holiday with other people.

I'm going fucking skiing for a week. Ski ski, fucking ski till I get good with no one I know to get annoyed.

Ha ha ha.

Medically tipsy

This is the album I'm listening to at the moment. There's a lot of songs already on the radio and a few that I don't mind but only one off the album really struck me. "Hurt Me Soul"... which was playing when I drove back tonight from dinner w/ my peeps.

Yep, somehow there was a "haematology department" dinner with the registrars and residents. It was tonight and ostensibly planned so the most straight-laced of the registrars could have a drink-off.

I was there with Acb. The undisputed love of my life.

Having found this person does not mean I'm devoid of crazy.

And sitting there made me realize so many things... the nicest of which was that my co-workers like me. They actually do. Even if I find myself reprehensible.

The alcohol trick did not work tonight and I was embarrassed. I think I looked better (to me) when sober. How sad. I can't even be sexy anymore when drunk.

I wore contact lenses for the first time in maybe a year tonight. It made me realize how foully I have aged. How ugly I have become although perhaps there was not far to fall. It made me embarrassed for Acb as only my neurosis would allow.

But I had so much fun anyway. It made me feel as if I was liked. And maybe I am.

Imagine that.

Insomnia

I have not been able to sleep since my cold-and-flu-tablets-plus-pseudoephedirine bender circa 1.5 weeks ago.

The week when 2 of my patients had strokes and a third had a presumed gastric outlet obstruction. My reg called in sick and I had to muddle through it all remembering not to cry when my favourite patient died.

I became accordingly paranoid and strung out thanks to the speed.

I have been trying not to take benzos to induce sleep. So even though the sympathomemetic meds have stopped, I remain marginally less paranoid and an insomniac.

I saw that reg again today (there was a changeover) when he brought FRACP candidates around to practice on our full-of-wierd-lumps, haematol patients. The candidates included another of my former regs. They both looked so excited to see me. My ex-haematol reg play-strangled me. The other one was waving madly, then started a conversation with everyone in general abt how i'm "such an interesting person".

I know that this must mean they like me... I just can't fathom why it is I induce that sort of affection. People never just want to chat and have the civilized coffee. They want to play-strangle me and discuss me in front of others.

They're all silly and I like them. I just don't think that this translates into other conversations, elsewhere, when they say "that Vicki's a damn fine/smart/reliable resident.." Nope, the conversations (if any) surely go, "that Vicki's a CRAAAAZY kid. Did you know that she...?"

It's coz I tell my regs things like "I am ok to work now becoz I am all strung-out on cold-and-flu tablets" *bright smile*!

....BTW, the Labyrinth pic refers to the music I've got in the background at the moment. An odd collection of things I think I should learn to play becoz they've got strong guitar parts... and 'As the World Falls Down' from Labyrinth. A film close to my heart, filling my dreams.

Haircut by a maniac

I got my hair cut by a maniac just now at one of those cheapo places similar to Just Cuts. I think it was called Salon Cuts or something similar.

And I didn't get it cut there becoz I'm cheap (not only becoz I'm cheap) but becoz the last time I paid $150 for a haircut, they gave me a fashionable mullet a la Ashlee Simpson. (yetch)

So I had my hair cut by a nutter of possible Middle Eastern extraction (an incidental note) who told me he loved Korean girls coz they were all hot, clean and he never had to worry abt his 'stuff' (hand gestures towards genitals here). He didn't appear to pay any attention to cutting my hair. Kept saying he felt bloated becoz he'd over-eaten at lunch, blow-dried it in the most haphazard way ever. And yes, it was cheap and I didn't mind him at all but I left uncertain that I shouldn't have gone the $150 fashion mullet a second time.

Fast-forward 1hour later and I've gone home and inspected my hair.

Goddamn it, the guy actually gave me an excellent freaking cut. It looks better than I thought it would, he did exactly what I wanted and still gave it style. It's the right length, the right shape, and some of it falls into my face just like it should.

...Now of course, I"ll have to contend with listening to conversations abt him and his 'stuff' the next time I want something good done.

Doh!

Random Pics of Egypt.

1st April 2007

Make me less of a loser.

Nights on CCU

It's almost 3am and it's testimony to my fondness of the nurses on with me at the moment that I'm able to write my blog on el giante screen computer.

I'm waiting for my new admission so I can go to sleep in the on-call room. An uncomfortable, windowless hole that smells like patients. Or perhaps patients smell like hospital linen. Whatever.

I've got a new obsession. And it's not gotten hold of me quite the way others have in the past. Partly becoz I know myself enough now (hah) to realize that I should tread lightly when starting anything hobby-ish. I've approached it with a mixture of sadness (already picturing the failure) and fear (already feeling lousy abt the failure). ... the whole experience reminds me a lot of learning how to ski.

For anyone who doesn't know me incredibly well, I learnt to ski the only way I know how: by being uncomfortable and angry with myself the whole time. I skiied 8 hours a day for 6 days straight. I hated being frightened of potentially mangled limbs, of fast speeds or other skiiers who saw me at this slightly-past-my-skiing prime dolt. But fuck me, I can actually ski. Becoz I wouldn't give up - nothing would make me feel worse than failure. I would have skiied even if I had broken something.

And for a while afterwards (including the present time), I think abt absconding for another week to some alpine area and going hard again.... so I could be GOOD.

Do I enjoy skiing?

Does it matter?

I don't actually know.

... So flash forward and here I am thinking abt my new hobby.

I've stopped just short of setting myself "goals"... at least, formally. I've stopped just short of letting half-formed criticisms be vocalized. I've stopped just short of my fingers bleeding and my going deaf. But only becoz I felt as if trying till I was satisfied would leave me in tears, my fingers shredded and myself incapable of working, so shot my self-esteem.

I don't need hobbies.

I love talking to other people who find that there are achievable things eg. learning to play golf, learning to dance and therefore dancing and golfing, which can be done in a relaxed fashion. These are well-adjusted people. Normal people. ... people I don't relate to.

...............................................................

Maybe I should study?

But I mean, WTF for?

...............................................................

http://www.bunnyshop.org/ AND stuff

(this pic is not from said page)

Not sure what this webpage is really abt. It seems to be run by some slightly eccentric college student with strong opinions on fashion.

It's not quite my fashion, per se, since I fancy myself rather kitsch-indie/punk/goth/alternative (when in reality, I am WASP-ish, well-heeled cracker central, except not white)... but it is fascinating. Perhaps even morbidly so. I cannot tear myself away from odd, 3rd person mini-rants on brands I've never heard of (are they available for less than $30? then why would I freaking care), styles I didn't know were coming in, much less going out or being taken to the street.

In a similar vein... you know, we doctor-y types actually do have the spare one or two Gs that could ostensibly be blown on odd things like "classic" handbags from funny brands like Chloe. But is that really what we really want to be doing with our cash? ......... NO, becoz there's no such thing as a "classic bag" unless your fashion sense died long ago when Chanel's power suits were a new thing. Goddamn it people, you're not gonna want the same freaking shit at 25 as at 45, and if you do, either you're dead or your boring and lack innovation and originality.

...Goddamn, I've got to stop reading that page. It makes me silly... and poncy. And I sure as hell wasn't like that before ;)

In other news, my darling dad (step) became a nominated member of parliment 2 days ago. And while my family are apolitical and my father decidedly lacking in political ambition, this is just one of those cute, silly things that happens, I guess. Apparently, there's news media footage http://straitstimes.asiaone.com/ but it seemed largely focused on other candidates :P. Poo.

My dad's a star though, and having gained him only a few years back through marriage, I feel forever young whenever he's discussed.. or seen, or teased. As if my childhood could be re-lived, recaptured and made right just becoz he's here now.

Finally, I thought I'd say again that I've found the love of my life and his, like my papa's, existence makes many things right.

Fool

15 minutes ago I realized that there are indelible things abt me.

A car spun out in front of mine. Across all lanes of freeway north. There was smoke and the air was sharp with burning rubber and rain, and even though nothing obvious occured other than that, I paused ... and stopped. Another car stopped behind me. But initially, I had stopped alone.

As I walked up to the crash site, now 300m behind my car, I thought abt all the things I'd want to hear if I picked up the Triage 1 call in ED. And I was calm. And part of me considered what would happen if the passengers were dangerous, if they were hurt, if I was alone and I really was the first doctor on the scene.... and I kept walking.

I hate myself for that. I hated myself for standing my ground, the other concerned driver (another girl) now by my side, as I confronted drunk bikies gibbering on abt "people out to get [their] families". I hated myself for this becoz I would still have stopped. Even if I was alone, even knowing the occupants were dodgy. Becoz I realized that I didn't care abt me. Becoz this was the right fucking thing to do and I couldn't help but do it.

The occupants were drunk, maybe even high too. But they were walking away from the scene, walking and talking. Oriented, really. And ultimately, the other driver and I left them in the hands of the towies.

I've become something alien to myself.

Hardly self-aware before, I've become this thing, this fool and made the transformation without even noticing.

I swore I'd never care and never stop and never look back, but there I was. Becoz I knew that if

I didn't stop and they were hurt, maybe no one else would. And I hated myself for knowing that it would be better if I was there handing over the the ambulance staff than most other people.

How did I become this abomination? So comfortable in my medical skin that I would stop and

think that I could do it? I could actually fucking help?

It made me realize that this is my life now and this is who I am. And ultimately, I am a soft touch and I will die before I let anyone else come close.

I don't know who this person is anymore. I'm certainly not the person I profess to be. Certainly not the person I'd like to be. Somewhere in between, I exist in the murky depths, horrifying myself whenever I catch sight of my own reflection.

Goddamn it, how did this fucking happen?