Whether Jez doesn't want any contact with me because he can't contain his feelings every time we talk or because he hasn't any more feelings for me I'll never know.
He might not realise it, but he has switched between the two stories so often that I've wondered whether they're both false, and that the true reason was something else entirely.
I was never a mystery. I don't want to be with Jez because I'm not a sadist, but all my feelings, my stupid, stubborn feelings for him remain exactly as they've always been. Except there's a little bit of hate, but that's only to be expected, isn't it?
I've read stories about people who have had one love they never managed to forget, and I can't think of anything more frightening than falling into this category because of Jez. Nevertheless I know that I'm young, and that there is probably a good chance I'll remember all of this some years (or months, I hope) into the future with a smile and not a hint of stabbing pain in my chest.
I've been in love before. At first glance it's obvious to me that I've never loved anyone like I loved Jez. But imagine breaking your arm. The pain is excruciating and you spend months wearing a cast, partially disabled and deprived of all of the two-armed activities you've taken for granted. Then once the cast is taken off and you're on a beach playing volleyball, someone asks you how painful it was to break a limb. You say, "it wasn't that bad", because you've already forgotten.
I rack my brains, but just like the distant memory of a broken arm, simply remembering the pain doesn't compare to actually feeling it. I can feel my love for Jez. I have only a memory of my love for Eddie. There were no parameters for comparison.
My friend had reminded me that Jez himself proved how easy, how spontaneous and how unexpected meeting someone could be. It's never where you look, and it's never what you'd expect. Right now I don't harbour the thought any longer than it takes to write this paragraph. Right now it doesn't matter to me.
It's funny that I miss Jez for such different reasons than I had before. For unexplained-but-most-likely-hormonal reasons, the last break-up left me craving sex. I missed every minute we spent in his bed, it drove me absolutely crazy. After the previous break-ups, I craved the little physical things. Cuddles. Kisses. Grinning at each other like a couple of silly idiots.
Right now, it hurts the most that I can't crawl into bed and call him to tell him about the trivial little things that happened during my day. I can't tell him about the most recent stupid thing I've done and make him laugh. We can't discuss NDS games. We can't make jokes at each other's expense. We can't talk ourselves sleepy about absolutely nothing at all.
I miss my friend.
7.31.2008
Day Three
"In the beginning, there was nothing at all but the moon and the sun. And the moon wanted to come out during the day, but there was something so much brighter that seemed to fill up all those hours. The moon grew hungry, thinner and thinner, until she was just a slice of herself, and her tips were as sharp as a knife. By accident, because that is the way most things happen, she poked a hole in the night and out spilled a million stars, like a fountain of tears.
Horrified, the moon tried to swallow them up. And sometimes this worked, because she got fatter and rounder. But mostly it didn't, because there were just so many. The stars kept coming, until they made the sky so bright that the sun got jealous. He invited the stars to his side of the world, where it was always bright. What he didn't tell them, though, was that in the daytime, they'd never be seen. So the stupid ones leaped from the sky to the ground, and they froze under the weight of their own foolishness.
The moon did her best. She carved each of these blocks of sorrow into a man or a woman. She spent the rest of her time watching out so that her other stars wouldn't fall. She spent the rest of her time holding on to whatever scraps she had left."
Two nights ago he mused that somehow I don't stop breaking his heart. Jez, what do you know about broken hearts?
At night I'd wait for my parents to retire into their bedroom to watch TV. Like I have a schedule for what time I could cry.
I have only so much time before I fall asleep, only to wake up next morning to the disappointment that I didn't quietly die during the night.
Horrified, the moon tried to swallow them up. And sometimes this worked, because she got fatter and rounder. But mostly it didn't, because there were just so many. The stars kept coming, until they made the sky so bright that the sun got jealous. He invited the stars to his side of the world, where it was always bright. What he didn't tell them, though, was that in the daytime, they'd never be seen. So the stupid ones leaped from the sky to the ground, and they froze under the weight of their own foolishness.
The moon did her best. She carved each of these blocks of sorrow into a man or a woman. She spent the rest of her time watching out so that her other stars wouldn't fall. She spent the rest of her time holding on to whatever scraps she had left."
Two nights ago he mused that somehow I don't stop breaking his heart. Jez, what do you know about broken hearts?
At night I'd wait for my parents to retire into their bedroom to watch TV. Like I have a schedule for what time I could cry.
I have only so much time before I fall asleep, only to wake up next morning to the disappointment that I didn't quietly die during the night.
Day Three
I'm walking around the house in an old tee.
It's been a long time, and I'm not sure whether this is going to end in regret.
I walked by the hairdresser, paused, and asked whether I could browse through their hair art magazines.
When the girl's scissors snipped off the first strand, it was too late to turn back.
I'm afraid of change. I like to buy sushi from the same place. I wear an old pair of ballet flats on the brink of falling apart. I can't bring myself to buy a bag that isn't tan, or a dress that isn't cream. I haven't taken off my ring.
But sometimes life changes whether you like it or not, and when it does, you could either struggle to keep everything the way you've always liked it, or you could let the current take you somewhere new.
When my friend and her boyfriend ended their long-term relationship, she got a tattoo.
I got a haircut.
And as if that wasn't anti-climax enough, it was a fringe. A subtle, sweeping fringe. When I got out of the hairdresser's chair there were about ten strands of hair on the floor. To somebody else, I could have walked into the salon, flipped through their magazines, threw my $20 onto the counter and left looking exactly I had before I went in.
I may have a tattoo one day, but as I always said - baby steps.
It's been a long time, and I'm not sure whether this is going to end in regret.
I walked by the hairdresser, paused, and asked whether I could browse through their hair art magazines.
When the girl's scissors snipped off the first strand, it was too late to turn back.
I'm afraid of change. I like to buy sushi from the same place. I wear an old pair of ballet flats on the brink of falling apart. I can't bring myself to buy a bag that isn't tan, or a dress that isn't cream. I haven't taken off my ring.
But sometimes life changes whether you like it or not, and when it does, you could either struggle to keep everything the way you've always liked it, or you could let the current take you somewhere new.
When my friend and her boyfriend ended their long-term relationship, she got a tattoo.
I got a haircut.
And as if that wasn't anti-climax enough, it was a fringe. A subtle, sweeping fringe. When I got out of the hairdresser's chair there were about ten strands of hair on the floor. To somebody else, I could have walked into the salon, flipped through their magazines, threw my $20 onto the counter and left looking exactly I had before I went in.
I may have a tattoo one day, but as I always said - baby steps.
Day Three
Amidst all this doom and gloom is the dim acknowledgement that my 21st birthday is slowly creeping up.
I try to push it out of my mind. My birthday is just less than a month away. I don't know how long it's going to be before I speak to Jez again but somehow I doubt it will be soon enough for him to wish me a happy birthday.
Jez's birthday is six days after mine. We made plans, changed plans, made them again, and gave them up. In the end he said he'd like to be with his family on his birthday. I was already starting to pout when he laughed and told me that "family" included me.
And now, we're trying not to speak to each other. It's so hard for us to be friends without succumbing to something more.
Somewhere up there, a greater being must be sitting on a cloud with a bowl of popcorn, laughing at the way two people try to untangle themselves from each other's lives.
I try to push it out of my mind. My birthday is just less than a month away. I don't know how long it's going to be before I speak to Jez again but somehow I doubt it will be soon enough for him to wish me a happy birthday.
Jez's birthday is six days after mine. We made plans, changed plans, made them again, and gave them up. In the end he said he'd like to be with his family on his birthday. I was already starting to pout when he laughed and told me that "family" included me.
And now, we're trying not to speak to each other. It's so hard for us to be friends without succumbing to something more.
Somewhere up there, a greater being must be sitting on a cloud with a bowl of popcorn, laughing at the way two people try to untangle themselves from each other's lives.
7.30.2008
Day Two
It takes talent to describe this in words. Talent I may not have.
But I'll try.
I love Jez. So much that it can't be explained. So much that I can't breathe. So much that I would bet anything in the world that if I died right this moment and forensics cut open my chest, they wouldn't find a heart. My heart is with Jez. On the bottom of his shoe. Inside his trash.
I know that I can't be with him. Sometimes I thought I was a bit of a masochist for staying with someone who hurt me the way he did. Being with Jez was like drowning. Struggling towards the surface, gasping for air before being pulled deeper into the water. I think of all the nights I spent awake, all the hours I spent crying, and realise that I spent far more time being miserable than happy. I know I deserve more.
Yet I never left, because I knew that without him, I would be exactly as I am now. Bleeding. In pieces. I didn't stay with Jez because I wanted to be happy. I stayed with Jez because I was afraid to shatter. Jez would have broken me, piece by piece. I wanted to stay a little more whole for a little longer.
Martin said in a fit of cliché that the rain is always followed by the rainbow.
How many times must it rain, before the rainbow loses its worth?
Martin said in a fit of cliché that time will heal my wounds.
And what good would time do if I bled to death first?
But I'll try.
I love Jez. So much that it can't be explained. So much that I can't breathe. So much that I would bet anything in the world that if I died right this moment and forensics cut open my chest, they wouldn't find a heart. My heart is with Jez. On the bottom of his shoe. Inside his trash.
I know that I can't be with him. Sometimes I thought I was a bit of a masochist for staying with someone who hurt me the way he did. Being with Jez was like drowning. Struggling towards the surface, gasping for air before being pulled deeper into the water. I think of all the nights I spent awake, all the hours I spent crying, and realise that I spent far more time being miserable than happy. I know I deserve more.
Yet I never left, because I knew that without him, I would be exactly as I am now. Bleeding. In pieces. I didn't stay with Jez because I wanted to be happy. I stayed with Jez because I was afraid to shatter. Jez would have broken me, piece by piece. I wanted to stay a little more whole for a little longer.
Martin said in a fit of cliché that the rain is always followed by the rainbow.
How many times must it rain, before the rainbow loses its worth?
Martin said in a fit of cliché that time will heal my wounds.
And what good would time do if I bled to death first?
Day Two
It was Bao's idea to eat as soon as we were out of the dispensary lab. I agreed because he looked so hungry that I worried I'd be eaten if we didn't get to a restaurant quickly enough.
It was my idea to go to Menya. One place that couldn't remind me of Jez.
The newly-reunited Mylinh and Derek joined us. All three pairs of eyes were on me. I wasn't sure whether I could talk about it - not because I wasn't comfortable confiding in them, but because I didn't know what to say.
From the random words that tumbled out of my mouth and the look on my face, they had the general gist of it.
Possibly due to their own recent issues, Mylinh and Derek had a lot of advice to give. I had never seem them to serious.
"It's all about compromise." Derek said.
Derek had compromised by allowing Mylinh to stay in touch with all of her male friends. The reason they broke up was his attempt at banning her from speaking to any boys at all.
I sighed.
Jez's compromise to me was to try to grow up my way - by staying together. My compromise to him was letting us go because my way crashed and burned.
This was the only solution, and once I explained it to them, they understood.
Derek bought a drink from Easy Way after dinner. Bao and I stood around while it was being made.
"Aren't you getting a drink?" He asked.
"No, it's too cold." I didn't want to remember the last time I felt warm.
"Cold-hearted." He teased.
How many times can a heart be broken before it turns cold?
"Ice-box." I said.
It was my idea to go to Menya. One place that couldn't remind me of Jez.
The newly-reunited Mylinh and Derek joined us. All three pairs of eyes were on me. I wasn't sure whether I could talk about it - not because I wasn't comfortable confiding in them, but because I didn't know what to say.
From the random words that tumbled out of my mouth and the look on my face, they had the general gist of it.
Possibly due to their own recent issues, Mylinh and Derek had a lot of advice to give. I had never seem them to serious.
"It's all about compromise." Derek said.
Derek had compromised by allowing Mylinh to stay in touch with all of her male friends. The reason they broke up was his attempt at banning her from speaking to any boys at all.
I sighed.
Jez's compromise to me was to try to grow up my way - by staying together. My compromise to him was letting us go because my way crashed and burned.
This was the only solution, and once I explained it to them, they understood.
Derek bought a drink from Easy Way after dinner. Bao and I stood around while it was being made.
"Aren't you getting a drink?" He asked.
"No, it's too cold." I didn't want to remember the last time I felt warm.
"Cold-hearted." He teased.
How many times can a heart be broken before it turns cold?
"Ice-box." I said.
Day Two
While the Pharmacy Practice lecture was running, I was walking through the ticket barriers at Redfern station.
It was impossible to maintain my composure this time around. It was cold. I wrapped my arms around myself. I stopped outside the café that had closed down. I had no incentive to go to uni. No incentive to go back home. No incentive to do anything or be anything. I would have wanted nothing more than to simply fade away, right then and there.
I've always been afraid of death. Yet now I wish it would come and find me.
I wish my parents didn't love me. I wish I wasn't my grandmother's favourite grandchild. I wish my friends didn't care about me.
So that when I die, nobody would hurt.
I let dangerous thoughts take over my mind, imagining but never considering. Don't make threats you can't carry out, I'd always say.
I concentrated as hard as I could in PPF, hanging onto Hak-Kim Chan's every word.
I liked this afternoon's dispensing lab. There was so much to do that very little time was spared for idle thought. I was momentarily distracted by a conversation with Bao at the end of the practical about Romano Fois.
"I should tell him he looks like Edward Norton." Bao said, as we walked past the bench behind which Romano was marking off names of students in his group.
"Go!" I urged him. Romano had a right to know.
"I'm too embarrassed. Why don't you do it?"
"He'll think I'm flirting with him."
"What if I do it and he thinks I'm flirting with him?"
"You're a guy. That's far less likely."
"I think I should get to know him better first."
"How's that possible? You're not in his group."
We let the idea go for a brief moment, before I mentioned that Edward Norton was gay.
"Well then," said Bao, "what if he knew that Edward Norton was gay, and when I tell him he looks like Edward Norton, it'll be the equivalent of saying 'Sir, you look gay'?"
I rolled my eyes at him. "What if Romano Fois is gay too?"
"Then he'll definitely think I'm flirting with him, especially by telling him he looks like Edward Norton, who's gay."
I roll my eyes again.
"It's a lose-lose situation." Bao said.
It was impossible to maintain my composure this time around. It was cold. I wrapped my arms around myself. I stopped outside the café that had closed down. I had no incentive to go to uni. No incentive to go back home. No incentive to do anything or be anything. I would have wanted nothing more than to simply fade away, right then and there.
I've always been afraid of death. Yet now I wish it would come and find me.
I wish my parents didn't love me. I wish I wasn't my grandmother's favourite grandchild. I wish my friends didn't care about me.
So that when I die, nobody would hurt.
I let dangerous thoughts take over my mind, imagining but never considering. Don't make threats you can't carry out, I'd always say.
I concentrated as hard as I could in PPF, hanging onto Hak-Kim Chan's every word.
I liked this afternoon's dispensing lab. There was so much to do that very little time was spared for idle thought. I was momentarily distracted by a conversation with Bao at the end of the practical about Romano Fois.
"I should tell him he looks like Edward Norton." Bao said, as we walked past the bench behind which Romano was marking off names of students in his group.
"Go!" I urged him. Romano had a right to know.
"I'm too embarrassed. Why don't you do it?"
"He'll think I'm flirting with him."
"What if I do it and he thinks I'm flirting with him?"
"You're a guy. That's far less likely."
"I think I should get to know him better first."
"How's that possible? You're not in his group."
We let the idea go for a brief moment, before I mentioned that Edward Norton was gay.
"Well then," said Bao, "what if he knew that Edward Norton was gay, and when I tell him he looks like Edward Norton, it'll be the equivalent of saying 'Sir, you look gay'?"
I rolled my eyes at him. "What if Romano Fois is gay too?"
"Then he'll definitely think I'm flirting with him, especially by telling him he looks like Edward Norton, who's gay."
I roll my eyes again.
"It's a lose-lose situation." Bao said.
Day Two
A fresh wave of loss washed over me as I opened my eyes. I curled up in the corner and fought the urge to cry, or even move, because I didn't trust myself to stay away from the phone.
I knew that if I didn't push my feelings away- even for a little while - they were going to break me. The reason I couldn't make that decision, the reason Jez had once again made it for me, for both of us, is that I'm broken either way. How do I justify ripping a heart in two to make it beat stronger? I can't, because it's not beating anymore.
I allowed myself to skip the first lecture. It was Pharmacy Practice, and having read through the lecture notes twice I've concluded that apart from information on assessments which can be accessed from webCT anyway, there was nothing else of value.
Mylinh called at some stage, her voice full of concern. I choked back a sob and hung up. I don't want her to care, I don't want anyone to care.
I drifted back to sleep, dreaming dreams I shouldn't have been dreaming.
Tell me I'm a dream. Tell me I don't exist.
I knew that if I didn't push my feelings away- even for a little while - they were going to break me. The reason I couldn't make that decision, the reason Jez had once again made it for me, for both of us, is that I'm broken either way. How do I justify ripping a heart in two to make it beat stronger? I can't, because it's not beating anymore.
I allowed myself to skip the first lecture. It was Pharmacy Practice, and having read through the lecture notes twice I've concluded that apart from information on assessments which can be accessed from webCT anyway, there was nothing else of value.
Mylinh called at some stage, her voice full of concern. I choked back a sob and hung up. I don't want her to care, I don't want anyone to care.
I drifted back to sleep, dreaming dreams I shouldn't have been dreaming.
Tell me I'm a dream. Tell me I don't exist.
7.29.2008
Day One
"It was a crippling thing, this sensation that a huge hole had been punched through my chest, excising my most vital organs and leaving ragged, unhealed gashes around the edges that continued to throb and bleed despite the passage of time. Rationally, I knew my lungs must still be intact, yet I gasped for air and my head spun like my efforts yielded me nothing. My heart must have been beating, too, but I couldn't hear the sound of my pulse in my ears; my hands felt blue with cold. I curled inward, hugging my ribs to hold myself together. I scrambled for my numbness, my denial, but it evaded me.
And yet, I found I could survive. I was alert, I felt the pain—the aching loss that radiated out from my chest, sending wracking waves of hurt through my limbs and head—but it was manageable. I could live through it. It didn't feel like the pain had weakened over time, rather that I'd grown strong enough to bear it."
There was really no other way I could have put it.
Holding myself together, because I have motive and hope.
And at the end of this, even if my hope stabs me in the heart, at least it would have made me strong enough to bear the pain.
And yet, I found I could survive. I was alert, I felt the pain—the aching loss that radiated out from my chest, sending wracking waves of hurt through my limbs and head—but it was manageable. I could live through it. It didn't feel like the pain had weakened over time, rather that I'd grown strong enough to bear it."
There was really no other way I could have put it.
Holding myself together, because I have motive and hope.
And at the end of this, even if my hope stabs me in the heart, at least it would have made me strong enough to bear the pain.
Day Thirty-one
I didn't really want to work today, but you know, sick people need me.
A physiotherapist wanted a box of Voltaren Rapid 25, which he has recommended to a patient with achy knees. He asked me whether the patient's medications are likely to interact with Voltaren, and handed me a piece of paper on which "Avapro, Diaformin, Lovan" was written.
Embarrassingly nothing came to mind. For extra caution I double-checked with eMIMS. Two interactions: diclofenac with irbesartan, and diclofenac with fluoxetine. Both with good documentation and high severity. Somebody has been away from uni for too long!
Prompted by eMIMS, I explained to the physiotherapist that NSAIDs may cause water retention, leading to an increase in blood pressure and are therefore contraindicated with antihypertensives. In addition, fluoxetine increases the risks of GI bleeding associated with NSAIDs.
I recommended topical diclofenac instead since the site of inflammation is the knee - deep penetration isn't required. The physiotherapist was impressed. I high-fived myself.
A few hours later I cancelled out my brainy moment by attempting to make hydrogen peroxide ear drops and spilling the liquid all over my hands, the bench, and unfortunately, the script. In my defence, the thick neck of the poison bottle was definitely not designed for pouring, and our shop was completely devoid of micropipettes.
Freda seems to be a magnet for technology troubles. The printer, for one, jams repeat forms only when she's around. I have absolutely no idea why. LOTS has crashed on her more times over the past week than it has on Mirjana in the past 9 months. This could be related to the fact that when the mouse pointer turns into a hourglass for a second too long she'd click around the screen like mad.
I feel awful for Freda for the stress she's under in filling Mirjana's efficient shoes, not to mention being constantly scolded by Harsha for mostly things out of her control. I questioned her sanity a few months ago when she decided to give up being a pharmacist in favour of cleaning shelves and sorting stock. Now I completely understand her decision. There have been too many changes in pharmacy since her time (namely the introduction of the computer) and she's not adapting. On a typical day at least 90% of the scripts are processed by me - the 10% she dispenses would arise from when I'm in the toilet.
Don't get me wrong. Freda's completely capable of getting work done, just not nearly fast enough to meet the demands of cranky suits on lunchbreaks, and not to puff my own pastry or anything but my speed is possibly the only reason John's still keeping me. Or he could still be waiting for that massage.
Jim on the other hand is now extremely pleased after personally witnessing me convince three consecutive customers into generics.
Ismat is back at work, though her dissatisfaction with her job is becoming more apparent as she plans to come with me to uni on Thursday for an information lecture on pharmacy at USyd. I called about fifty people for her, requesting information on prerequisites and admission. One of these people was Narelle Da Costa, who saved my arse at the beginning of the year by helping me pre-enrol several weeks past the due date. I wanted to thank her, but she probably wouldn't have remembered me.
Glenda is stuck in a permanently foul mood, having been unsuccessful at finding a satisfactory apartment after being instructed to move out of her current unit in three weeks. I've spent hours browsing real estate sites for her, only to come up with the same two listings time and time again because her locations were strictly restricted to Homebush. Exasperated, I shouted at her to be a little more open-minded or face sleeping under newspapers in Central park. Though in fact it wasn't her, but her policeman son who was deadset on being within 5 minutes driving distance from work, church and girlfriend. I told her to smack him.
I've tried not to be overenthusiastic about uni. Going overboard during the first week has always led to completely burning out by the second. That being said I feel somewhat inadequate with absolutely nothing to study. Reading through yesterday's introductory dispensing lectures for the second time would be pushing it. PPF lectures are full of blanks that can only be filled during class. I've already completed pre-work for next week's dispensing lab. I don't have the textbooks to study medchem.
There's only PP left. Our first topic is going to be neurology and what choice do I have than to read the neurology volume of TG. I could play Final Fantasy but that particular activity is strictly restricted to bedtime. Partly because it puts me to sleep. In a good way.
Now excuse me while I jump into the shower and thaw my toes :(
A physiotherapist wanted a box of Voltaren Rapid 25, which he has recommended to a patient with achy knees. He asked me whether the patient's medications are likely to interact with Voltaren, and handed me a piece of paper on which "Avapro, Diaformin, Lovan" was written.
Embarrassingly nothing came to mind. For extra caution I double-checked with eMIMS. Two interactions: diclofenac with irbesartan, and diclofenac with fluoxetine. Both with good documentation and high severity. Somebody has been away from uni for too long!
Prompted by eMIMS, I explained to the physiotherapist that NSAIDs may cause water retention, leading to an increase in blood pressure and are therefore contraindicated with antihypertensives. In addition, fluoxetine increases the risks of GI bleeding associated with NSAIDs.
I recommended topical diclofenac instead since the site of inflammation is the knee - deep penetration isn't required. The physiotherapist was impressed. I high-fived myself.
A few hours later I cancelled out my brainy moment by attempting to make hydrogen peroxide ear drops and spilling the liquid all over my hands, the bench, and unfortunately, the script. In my defence, the thick neck of the poison bottle was definitely not designed for pouring, and our shop was completely devoid of micropipettes.
Freda seems to be a magnet for technology troubles. The printer, for one, jams repeat forms only when she's around. I have absolutely no idea why. LOTS has crashed on her more times over the past week than it has on Mirjana in the past 9 months. This could be related to the fact that when the mouse pointer turns into a hourglass for a second too long she'd click around the screen like mad.
I feel awful for Freda for the stress she's under in filling Mirjana's efficient shoes, not to mention being constantly scolded by Harsha for mostly things out of her control. I questioned her sanity a few months ago when she decided to give up being a pharmacist in favour of cleaning shelves and sorting stock. Now I completely understand her decision. There have been too many changes in pharmacy since her time (namely the introduction of the computer) and she's not adapting. On a typical day at least 90% of the scripts are processed by me - the 10% she dispenses would arise from when I'm in the toilet.
Don't get me wrong. Freda's completely capable of getting work done, just not nearly fast enough to meet the demands of cranky suits on lunchbreaks, and not to puff my own pastry or anything but my speed is possibly the only reason John's still keeping me. Or he could still be waiting for that massage.
Jim on the other hand is now extremely pleased after personally witnessing me convince three consecutive customers into generics.
Ismat is back at work, though her dissatisfaction with her job is becoming more apparent as she plans to come with me to uni on Thursday for an information lecture on pharmacy at USyd. I called about fifty people for her, requesting information on prerequisites and admission. One of these people was Narelle Da Costa, who saved my arse at the beginning of the year by helping me pre-enrol several weeks past the due date. I wanted to thank her, but she probably wouldn't have remembered me.
Glenda is stuck in a permanently foul mood, having been unsuccessful at finding a satisfactory apartment after being instructed to move out of her current unit in three weeks. I've spent hours browsing real estate sites for her, only to come up with the same two listings time and time again because her locations were strictly restricted to Homebush. Exasperated, I shouted at her to be a little more open-minded or face sleeping under newspapers in Central park. Though in fact it wasn't her, but her policeman son who was deadset on being within 5 minutes driving distance from work, church and girlfriend. I told her to smack him.
I've tried not to be overenthusiastic about uni. Going overboard during the first week has always led to completely burning out by the second. That being said I feel somewhat inadequate with absolutely nothing to study. Reading through yesterday's introductory dispensing lectures for the second time would be pushing it. PPF lectures are full of blanks that can only be filled during class. I've already completed pre-work for next week's dispensing lab. I don't have the textbooks to study medchem.
There's only PP left. Our first topic is going to be neurology and what choice do I have than to read the neurology volume of TG. I could play Final Fantasy but that particular activity is strictly restricted to bedtime. Partly because it puts me to sleep. In a good way.
Now excuse me while I jump into the shower and thaw my toes :(
7.28.2008
Day Thirty
"Hundreds were evacuated at Sydney University this morning after a bottle of acid with the 'potential to be explosive' was found.
NSW Fire Brigades hazardous materials specialists assessed the risk after a bottle containing perchloric acid was found 'fuming' in the pharmacy building on Friday." - SMH
Read the rest here.
I didn't have dispensing this afternoon therefore didn't stick around to be kicked out of the lab, but how interestings.
I had only the two-hour dispensing lecture this morning, and won the struggle against sleep. Not much to gloat about since it's only the first day, but we'll see.
Work was somehow duller than usual, with the exception of another row between Harsha and Freda. If it wasn't for the fact that Freida's cousin had passed away this morning and I cringed on her behalf for having to put up with Harsha's yelling, I would have been grateful for the entertainment.
The phone has been ringing continuously since before I arrived, most of the callers being Freda's family and friends either sending their condolances or needing comfort. Freda looked constantly on the verge of tears, and I felt completely helpless and frustrated with myself for not knowing what to say or do. When I came to work sobbing two days after breaking up with Jez, she hugged me and made me tea and made it all feel so natural. I put my arm around her awkwardly. As expected, the gesture made her eyes more teary, and I looked away.
A little after midday Harsha was found arguing with a customer at the cosmetics stands. The story was that the woman had bought two discounted giftpacks of Dr. LeWinn's skincare products in April, and wanted to return one of them because she claimed to have experienced skin reactions. The problem was that she had already used up half of the contents, and that April was several months ago.
Harsha was naturally adamant on refusing refund. The woman was rude enough to point the finger at everyone she could, blaming Glenda for "forcing" her to buy the products, which was obviously ridiculous since none of us ever remember Glenda holding a knife over the woman's throat instructing her to sign her EFTPOS receipt.
The argument dragged on for some time before the woman demanded to speak to the manager. John was busy fixing Kirribilli's dysfunctional computers and the only available staff that outranked Harsha was Freda, who in my opinion doesn't really outrank her at all. Harsha was all for kicking the woman out of the store, but since she looked like she'd rather eat mascara than leave, Freda took on a different strategy. She took back the products and receipts without giving a refund, and assured the woman she'll call the Dr. LeWinn's rep as quality issues is their responsibility. After confirming that we'll call her as soon as we could, the woman left.
In my honest opinion Freda handled the situation quite well, but my opinion (or anyone else's) doesn't mean a bean when Harsha makes up her mind that Freda went about it completely wrong. I stood awkwardly on the side as the two of them bickered, finally running off to stand behind the front register with Glenda, who like me, agrees with Freda and who like me, knows that it was completely futile to try to convince Harsha of that fact.
The atmosphere became frosty after that. In addition to the bloody abysmal weather there wasn't much incentive to stay. On a sudden impulse to read up on steroid hormones I announced that I was leaving at 5:00.
I fell deeply asleep on the train and dreamt of Jez. He wore a disgusting red flannel shirt. We were somewhere sunny. He closed his eyes and leaned over to kiss me. I kept my eyes open. His nose almost touched mine when I jerked awake. It was Lidcombe, and I realised with a stab of annoyance that I had forgotten to bring keys, and that it was much too early for either of my parents to be anywhere near home.
Once I stepped off the train the cold started to eat me. I decided to seek refuge in the deli while my parents made their way home, but it was closed. There were two options - sit at the station and freeze, or walk home. I walked as fast as I could, knowing that there was no point because once I reach a stop in front of my house, the cold will start to eat me again. The wind picked up as I turned a corner, and I could feel neither my feet inside my ballet flats nor my ears which thanks to my stupid choice of hairstyle were overexposed. There was a car parked smack across the middle of the footpath. I visualised what I wanted to do to it and acknowledged an additional downfall of forgetting my keys. My teeth started chattering. I coughed. A dog somewhere barked in return.
I stood on the front porch with my DS. Cid blasted someone with a flameball and I wished I was on the receiving end of it.
NSW Fire Brigades hazardous materials specialists assessed the risk after a bottle containing perchloric acid was found 'fuming' in the pharmacy building on Friday." - SMH
Read the rest here.
I didn't have dispensing this afternoon therefore didn't stick around to be kicked out of the lab, but how interestings.
I had only the two-hour dispensing lecture this morning, and won the struggle against sleep. Not much to gloat about since it's only the first day, but we'll see.
Work was somehow duller than usual, with the exception of another row between Harsha and Freda. If it wasn't for the fact that Freida's cousin had passed away this morning and I cringed on her behalf for having to put up with Harsha's yelling, I would have been grateful for the entertainment.
The phone has been ringing continuously since before I arrived, most of the callers being Freda's family and friends either sending their condolances or needing comfort. Freda looked constantly on the verge of tears, and I felt completely helpless and frustrated with myself for not knowing what to say or do. When I came to work sobbing two days after breaking up with Jez, she hugged me and made me tea and made it all feel so natural. I put my arm around her awkwardly. As expected, the gesture made her eyes more teary, and I looked away.
A little after midday Harsha was found arguing with a customer at the cosmetics stands. The story was that the woman had bought two discounted giftpacks of Dr. LeWinn's skincare products in April, and wanted to return one of them because she claimed to have experienced skin reactions. The problem was that she had already used up half of the contents, and that April was several months ago.
Harsha was naturally adamant on refusing refund. The woman was rude enough to point the finger at everyone she could, blaming Glenda for "forcing" her to buy the products, which was obviously ridiculous since none of us ever remember Glenda holding a knife over the woman's throat instructing her to sign her EFTPOS receipt.
The argument dragged on for some time before the woman demanded to speak to the manager. John was busy fixing Kirribilli's dysfunctional computers and the only available staff that outranked Harsha was Freda, who in my opinion doesn't really outrank her at all. Harsha was all for kicking the woman out of the store, but since she looked like she'd rather eat mascara than leave, Freda took on a different strategy. She took back the products and receipts without giving a refund, and assured the woman she'll call the Dr. LeWinn's rep as quality issues is their responsibility. After confirming that we'll call her as soon as we could, the woman left.
In my honest opinion Freda handled the situation quite well, but my opinion (or anyone else's) doesn't mean a bean when Harsha makes up her mind that Freda went about it completely wrong. I stood awkwardly on the side as the two of them bickered, finally running off to stand behind the front register with Glenda, who like me, agrees with Freda and who like me, knows that it was completely futile to try to convince Harsha of that fact.
The atmosphere became frosty after that. In addition to the bloody abysmal weather there wasn't much incentive to stay. On a sudden impulse to read up on steroid hormones I announced that I was leaving at 5:00.
I fell deeply asleep on the train and dreamt of Jez. He wore a disgusting red flannel shirt. We were somewhere sunny. He closed his eyes and leaned over to kiss me. I kept my eyes open. His nose almost touched mine when I jerked awake. It was Lidcombe, and I realised with a stab of annoyance that I had forgotten to bring keys, and that it was much too early for either of my parents to be anywhere near home.
Once I stepped off the train the cold started to eat me. I decided to seek refuge in the deli while my parents made their way home, but it was closed. There were two options - sit at the station and freeze, or walk home. I walked as fast as I could, knowing that there was no point because once I reach a stop in front of my house, the cold will start to eat me again. The wind picked up as I turned a corner, and I could feel neither my feet inside my ballet flats nor my ears which thanks to my stupid choice of hairstyle were overexposed. There was a car parked smack across the middle of the footpath. I visualised what I wanted to do to it and acknowledged an additional downfall of forgetting my keys. My teeth started chattering. I coughed. A dog somewhere barked in return.
I stood on the front porch with my DS. Cid blasted someone with a flameball and I wished I was on the receiving end of it.
7.27.2008
Day Twenty-nine
I'm not really a masochist, but when I'm not in the middle of some mind-engaging activity I sit and think about pain.
Sometimes I force it upon myself in some bizaare attempt at contrast. This happens when everything's marshmallow and chocolate but I'm moping around like a sadmonkey. And it never really works.
Other times it creeps into my mind and makes me uneasy. I'm not sure if it's a good idea to be thinking too deep into any psychological quirks because my head is a dark little place I should never venture into alone, but I never listen to my own advice anyway.
Jez knows I get mini panic-attacks at often random times and for little reason. Death haunts me. Ever since I was a little kid I've been terrified of the notion that everyone will die at the end of their life. My mum has convinced me, when I was ten years old, that they'll soon invent immortality pills. Now there's something more dangerous than believing in the tooth fairy.
I sometimes wonder, half amused and half anxious, whether I'll end up in a padded cell one day when these irrational fears get out of hand. Apart from acceptance (working on it!) there are no other solutions. I don't mean to offend but religious faith to me is pretty much on the same level as Santa Claus and Easter Bunny, and the idea of chomping on antipsychotics makes me feel weak.
Other times I think of Jez. Or myself. I can't even tell us apart anymore. I'm happy now, but memories of the worst of it are still picking on me. It's hard to say whether, if it happens again, I'll be less hurt because I'm already numb, or I'll be more hurt realising how much pain and effort had gone to waste. Stronger or more fragile? Who the hell knows.
If I'm so afraid of death, what does it say about someone if I would die for them?
Sometimes I force it upon myself in some bizaare attempt at contrast. This happens when everything's marshmallow and chocolate but I'm moping around like a sadmonkey. And it never really works.
Other times it creeps into my mind and makes me uneasy. I'm not sure if it's a good idea to be thinking too deep into any psychological quirks because my head is a dark little place I should never venture into alone, but I never listen to my own advice anyway.
Jez knows I get mini panic-attacks at often random times and for little reason. Death haunts me. Ever since I was a little kid I've been terrified of the notion that everyone will die at the end of their life. My mum has convinced me, when I was ten years old, that they'll soon invent immortality pills. Now there's something more dangerous than believing in the tooth fairy.
I sometimes wonder, half amused and half anxious, whether I'll end up in a padded cell one day when these irrational fears get out of hand. Apart from acceptance (working on it!) there are no other solutions. I don't mean to offend but religious faith to me is pretty much on the same level as Santa Claus and Easter Bunny, and the idea of chomping on antipsychotics makes me feel weak.
Other times I think of Jez. Or myself. I can't even tell us apart anymore. I'm happy now, but memories of the worst of it are still picking on me. It's hard to say whether, if it happens again, I'll be less hurt because I'm already numb, or I'll be more hurt realising how much pain and effort had gone to waste. Stronger or more fragile? Who the hell knows.
If I'm so afraid of death, what does it say about someone if I would die for them?
Day Twenty-nine
My phone rang as soon as I stepped into work.
Shaun is a friend of a friend who I have met once. Apart from matching name to face he has absolutely no idea who I am, yet this hasn't stopped him from periodically calling me over the past four weeks. I always said I was busy, and when he asked whether I could call back when I wasn't I told him I was likely to be busy for a very long time.
When it comes to signals, boys aren't perceptive at all.
I picked up. "I'm at work."
"On a Sunday?"
"Yes."
"What time do you finish?"
"Three."
"Me too."
"I'll meet you after work."
"I'm going to the city."
"Oh okay, do you know where Hyde Park is?"
Ha ha. Do I know where Hyde Park is. Last time I was there I fed my heart to the possums.
"Yeah, but I'm going stationery shopping at Town Hall."
"Do you know where Woolworths is?"
"Yes, but I'm just buying a few things and then going home."
"I'll meet you outside Woolworths?"
When it comes to signals, boys aren't perceptive at all.
Eugene sat around playing Mariokart and I sat around nibbling on a lunch I had no reason to buy. It was roasted duck salad. One third duck, one third iceberg lettuce, one third onions. Negligible amount of basil. I picked at the basil since I hated everything else.
Work dragged on. I was partially amused to realise that my shop-alliance has gradually shifted from Kirribilli to Greenwood. Several hundred posts ago I was bitterly whining about Harsha, and now I'm trying to cook her curry cabbage.
I decided to shop for my uni things at Myer, mostly because I had no idea where else there was to go. I walked past Woolies without stopping. Shaun will just have to take the hint.
I paused at the Newsagent to buy a notebook and pens. Before I made it any further I remembered Kinokuniya was above me somewhere. I spent the rest of the afternoon there, picking up a highlighter, an A4 holeless binder, a notebook for no other reason than it being pink and pretty, and a Miffy pencil case that was, like everything else, painfully expensive.
Before checking out I browsed the literature section. I had just finished Eclipse this morning and was itching for something else to read. Breaking Dawn was still more than a week away, and a book diet consisting only of Stephenie Meyer was probably unhealthy anyway.
In the end I lugged to the cashier The Traveller's Wife, My Sister's Keeper, a discounted copy of Vanity Fair and Chasing Harry Winston because I really, really couldn't help myself. I sacrificed my heap of unnecessary stationery for the books. Yes, even the Miffy pencil case.
I asked the sales assistant in passing whether Breaking Dawn will be available on August the 4th, and found out that pre-ordered copies will be available on August the 2nd, where a complimentary breakfast will be held celebrating the new release. The catch was that the breakfast was only available with a pre-order of the hard-back. The bigger catch was that it's going to take place at 6:00 am. I pre-ordered my book and signed up for the breakfast, making a mental note to convince my boy to come, because only Jez and Meyer combined could drag me out of bed at 5:00 in the morning.
Shaun is a friend of a friend who I have met once. Apart from matching name to face he has absolutely no idea who I am, yet this hasn't stopped him from periodically calling me over the past four weeks. I always said I was busy, and when he asked whether I could call back when I wasn't I told him I was likely to be busy for a very long time.
When it comes to signals, boys aren't perceptive at all.
I picked up. "I'm at work."
"On a Sunday?"
"Yes."
"What time do you finish?"
"Three."
"Me too."
"I'll meet you after work."
"I'm going to the city."
"Oh okay, do you know where Hyde Park is?"
Ha ha. Do I know where Hyde Park is. Last time I was there I fed my heart to the possums.
"Yeah, but I'm going stationery shopping at Town Hall."
"Do you know where Woolworths is?"
"Yes, but I'm just buying a few things and then going home."
"I'll meet you outside Woolworths?"
When it comes to signals, boys aren't perceptive at all.
Eugene sat around playing Mariokart and I sat around nibbling on a lunch I had no reason to buy. It was roasted duck salad. One third duck, one third iceberg lettuce, one third onions. Negligible amount of basil. I picked at the basil since I hated everything else.
Work dragged on. I was partially amused to realise that my shop-alliance has gradually shifted from Kirribilli to Greenwood. Several hundred posts ago I was bitterly whining about Harsha, and now I'm trying to cook her curry cabbage.
I decided to shop for my uni things at Myer, mostly because I had no idea where else there was to go. I walked past Woolies without stopping. Shaun will just have to take the hint.
I paused at the Newsagent to buy a notebook and pens. Before I made it any further I remembered Kinokuniya was above me somewhere. I spent the rest of the afternoon there, picking up a highlighter, an A4 holeless binder, a notebook for no other reason than it being pink and pretty, and a Miffy pencil case that was, like everything else, painfully expensive.
Before checking out I browsed the literature section. I had just finished Eclipse this morning and was itching for something else to read. Breaking Dawn was still more than a week away, and a book diet consisting only of Stephenie Meyer was probably unhealthy anyway.
In the end I lugged to the cashier The Traveller's Wife, My Sister's Keeper, a discounted copy of Vanity Fair and Chasing Harry Winston because I really, really couldn't help myself. I sacrificed my heap of unnecessary stationery for the books. Yes, even the Miffy pencil case.
I asked the sales assistant in passing whether Breaking Dawn will be available on August the 4th, and found out that pre-ordered copies will be available on August the 2nd, where a complimentary breakfast will be held celebrating the new release. The catch was that the breakfast was only available with a pre-order of the hard-back. The bigger catch was that it's going to take place at 6:00 am. I pre-ordered my book and signed up for the breakfast, making a mental note to convince my boy to come, because only Jez and Meyer combined could drag me out of bed at 5:00 in the morning.
7.23.2008
Day Twenty-five
I guess anyone stupid enough to wear a tiny skirt in the middle of winter deserves to freeze.
But I really like my skirt.
I summoned every ounce of wakefulness within me this morning to get up early and ensure that Jez gets a taste of my curry cabbage. I honestly didn't think it was that great, but if I didn't pass the burden onto someone else I'll be stuck eating it tonight.
So for the first time in forever I was early for work and it wasn't an accident.
Freida is still driving me nuts. And the fact that she's driving me nuts is driving me more nuts because none of her nutty quirks are intentional. I've decided not to let it bother me, because it's really my problem and she already has Harsha biting her head off for every crumb of pastry she drops on the kitchen counter.
On Wednesdays I have pharmacy practice training, because one of the mundane roles of the pharmacist is to decipher the mind-boggling scrawls on handwritten scripts that suggest either doctors dictate prescriptions to poorly-trained chimps or write scripts with the pen between their toes.
My training simply involves reading off John's increasingly messy Blackmores list. Sometimes it doesn't even look like English. Today's had a hint of Arabic.
But I really like my skirt.
I summoned every ounce of wakefulness within me this morning to get up early and ensure that Jez gets a taste of my curry cabbage. I honestly didn't think it was that great, but if I didn't pass the burden onto someone else I'll be stuck eating it tonight.
So for the first time in forever I was early for work and it wasn't an accident.
Freida is still driving me nuts. And the fact that she's driving me nuts is driving me more nuts because none of her nutty quirks are intentional. I've decided not to let it bother me, because it's really my problem and she already has Harsha biting her head off for every crumb of pastry she drops on the kitchen counter.
On Wednesdays I have pharmacy practice training, because one of the mundane roles of the pharmacist is to decipher the mind-boggling scrawls on handwritten scripts that suggest either doctors dictate prescriptions to poorly-trained chimps or write scripts with the pen between their toes.
My training simply involves reading off John's increasingly messy Blackmores list. Sometimes it doesn't even look like English. Today's had a hint of Arabic.
7.19.2008
Day Twenty-one
Pharmacy politics.
The usual Saturday cast includes Mirjana starring as the pharmacist and Ismat as the assistant. Due to the former being on holiday and the latter still in very poor health, the two of them have been substituted by Freda and Harsha.
Unfortunately those two aren't nearly as chummy as the rest of us, so John made me mediator. I didn't do much mediating, as even those two joined forces against the pilgrims.
Honestly, I tried to be pleasant about WYD. I really did. The atmosphere's great; hearing train-babble of twenty different languages is refreshing; the smiles and laughter are contagious; the spontaneous and vociferous chanting causes only minor headaches; the pushing and shoving by these stupid fucking kids at least didn't result in anyone slipping off the platform ...
I couldn't lie to myself anymore. I felt a bit ashamed of myself, but whatever I say or do, being annoyed is beyond my control. I read mX last night and someone argued that being annoyed at pilgrims who push and shove people on the trains was irrational because it happens even when they're not here. Yeah, except being pushed and shoved by about twenty times as many people than usual kind of gets on my nerves.
Granted, most of them are very pleasant. Nevertheless the sheer number of them have caused enough difficulty walking from point A to point B. Point A being about two metres from point B. I laughed at myself the other day after running across the upper concourse of the train station to avoid being blocked off by a huge group of them about to stomp across my path. It bore too much resemblance to crossing a busy street with no traffic lights.
Today, however, pushed my patience over the limit. Red Mango is two stores down from the pharmacy. To buy coffee I trudged through a current of them heading in exactly the opposite direction. Nobody slowed or allowed me any room. At one point I stood pressed up against the wall to wait for the stampede to pass. Harsha wanted her coffee as hot as possible, and I'm not exaggerating when I say that by the time I made it back to work it was lukewarm.
Apart from that there were the bizaare requests from people who probably had no idea what a pharmacy was.
"Do you have any fog horns?"
"Can I buy a radio from here?"
"I'm looking for a whistle."
I was hugely relieved when the plaza was empty again. We picked up all the stock that they knocked over. There were two cans of deodrant that a couple of boys sprayed all over themselves without buying. I capped them and tried to make them look new.
The Red Mango boy is trying to talk to me now that he knows my name. I don't think smiling and saying hello when I pass the patisserie on my way to work screams "I want you bad", do you? Well Red Mango boy thinks it is. It's now a little embarrassing because whenever the Red Mango girls see me waiting for coffee they'd very conspicuously call him over. I'd very conspicuously grab my mocha and walk away as fast as my legs could carry me.
Under John's mundane orders I attempted to clean our doors. These sliding doors are stored completely out of sight when we're open, so I didn't really see the point of having them squeaky clean, unless John was looking to impress the night security guard, or trick thieves into walking into them.
After all of that I was exhausted. I spent 30 very enjoyable minutes with Jez and then 120 mind-boggling boring minutes with my parents and a friend's family at that one Chinese restaurant we just can't seem to escape.
On the way home I updated them about Jez. They were surprisingly understanding.
The usual Saturday cast includes Mirjana starring as the pharmacist and Ismat as the assistant. Due to the former being on holiday and the latter still in very poor health, the two of them have been substituted by Freda and Harsha.
Unfortunately those two aren't nearly as chummy as the rest of us, so John made me mediator. I didn't do much mediating, as even those two joined forces against the pilgrims.
Honestly, I tried to be pleasant about WYD. I really did. The atmosphere's great; hearing train-babble of twenty different languages is refreshing; the smiles and laughter are contagious; the spontaneous and vociferous chanting causes only minor headaches; the pushing and shoving by these stupid fucking kids at least didn't result in anyone slipping off the platform ...
I couldn't lie to myself anymore. I felt a bit ashamed of myself, but whatever I say or do, being annoyed is beyond my control. I read mX last night and someone argued that being annoyed at pilgrims who push and shove people on the trains was irrational because it happens even when they're not here. Yeah, except being pushed and shoved by about twenty times as many people than usual kind of gets on my nerves.
Granted, most of them are very pleasant. Nevertheless the sheer number of them have caused enough difficulty walking from point A to point B. Point A being about two metres from point B. I laughed at myself the other day after running across the upper concourse of the train station to avoid being blocked off by a huge group of them about to stomp across my path. It bore too much resemblance to crossing a busy street with no traffic lights.
Today, however, pushed my patience over the limit. Red Mango is two stores down from the pharmacy. To buy coffee I trudged through a current of them heading in exactly the opposite direction. Nobody slowed or allowed me any room. At one point I stood pressed up against the wall to wait for the stampede to pass. Harsha wanted her coffee as hot as possible, and I'm not exaggerating when I say that by the time I made it back to work it was lukewarm.
Apart from that there were the bizaare requests from people who probably had no idea what a pharmacy was.
"Do you have any fog horns?"
"Can I buy a radio from here?"
"I'm looking for a whistle."
I was hugely relieved when the plaza was empty again. We picked up all the stock that they knocked over. There were two cans of deodrant that a couple of boys sprayed all over themselves without buying. I capped them and tried to make them look new.
The Red Mango boy is trying to talk to me now that he knows my name. I don't think smiling and saying hello when I pass the patisserie on my way to work screams "I want you bad", do you? Well Red Mango boy thinks it is. It's now a little embarrassing because whenever the Red Mango girls see me waiting for coffee they'd very conspicuously call him over. I'd very conspicuously grab my mocha and walk away as fast as my legs could carry me.
Under John's mundane orders I attempted to clean our doors. These sliding doors are stored completely out of sight when we're open, so I didn't really see the point of having them squeaky clean, unless John was looking to impress the night security guard, or trick thieves into walking into them.
After all of that I was exhausted. I spent 30 very enjoyable minutes with Jez and then 120 mind-boggling boring minutes with my parents and a friend's family at that one Chinese restaurant we just can't seem to escape.
On the way home I updated them about Jez. They were surprisingly understanding.
7.14.2008
Day Sixteen
His gold eyes grew very soft. "You said you loved me."
"You knew that already," I reminded him, ducking my head.
"It was nice to hear, just the same."
I hid my face against his shoulder.
"I love you," I whispered.
"You are my life now," he answered simply.
I think I just melted.
"You knew that already," I reminded him, ducking my head.
"It was nice to hear, just the same."
I hid my face against his shoulder.
"I love you," I whispered.
"You are my life now," he answered simply.
I think I just melted.
Day Sixteen
I hurried out of the house not a second too soon to catch my train, only to realise that it was Monday and the money I had withdrawn to buy this week's train ticket had been spent on wedges last night.
I was late for work, but it was a quiet morning and I wasn't missed. The young man from Red Mango who's crushing on me served me a big cup of mocha for $1.20.
Nothing remarkable happened today, except for painstakingly preparing a Webster pack from a trillion blurry faxed scripts for a man who incredulously has compliance troubles even when his daily doses are pre-packaged for him in little blisters. There was some major confusion concerning his Diaformin, which came under three sets of different instructions - 80 mg once a day from the original script; 30 mg once a day from the repeat; and 30 mg twice a day from the faxed Webster schedule.
I also handed out about 4 packs of Postinor. After the last girl walked away I opened my mouth to have a whinge about how irresponsible it was for girls to have unprotected sex and then eat the morning after pill like candy, then closed it.
I didn't have lunch. At the moment everything fails to tempt me, except perhaps Hurricanes ribs and Bangkok Boardwalk rice paper rolls. Neither were available.
In the afternoon Eric brought us a big bowl of chocolate mousse. It was even better than last time, though the most we could manage was about a tablespoonful each. It was too rich.
Some time during morning John complained of a sore neck.
Are you any good at massages? He asked.
I'm okay. I said. I have massaged a total of three people, and each of them told me I was good at it purely out of love. So really, I have no idea whether I made them feel good or left them half-crippled.
So anyway, John asked me for a massage. I wasn't comfortable touching him, and it was hard to shake off the memories of the the last few massages I gave which all ended in sex. I asked him why his neck hurt. He said old age. I said I couldn't help him then.
And then it felt awkward for the rest of the day.
I never know what to say when people give me compliments. Men usually do it with their eyes so I can at least pretend to not notice. Women are more vocal. This afternoon a woman came in with a script, took one look at me, and launched into how gorgeous I was. She said I looked like a china doll. John has also been calling me that lately, and I suspect I might be extra pasty without make-up. Mirjana joined in and I ran off into the dispensary to take as long as I could fetching the woman's box of Karvea.
In the end I just ignore it, and stand there smiling like an idiot. What else can you do.
I was late for work, but it was a quiet morning and I wasn't missed. The young man from Red Mango who's crushing on me served me a big cup of mocha for $1.20.
Nothing remarkable happened today, except for painstakingly preparing a Webster pack from a trillion blurry faxed scripts for a man who incredulously has compliance troubles even when his daily doses are pre-packaged for him in little blisters. There was some major confusion concerning his Diaformin, which came under three sets of different instructions - 80 mg once a day from the original script; 30 mg once a day from the repeat; and 30 mg twice a day from the faxed Webster schedule.
I also handed out about 4 packs of Postinor. After the last girl walked away I opened my mouth to have a whinge about how irresponsible it was for girls to have unprotected sex and then eat the morning after pill like candy, then closed it.
I didn't have lunch. At the moment everything fails to tempt me, except perhaps Hurricanes ribs and Bangkok Boardwalk rice paper rolls. Neither were available.
In the afternoon Eric brought us a big bowl of chocolate mousse. It was even better than last time, though the most we could manage was about a tablespoonful each. It was too rich.
Some time during morning John complained of a sore neck.
Are you any good at massages? He asked.
I'm okay. I said. I have massaged a total of three people, and each of them told me I was good at it purely out of love. So really, I have no idea whether I made them feel good or left them half-crippled.
So anyway, John asked me for a massage. I wasn't comfortable touching him, and it was hard to shake off the memories of the the last few massages I gave which all ended in sex. I asked him why his neck hurt. He said old age. I said I couldn't help him then.
And then it felt awkward for the rest of the day.
I never know what to say when people give me compliments. Men usually do it with their eyes so I can at least pretend to not notice. Women are more vocal. This afternoon a woman came in with a script, took one look at me, and launched into how gorgeous I was. She said I looked like a china doll. John has also been calling me that lately, and I suspect I might be extra pasty without make-up. Mirjana joined in and I ran off into the dispensary to take as long as I could fetching the woman's box of Karvea.
In the end I just ignore it, and stand there smiling like an idiot. What else can you do.
7.13.2008
Day Fifteen
Kungfu Panda!
I'd elaborate on a lot of things, but nobody is interested other than the person who already knows it all.
I'd elaborate on a lot of things, but nobody is interested other than the person who already knows it all.
7.12.2008
Day Fourteen
"When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end."
Day Fourteen
After a lengthy mental debate I decided to go to Jez's house.
We planned to hang out and play the PS2 games we've bought and never touched.
Except Jez's parents had guests over. Lots and lots and lots of guests. I ended up chatting to the girl to whom he refers as his "crazy Catholic cousin". She was friendly and really, really chatty. I think I might have exceeded my voice quota for the whole week. 'Cause see, I'm still sick, and stuff.
At one point, Jez's cousin asks us how long we've been together. I look at Jez. He looks at me. He says "a year and a bit". I step on his foot.
When she turned around to make tea he licked Bearded Papa custard off my lip.
We planned to hang out and play the PS2 games we've bought and never touched.
Except Jez's parents had guests over. Lots and lots and lots of guests. I ended up chatting to the girl to whom he refers as his "crazy Catholic cousin". She was friendly and really, really chatty. I think I might have exceeded my voice quota for the whole week. 'Cause see, I'm still sick, and stuff.
At one point, Jez's cousin asks us how long we've been together. I look at Jez. He looks at me. He says "a year and a bit". I step on his foot.
When she turned around to make tea he licked Bearded Papa custard off my lip.
7.11.2008
Day Thirteen
As it happens today is Freida's birthday. She didn't disclose her age but rumour has it that she's about 60 years old.
I would have guessed 50, but people always appear younger to me than they actually are.
John, for example, asked me how old I thought he was with an air of fishing for a compliment. Glenda was within earshot and told me to say 40. John looked flattered. I said I was honestly going to guess 37. John said he's going to start paying me Sunday rates everyday.
In the end he wouldn't tell us his age, but I'm guessing it's hella higher than 37.
I took Jez to Hurricane's for dinner tonight. There was a 45 minute wait so we walked down to the harbour and snuggled by the water. We returned just on time.
We ordered full-rack pork ribs to share and garlic mushrooms. Jez had a beer and I had a Toblerone cocktail. After my third rib I couldn't take another bite, so Jez polished off the rest. I watched him eat. It was the cutest thing. I nibbled off all the sauce that was smeared across his face.
I would have guessed 50, but people always appear younger to me than they actually are.
John, for example, asked me how old I thought he was with an air of fishing for a compliment. Glenda was within earshot and told me to say 40. John looked flattered. I said I was honestly going to guess 37. John said he's going to start paying me Sunday rates everyday.
In the end he wouldn't tell us his age, but I'm guessing it's hella higher than 37.
I took Jez to Hurricane's for dinner tonight. There was a 45 minute wait so we walked down to the harbour and snuggled by the water. We returned just on time.
We ordered full-rack pork ribs to share and garlic mushrooms. Jez had a beer and I had a Toblerone cocktail. After my third rib I couldn't take another bite, so Jez polished off the rest. I watched him eat. It was the cutest thing. I nibbled off all the sauce that was smeared across his face.
7.10.2008
Day Twelve
So here's what you do when you have a sore throat.
Gargle Betadine.
Don't buy anything from Blackmores.
Drink as much water as you can even if it nearly kills you to swallow.
Eat.
For severe pain take some S3 analgesics and fall asleep.
Savvy?
Savvy.
Gargle Betadine.
Don't buy anything from Blackmores.
Drink as much water as you can even if it nearly kills you to swallow.
Eat.
For severe pain take some S3 analgesics and fall asleep.
Savvy?
Savvy.
Day Twelve
I'm a coward.
When I presented with a sore throat, Mirjana and Janet recommended Betadine gargle. It's basically iodine-based antiseptic. If you can't imagine how bad it must taste I'll just tell you that it's baaaaaaad.
Nevertheless I bought a bottle and gargled regularly in the bathroom. What I expelled looked worse than Jez's day-old vomit on hurricanes night.
It worked, but probably due to overworking myself while sick, my throat worsened and it stopped exerting its effect.
Mirjana then recommended Blackmores olive leaf extract. She was hesitant because natural remedies work just as badly for one person as it works well for the next. And knowing me, it wouldn't work. Not even pseudoephedrine works for me. I must be made entirely of efflux transporters.
Not surprisingly it had no effect whatsoever, tasted worse than Betadine, and as an added insult it had to be drunk instead of gargled, making the ordeal a number of times harder to swallow. Ha ha, swallow.
Nevertheless I took my doses like a good little girl, and made horrifying faces that scared little old ladies away.
Now that I'm home I haven't touched either. I'm scared. There's no pressure from anyone around me to drink that shit. But I know I must. Soon. Later. Tomorrow.
I dug through my mum's medicine drawer and found mostly sinus medication. There was a packet of Dolased, but with only 10 mg of codeine I'm not sure how much good that will do, especially when being Chinese means I have a 10% chance of posessing dysfunctional CYP2D10 enzymes.
When I presented with a sore throat, Mirjana and Janet recommended Betadine gargle. It's basically iodine-based antiseptic. If you can't imagine how bad it must taste I'll just tell you that it's baaaaaaad.
Nevertheless I bought a bottle and gargled regularly in the bathroom. What I expelled looked worse than Jez's day-old vomit on hurricanes night.
It worked, but probably due to overworking myself while sick, my throat worsened and it stopped exerting its effect.
Mirjana then recommended Blackmores olive leaf extract. She was hesitant because natural remedies work just as badly for one person as it works well for the next. And knowing me, it wouldn't work. Not even pseudoephedrine works for me. I must be made entirely of efflux transporters.
Not surprisingly it had no effect whatsoever, tasted worse than Betadine, and as an added insult it had to be drunk instead of gargled, making the ordeal a number of times harder to swallow. Ha ha, swallow.
Nevertheless I took my doses like a good little girl, and made horrifying faces that scared little old ladies away.
Now that I'm home I haven't touched either. I'm scared. There's no pressure from anyone around me to drink that shit. But I know I must. Soon. Later. Tomorrow.
I dug through my mum's medicine drawer and found mostly sinus medication. There was a packet of Dolased, but with only 10 mg of codeine I'm not sure how much good that will do, especially when being Chinese means I have a 10% chance of posessing dysfunctional CYP2D10 enzymes.
7.09.2008
Day Eleven
This is what I get out of watching House.
Firstly, I'm pro-abortion. Mainly because bringing and raising a child into the world unwillingly and purely out of obligation doesn't do him or her justice, and partly because people can squibble over trimesters all they want but the clear line that marks the beginning of life is birth. By definition someone who isn't yet born isn't yet alive.
Secondly, I'm not sure whether I want to be remembered when I die. I'm too young to be remembered for anything. I just added that in because an old homeless man died in agony because he didn't want to be "just another patient".
Yeah.
Firstly, I'm pro-abortion. Mainly because bringing and raising a child into the world unwillingly and purely out of obligation doesn't do him or her justice, and partly because people can squibble over trimesters all they want but the clear line that marks the beginning of life is birth. By definition someone who isn't yet born isn't yet alive.
Secondly, I'm not sure whether I want to be remembered when I die. I'm too young to be remembered for anything. I just added that in because an old homeless man died in agony because he didn't want to be "just another patient".
Yeah.
Day Eleven
Bilateral electroconvulsive therapy is indicated for depression unresponsive to other treatments. It makes you forget.
Yves Saint Laurent himself has undergone ECT. God knows what for.
Is there anything you'd like to forget?
Yves Saint Laurent himself has undergone ECT. God knows what for.
Is there anything you'd like to forget?
Day Eleven
Pharmacy politics again.
A mini-meeting had already taken place since Freida's arrival. She's wonderful and I love working with her, but on more than several occasions she has made other staff want to eat their own heads.
Yesterday a young girl approached the dispensary asking for Digesic tablets. She didn't have a script, and we didn't have her details on file.
Usually no pharmacy would give a patient prescription medication without a script. The only exception is when a regular customer is desperately needing a dose of their regular medicine, in which case we'd process the script as an owing and trust that they'll bring the real one in within a week.
In yesterday's case, we didn't know the girl's medication history. We've never seen her before. Who knows if it's safe for her to take Digesic, and who knows if she'd come back or disappear off the face of the earth.
The girl asked Freida whether she could have a box of Digesic. She said she could call her doctor who would give us the dosage instructions. Freida spoke to the doctor and took down both his and the girl's details. We gave her the medication.
Mirjana was furious. On the piece of paper Freida gave us were the girl's name, address and mobile phone number, along with the doctor's name and mobile phone number. No landline. No address. No prescriber number. For all we know he could have been a pastry chef.
Everything else could have been completely made-up, and it probably was because she never came back.
Mirjana was still fuming over this incident when Freida self-prescribed a couple of Normisons and took them home this afternoon.
I have a feeling another Freida-based meeting is looming in the very near future.
In other news I'm being bullied into finally producing that portrait of John.
Not that I haven't tried. It's just that John's head keeps turning out like a hard-boiled egg, and I'm not in the mood to be fired.
I'm out of excuses. All this time I've been blaming the absence of finished-portrait on not remembering what he looks like once I leave work. Today he made me take a photo of his face. I now have a picture of my boss in my phone. Creepy.
A mini-meeting had already taken place since Freida's arrival. She's wonderful and I love working with her, but on more than several occasions she has made other staff want to eat their own heads.
Yesterday a young girl approached the dispensary asking for Digesic tablets. She didn't have a script, and we didn't have her details on file.
Usually no pharmacy would give a patient prescription medication without a script. The only exception is when a regular customer is desperately needing a dose of their regular medicine, in which case we'd process the script as an owing and trust that they'll bring the real one in within a week.
In yesterday's case, we didn't know the girl's medication history. We've never seen her before. Who knows if it's safe for her to take Digesic, and who knows if she'd come back or disappear off the face of the earth.
The girl asked Freida whether she could have a box of Digesic. She said she could call her doctor who would give us the dosage instructions. Freida spoke to the doctor and took down both his and the girl's details. We gave her the medication.
Mirjana was furious. On the piece of paper Freida gave us were the girl's name, address and mobile phone number, along with the doctor's name and mobile phone number. No landline. No address. No prescriber number. For all we know he could have been a pastry chef.
Everything else could have been completely made-up, and it probably was because she never came back.
Mirjana was still fuming over this incident when Freida self-prescribed a couple of Normisons and took them home this afternoon.
I have a feeling another Freida-based meeting is looming in the very near future.
In other news I'm being bullied into finally producing that portrait of John.
Not that I haven't tried. It's just that John's head keeps turning out like a hard-boiled egg, and I'm not in the mood to be fired.
I'm out of excuses. All this time I've been blaming the absence of finished-portrait on not remembering what he looks like once I leave work. Today he made me take a photo of his face. I now have a picture of my boss in my phone. Creepy.
Day Eleven
A few pieces of news.
A couple of months ago I was in the bathroom, naked, about to jump into the shower. I stepped onto the scale and it read 53 kg.
I kept this disgusting piece of information to myself and have abstained from daily weigh-ins since.
Until today.
Recently I've been hearing a lot of comments about my lack of weight. I wondered whether my 53 kg days were finally behind me.
I had my coat on. I weighed 45 kg.
I haven't been 45 kg since before I met Jez.
I didn't have breasts before I met Jez, either.
Thanks and no thanks?
A couple of months ago I was in the bathroom, naked, about to jump into the shower. I stepped onto the scale and it read 53 kg.
I kept this disgusting piece of information to myself and have abstained from daily weigh-ins since.
Until today.
Recently I've been hearing a lot of comments about my lack of weight. I wondered whether my 53 kg days were finally behind me.
I had my coat on. I weighed 45 kg.
I haven't been 45 kg since before I met Jez.
I didn't have breasts before I met Jez, either.
Thanks and no thanks?
7.08.2008
7.06.2008
7.05.2008
Day Seven
I did a cover for this song from The Myth OST :D
Which I guess will take the whole night to upload.
Which I guess will take the whole night to upload.
Day Seven
Okay guys. Today is the day I'm going to look into the mirror and say to myself, I've got something going on.
It has been 34 hours since I last used make-up and styled my hair. 42 hours since I last showered. I've been in the same dress, same coat, same shoes and same coat of mascara since yesterday morning.
Yet I still looked sex enough to be asked out. Like I'd say yes, but I walked away with a crapload more confidence. Win win.
Other than that nothing interesting has happened, except for the fact that the friend of my admirer came in with a bad rash resulting from chest-shaving; and I spent a good hour or so helping a lady with grotesquely deformed feet try on the same two pairs of shoes over and over and over again.
Last night was tiring. We spent a few hours at Ryan's for drinks and pizza, where I saw Ally and Lily for the first time since Eddie and I broke up. It was geek-fest. They brought in from work Maxolon and omeprazole to take before drinking to avoid throwing up later. I was like what the fuck.
Most thought I was Mike's girlfriend. Jenny joined us awhile later and we sat around chatting to the girls.
We did end up going to St James, although lining up took so long that we nearly gave up. It wasn't much fun after standing outside for over an hour in the cold, in stilettos. I couldn't drink much because my stomach could no longer accomodate volumes exceeding that you're allowed to take onto a plane, and I was exhausted. It was a bit of a blur, really. I remember bumping into Ray from my PP tute, out of all people. At some stage Bao and I accepted some Maxolon from Mike and Derrian. Bao called it moclobemide, and Mike who was already goneskies still somehow managed to correct him. It's metoclopramide you fucking dumbshit. Then Bao and I spent awhile figuring out what moclobemide was. It's a MAO-A inhibitor.
God that was messy.
It has been 34 hours since I last used make-up and styled my hair. 42 hours since I last showered. I've been in the same dress, same coat, same shoes and same coat of mascara since yesterday morning.
Yet I still looked sex enough to be asked out. Like I'd say yes, but I walked away with a crapload more confidence. Win win.
Other than that nothing interesting has happened, except for the fact that the friend of my admirer came in with a bad rash resulting from chest-shaving; and I spent a good hour or so helping a lady with grotesquely deformed feet try on the same two pairs of shoes over and over and over again.
Last night was tiring. We spent a few hours at Ryan's for drinks and pizza, where I saw Ally and Lily for the first time since Eddie and I broke up. It was geek-fest. They brought in from work Maxolon and omeprazole to take before drinking to avoid throwing up later. I was like what the fuck.
Most thought I was Mike's girlfriend. Jenny joined us awhile later and we sat around chatting to the girls.
We did end up going to St James, although lining up took so long that we nearly gave up. It wasn't much fun after standing outside for over an hour in the cold, in stilettos. I couldn't drink much because my stomach could no longer accomodate volumes exceeding that you're allowed to take onto a plane, and I was exhausted. It was a bit of a blur, really. I remember bumping into Ray from my PP tute, out of all people. At some stage Bao and I accepted some Maxolon from Mike and Derrian. Bao called it moclobemide, and Mike who was already goneskies still somehow managed to correct him. It's metoclopramide you fucking dumbshit. Then Bao and I spent awhile figuring out what moclobemide was. It's a MAO-A inhibitor.
God that was messy.
7.03.2008
Day Five
Uploading piano covers. Here's one. To Zanarkand is still uploading.
Was on MSN talking to Marty not long ago, who sent me, wait for it ... sheet music for 600 A.D. from Chrono Trigger.
Amongst about a hundred other game songs I've never heard of.
600 A.D.!
I thought it would take me years to learn, but it isn't actually as hard as it sounds on audio.
I have a date with my grandparents today. It's going to be hard dragging myself away from the piano.
Was on MSN talking to Marty not long ago, who sent me, wait for it ... sheet music for 600 A.D. from Chrono Trigger.
Amongst about a hundred other game songs I've never heard of.
600 A.D.!
I thought it would take me years to learn, but it isn't actually as hard as it sounds on audio.
I have a date with my grandparents today. It's going to be hard dragging myself away from the piano.
7.02.2008
Day Four
A man stared at me for 30 minutes straight on the train this morning. I tried staring back to shame him into looking away but keeping a straight face was too challenging. In the end someone blocked his view with their SMH but to my amazement he hobbled and shifted around until his right eye appeared in the gap between the edge of the paper and the adjacent passenger's shoulder. Impressive effort.
Work was easy peasy Japaneesy today and my shift was short. The only challenge was deciphering John's list of Blackmores stock. John is both a doctor and a pharmacist, so he both produces and interprets abysmally messy handwriting. It's like having his very own language.
Today I came across an item on the list that vaguely resembled "mother hen". It turned out to be "hair, skin and nails".
I felt okay today, but John still seemed to think I was mimimumu. My words not his. After checking my wrists he declared I still had sad puppydoggy eyes. He and Mirjana then started discussing whether they should buy me something.
We should give her a gift voucher, said Mirjana. She likes bags, said John. Let's buy her a designer bag. I was standing there listening, half amused and half afraid that they might be serious.
No, I'm fine, don't buy me anything, I opened my mouth to say. Except somehow the words got lost along the way and "how about a Macbook Air" came out.
Work was easy peasy Japaneesy today and my shift was short. The only challenge was deciphering John's list of Blackmores stock. John is both a doctor and a pharmacist, so he both produces and interprets abysmally messy handwriting. It's like having his very own language.
Today I came across an item on the list that vaguely resembled "mother hen". It turned out to be "hair, skin and nails".
I felt okay today, but John still seemed to think I was mimimumu. My words not his. After checking my wrists he declared I still had sad puppydoggy eyes. He and Mirjana then started discussing whether they should buy me something.
We should give her a gift voucher, said Mirjana. She likes bags, said John. Let's buy her a designer bag. I was standing there listening, half amused and half afraid that they might be serious.
No, I'm fine, don't buy me anything, I opened my mouth to say. Except somehow the words got lost along the way and "how about a Macbook Air" came out.
7.01.2008
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