Today, work was rough as hell. I was on my feet for five hours straight and didn't get a break. I got interrogated by a man about lying to him about whether I'd really checked that we had something in stock (I did check... but half-assed). In spite of all of this, I feel incredibly happy right now.
I feel so lucky to have my family, my friends, security, opportunity, education and hot cups of tea. I got up this morning, did an early 40 minute workout (I don't want to alarm anyone but my planking is pretty impressive now), ate peach and mango yoghurt (the best flavour of non-Chobani yoghurts) and spent a little time studying. I felt so serene through it all. I saw R at work for a few minutes today. He bought crayons for his niece. It was adorable.
J
About Me
- Junaberry
- I'm a student from Australia who used to have a lot of time on her hands but doesn't have that much anymore. Now she has other stuff on her hands.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Friday, August 30, 2013
My Epic Return to Vlogging
You may start this video and think to yourself, "I think my headphones are broken," or, "I think she took a video without recording any sound." In both of these cases, you would be wrong. The solution is to simply turn the volume up very, very loudly or press your ear to your speakers and hold your breath.
J
J
Thursday, August 29, 2013
I'm Feeling Yummy, Head to Toe
As it happens, and with Sarah's help, I have recently discovered that Co-op Man was not hitting on me but was, in fact, Overly Friendly Co-op Man. Conundrum. Even those of substandard attractiveness are not attracted to me, despite being a nubile, young Asian female. What more is there to offer?
With such reasoning, I believe it to be my various negative qualities that are impeding my ability to find a suitable (or at least adequate) mating partner. They are as follows:
1. I get nose bleeds constantly. It's like my nose has its own menstrual cycle. At least once a month, my nose starts gushing blood. Then every time I wash my face or sneeze, out more gushes. No one wants a girlfriend whose nose is constantly bleeding. It's just not sexy.
2. My face could double as a helipad. It's breadth rivals conventional metric systems. This would be inconvenient for make-out sessions (yes, I'm going there) as various flying transportation vehicles would be competing for my face. Additionally, it would be difficult to accurately aim kisses at my mouth (or eyelids if we're being particularly sensual... Kisses on my sun-dappled eyelids. It's early October, the grass is glistening with the morning's dew...) given the proportions of my face.
3. I laugh at inappropriate times.
"Junaberry, my mum..."
"Har har, I know! She's a cad!"
"... is dead."
"... I'm sorry. That must be hard." (I learnt that technique from FCP)
4. I've never been clubbing, gotten drunk, worn a dress shorter than my hoo haa (that's what all the boys want or so I hear) and the only concert I've ever been to is Taylor Swift. I fear that when I get famous from writing an epic series about Love in the Time of Cholera (oops...) and go on Graham Norton or Jimmy Faloon, they will ask me what my first concert was and I will have to say Taylor Swift.
5. It's 8.11am and I'm in the science library. Writing this.
J
With such reasoning, I believe it to be my various negative qualities that are impeding my ability to find a suitable (or at least adequate) mating partner. They are as follows:
1. I get nose bleeds constantly. It's like my nose has its own menstrual cycle. At least once a month, my nose starts gushing blood. Then every time I wash my face or sneeze, out more gushes. No one wants a girlfriend whose nose is constantly bleeding. It's just not sexy.
2. My face could double as a helipad. It's breadth rivals conventional metric systems. This would be inconvenient for make-out sessions (yes, I'm going there) as various flying transportation vehicles would be competing for my face. Additionally, it would be difficult to accurately aim kisses at my mouth (or eyelids if we're being particularly sensual... Kisses on my sun-dappled eyelids. It's early October, the grass is glistening with the morning's dew...) given the proportions of my face.
3. I laugh at inappropriate times.
"Junaberry, my mum..."
"Har har, I know! She's a cad!"
"... is dead."
"... I'm sorry. That must be hard." (I learnt that technique from FCP)
4. I've never been clubbing, gotten drunk, worn a dress shorter than my hoo haa (that's what all the boys want or so I hear) and the only concert I've ever been to is Taylor Swift. I fear that when I get famous from writing an epic series about Love in the Time of Cholera (oops...) and go on Graham Norton or Jimmy Faloon, they will ask me what my first concert was and I will have to say Taylor Swift.
5. It's 8.11am and I'm in the science library. Writing this.
J
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Fan Tail
It is my best friend of 11 years' 20th birthday today. 11 years is a really long time to know somebody let alone be best friends with them. I feel supa fake when I sing somebody's praises (mostly because I'm generally more vocal about my critical judgments) but I will just say that... Little Mishelle is a super cool person. I would legitimately trust her with my life and I hope she would trust me with hers (risky, to be honest).
My mum left for Malaysia this afternoon. To visit family/for a holiday. She was reluctant to go because she's having family troubles. My grandpa has been living with my second auntie for many years now, ever since my grandma passed away. As you've heard me complain about many times before, he's not the most hygienic lad and is generally quite messy. Unfortunately, the relationship between my auntie and my grandpa (and consequently between my auntie and her other siblings) is very strained at the moment and has been for a while. I think it's a combination of his messy habits and also being basically dumped with this responsibility.
It's perhaps mean to call looking after my grandpa a responsibility but it really is. My first auntie is very rich and very reluctant to have my grandpa stay with her because he is so unhygienic and her house is some kind of pristine castle. My uncle lives in Melbourne and we live in Perth. Apparently, my second auntie barely talks to my grandpa anymore. They don't really acknowledge him and want to send him to a nursing home. However, he refuses to because he isn't sick, is still very mobile and I guess it's considered dishonourable or whatever to send your parent to a nursing home when it isn't absolutely necessary.
It's very unfortunate. I sometime struggle with controlling my more negative feelings when my grandpa comes to stay. Things like simple hygiene and other general bad habits can make me very resentful. I know it's wrong because he is very, very old (93 next year) and therefore these bad habits are very much ingrained in him. I try to bear in mind that he's a good person and is generally a good grandpa. However, I can definitely understand why my auntie and her family have grown so resentful of having him stay so long with them. I feel sorry for them and sorry for my grandpa too. I can't imagine what it must feel like to live somewhere where it's so obvious that you're not wanted there.
I hope some resolution can come about soon. Honestly, I think having him live in a nursing home would be most beneficial because I can't see him staying at my auntie's house getting any better. I know he would be unhappy with this arrangement, mostly because of how he would think others would perceive it, but I feel like being around people his age and having more stimulus would be better for him.
J
My mum left for Malaysia this afternoon. To visit family/for a holiday. She was reluctant to go because she's having family troubles. My grandpa has been living with my second auntie for many years now, ever since my grandma passed away. As you've heard me complain about many times before, he's not the most hygienic lad and is generally quite messy. Unfortunately, the relationship between my auntie and my grandpa (and consequently between my auntie and her other siblings) is very strained at the moment and has been for a while. I think it's a combination of his messy habits and also being basically dumped with this responsibility.
It's perhaps mean to call looking after my grandpa a responsibility but it really is. My first auntie is very rich and very reluctant to have my grandpa stay with her because he is so unhygienic and her house is some kind of pristine castle. My uncle lives in Melbourne and we live in Perth. Apparently, my second auntie barely talks to my grandpa anymore. They don't really acknowledge him and want to send him to a nursing home. However, he refuses to because he isn't sick, is still very mobile and I guess it's considered dishonourable or whatever to send your parent to a nursing home when it isn't absolutely necessary.
It's very unfortunate. I sometime struggle with controlling my more negative feelings when my grandpa comes to stay. Things like simple hygiene and other general bad habits can make me very resentful. I know it's wrong because he is very, very old (93 next year) and therefore these bad habits are very much ingrained in him. I try to bear in mind that he's a good person and is generally a good grandpa. However, I can definitely understand why my auntie and her family have grown so resentful of having him stay so long with them. I feel sorry for them and sorry for my grandpa too. I can't imagine what it must feel like to live somewhere where it's so obvious that you're not wanted there.
I hope some resolution can come about soon. Honestly, I think having him live in a nursing home would be most beneficial because I can't see him staying at my auntie's house getting any better. I know he would be unhappy with this arrangement, mostly because of how he would think others would perceive it, but I feel like being around people his age and having more stimulus would be better for him.
J
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
I Hope I'm Not Pregnant
I think I got hit on by the guy working at the Co-op today. Either that or he's just a really weird guy. As I was purchasing my Medical Pharmacology unit reader (I know, late as usual... I hope I'm not pregnant. I stole that line from Lorelai Gilmore), he said to me, "If you're looking for a husband, I make really good coffee." I kind of just stared at him for a moment because I was focussed on making sure I had chosen the least imperfect unit reader (no scuff marks, no bent corners etc.). I was confused.
He smiled at me. I smiled back in a knee jerk reaction. Like how I always say hi back to young hooligans who say hello to me on the street. You reply so as to not get shivved. These are dangerous streets, you hear.
He then started talking about Desperate Housewives as a follow-on from his comment about him making a good husband. He compared himself to Eva Longoria and I said that probably reflects his character.
"Are you taking psych?" he asked.
"Um, no," I said and started trying to shuffle away. He kept talking even though I was halfway out the door and I felt bad. I tossed a smile back then scurried away.
IT WAS FUCKING AWESOME.
Well, it would have been better if he wasn't kind of ugly and generally displeasing to the/my eye. That's so rude of me to say. He was perfectly adequate (for another girl). He was aged though whereas I am a fresh peach that requires a similarly fresh fruit, ripe for the picking.
I came back to edit this post to tell you about this perfectly adequate guy who let me get off the bus before him.
"After you," he said with the most charming of smiles. I'm not going to lie; I looked at his back for five minutes as we walked in the same direction from the bus port. I have fallen in love with Bus Boy. We are to be wed this coming summer. Hydrangeas will be our flower of choice.
He will be the persimmon to my peach, the kiwi to my grape, the cherry to my pop.
J
He smiled at me. I smiled back in a knee jerk reaction. Like how I always say hi back to young hooligans who say hello to me on the street. You reply so as to not get shivved. These are dangerous streets, you hear.
He then started talking about Desperate Housewives as a follow-on from his comment about him making a good husband. He compared himself to Eva Longoria and I said that probably reflects his character.
"Are you taking psych?" he asked.
"Um, no," I said and started trying to shuffle away. He kept talking even though I was halfway out the door and I felt bad. I tossed a smile back then scurried away.
IT WAS FUCKING AWESOME.
Well, it would have been better if he wasn't kind of ugly and generally displeasing to the/my eye. That's so rude of me to say. He was perfectly adequate (for another girl). He was aged though whereas I am a fresh peach that requires a similarly fresh fruit, ripe for the picking.
I came back to edit this post to tell you about this perfectly adequate guy who let me get off the bus before him.
"After you," he said with the most charming of smiles. I'm not going to lie; I looked at his back for five minutes as we walked in the same direction from the bus port. I have fallen in love with Bus Boy. We are to be wed this coming summer. Hydrangeas will be our flower of choice.
He will be the persimmon to my peach, the kiwi to my grape, the cherry to my pop.
J
The Curious Case of the Buttons
After much discussion across the internet (well, mostly ontd but hell, that's half the internet already), I came to the conclusion a while ago that Taylor Swift got breast implants. A breast augmentation. An augmentation of the chesticles. A chesticular enlargement.
I don't really have any feelings about this. I do sometimes wonder what it would be like to have chesticular implants. I suspect I would be touching my boobs 24/7 and just marvelling at how bizarre it is. I hope she is happy.
She looked super fine at the VMAs:
I don't really have any feelings about this. I do sometimes wonder what it would be like to have chesticular implants. I suspect I would be touching my boobs 24/7 and just marvelling at how bizarre it is. I hope she is happy.
She looked super fine at the VMAs:
As the Go Fug Yourself girls recognized, it is slightly trying too hard. But I still think she looks amazing. It's so easy to judge harshly form behind a computer screen but I imagine that seeing her in person would have been phenomenal. The height, the hair, the new breasts.
J
Monday, August 26, 2013
An Open Letter You Will Never Read
Dear Person,
I promise I am not a mean person. I promise that I do smile and I'm very fond of laughing. A family trait, Catherine Bingley says. I'm three sentences in and have already digressed.
The point is, I am not a mean person. I usually think nice thoughts. Yes, I can be very judgmental but I keep these things to myself and readily recognize my own faults. When you see me walk past you and not make eye contact, stop to chat or do more than flash a small smile, it's not because I hate you. It's not because I think you're not worthy of my time. It's because I'm scared that if I do anything more than that, I will be rejected. It's because I'm scared you won't remember who I am and it will be awkward. It's because I'm scared you'll think I'm being clingy and weird.
If I could go through life without being seen by anybody, to be the very definition of a wallflower, I think I would.
J
I promise I am not a mean person. I promise that I do smile and I'm very fond of laughing. A family trait, Catherine Bingley says. I'm three sentences in and have already digressed.
The point is, I am not a mean person. I usually think nice thoughts. Yes, I can be very judgmental but I keep these things to myself and readily recognize my own faults. When you see me walk past you and not make eye contact, stop to chat or do more than flash a small smile, it's not because I hate you. It's not because I think you're not worthy of my time. It's because I'm scared that if I do anything more than that, I will be rejected. It's because I'm scared you won't remember who I am and it will be awkward. It's because I'm scared you'll think I'm being clingy and weird.
If I could go through life without being seen by anybody, to be the very definition of a wallflower, I think I would.
J
A Word on Wraps
Firstly, what's the deal with them being so expensive? I bought the cheapest pack of wraps I could find at Woolworths the other day. $5 for a pack of eight wholemeal wraps. I think they were Mission brand. Seriously? $5 for eight wraps? I could buy 1.5 loaves of bread with $5 and make many, many sandwiches instead.
Secondly, I have mastered the art of wrapping. I used to find it so difficult. Things would be spilling all over the place (out the sides, out the ends, down my pants). Forget about it holding any degree of structural integrity after taking a bite. But now, my friends, I am a master of the wrap. No longer a Padawan; I am a Jedi master of the wrap. Hand me a wrap and see magic happen. The trick? Keep it tight. Seriously, compress the filling as tight as you can when you wrap and it comes out looking like one of those store-bought wraps where you wonder if they have some sort of wrapping machine because, fuck me, it looks perfect.
Thirdly, I love cooked carrots. I mean, I like raw carrot sticks too but cooked carrots trump raw carrot any day. My favourite way is to microwave/steam them (just to speed up the process) then pan fry them with curry powder, salt and pepper. It is incredibly random but so fast and delicious. It's mostly because I love curry with carrots in them so this is the next best thing (that doesn't take three hours to cook). Today, I shredded carrots then pan fried them with curry powder, salt and pepper. They were delicious in my wrap and far better than if I had just put raw shredded carrot on my wrap.
We also have no lettuce so I've been eating one huge carrot a day.
J
Secondly, I have mastered the art of wrapping. I used to find it so difficult. Things would be spilling all over the place (out the sides, out the ends, down my pants). Forget about it holding any degree of structural integrity after taking a bite. But now, my friends, I am a master of the wrap. No longer a Padawan; I am a Jedi master of the wrap. Hand me a wrap and see magic happen. The trick? Keep it tight. Seriously, compress the filling as tight as you can when you wrap and it comes out looking like one of those store-bought wraps where you wonder if they have some sort of wrapping machine because, fuck me, it looks perfect.
Thirdly, I love cooked carrots. I mean, I like raw carrot sticks too but cooked carrots trump raw carrot any day. My favourite way is to microwave/steam them (just to speed up the process) then pan fry them with curry powder, salt and pepper. It is incredibly random but so fast and delicious. It's mostly because I love curry with carrots in them so this is the next best thing (that doesn't take three hours to cook). Today, I shredded carrots then pan fried them with curry powder, salt and pepper. They were delicious in my wrap and far better than if I had just put raw shredded carrot on my wrap.
We also have no lettuce so I've been eating one huge carrot a day.
J
Sunday, August 25, 2013
The Neighbour's Kid
The neighbour has a kid. Well, he has two kids but I will mainly focus on the older child. A boy in year two. He has a name that I will not divulge on here and you will soon see why.
See, the neighbour's kid is what I call a "psychopath." He puts on this eerily deep voice whenever he talks. I know it's not his natural voice because no boy of that age has a voice that deep. He makes it purposefully gruff and as manly as possible. He once stole the pruning knife my mum was using to weed the garden with when she went to get something from the shed. Do I want to know what he subsequently did with that knife? Well, yes. But I imagine he probably buried it in his backyard so that the dog of the next family who lives in that house will dig it up and have his face cut open, not unlike the Joker.
They will call the dog Joker. Because he got his face cut up, not unlike the Joker. It makes sense if you think about it.
Choosing other weird shit that this kid has done is difficult because there's so many choices. I was once taking a semi-nap/resting on my bed. Suddenly, a voice right outside my window in a creepy, deep voice said, "Hello!"
Naturally, I was startled and counteracted with a high pitched, "Hello?"
It was the kid. He ran off. I was scarred for life. What if I had been changing? Sometimes, I change with my window open but I hide around the corner so no one can actually see me from the window. But sometimes, whilst putting my tight jeans on, I will fall over and subsequently fall into view from my window open. This is a dangerous practice but hell, it is my house and people really shouldn't be looking in my bedroom window.
Except this kid thinks it's okay to peep into women's bedroom windows (notice how I refer to myself as a woman because that's what I am now).
I have watched numerous episodes of Criminal Minds and believe this kid to be a psychopath. He's like that kid in that episode who forced a model aeroplane down his little brother's throat. The little brother then died. The BAU saved the day... except the little brother was already dead so they technically didn't save anyone. I fear for the sister of my neighbour's kid. She seems like a sweet girl and I hear him bossing her around constantly. Should I set up a telescope that looks into their house to ensure he does not shove model aeroplanes down her throat when his parents aren't watching? I think that would be wise and very legal.
The neighbour's kid also has a mini golf set. He once sent a golf ball flying as hard as he could into our yard. Its trajectory very nearly encountered our window. I am concerned for my safety and everyone who lives on my street's safety. I feel this calls for a Neighbourhood Watch meeting entitled "The Neighbour's Kid: Should we be worried?" I will provide the snacks and will also employ people to keep the kid occupied whilst we decide how to best handle this very volatile situation.
Please pray for me.
J
See, the neighbour's kid is what I call a "psychopath." He puts on this eerily deep voice whenever he talks. I know it's not his natural voice because no boy of that age has a voice that deep. He makes it purposefully gruff and as manly as possible. He once stole the pruning knife my mum was using to weed the garden with when she went to get something from the shed. Do I want to know what he subsequently did with that knife? Well, yes. But I imagine he probably buried it in his backyard so that the dog of the next family who lives in that house will dig it up and have his face cut open, not unlike the Joker.
They will call the dog Joker. Because he got his face cut up, not unlike the Joker. It makes sense if you think about it.
Choosing other weird shit that this kid has done is difficult because there's so many choices. I was once taking a semi-nap/resting on my bed. Suddenly, a voice right outside my window in a creepy, deep voice said, "Hello!"
Naturally, I was startled and counteracted with a high pitched, "Hello?"
It was the kid. He ran off. I was scarred for life. What if I had been changing? Sometimes, I change with my window open but I hide around the corner so no one can actually see me from the window. But sometimes, whilst putting my tight jeans on, I will fall over and subsequently fall into view from my window open. This is a dangerous practice but hell, it is my house and people really shouldn't be looking in my bedroom window.
Except this kid thinks it's okay to peep into women's bedroom windows (notice how I refer to myself as a woman because that's what I am now).
I have watched numerous episodes of Criminal Minds and believe this kid to be a psychopath. He's like that kid in that episode who forced a model aeroplane down his little brother's throat. The little brother then died. The BAU saved the day... except the little brother was already dead so they technically didn't save anyone. I fear for the sister of my neighbour's kid. She seems like a sweet girl and I hear him bossing her around constantly. Should I set up a telescope that looks into their house to ensure he does not shove model aeroplanes down her throat when his parents aren't watching? I think that would be wise and very legal.
The neighbour's kid also has a mini golf set. He once sent a golf ball flying as hard as he could into our yard. Its trajectory very nearly encountered our window. I am concerned for my safety and everyone who lives on my street's safety. I feel this calls for a Neighbourhood Watch meeting entitled "The Neighbour's Kid: Should we be worried?" I will provide the snacks and will also employ people to keep the kid occupied whilst we decide how to best handle this very volatile situation.
Please pray for me.
J
Applicable Maths
Jumping squats and lunges. It's like what Jenny Humphrey always says... you "make me wanna die."
Alternatively, as P!nk says, "Thighs on fire, thighs on fire and they burn from all the tears."
J
Alternatively, as P!nk says, "Thighs on fire, thighs on fire and they burn from all the tears."
J
Taylor Swift & Ellie Goulding - "Anything Could Happen"
Enough with the hip shaking, Taylor:
Still cute though.
J
Still cute though.
J
Banh Mi
Let's talk about the fact that the meat inside a banh mi is basically the worst part. In fact, when my parents used to buy me ones in my childhood, I used to pull the meat out. Why? Because I really, really like the crusty bread and pickles and felt the meat sullied the flavour. And also because Asian deli/cold meats are the bane of my existence. Cold meats are already pretty shitty, let's keep it real. But Asian cold meats? Do we know what's in there? Is it really meat or is it a mixture of gutter scrapings?
I bit into a banh mi yesterday, my first in a long time. I've come to even enjoy the pate for its creamy saltiness (which is interesting because if any component of the banh mi could be made of gutter scrapings, it's probably the pate). I've come to enjoy the pickled carrots and cucumber even more than I used to. I've come to palate the meat because it seems rude to pull it out. Starving children, people seem to really enjoy the meat etc. It seems wasteful to not eat it. If I ever start my own banh mi business, I'm going to start selling just pickles and bread. Also, the next time I buy a banh mi, I'm going to ask for no meat.
"No meat?" the elderly female Vietnamese vendor will say.
"No meat," I will affirm.
"Just pickles?"
"Just pickles," I will say. She will stare at me. I will smile at her until she looks away because people tend to do that when I smile at them.
"Just pickles," she will say after a while, slightly suspicious of me. Then she will hand me my sandwich of delicious pickles and bread.
The pate can stay as well. And the fact that I cannot get the little French accent thing over the "e" in pate is killing me.
Go forth.
J
I bit into a banh mi yesterday, my first in a long time. I've come to even enjoy the pate for its creamy saltiness (which is interesting because if any component of the banh mi could be made of gutter scrapings, it's probably the pate). I've come to enjoy the pickled carrots and cucumber even more than I used to. I've come to palate the meat because it seems rude to pull it out. Starving children, people seem to really enjoy the meat etc. It seems wasteful to not eat it. If I ever start my own banh mi business, I'm going to start selling just pickles and bread. Also, the next time I buy a banh mi, I'm going to ask for no meat.
"No meat?" the elderly female Vietnamese vendor will say.
"No meat," I will affirm.
"Just pickles?"
"Just pickles," I will say. She will stare at me. I will smile at her until she looks away because people tend to do that when I smile at them.
"Just pickles," she will say after a while, slightly suspicious of me. Then she will hand me my sandwich of delicious pickles and bread.
The pate can stay as well. And the fact that I cannot get the little French accent thing over the "e" in pate is killing me.
Go forth.
J
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Peaceful Greetings To You
I stole Fantales from the work breakroom. Should I feel ashamed? I haven't eaten any. Maybe I could sneak back and drop them back in the bowl... but I choose not to. Why? Because it's been about five years since I had a Fantale and I was just thinking about them the other day.
This is the end of this blog post. I hope you enjoyed it.
Oh. I also saw The Food Pornographer's brother at work today. He's like semi-famous (in my world) so that was nice.
J
This is the end of this blog post. I hope you enjoyed it.
Oh. I also saw The Food Pornographer's brother at work today. He's like semi-famous (in my world) so that was nice.
J
Friday, August 23, 2013
My Manuscript
If you haven't heard Katy Perry's live version of "Electric Feel" by MGMT... I suggest you do. In fact, because I'm so generous, I have bothered to find a YouTube to embed here:
Good, right?
Florence + The Machine is similarly very, very good. She kind of reminds me of the ugly sister on Downton Abbey whom I secretly love but hate at the same time. And the ugly sister on Downton Abbey in turn reminds me of Amy March from Little Women. In need of a good punch to the face. It's wrong to hit children but, if any child deserves a good slapping, it's Amy March.
I secretly wish Jo had let Amy drown in the frozen lake.
It's kind of been a shitty week. I've been pretty moody and feeling generally down.
J
Good, right?
Florence + The Machine is similarly very, very good. She kind of reminds me of the ugly sister on Downton Abbey whom I secretly love but hate at the same time. And the ugly sister on Downton Abbey in turn reminds me of Amy March from Little Women. In need of a good punch to the face. It's wrong to hit children but, if any child deserves a good slapping, it's Amy March.
I secretly wish Jo had let Amy drown in the frozen lake.
It's kind of been a shitty week. I've been pretty moody and feeling generally down.
J
Thursday, August 22, 2013
It's All Gone
All of my limited edition Cadbury Oreo chocolate. It's all gone. A whole bar. I bought it approximately one month ago and it's all gone. And I only ate three squares of it. Three little squares. My fucking family.
I'm so irrationally mad right now. They don't even like Oreos that much. Why, why, why? I was saving it, savouring every little morsel of Cadbury Oreo goodness. When there were only four squares left (evidently, my family had been slowly chipping away at is as I sat idly by, completely unaware), my brother came up to me and asked if he could finish it off. "NO!" I said. "NO! I'M SAVING IT!" He was very nice and said he'd leave it for me.
That was one week ago. This afternoon, I went to look/smell at it (as you do). Alas... there was none left.
I may never get to taste that sweet, sweet amalgamation of cookie holiness and chocolate goodness again. Sure, I can try to replicate it by mushing together Oreos and Cadbury milk chocolate but it will never be the same. Their's had a layer of cookies n' cream creme in the middle and huge Oreo chunks and it's just not the same, okay?
I'm so mad right now but I shouldn't be because it's not like I told them, "Don't eat any. I'm saving it," because I was trying to be gracious and generous and share the goodness around. I feel mad because it's such a struggle trying to be a healthy eater in a family that doesn't eat quite as healthily (although they still eat very healthily compared to other families... I am lucky in that respect). They buy delicious, delicious snacks and ice-cream. I want it so bad so decide I will eat some later, maybe in a few days, maybe in a week or a few weeks. I try to spread out my treats to live in "moderation." Then I get scared someone will eat it all before it's my turn. So I get out my cling wrap and hide that shit. But then I think to myself, "Self, this is not normal behaviour. Behave normally." So I put the cling wrap away and hope and pray to God that no one will eat my piece of carrot cake before I get to it.
I'm clearly reverting back to my food hoarding ways. The other day, my mum found my numerous bags of dates and water crackers in the drawer under my underwear drawer. The next day, she made sticky date pudding and half of one of those bags was gone.
I was very upset. I still am and I'm not sure if I will recover. This is one thing I'm looking forward to about living by myself/moving out. Having more control over my food. No one telling me to stop eating so many eggs (can I talk about that for a moment? I know eggs supposedly have quite a lot of cholesterol in them but I feel they are still reasonably healthy. Especially compared to a lot of other foods. It's like when my dad tells me to stop eating such big bowls of oatmeal in the morning. Excuse me? Eight months ago, I used to eat cake everyday. I'm pretty sure eating big bowls of oatmeal is a lot healthier than that behaviour. I don't think he ever commented on my daily cake consumption while I was daily cake consuming. But the second I decide to start trying to be healthy (which is something I didn't even tell my family), my dietary habits are suddenly up for criticism).
This is the end of this blog post.
J
I'm so irrationally mad right now. They don't even like Oreos that much. Why, why, why? I was saving it, savouring every little morsel of Cadbury Oreo goodness. When there were only four squares left (evidently, my family had been slowly chipping away at is as I sat idly by, completely unaware), my brother came up to me and asked if he could finish it off. "NO!" I said. "NO! I'M SAVING IT!" He was very nice and said he'd leave it for me.
That was one week ago. This afternoon, I went to look/smell at it (as you do). Alas... there was none left.
I may never get to taste that sweet, sweet amalgamation of cookie holiness and chocolate goodness again. Sure, I can try to replicate it by mushing together Oreos and Cadbury milk chocolate but it will never be the same. Their's had a layer of cookies n' cream creme in the middle and huge Oreo chunks and it's just not the same, okay?
I'm so mad right now but I shouldn't be because it's not like I told them, "Don't eat any. I'm saving it," because I was trying to be gracious and generous and share the goodness around. I feel mad because it's such a struggle trying to be a healthy eater in a family that doesn't eat quite as healthily (although they still eat very healthily compared to other families... I am lucky in that respect). They buy delicious, delicious snacks and ice-cream. I want it so bad so decide I will eat some later, maybe in a few days, maybe in a week or a few weeks. I try to spread out my treats to live in "moderation." Then I get scared someone will eat it all before it's my turn. So I get out my cling wrap and hide that shit. But then I think to myself, "Self, this is not normal behaviour. Behave normally." So I put the cling wrap away and hope and pray to God that no one will eat my piece of carrot cake before I get to it.
I'm clearly reverting back to my food hoarding ways. The other day, my mum found my numerous bags of dates and water crackers in the drawer under my underwear drawer. The next day, she made sticky date pudding and half of one of those bags was gone.
I was very upset. I still am and I'm not sure if I will recover. This is one thing I'm looking forward to about living by myself/moving out. Having more control over my food. No one telling me to stop eating so many eggs (can I talk about that for a moment? I know eggs supposedly have quite a lot of cholesterol in them but I feel they are still reasonably healthy. Especially compared to a lot of other foods. It's like when my dad tells me to stop eating such big bowls of oatmeal in the morning. Excuse me? Eight months ago, I used to eat cake everyday. I'm pretty sure eating big bowls of oatmeal is a lot healthier than that behaviour. I don't think he ever commented on my daily cake consumption while I was daily cake consuming. But the second I decide to start trying to be healthy (which is something I didn't even tell my family), my dietary habits are suddenly up for criticism).
This is the end of this blog post.
J
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Thoughts on the Big Dur
What's with people hating durian so much? It's delicious. The smell/flavour is certainly strong and it can be overpowering. But I don't find it an unpleasant smell/taste. To me, it has a slightly bitter custard flavour but it's still very, very sweet. I would go as far as to say that I love durian. My favourite part is biting into the outer skin casing and sinking my teeth into the gooey flesh underneath.
And so ends my slightly cannibalistic sounding thoughts on durian and why it ranks in my top five favourite fruits in the world.
To add to that, starfruit is very mediocre. It's just very watery and fibrous, without the mellow sweetness to make it refreshing like watermelon has. Besides its pretty shape (honestly, the shape isn't even that great), it doesn't have a lot going for it. Mangosteen on the other hand... That poo-looking stain on my shorts from one of my first mangosteen experiences in 2004 was entirely worth it. How can such a tasty fruit cause such heinous stains?
J
And so ends my slightly cannibalistic sounding thoughts on durian and why it ranks in my top five favourite fruits in the world.
To add to that, starfruit is very mediocre. It's just very watery and fibrous, without the mellow sweetness to make it refreshing like watermelon has. Besides its pretty shape (honestly, the shape isn't even that great), it doesn't have a lot going for it. Mangosteen on the other hand... That poo-looking stain on my shorts from one of my first mangosteen experiences in 2004 was entirely worth it. How can such a tasty fruit cause such heinous stains?
J
This Slope is Treacherous
The thing that scares me the most about next year... is being dangerous.
I know what you're thinking; of course you're dangerous. You're so badass, hardcore. You don't give a shit. You do what you want, you rebel. These are all true things. I am extremely loose-cannonish in nature (it comes naturally, bey-bey-baby). But I fear being a danger to other people, specifically patients. I fear my own stupidity (and I am. I can't remember really essential, basic things about medicine constantly. Like, I can't remember where the heart is. I can't remember which side the liver is. If you want to know how many lobes the liver has... do not ask me. Lobes of lung? Forget it).
I fear the words I know are coming next year (and the year after and the year after that): "You're a danger to the patients and yourself." I know it is very much inevitable. In fact, I have already received those words on my written comments from my failed musculoskeletal assessment last semester. Perhaps not those words exactly. More like, "The patient was visibly afraid." Excuse me? I was pretty offended by that. He was not visibly afraid, he was just shocked by my beauty hence his trembling hands (it comes naturally, bey-bey-baby).
How do I take these things in stride? How do I work on them and improve myself? I feel like if I was more committed to this whole doctor thing, I would have worked on it already. I would have applied for scholarships in which you spend week-long placements at GP clinics or followed a surgeon around for a day or scrubbed in to observe something ending with -ectomy. But I pretty much have no interest in these things or am very afraid of these things. Which means I'm stagnant, I'm stale. I'm like that bread that was so delicious and crusty two days ago (it comes naturally, bey-bey-baby) that has turned to a husk of patheticness (very much a word).
I want to improve because I want to grab the bull's balls. I want to be good next year and not feel like a constant failure. I'm hoping that I can work on that over the next few months before next year. Work on basic skills, terminology, feeling more confident around people, very basic anatomy (I know one of the lobes of lung has three lobules? What's a lobule again?), what a forcep is. The other day at my meeting with Surgery Guy for our research project, he asked me what "this" was and held up a forcep. I balked. I did not know what the fuck it was. I knew you used it to hold up shit but the name? I did not know. It was a learning experience though. Now I will never forget what a forcep, needleholder or pair of scissors are. Success.
Being content and comfortable are important things to me. I must do my best to achieve these things over the next few years or they will be hell.
J
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Profiterdoh
Big Michelle likes to tease me about the fact that I have a very sensitive stomach. This is true. Eating big meals gets me bloated like cray. The night we had fondue at Caitlyn's house... God, it was delicious but I was in such agony after that. Little do they know that I refused to share the couch with them as, if I didn't stretch out to the nth degree, I was going to explode in a mass of chocolate and strawberries all over them.
This is particularly annoying when I go to buffets. The classic Burswood (oh, I'm sorry. Crown) Atrium experience. I have been to Atrium at least three times now. Dessert has consequently become my favourite part of the meal and I have vowed to make it my first trip. Why? Because, after two trips to the entree area and at least one to the mains area, my insides are churning and my ileum is trying to escape through my umbilicus. It's like a thousand worms are wriggling around. But these aren't normal worms. They have teeth and are gnawing at my inside. It is so freaking uncomfortable and seriously hampers my ability to get more than my money's worth of food. How can I eat five rounds of dessert when my stomach is three times the size of a third trimester woman's?
The answer is... you can't. The solution to this pain is usually a hot water bottle on the belly, sleeping it off and a nice trip to the bathroom (there, I said it. Let's not lie to ourselves. Flatulence, defecation. It's part of who we are. Having touched the groin of an old man last week as well as my mother's whilst practicing the cardiovascular exam on her, I have no qualms about talking of such matters. In fact, bring it on. The more we talk about it, the more hilarious it becomes).
J
This is particularly annoying when I go to buffets. The classic Burswood (oh, I'm sorry. Crown) Atrium experience. I have been to Atrium at least three times now. Dessert has consequently become my favourite part of the meal and I have vowed to make it my first trip. Why? Because, after two trips to the entree area and at least one to the mains area, my insides are churning and my ileum is trying to escape through my umbilicus. It's like a thousand worms are wriggling around. But these aren't normal worms. They have teeth and are gnawing at my inside. It is so freaking uncomfortable and seriously hampers my ability to get more than my money's worth of food. How can I eat five rounds of dessert when my stomach is three times the size of a third trimester woman's?
The answer is... you can't. The solution to this pain is usually a hot water bottle on the belly, sleeping it off and a nice trip to the bathroom (there, I said it. Let's not lie to ourselves. Flatulence, defecation. It's part of who we are. Having touched the groin of an old man last week as well as my mother's whilst practicing the cardiovascular exam on her, I have no qualms about talking of such matters. In fact, bring it on. The more we talk about it, the more hilarious it becomes).
J
Monday, August 19, 2013
Game
I kept trying to blog yesterday but, because I'd logged into LMS, I kept hitting a wall and then couldn't be bothered trying to leap over it.
Today was kind of rough. For no real apparent reason. I just felt down and out of place. I accidentally walked into Chris while we were looking for somewhere in the library to prepare for our Psychology of Healing presentation in a few weeks. That was pleasant. He asked me if I was staying for the lectures later and I fully intended to... but then he said that if I was, we should get coffee/lunch before then. I balked and said I was too lazy and was going home. I'm pretty sure he knew I was just making an excuse because I didn't want to hang. It's just that over four hours of one-on-one with someone who isn't immediate family or one of my close friends is incredibly traumatizing to me.
On the bus home (obviously, I went through with going home early...), I really wanted to talk to someone. I was craving human interaction because I was feeling pretty crappy about my earlier social ineptitude. I saw this guy nerdy guy taking the same bus as me home. He was from UWA too because he was reading from a UWA reader. I didn't end up talking to him which sucked. It sucked because I was watching (multiple episodes of) The Mindy Project last night and admiring her game. Her ability to go up to guys seemingly out of her league, strike up confident conversation then get asked out on a date. This guy wasn't even out of my league. He was nerdy as hell but I thought he was really cute.
Another guy sat next to me on the bus home. He was reading some printed lecture slides about myocardial infarction and I guessed he was a nursing student as we were going towards ECU. At least three times, I was on the brink of asking what he was studying so we could have some pleasant conversation about the health sciences and ultimately be best friends.
This did not happen.
Oh well, tomorrow will be better. In the meantime, I will watch more The Mindy Project and work on my game.
J
Today was kind of rough. For no real apparent reason. I just felt down and out of place. I accidentally walked into Chris while we were looking for somewhere in the library to prepare for our Psychology of Healing presentation in a few weeks. That was pleasant. He asked me if I was staying for the lectures later and I fully intended to... but then he said that if I was, we should get coffee/lunch before then. I balked and said I was too lazy and was going home. I'm pretty sure he knew I was just making an excuse because I didn't want to hang. It's just that over four hours of one-on-one with someone who isn't immediate family or one of my close friends is incredibly traumatizing to me.
On the bus home (obviously, I went through with going home early...), I really wanted to talk to someone. I was craving human interaction because I was feeling pretty crappy about my earlier social ineptitude. I saw this guy nerdy guy taking the same bus as me home. He was from UWA too because he was reading from a UWA reader. I didn't end up talking to him which sucked. It sucked because I was watching (multiple episodes of) The Mindy Project last night and admiring her game. Her ability to go up to guys seemingly out of her league, strike up confident conversation then get asked out on a date. This guy wasn't even out of my league. He was nerdy as hell but I thought he was really cute.
Another guy sat next to me on the bus home. He was reading some printed lecture slides about myocardial infarction and I guessed he was a nursing student as we were going towards ECU. At least three times, I was on the brink of asking what he was studying so we could have some pleasant conversation about the health sciences and ultimately be best friends.
This did not happen.
Oh well, tomorrow will be better. In the meantime, I will watch more The Mindy Project and work on my game.
J
Friday, August 16, 2013
Pissed Off
We have locked down a supervisor for our fourth year Research Project. I am elated.
On the downside, I don't think I've ever been so pissed off at Clinton in my entire life. In high school, I used to get pretty antsy with him. I remember talking to him when I was stressed out about a test or something and he seemed almost pleased with my stress. I could see him hide a smile now and then. You can't really go to Clinton with life problems because he doesn't care. Which is not his fault, it's just how he is. He doesn't pretend to be anything different.
This time, I'm getting pissed out because he is so fucking lazy. Him and the other guy in our group, Jacky (who is awesome), asked me to join theirs because they needed a third member. I was reluctant because I know Clinton isn't a big contributor in group projects but Jacky persuaded me by telling him he is a good worker (which he is).
We have managed thus far because Jacky and I have put in a lot of work into the project. We initiate meetings, write up research points, schedule meetings, do the research. The other day, we were in a jam because we had a couple of potential supervisors who were holding meetings but we'd already had a meeting with our current supervisor who'd sent us away to come back with a research proposal before he decided to take us on or not. We (Jacky and I) decided to schedule a meeting with our current supervisor on the day but before another potential supervisor so that if he accepted us, we wouldn't have to go to the other potential supervisor and waste our time.
We decided this on Wednesday and I was starting to freak out that we were unprepared. I suggested we hold a group meeting and Jacky agreed, despite the fact he wasn't even going into uni that day. I called Clinton to tell him this and I thought for sure he'd be fine with it given we had a very limited amount of time to put together a proposal that would impress this guy (we were quite desperate at that time and had already put in research for that project).
Holy fuck. I wish there was an app that allowed me to punch a person through a phone line. Bear in mind, Clinton only goes to uni twice a week for two compulsory tutes. He goes home straight after them so is effectively only at uni for four hours a week.
"Hey, can you come in for a meeting today because we just scheduled a meeting with Surgery Guy (current supervisor) on Friday and we desperately need to prepare," I said (in a less convoluted manner).
"I'm not coming into uni today," he replied.
"Yeah but we really need to have this meeting," I said. "And don't you have a bottle tute today? You're in my group..."
"Yeah, I'm not coming in."
"Clinton, we really need to have this meeting," I said, becoming not just frustrated but fucking furious. I was in the library at that time. If I was outside, I think I would have surely started yelling at him through the phone.
"I'm not coming in!" he said, all stubborn and childish.
"Okay, fine. See you later," I said and hung up.
I literally felt my whole body heat up and get uncomfortable and agitated after that. That's how I get when I'm really angry. I have a physical reaction and want to hurt someone/something (I know; very healthy. Good for when I'm a mother and my children piss me off, I'm sure...).
Do I even need to spell out what a shit bloke move that was? It was Jacky and I that put in pretty much all the work. We brainstormed and came up with the ideas. We organized. We delegated and yes, he did the research we assigned to him. But you know, it's meant to be a team effort. You can't just expect people to direct you. You have to contribute to discussions and brainstorm and take initiative. In all of our meetings so far, he's sat there, looking down and twiddling his thumbs while Jacky and I discuss and try to work through problems. In both meetings we've had with Surgery Guy, he literally has said nothing. Nothing.
We took the bus ride home together. I tried to ditch him after the meeting by saying I had to go to the bathroom and they should go ahead to the bus stop. Unfortunately, I caught up with him at Wellington. I just really couldn't be around him at that point because, even though we were successful with our research proposal, I was still so pissed off with him. When I do group work with people, I expect a certain level of contribution. I know Clinton is slack with his own work but I honestly expected him to contribute more in a group situation.
I've gotten to the point where just his stupid voice pisses me off. And his breathing and his laughter. Everything. Every mannerism. I have reached an unhealthy range of pissed offness.
J
On the downside, I don't think I've ever been so pissed off at Clinton in my entire life. In high school, I used to get pretty antsy with him. I remember talking to him when I was stressed out about a test or something and he seemed almost pleased with my stress. I could see him hide a smile now and then. You can't really go to Clinton with life problems because he doesn't care. Which is not his fault, it's just how he is. He doesn't pretend to be anything different.
This time, I'm getting pissed out because he is so fucking lazy. Him and the other guy in our group, Jacky (who is awesome), asked me to join theirs because they needed a third member. I was reluctant because I know Clinton isn't a big contributor in group projects but Jacky persuaded me by telling him he is a good worker (which he is).
We have managed thus far because Jacky and I have put in a lot of work into the project. We initiate meetings, write up research points, schedule meetings, do the research. The other day, we were in a jam because we had a couple of potential supervisors who were holding meetings but we'd already had a meeting with our current supervisor who'd sent us away to come back with a research proposal before he decided to take us on or not. We (Jacky and I) decided to schedule a meeting with our current supervisor on the day but before another potential supervisor so that if he accepted us, we wouldn't have to go to the other potential supervisor and waste our time.
We decided this on Wednesday and I was starting to freak out that we were unprepared. I suggested we hold a group meeting and Jacky agreed, despite the fact he wasn't even going into uni that day. I called Clinton to tell him this and I thought for sure he'd be fine with it given we had a very limited amount of time to put together a proposal that would impress this guy (we were quite desperate at that time and had already put in research for that project).
Holy fuck. I wish there was an app that allowed me to punch a person through a phone line. Bear in mind, Clinton only goes to uni twice a week for two compulsory tutes. He goes home straight after them so is effectively only at uni for four hours a week.
"Hey, can you come in for a meeting today because we just scheduled a meeting with Surgery Guy (current supervisor) on Friday and we desperately need to prepare," I said (in a less convoluted manner).
"I'm not coming into uni today," he replied.
"Yeah but we really need to have this meeting," I said. "And don't you have a bottle tute today? You're in my group..."
"Yeah, I'm not coming in."
"Clinton, we really need to have this meeting," I said, becoming not just frustrated but fucking furious. I was in the library at that time. If I was outside, I think I would have surely started yelling at him through the phone.
"I'm not coming in!" he said, all stubborn and childish.
"Okay, fine. See you later," I said and hung up.
I literally felt my whole body heat up and get uncomfortable and agitated after that. That's how I get when I'm really angry. I have a physical reaction and want to hurt someone/something (I know; very healthy. Good for when I'm a mother and my children piss me off, I'm sure...).
Do I even need to spell out what a shit bloke move that was? It was Jacky and I that put in pretty much all the work. We brainstormed and came up with the ideas. We organized. We delegated and yes, he did the research we assigned to him. But you know, it's meant to be a team effort. You can't just expect people to direct you. You have to contribute to discussions and brainstorm and take initiative. In all of our meetings so far, he's sat there, looking down and twiddling his thumbs while Jacky and I discuss and try to work through problems. In both meetings we've had with Surgery Guy, he literally has said nothing. Nothing.
We took the bus ride home together. I tried to ditch him after the meeting by saying I had to go to the bathroom and they should go ahead to the bus stop. Unfortunately, I caught up with him at Wellington. I just really couldn't be around him at that point because, even though we were successful with our research proposal, I was still so pissed off with him. When I do group work with people, I expect a certain level of contribution. I know Clinton is slack with his own work but I honestly expected him to contribute more in a group situation.
I've gotten to the point where just his stupid voice pisses me off. And his breathing and his laughter. Everything. Every mannerism. I have reached an unhealthy range of pissed offness.
J
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Irregularly Irregular
Florence + The Machine covered Rihanna. I've fallen in love.
I finished The Princess Diaries. I'm lost; rereading books I've fallen in love with just makes me sadder because I know what's going to happen and I know there's nothing after that. It's like when someone dies. Thinking of old memories with them (I imagine) would be painful.
I felt an old guy's femoral pulse today. Hand right in the groin region. It was awesome. I love when you ask them to lower their pants for you slightly and they yank it down so far you can almost see everything. "Stop, please stop. No further," you think to yourself but instead say, "Thank you. Sorry if my hands are cold," and try to avoid letting those pants go any further down.
Went seven hours between breakfast and lunch today. Just shocking. I was so hungry on the way home that I was nearly in tears. That's normal, right?
J
I finished The Princess Diaries. I'm lost; rereading books I've fallen in love with just makes me sadder because I know what's going to happen and I know there's nothing after that. It's like when someone dies. Thinking of old memories with them (I imagine) would be painful.
I felt an old guy's femoral pulse today. Hand right in the groin region. It was awesome. I love when you ask them to lower their pants for you slightly and they yank it down so far you can almost see everything. "Stop, please stop. No further," you think to yourself but instead say, "Thank you. Sorry if my hands are cold," and try to avoid letting those pants go any further down.
Went seven hours between breakfast and lunch today. Just shocking. I was so hungry on the way home that I was nearly in tears. That's normal, right?
J
Monday, August 12, 2013
I Feel You in My Heart and I Don't Even Know You
Is it normal to feel like your entire outlook on life is shattered by reading a post on someone's blog? I am referring to this one: http://www.hungryrunnergirl.com/2013/08/i-am-going-through-the-hardest-time-of-my-life.html
Hungry Runner Girl is one of my favourite bloggers in the entire universe. She is the happiest, most lighthearted, loving, sweet and kind women I've ever... known? Chanced upon? Read about? She has a little daughter who may or may not be under one year of age.
I honestly don't know how to feel right now. I'm actually devastated by the news that she's getting divorced from her husband. They're both so young and I thought so in love. This makes me very upset.
J
Hungry Runner Girl is one of my favourite bloggers in the entire universe. She is the happiest, most lighthearted, loving, sweet and kind women I've ever... known? Chanced upon? Read about? She has a little daughter who may or may not be under one year of age.
I honestly don't know how to feel right now. I'm actually devastated by the news that she's getting divorced from her husband. They're both so young and I thought so in love. This makes me very upset.
J
Collision
I nearly ran over a lady on my bike this afternoon. Can people not hear me ring my bell 700 times?! Just jokes, it was more like 400 times. I felt pretty bad after. I tried to go around but there was sand. It was an almost collision...
Also, do you remember Hot Family Friend? He's in Mongolia right now working with the government there as part of an "exchange" program. Something to do with commerce and economics. I don't really know. It's like Michael Moscovitz and his moving to Japan to build a robotic arm for cardiac surgery so he can prove his worth to Mia!
When I was in middle school (young, impressionable, maybe more hormonal than I am now), we went to their house to visit (back when I was young enough for my parents to drag me to things like that). He was boxing shirtless outside.
That is all.
J
Also, do you remember Hot Family Friend? He's in Mongolia right now working with the government there as part of an "exchange" program. Something to do with commerce and economics. I don't really know. It's like Michael Moscovitz and his moving to Japan to build a robotic arm for cardiac surgery so he can prove his worth to Mia!
When I was in middle school (young, impressionable, maybe more hormonal than I am now), we went to their house to visit (back when I was young enough for my parents to drag me to things like that). He was boxing shirtless outside.
That is all.
J
Thank You For Being Here Today
I've almost finished reading The Princess Diaries series. I don't think a series of books has captivated me this much in a long time. That being said, I haven't really been reading many series since Flowers in the Attic back in the summer of 2010/11 (I like saying "in the summer of" because it just reeks of nostalgia and I like to reek of nostalgia).
It's nowhere near Meg Cabot's best work. In fact, I would say it's one of her worst works. I feel very detached from the characters, especially Michael Moscovitz. He doesn't really stand out on the page to me and doesn't have a lot of detail about him except being tall, goodlooking and having a nice smelling neck. Sure, I like nice smelling necks as much as the next gal but give me something, Meg. Tonnes of people have nice smelling necks (myself included, thanks to the Wonderstruck perfume I was gifted for my birthday by some special ladettes a while back) but what makes Michael special and worthy of POG's love (that's Princess of Genovia for those not in the know)?
Despite all of this, I'm absolutely enthralled and spent much of the bus ride home reading, pushing through the nauseating headache I always get whenever I read in a moving vehicle. I had to hide the cover of the book because it is sparkly silver with pink writing and I don't want to damage by street cred. I will be sad when I finish this last book. Really quite sad. I think a lot of it is because I'm getting to relive days gone by by reading a book set in high school.
Psychology of Healing is getting kind of interesting. We talked about positive psychology in today's tute and it makes me want to practice it. You know, thinking about what you're grateful for, what you like about yourself etc. instead of focusing on the negative. This is hard because I always focus on the negative. We also drew these pie charts of our life. For example, how much of your life is spent studying, socializing, being creative etc. And then we drew a pie chart of our ideal life.
It was just sad.
My ideal life was 25% creativity and learning. I learn a lot now (for example, did you know that the basal cell carcinoma is the most common of all cancers in Australia?) but it's mostly stuff I don't want to learn about. What do I want to learn about? That is very hard to say. I enjoy learning stuff that makes me feel like I can contribute to a conversation. Life stuff. Economics, politics, history (apparently I'm very social sciences orientated? I don't think this is ultimately true because I also happen to like learning about maths and physics. It's just that you rarely have a conversation revolving around maths or physics unless you're Helen and like to argue about that stuff. I do not). I like learning about people and observing their habits. Like a stalker. No, really. As an introvert by nature, I spend a lot of my life observing others. You know when people tell you not to worry, no one actually saw you do that really embarrassing thing in public? Or that no one pays attention to anyone else in the gym? Well, I saw you. I've seen a lot of interesting things in my time as an introvert (AKA 20+ years).
My ideal life also did not include studying. And was about 45% travelling/eating. I put travelling and eating together because I feel they go hand-in-hand. Food is the most joyous part of travelling.
I feel sad that my ideal life pie chart is very different to my current life and I want to change that. I'm always the person working hard now (work, work, work) so I can relax later, stress less about exams, get a good job, get a good income so I can travel and have fun. But I still always stress at exams and study a tonne. Why doesn't anyone seize the day anymore? Why do we not do anything fun unless it's the holidays? Why is it so hard to let go of routine and safety nets when we should be embracing every adventure that comes our way? Why do we make plan to have fun in the future when we can be having fun now?
Some thoughts for you to ponder.
In the meantime, I have to finish this lecture on Common Skin Neoplasms. Who said I'm not having fun?
As my parting gift to you, practice some positive psychology today by making a list of three things you're grateful for and that are good in your life. Here's mine:
1. I get to read Meg Cabot books and she is wonderful. A gift to womankind (and mankind!).
2. I get to make decisions about my life. Sure, I let people influence me but, ultimately, if I really didn't want to be in med anymore I could leave and no one could stop me.
3. Split ends.
J
It's nowhere near Meg Cabot's best work. In fact, I would say it's one of her worst works. I feel very detached from the characters, especially Michael Moscovitz. He doesn't really stand out on the page to me and doesn't have a lot of detail about him except being tall, goodlooking and having a nice smelling neck. Sure, I like nice smelling necks as much as the next gal but give me something, Meg. Tonnes of people have nice smelling necks (myself included, thanks to the Wonderstruck perfume I was gifted for my birthday by some special ladettes a while back) but what makes Michael special and worthy of POG's love (that's Princess of Genovia for those not in the know)?
Despite all of this, I'm absolutely enthralled and spent much of the bus ride home reading, pushing through the nauseating headache I always get whenever I read in a moving vehicle. I had to hide the cover of the book because it is sparkly silver with pink writing and I don't want to damage by street cred. I will be sad when I finish this last book. Really quite sad. I think a lot of it is because I'm getting to relive days gone by by reading a book set in high school.
Psychology of Healing is getting kind of interesting. We talked about positive psychology in today's tute and it makes me want to practice it. You know, thinking about what you're grateful for, what you like about yourself etc. instead of focusing on the negative. This is hard because I always focus on the negative. We also drew these pie charts of our life. For example, how much of your life is spent studying, socializing, being creative etc. And then we drew a pie chart of our ideal life.
It was just sad.
My ideal life was 25% creativity and learning. I learn a lot now (for example, did you know that the basal cell carcinoma is the most common of all cancers in Australia?) but it's mostly stuff I don't want to learn about. What do I want to learn about? That is very hard to say. I enjoy learning stuff that makes me feel like I can contribute to a conversation. Life stuff. Economics, politics, history (apparently I'm very social sciences orientated? I don't think this is ultimately true because I also happen to like learning about maths and physics. It's just that you rarely have a conversation revolving around maths or physics unless you're Helen and like to argue about that stuff. I do not). I like learning about people and observing their habits. Like a stalker. No, really. As an introvert by nature, I spend a lot of my life observing others. You know when people tell you not to worry, no one actually saw you do that really embarrassing thing in public? Or that no one pays attention to anyone else in the gym? Well, I saw you. I've seen a lot of interesting things in my time as an introvert (AKA 20+ years).
My ideal life also did not include studying. And was about 45% travelling/eating. I put travelling and eating together because I feel they go hand-in-hand. Food is the most joyous part of travelling.
I feel sad that my ideal life pie chart is very different to my current life and I want to change that. I'm always the person working hard now (work, work, work) so I can relax later, stress less about exams, get a good job, get a good income so I can travel and have fun. But I still always stress at exams and study a tonne. Why doesn't anyone seize the day anymore? Why do we not do anything fun unless it's the holidays? Why is it so hard to let go of routine and safety nets when we should be embracing every adventure that comes our way? Why do we make plan to have fun in the future when we can be having fun now?
Some thoughts for you to ponder.
In the meantime, I have to finish this lecture on Common Skin Neoplasms. Who said I'm not having fun?
As my parting gift to you, practice some positive psychology today by making a list of three things you're grateful for and that are good in your life. Here's mine:
1. I get to read Meg Cabot books and she is wonderful. A gift to womankind (and mankind!).
2. I get to make decisions about my life. Sure, I let people influence me but, ultimately, if I really didn't want to be in med anymore I could leave and no one could stop me.
3. Split ends.
J
Walk in the Streets
Every time I walk through the city from the Esplanade to Wellington, I have the same fantasy.
I hear my name being called over the footsteps of workers on their way home. It's a male voice I'm not that familiar with. I turn around and it's R. He's looking very civil outside of his work uniform. He's carrying an across-the-body satchel (his favourite accessory of choice, I'm not even making that up) and on his way home from TAFE.
"Hi!" I say.
"Hey!" he says as he walks up to me. His appearance has just made my day and I'm smiling wider than I've ever smiled before. He reciprocates.
"Har har, what are the chances?" I say. We make small talk.
"On your way home?" he asks.
"Yeah, you?"
"Yup, have time for a coffee?" he says. I crack into a billion pieces all over the sidewalk.
"Yes, let's go."
And so we do. It's a blissful, sweet dream and usually culminates with him telling me that he just can't keep it to himself anymore, that he's liked me from the first time he met me.
"That's funny," I say with this beatific smile. "I've liked you since the first time I met you."
He smiles back at me and we sit in each other's silence for a few moments.
He walks me to my bus and asks for my number. He texts later that night and we set up a date. The rest is history.
Oprah says that if you think about something enough, it will happen. I hope she is right.
J
I hear my name being called over the footsteps of workers on their way home. It's a male voice I'm not that familiar with. I turn around and it's R. He's looking very civil outside of his work uniform. He's carrying an across-the-body satchel (his favourite accessory of choice, I'm not even making that up) and on his way home from TAFE.
"Hi!" I say.
"Hey!" he says as he walks up to me. His appearance has just made my day and I'm smiling wider than I've ever smiled before. He reciprocates.
"Har har, what are the chances?" I say. We make small talk.
"On your way home?" he asks.
"Yeah, you?"
"Yup, have time for a coffee?" he says. I crack into a billion pieces all over the sidewalk.
"Yes, let's go."
And so we do. It's a blissful, sweet dream and usually culminates with him telling me that he just can't keep it to himself anymore, that he's liked me from the first time he met me.
"That's funny," I say with this beatific smile. "I've liked you since the first time I met you."
He smiles back at me and we sit in each other's silence for a few moments.
He walks me to my bus and asks for my number. He texts later that night and we set up a date. The rest is history.
Oprah says that if you think about something enough, it will happen. I hope she is right.
J
Sunday, August 11, 2013
S, M, L
I've lost 1kg since starting uni. It's all that pecans 'n cream Baskin Robbins and chocolate fondue during the holidays. It made my body revert back to its old ways (ice cream after school... every day for like three months in year 11) so that not eating regular crap made my metabolism go cray. With that 1kg loss, I'm officially over halfway to my goal weight with 4kg left to lose.
But enough of that. Sometimes, I eat breakfast at 6.15am and am honestly hungry by 8.45am. As in, grumbling stomach, abdominal pains, desperate attempts to stall my hunger by trying to not think of food then ending up thinking about food... a lot and counting down the minutes until an acceptable lunchtime (12pm so I can sustain myself until 5pm). My breakfasts are not small either. I eat the most breakfast out of everyone I know. When I see people's paltry little bowls of cereal or singular piece of toast, I cry a little inside. My bowls of oatmeal are literally double the normal serving size. I have no regrets. I love oatmeal.
I have nothing to do today because I stopped taking notes for lectures. It's freaking fantastic but I feel mildly guilty for doing so little work this semester compared to all the semesters past. But less guilty than I would have last semester. It would be wrong to start studying for exams now, right? Har har, end of second week... I'm a freaking chump.
Without having to take lecture notes, I've managed to complete all my GP placement tasks, finish both of my Psychology of Healing essays (800-1000 words each so not much of an effort) one and three months early respectively, start getting serious about my cardiovascular clinical skills exam in two weeks (normally, I leave it until the weekend before... then fail) and alter two pairs of jeans and two skirts.
I bought a pair of $7.50 maroon jeans from Jay Jays during the holidays and thought they were freaking fantastic because they were high waisted. Except that when I tried them on at home without the enthusiasm of being mid-shop, I found they were too big. I took to the internet and found this amazing solution; thread elastic through the waistband. It worked. They sit super nice and flush against my waisty area without the gap at the back. It's a miracle.
One of the skirts I altered was a super cute maroon skater skirt that I wore for Prosh. I only wore it once, having bought it during the summer holidays. I went to wear it to uni the other day and found it a size too big. Humble brag? No, because it's a size large and everyone else I know is a size small. You know, it's actually so discouraging to have to buy size large things because large implies... well, large. It's not medium; medium is average. Average is good. It's not small; small is especially good because it means you are smaller than medium which is smaller than average. Everyone wants to be smaller than average (unless you're a penis). But large is... large is bigger than medium which is bigger than average. No one wants to be bigger than average (unless you're a penis... and even then, you don't want to be too much bigger and scare away the ladettes).
It occurred to me when I had to start buying size large instead of medium (1/5/12) that there wasn't really a size above large offered by my usual haunts. Occasionally, a size extra large is offered but not that often. Which meant that if I put on any more weight, I'd have to start shopping at City Chic or solely K-Mart. That was a pretty scary moment for me.
This post was hardly meant to revolve around weight or clothing sizes but it's come to be just that. I know I'm not projecting positive thoughts for other people who might be overweight or size large. I'm, in fact, condemning size large and saying it's bigger than average. But this is how I felt/feel. I can't change that and I won't disguise it behind words like, "But I was fit at size large!" I wasn't unhealthy but I still was shocked to see myself in full body pictures and overreacted every time anyone said anything about my weight or appearance.
To conclude: it's lunchtime.
J
But enough of that. Sometimes, I eat breakfast at 6.15am and am honestly hungry by 8.45am. As in, grumbling stomach, abdominal pains, desperate attempts to stall my hunger by trying to not think of food then ending up thinking about food... a lot and counting down the minutes until an acceptable lunchtime (12pm so I can sustain myself until 5pm). My breakfasts are not small either. I eat the most breakfast out of everyone I know. When I see people's paltry little bowls of cereal or singular piece of toast, I cry a little inside. My bowls of oatmeal are literally double the normal serving size. I have no regrets. I love oatmeal.
I have nothing to do today because I stopped taking notes for lectures. It's freaking fantastic but I feel mildly guilty for doing so little work this semester compared to all the semesters past. But less guilty than I would have last semester. It would be wrong to start studying for exams now, right? Har har, end of second week... I'm a freaking chump.
Without having to take lecture notes, I've managed to complete all my GP placement tasks, finish both of my Psychology of Healing essays (800-1000 words each so not much of an effort) one and three months early respectively, start getting serious about my cardiovascular clinical skills exam in two weeks (normally, I leave it until the weekend before... then fail) and alter two pairs of jeans and two skirts.
I bought a pair of $7.50 maroon jeans from Jay Jays during the holidays and thought they were freaking fantastic because they were high waisted. Except that when I tried them on at home without the enthusiasm of being mid-shop, I found they were too big. I took to the internet and found this amazing solution; thread elastic through the waistband. It worked. They sit super nice and flush against my waisty area without the gap at the back. It's a miracle.
One of the skirts I altered was a super cute maroon skater skirt that I wore for Prosh. I only wore it once, having bought it during the summer holidays. I went to wear it to uni the other day and found it a size too big. Humble brag? No, because it's a size large and everyone else I know is a size small. You know, it's actually so discouraging to have to buy size large things because large implies... well, large. It's not medium; medium is average. Average is good. It's not small; small is especially good because it means you are smaller than medium which is smaller than average. Everyone wants to be smaller than average (unless you're a penis). But large is... large is bigger than medium which is bigger than average. No one wants to be bigger than average (unless you're a penis... and even then, you don't want to be too much bigger and scare away the ladettes).
It occurred to me when I had to start buying size large instead of medium (1/5/12) that there wasn't really a size above large offered by my usual haunts. Occasionally, a size extra large is offered but not that often. Which meant that if I put on any more weight, I'd have to start shopping at City Chic or solely K-Mart. That was a pretty scary moment for me.
This post was hardly meant to revolve around weight or clothing sizes but it's come to be just that. I know I'm not projecting positive thoughts for other people who might be overweight or size large. I'm, in fact, condemning size large and saying it's bigger than average. But this is how I felt/feel. I can't change that and I won't disguise it behind words like, "But I was fit at size large!" I wasn't unhealthy but I still was shocked to see myself in full body pictures and overreacted every time anyone said anything about my weight or appearance.
To conclude: it's lunchtime.
J
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Schedule in the Good
Remember when I said nothing could stop me from going cycling this morning? I was wrong.
I woke up this morning at 6.30am, had a bowl of cereal and yoghurt, changed into my workout clothes and stuck on some sunscreen. I was so pumped, my keys jangling around my neck with each enthusiastic step. I've progressively moved all my keys to a landyard that I can hang around my neck. It started with just my front door keys for when I go jogging... then the garage door for days when I have to bring in the rubbish bin after jogging... and now the back door keys for when I go cycling. Now I have a giant chain of metal hanging around my neck every time I step out of the house.
Back to my story. I donned shoes, socks and helmet and started wheeling out my bike around 7am. That's when I heard it. Floomp, floomp, floomp. My front tire. Flat as my chest was in year eight.
I couldn't believe it. I've only been out cycling twice so far! And yes, I do cycle in quite an extreme fashion because there's nothing fun about going slowly or not cycling up curbs but really, a flat tire? I was very frustrated by this point.
My dad was kind enough to change the tire while I was at work today. He said there was a rose thorn stuck in the tire. A ROSE THORN. A FREAKING ROSE THORN. How does this stuff even happen anymore? Hasn't our technology advanced?
I was pissed enough when I went to work at 12pm but I became more pissed when I found out R's shift had been cancelled. So, I didn't get to see him like I had planned. This made my day even shittier.
Hopefully, the day gets better. I've scheduled in a choc mint Trumpet ice cream later this evening so that should make up for at least half the flat tire.
J
I woke up this morning at 6.30am, had a bowl of cereal and yoghurt, changed into my workout clothes and stuck on some sunscreen. I was so pumped, my keys jangling around my neck with each enthusiastic step. I've progressively moved all my keys to a landyard that I can hang around my neck. It started with just my front door keys for when I go jogging... then the garage door for days when I have to bring in the rubbish bin after jogging... and now the back door keys for when I go cycling. Now I have a giant chain of metal hanging around my neck every time I step out of the house.
Back to my story. I donned shoes, socks and helmet and started wheeling out my bike around 7am. That's when I heard it. Floomp, floomp, floomp. My front tire. Flat as my chest was in year eight.
I couldn't believe it. I've only been out cycling twice so far! And yes, I do cycle in quite an extreme fashion because there's nothing fun about going slowly or not cycling up curbs but really, a flat tire? I was very frustrated by this point.
My dad was kind enough to change the tire while I was at work today. He said there was a rose thorn stuck in the tire. A ROSE THORN. A FREAKING ROSE THORN. How does this stuff even happen anymore? Hasn't our technology advanced?
I was pissed enough when I went to work at 12pm but I became more pissed when I found out R's shift had been cancelled. So, I didn't get to see him like I had planned. This made my day even shittier.
Hopefully, the day gets better. I've scheduled in a choc mint Trumpet ice cream later this evening so that should make up for at least half the flat tire.
J
She Don't Got a Lot to Say
I really want my future boyfriend to be named Eric. I think it comes down to my deep-seated love for The Little Mermaid. That was my favourite Disney movie ever. How unsophisticated and childish of me. It lacks the heart and soul of movies like The Lion King or the strong political/social message of movies like Pocahontas.
I don't care. Ariel was just so pretty with the floppy red hair and Prince Eric... Oh, Prince Eric. I think that was the movie that started my ongoing obsession with romantic comedies and various other romantically inclined media sources.
J
I don't care. Ariel was just so pretty with the floppy red hair and Prince Eric... Oh, Prince Eric. I think that was the movie that started my ongoing obsession with romantic comedies and various other romantically inclined media sources.
J
I Judge
Holy shit. Sarah Dessen just said that she had a "drug problem" in high school involving pot, harder stuff and "dark times."
For those interested: http://sarahdessen.com/3802/blog/the-friday-five-111/
This makes me respect her more. Whenever I used to read her books about broken homes (although I don't think she comes from a borken home) or "girls with issues," I used to question her ability to accurately portray them given that she seems to come from a very happy, pleasant childhood in freaking Chapel Hill, North Carolina. I mean, have you ever heard of a more picturesque town name? No, I didn't think so.
I'm just kind of shocked but then I don't really care too much because I stopped reading her books a while ago. But I still read her blog due to a sense of nostalgia and because I used to really, really love her. I read Dreamland about 20 times and then moved onto This Lullaby, fell in love with Dexter and haven't managed to escape since.
Moral of the story: don't judge a book by its cover. Har har har. Get it? Because she's an author.
J
For those interested: http://sarahdessen.com/3802/blog/the-friday-five-111/
This makes me respect her more. Whenever I used to read her books about broken homes (although I don't think she comes from a borken home) or "girls with issues," I used to question her ability to accurately portray them given that she seems to come from a very happy, pleasant childhood in freaking Chapel Hill, North Carolina. I mean, have you ever heard of a more picturesque town name? No, I didn't think so.
I'm just kind of shocked but then I don't really care too much because I stopped reading her books a while ago. But I still read her blog due to a sense of nostalgia and because I used to really, really love her. I read Dreamland about 20 times and then moved onto This Lullaby, fell in love with Dexter and haven't managed to escape since.
Moral of the story: don't judge a book by its cover. Har har har. Get it? Because she's an author.
J
Friday, August 9, 2013
Get Out, Right Now
Stress.
I know it's a normal part of life and supposedly it's even healthy. A little anxiety before an exam is supposed to make you perform better. But I think that's for people who have actually studied and are anxious because they care a lot about how they do.
I'm so stressed right now. And I wasn't a week ago. A week ago, I was cruising on a boat of fluffy marshmallows. I was reading and watching copious amounts of TV. I was chilling and planning for the future. It was bliss. Now, my mind is constantly racing and I'm getting heart palpitations.
Yeah, heart palpitations. I used to get them all the time back in first year and even a bit of second year. I'd get so worked up and anxious before some interaction or some class. I'd pee 30 times before, get a racing heart, sweatier palms (my palms are always sweaty) and get there 30 minutes early. But then I stopped getting them because I adopted a new philosophy to life.
It worked for me. This new philosophy. It was something like... take every day as it comes, every adversity is a challenge for you to overcome, every scary social situation is a chance for you to grow, mature and experience. It was freaking fantastic and I started feeling better.
Then exams came at the end of last semester and I've never experienced anything quite so stressful as that. I spent late nights studying (something I never do) then go to bed and not be able to sleep because I would be subconsciously revising what I'd covered that night. Then I'd set my alarm for 7am everyday and do it all over again. It was soul-suckingly bad. It was the kind of stress that can make someone sick.
But then it was holidays! And I forgot everything I'd been stressed about. For one beautiful month, life was perfect. But semester two brought adversity that perhaps I could not handle with my new philosophy to life. I plunged headfirst into a feeling of insecurity and doubt. That was stressful. But maybe stressful is the wrong word. It was more emotional than stressful. Stress can make you cry but you can still detach yourself from stress.
I recovered (see last week's posts). I set new goals and started feeling good. But this stupid research project came along. We (my group) had a meeting with a prospective research supervisor. Winthrop professor, head of surgery, something or other. He was intimidating as fuck and the first thing he said to us when we came in was, "I've had five or six groups approach me and I can only take on one or two."
Well, fuck. I thought that meeting us meant he was definitely taking us on. We have a time limit and, at this rate, we'll be pushing it. He's asked us to come back in two weeks with a research proposal and then he'll decide. So, it's basically an audition with no sense of security. He's toying with us. He gets sadistic pleasure out of this.
This is the root of my stress but I'm trying to handle it as best I can. When something even begins to stress me out, everything else starts tumbling down as well. There's a whirlwind of lectures and research and essays and notes and tutorials and meetings in my head.
I may need a bike ride this afternoon.
I know I can overcome this stress (mostly because there's not really an alternative. Keep going or fail). I think we all can and I stand by my other life philosophy which is this: gain as many life experiences as you can. Because life experiences make you a stronger person. Whether good or bad, without life experiences you're just an empty shell. You're the Adam Brody to Seth Cohen. You're the empty mug to hot chocolate. You're nothing.
J
I know it's a normal part of life and supposedly it's even healthy. A little anxiety before an exam is supposed to make you perform better. But I think that's for people who have actually studied and are anxious because they care a lot about how they do.
I'm so stressed right now. And I wasn't a week ago. A week ago, I was cruising on a boat of fluffy marshmallows. I was reading and watching copious amounts of TV. I was chilling and planning for the future. It was bliss. Now, my mind is constantly racing and I'm getting heart palpitations.
Yeah, heart palpitations. I used to get them all the time back in first year and even a bit of second year. I'd get so worked up and anxious before some interaction or some class. I'd pee 30 times before, get a racing heart, sweatier palms (my palms are always sweaty) and get there 30 minutes early. But then I stopped getting them because I adopted a new philosophy to life.
It worked for me. This new philosophy. It was something like... take every day as it comes, every adversity is a challenge for you to overcome, every scary social situation is a chance for you to grow, mature and experience. It was freaking fantastic and I started feeling better.
Then exams came at the end of last semester and I've never experienced anything quite so stressful as that. I spent late nights studying (something I never do) then go to bed and not be able to sleep because I would be subconsciously revising what I'd covered that night. Then I'd set my alarm for 7am everyday and do it all over again. It was soul-suckingly bad. It was the kind of stress that can make someone sick.
But then it was holidays! And I forgot everything I'd been stressed about. For one beautiful month, life was perfect. But semester two brought adversity that perhaps I could not handle with my new philosophy to life. I plunged headfirst into a feeling of insecurity and doubt. That was stressful. But maybe stressful is the wrong word. It was more emotional than stressful. Stress can make you cry but you can still detach yourself from stress.
I recovered (see last week's posts). I set new goals and started feeling good. But this stupid research project came along. We (my group) had a meeting with a prospective research supervisor. Winthrop professor, head of surgery, something or other. He was intimidating as fuck and the first thing he said to us when we came in was, "I've had five or six groups approach me and I can only take on one or two."
Well, fuck. I thought that meeting us meant he was definitely taking us on. We have a time limit and, at this rate, we'll be pushing it. He's asked us to come back in two weeks with a research proposal and then he'll decide. So, it's basically an audition with no sense of security. He's toying with us. He gets sadistic pleasure out of this.
This is the root of my stress but I'm trying to handle it as best I can. When something even begins to stress me out, everything else starts tumbling down as well. There's a whirlwind of lectures and research and essays and notes and tutorials and meetings in my head.
I may need a bike ride this afternoon.
I know I can overcome this stress (mostly because there's not really an alternative. Keep going or fail). I think we all can and I stand by my other life philosophy which is this: gain as many life experiences as you can. Because life experiences make you a stronger person. Whether good or bad, without life experiences you're just an empty shell. You're the Adam Brody to Seth Cohen. You're the empty mug to hot chocolate. You're nothing.
J
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Complaining About Complainers
I really struggle sympathizing with my brother. He's constantly in some sort of ongoing tumultuous argument with someone in Enactus (formerly known as SIFE) or super frustrated about something else. And he doesn't stop talking about it for hours. And hours. And swearing and standing there in a huff.
I feel pretty bad about it because sometimes I just tell him to shut up and leave me alone. Maybe it's because he does it so often that I question how true his anger/frustration is? I think it's because I tend to keep serious things inside until I have a mental/emotional breakdown. So, when I see people going off on tangents like that, I think to myself that they must be overreacting and need to settle down.
Anyway, it was a long day. I'm tired and the guy sitting next to me on the bus stank like shit and was also crushing me against the window.
J
I feel pretty bad about it because sometimes I just tell him to shut up and leave me alone. Maybe it's because he does it so often that I question how true his anger/frustration is? I think it's because I tend to keep serious things inside until I have a mental/emotional breakdown. So, when I see people going off on tangents like that, I think to myself that they must be overreacting and need to settle down.
Anyway, it was a long day. I'm tired and the guy sitting next to me on the bus stank like shit and was also crushing me against the window.
J
Monday, August 5, 2013
A Family of Poo
I had my first coffee today in a really long time. Regular flat white, one sugar. It was delicious. This is concerning because coffee is meant to be bad for you and I've always preached the benefits of tea. I will not pick up this habit. It's also expensive and adds unnecessary calories. I would rather save up those calories and eat a big piece of chocolate cake once a week.
Apparently, everyone in my family is going through some kind of personal identity crisis right now. Mine, you've likely read/hear ad nauseum by now and want to kick me in the boobs every time you hear me bring it up. But apparently my brother is also incredibly disenchanted with the commerce/law/professional world and wants to start up some kind of social justice organization when he graduates. With what start up capital, I'm unsure of. My dad hates his job and is counting down the days until he retires (in about a month's time... Lord, save us). My mum is so stressed at work that she won't shut up about it, making me want to kick her in the boobs.
On the plus side, the Cadbury Oreo hybrid block just tastes better everyday. I'm savouring those blocks of sweet pleasure. Maybe I can stretch them out for a year.
J
Apparently, everyone in my family is going through some kind of personal identity crisis right now. Mine, you've likely read/hear ad nauseum by now and want to kick me in the boobs every time you hear me bring it up. But apparently my brother is also incredibly disenchanted with the commerce/law/professional world and wants to start up some kind of social justice organization when he graduates. With what start up capital, I'm unsure of. My dad hates his job and is counting down the days until he retires (in about a month's time... Lord, save us). My mum is so stressed at work that she won't shut up about it, making me want to kick her in the boobs.
On the plus side, the Cadbury Oreo hybrid block just tastes better everyday. I'm savouring those blocks of sweet pleasure. Maybe I can stretch them out for a year.
J
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Oh, Cycling
I don't even have sufficient words to express my joy. Cycling is the bees' knees. More than one bee. Thousands of bees (note the apostrophe). I love the wind rushing through what hair hangs out of my helmet (teal; coincidentally matching my bike), the liberating thrill of the wheels underneath me, the tepid muscle burn just above me inner knees.
It's like my childhood fantasies come alive. The Famous Five on their adventures, on their bikes and with George's dog, Timmy, running alongside them. I feel I can conquer anything when I'm cycling.
It's so much fun.
It doesn't have that cardiovascular burn that could replace running (sadly) so it will have to be a supplement to my existing exercise routine. Or it can just be a relaxing hobby that just so happens to be mildly healthy. I can't believe I went so long without cycling.
I used to cycle a bit in my childhood. Just with my family. Once, we cycled from the city to Fremantle. But then we were all so tired after getting to Fremantle that my dad took a taxi back to the city, drove the car to Fremantle and drove us home. Hardy har har.
The most recent cycling experience of mine is on Rottnest Island when I went with my cousin last summer. But it was so unbearably hot (38C from memory) that I couldn't enjoy it. But cycling in the evenings, just before the sun sets, is so unbelievably relaxing that it may just be my new favourite pastime.
J
It's like my childhood fantasies come alive. The Famous Five on their adventures, on their bikes and with George's dog, Timmy, running alongside them. I feel I can conquer anything when I'm cycling.
It's so much fun.
It doesn't have that cardiovascular burn that could replace running (sadly) so it will have to be a supplement to my existing exercise routine. Or it can just be a relaxing hobby that just so happens to be mildly healthy. I can't believe I went so long without cycling.
I used to cycle a bit in my childhood. Just with my family. Once, we cycled from the city to Fremantle. But then we were all so tired after getting to Fremantle that my dad took a taxi back to the city, drove the car to Fremantle and drove us home. Hardy har har.
The most recent cycling experience of mine is on Rottnest Island when I went with my cousin last summer. But it was so unbearably hot (38C from memory) that I couldn't enjoy it. But cycling in the evenings, just before the sun sets, is so unbelievably relaxing that it may just be my new favourite pastime.
J
The Travel Bug
In addition to being imbibed by a new dedication to my medical studies, I am also imbibed with a desire to travel the world. Every nook and cranny. No stone unturned. No country too boring sounding, too filthy, too dodgy. I will brave the human trafficking reputation of Eastern Europe in a question for self-fulfillment. A brief list for the next 10 years:
- Western Europe
- Russia
- Sri Lanka (I don't know where that came from)
- Western China
- Canada
My weekend has been pretty special. Special in how relaxed I am. I feel really at peace right now, sorry to be so cliched. I feel calm. For the rest of the day, I'll finish going over last week's lecture slides, go for a jog and a bike ride then read e-books I illegally torrented.
J
The Combined Contraceptive Almond
Last night, I dreamed that almonds acted as a contraceptive pill of sorts. They were absurdly effective. You just took one like you would take the Pill and all was dandy. Can you imagine how cost effective that would be? Just proves, I am thrifty even in my dreams.
I am going for my first bicycle ride today on my new (to me) bike. I'm so excited; it's that sad.
J
I am going for my first bicycle ride today on my new (to me) bike. I'm so excited; it's that sad.
J
Saturday, August 3, 2013
We Belong Together
I JUST TORRENTED MY FIRST... TORRENT.
Sorry, I still don't know what the terminology is. I was super systematic and did research first on how to do it safely. What the best, most reliable sites are. How to look out for dodgy files (bits? Torrent bits? Torrents? Torrential downpour?). I think I did good.
I bet you're wondering what my first torrent was (I'm just going to call them torrents from now on). Go on, guess.
Give up?
It was The Host by Stephenie Meyer. Because I love the movie (I wish I had two people living in my head, each desired greatly by a hot guy) and I therefore needed to read the book.
I'm not sure that it's a good idea to publicize my illegal activity on a blog that could very well be traced back to me. I plead ignorance.
Also, this is a super sick blog: http://www.streetfood.com.au I especially love the travel posts; there is nothing as exciting about travelling as the food. Grocery shopping, in particular for me, is such a treat in a foreign country. There's nothing like it. And street food. Street food is the best. Even though it may give you diarrhea, it's so damn delicious, cheap and carbacious in nature.
J
Sorry, I still don't know what the terminology is. I was super systematic and did research first on how to do it safely. What the best, most reliable sites are. How to look out for dodgy files (bits? Torrent bits? Torrents? Torrential downpour?). I think I did good.
I bet you're wondering what my first torrent was (I'm just going to call them torrents from now on). Go on, guess.
Give up?
It was The Host by Stephenie Meyer. Because I love the movie (I wish I had two people living in my head, each desired greatly by a hot guy) and I therefore needed to read the book.
I'm not sure that it's a good idea to publicize my illegal activity on a blog that could very well be traced back to me. I plead ignorance.
Also, this is a super sick blog: http://www.streetfood.com.au I especially love the travel posts; there is nothing as exciting about travelling as the food. Grocery shopping, in particular for me, is such a treat in a foreign country. There's nothing like it. And street food. Street food is the best. Even though it may give you diarrhea, it's so damn delicious, cheap and carbacious in nature.
J
Ping
He's beautiful. We had a heated political discussion with another coworker about the PNG "solution." He is so knowledgeable and not just about Australian politics but American politics and European politics. Oh, my God. I wanted to rip his pants off right there and then.
In case Little Mishelle is wondering, he does not support the PNG thing.
This whole experience has made my desire for him flood back to me in a torrential rain. The way he spoke, the conviction but also that patient intelligence. Nothing turns me on faster than intelligence. This guy has it in such a non-assuming, humble way that I never noticed before. Very Jess Mariano in that respect.
I, conversely, became flustered and kind of upset arguing with this other guy. R must have thought I was a freak. Chance blown. I was totally anticipating us hooking up in the cash office after that.
J
In case Little Mishelle is wondering, he does not support the PNG thing.
This whole experience has made my desire for him flood back to me in a torrential rain. The way he spoke, the conviction but also that patient intelligence. Nothing turns me on faster than intelligence. This guy has it in such a non-assuming, humble way that I never noticed before. Very Jess Mariano in that respect.
I, conversely, became flustered and kind of upset arguing with this other guy. R must have thought I was a freak. Chance blown. I was totally anticipating us hooking up in the cash office after that.
J
Friday, August 2, 2013
New Energy
Let me preface this blog post by saying the mantou is one of my favourite foods in the entire world. People often criticize it as being tasteless or dry. I find it to be one of, if not the most delicious carbs in the world. Perhaps only superseded by a freshly baked loaf of bread, it has a slightly sweet taste and is simultaneously dense and fluffy. It is also exorbitantly cheap in China. Like 0.1c. I would go back there just for the mantou. They also have a huge variety of steamed buns that I want to bury my face in.
With the preface out of the way (I call it a preface even though it has nothing to do with the rest of this blog post), I want to tell you all that I am imbibed with a new energy. I feel like I'm back in year 12 again and faced with this great expanse ahead of me. I want to throw myself back into my medical studies with no intention of becoming a doctor. Ever.
I want to work in the WHO in Geneva in an office and help save the world, one .pdf at a time. Then, after work, I'll go bike riding through the footpaths and trails of Switzerland, savouring the sweet taste of freedom on my tongue. On long weekends and public holidays, my dog, Jeremiah, and I will go on long road trips. We will explore all that Europe has to offer and find hidden castles, not seen since the Ancient times. Villa San Lorenzo Junaberry, it will be named.
Maybe it hurts now but I'm not unsure about one thing anymore. And that's that I never want to be a doctor. Maybe I never wanted to be a doctor. That's a level of surety that I haven't felt in a while. It feels good to say it.
I'll see you on the Swiss Alps, friends.
J
With the preface out of the way (I call it a preface even though it has nothing to do with the rest of this blog post), I want to tell you all that I am imbibed with a new energy. I feel like I'm back in year 12 again and faced with this great expanse ahead of me. I want to throw myself back into my medical studies with no intention of becoming a doctor. Ever.
I want to work in the WHO in Geneva in an office and help save the world, one .pdf at a time. Then, after work, I'll go bike riding through the footpaths and trails of Switzerland, savouring the sweet taste of freedom on my tongue. On long weekends and public holidays, my dog, Jeremiah, and I will go on long road trips. We will explore all that Europe has to offer and find hidden castles, not seen since the Ancient times. Villa San Lorenzo Junaberry, it will be named.
Maybe it hurts now but I'm not unsure about one thing anymore. And that's that I never want to be a doctor. Maybe I never wanted to be a doctor. That's a level of surety that I haven't felt in a while. It feels good to say it.
I'll see you on the Swiss Alps, friends.
J
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Some Kelly Clarkson Song
Last night was kind of intense.
I approached my dad to talk about things while he was listening to music and hibernating in his little man den. He gets really serious when I talk to him but that's why I talk to him. Because I know he listens and thinks carefully about what I say. He takes my concerns very seriously. I can't talk to my brother about things. He's a bit like Clinton in how he is about reacting to my concerns and thoughts. I remember going to him a couple of years ago when I was going through some tinnitus-related depression. He said something along the lines of, "You'll get used it. I don't know what you want me to say." He wasn't brushing me off; he just didn't know what to say and didn't want to really be there.
So, I talked to my dad. And, while he was very supportive, there was no question of what he wanted me to do. It felt like he was ignoring what I was really saying and instead focusing on how I might be scared of next year or burnt out from studying. It was like he was trying to push away the fact that I might actually want to leave. Leaving medicine wasn't even an option in his mind. He kept saying stuff like, "If you don't know where you're going or don't have an exit plan, maybe it's best to just stay put for the moment." He just kept encouraging me to stay in these little ways and it sucked. I wanted to say stuff and scream because it felt like he wasn't listening to me.
I told him I no longer have any intention of being a doctor when I graduate from uni, regardless of what degree I graduate with. So, what's the point of continuing with this course? He kept saying having a medical degree, regardless of whether you're a doctor or not, is incredibly useful and gives you a lot of options. I don't know if that's true or not but I guess it is in some ways. I remember he said those exact words to me when he was encouraging me to sit the UMAT. "Keep your options open."
Sometimes, I feel like I kept my options closed by going down this path.
And when I mentioned to him that Taran is leaving medicine at the end of this year with a dry smile, he jumped on me and said, "Just because he is leaving doesn't mean you are. Don't let what he does effect you or influence you."
Oh, the painful irony. Does he know how hard this is for me? To even consider it, to consider leaving a good career plan that promises riches, respect and constant job opportunities? This is physically painful for me to admit this. I want so badly to want to be a doctor. How much easier it would be. My dad said the same thing to me last night. He said he wished that it was simple for me so I wouldn't be going through this uncertainty and pain. I do too. But I was never made for this path. I've known it since I was little. I'm a humanities person. I write, I work at desks, I work with words and ideas, not glass slides and Bunsen burners. But I thought I could make myself change.
I told him I wanted him to trust me and trust whatever decision I made. He said that whatever decision I made, he would back me up. He said it with such conviction that I burst into (even more) tears. Even though I know it would kill him and he would think forever, for the rest of my life and his, that I had made the wrong decision, I know he would do his best to support me through it.
I looked into health science at UWA and was horrified to find it had been scrapped in lieu of a selection of Bachelor of Science majors. If health science was a four year course (incorporating science, population health and commerce) still offered at UWA, I'm 80% sure I would have jumped last night.
For now though, I guess I'm sticking with medicine. I want to research more into what my options are. How many years would it take to graduate if I moved into a Bachelor of Science? What postgraduate courses could I take?
J
I approached my dad to talk about things while he was listening to music and hibernating in his little man den. He gets really serious when I talk to him but that's why I talk to him. Because I know he listens and thinks carefully about what I say. He takes my concerns very seriously. I can't talk to my brother about things. He's a bit like Clinton in how he is about reacting to my concerns and thoughts. I remember going to him a couple of years ago when I was going through some tinnitus-related depression. He said something along the lines of, "You'll get used it. I don't know what you want me to say." He wasn't brushing me off; he just didn't know what to say and didn't want to really be there.
So, I talked to my dad. And, while he was very supportive, there was no question of what he wanted me to do. It felt like he was ignoring what I was really saying and instead focusing on how I might be scared of next year or burnt out from studying. It was like he was trying to push away the fact that I might actually want to leave. Leaving medicine wasn't even an option in his mind. He kept saying stuff like, "If you don't know where you're going or don't have an exit plan, maybe it's best to just stay put for the moment." He just kept encouraging me to stay in these little ways and it sucked. I wanted to say stuff and scream because it felt like he wasn't listening to me.
I told him I no longer have any intention of being a doctor when I graduate from uni, regardless of what degree I graduate with. So, what's the point of continuing with this course? He kept saying having a medical degree, regardless of whether you're a doctor or not, is incredibly useful and gives you a lot of options. I don't know if that's true or not but I guess it is in some ways. I remember he said those exact words to me when he was encouraging me to sit the UMAT. "Keep your options open."
Sometimes, I feel like I kept my options closed by going down this path.
And when I mentioned to him that Taran is leaving medicine at the end of this year with a dry smile, he jumped on me and said, "Just because he is leaving doesn't mean you are. Don't let what he does effect you or influence you."
Oh, the painful irony. Does he know how hard this is for me? To even consider it, to consider leaving a good career plan that promises riches, respect and constant job opportunities? This is physically painful for me to admit this. I want so badly to want to be a doctor. How much easier it would be. My dad said the same thing to me last night. He said he wished that it was simple for me so I wouldn't be going through this uncertainty and pain. I do too. But I was never made for this path. I've known it since I was little. I'm a humanities person. I write, I work at desks, I work with words and ideas, not glass slides and Bunsen burners. But I thought I could make myself change.
I told him I wanted him to trust me and trust whatever decision I made. He said that whatever decision I made, he would back me up. He said it with such conviction that I burst into (even more) tears. Even though I know it would kill him and he would think forever, for the rest of my life and his, that I had made the wrong decision, I know he would do his best to support me through it.
I looked into health science at UWA and was horrified to find it had been scrapped in lieu of a selection of Bachelor of Science majors. If health science was a four year course (incorporating science, population health and commerce) still offered at UWA, I'm 80% sure I would have jumped last night.
For now though, I guess I'm sticking with medicine. I want to research more into what my options are. How many years would it take to graduate if I moved into a Bachelor of Science? What postgraduate courses could I take?
J
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)