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‘Wait, what?’ sums all of this up.


Guys, if I might advise? Get yourselves a nurse flatmate. Not only is there fun with sharp objects

[Sequence of events:
Nurse flatmate: Can I practise cannulating you?
Me: SURE! [long pause] Wait, what?
Nurse flatmate: Can I practise sticking needles in your veins?
Me: SURE!]

–but this happens:

Me: Ahh, I have a headache!
Nurse flatmate: Step into my office.

The *thunk* is a giant box of magical, hospital-grade drugs landing on the floor at my feet. “Here,” she says, “try this. And maybe take some of these. Eyeballs hurt? Lost a limb? Concerned about your kidney function?”

Okay, that’s an exaggeration — she didn’t ask about my kidney function. But she DID just cure a headache that’s lasted almost a week in seconds. (To be fair, I could have cured it days ago, since she gave me the drugs on Friday. But she told me I wasn’t allowed to take them with alcohol, so hard choices had to be made.)


A workmate came over to my desk. “Can you look up what season of Supernatural had the episode with the Scarecrow?”

Me: “Season 1. It’s episode 11.”

Her (backing up): You scare me.

I REMEMBER THINGS, you guys! It’s not my FAULT! I probably also know your birthday and your phone number and the title of every episode of Buffy. I know your Twitter handle and your email address and how to spell your name correctly, and the fact that it’s taken me three days to remember what Crank was called has been driving me NUTS. I’ve pretty much been obsessing about it, while also refusing to look it up, because I don’t FORGET STUFF. Not details, anyway.

I can forget whole conversations, months of my life, appointments. Numbers? Names? That shit sticks.


You know how some people have lucky underwear? I will sometimes become convinced that a pair of my knickers are lucky, but I am never sure WHICH pair. So I’ll waste 20 minutes sifting through my drawer, asking my gut to tell me what FEELS RIGHT. I find it VERY STRESSFUL. My gut is kind of indecisive, and if I feel like I’ve picked wrong, it can throw out my entire day.

Or, like, yesterday on my run, I decided that where I crossed the road was going to MATTER TO THE UNIVERSE. Like, if I did it in the wrong place, then everything would go wrong, and the oceans would boil, and innocent children and dolphins would perish.

Should I stop talking?

Posted by

Writer of things. Annoyer of cats. Mother of very small dragons.

4 Comments Join the Conversation

  1. I hadn't even read this on Tuesday when you were like 'tell me the plot of that episode of…' (and now i've forgotten, but the one that's dismal and stuff)…'I'll forget by then' you said, with a cunning grin. You rascal.

    No, you definitely shouldn't stop talking. While neither I, nor you may matter fully and directly to the Universe, I'm pretty sure the Universe matters to us, which I believe has an interchangeable effect. 🙂


  2. I love this blog for obvious reasons..the medical paraphernalia, sharp objects it really does have it all. You have never sounded more like Sydney to me than the last two paragraphs. It's like the two of you are the opposite of psychopaths, you both seem have little men who tazer you in the face just for being human and thinking human thoughts..which is quite a relief to me as I blamed my appallingly lax parenting skills for Syd's constant inner critiquing.


  3. Ha ha ha! I totally have a little man who tazers me in the face for thinking human thoughts! That may be the most accurate depiction ever!

    In the genes, baby. So, not the parenting, but still your fault? 😉


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