NOT. For the faint of heart.

Like the title says.

I appreciate it for its awesome sense of sarcastic humour. And yet, there might be a whisper of truth. Now, I’m not agreeing that what said person says is true or not, but the truth is, do Christians look at their faith close enough?

I was brought up to wonder about the faith. Blind obedience initially required, I grew up to understand that the world ain’t that simple and that there are some things that just don’t make sense. Hence, questions required.

Watch this, my friends, those of you who believe in the Christian faith. And think about this to yourselves.

But have a laugh as well. This guy honestly knows how to take the micky at people.

Skull splitting.

Now, for those who know, I'm not one to get headaches. Tension, cervicogenic or otherwise, I don't usually get that increased intracranial pressure that preludes a headache.

But today, I've got one bitch of a mother trying to crack my skull open.

Swear to heavens above, it feels as though someone's chiselling through the left frontal lobe of my brain.

Still trying to get my head in place. I've bought and swallowed two Panadol tablets (first medications I've actually swallowed ALL year.) Even when I had the bout of multitasking with spouting from both ends with a suspected Norovirus bug, I've not had anything more than two Powerades and plenty of water. Huh.

But honestly, this headache is getting the best of me. Crap.

I've just taken the meds about 30 minutes ago so thus, I can't bust out another two yet. Apparently, it gets toxic after a bit.

Ugh.

More updates on blog when this raised ICP abates or when I feel better. Meh.

Insomniac.

Well, well, well.

Searching for key terms “insomniac”  and “can’t sleep” on this blog, I just couldn’t find anything.

Funny, really.

In previous years, I used to have so much trouble sleeping. I would wake up, toss and turn. Mind you, I was never really a troubled sleeper. If I was able to get to sleep, I would get to sleep in a heartbeat. Closed my eyes and the world was switched off like a light. Nothing would wake me, including my alarm, which sometimes, is a very very bad thing.

Now, I’m constantly up at deity forsaken times such as 6.30a.m. and 7a.m. Friends knowing me would know that I slept and I slept in. Waking up early is NOT part of my agenda.

But yes, I’ve been waking up early. And I can’t go back to bed.

I’m not really too sure why either. Its not that anyone is stopping me. Today is a Sunday. The roads are quiet. No one is up OR about yet.

In past years when I used to work at the butchery, I would finish at 11p.m. at nights, sometimes even later. I would come home, dinner would be sitting in the microwave for me. I would heat it up and bring it upstairs to my room where the ancient laptop would sit and I would start blogging on that infernal machine. Sometimes, I think that machine was even better than this new laptop that I have.

The lateness of my job and the resulting wakefulness kept me up until the early hours of the morning.

I have been out there.

Late at night, chaotic. Crazy. But quiet and peaceful in a certain way.

I have sat out there and cried to only the moon above and the rushing bread trucks. I have walked home when the sun was about to wake up, jacket thrown carelessly over my shoulders, hands tucked in my pocket, dance shoe bag hanging from one elbow, sleeves rolled up after a night of dancing. I have walked home, clutching a pizza to my chest from work, trying to dodge all the drunken people spewing out into the streets from bars and getting home. To the quiet and warmth of my room and the clickity-clackity sounds of my laptop keys as I spill my thoughts out onto screen.

I loved the night.

There is nothing out there to judge you. Its only you. And the forming frost beneath your feet. A cup of steaming tea. The lull of your bed, tempting you to sleep. But your mind is alert. Awake. Full of life. Your brain is doing a Gene Kelly, spinning around lampposts and singing in the rain. How do you put THAT to sleep?

Oh well.

On a different note, I had pizza last night.

So much for autofocus. Honestly.

My choice of the evening….Meat Works @ $22.

Very. Very. Very. Jelak.

I could hardly finish it. Well. I didn’t finish it. Had three pieces left and I thought to myself, “One more piece of that with a dollop of sour cream and I am going to hurl this all the way to the other wall.”

Thought I’d decide to do some dancing but on the dance floor, lights flashed and waved like crazy tentacles and a few tired looking women jiggled on the dance floor. Meh.

I’d rather go home. And so I did.

Skill.

Last night, I went to a colleague’s house to farewell Sister Pharmacist. She was leaving the hospital as she had to go back to her hometown for surgery. Thus, a valid point for a potluck dinner and lots of laughing.

There were a few out of the main profession, like the VegeOT and me, of course, as the physio. But the rest of them were all pharmacists/pharmacy technicians.

And apparently, all of them knew that I danced.

They would blurt out, “Oh, you know, Paul is a dancer/Paul dances/Paul can really move.”

Something of that variety anyway.

And when they mentioned it, it would be spoken with a kind of wide-eyed wonder, as though I had the skill to turn my entire body inside out or swallow swords. Look, people, its not THAT rare a skill.

We also watched a comedian who did ventriloquism. And I mentioned that it would be a nice skill to pick up.

And then Lord Pharmacist, who perhaps in my opinion, is something no-nonsense to a T, exclaimed, “Why would you want to learn that? What’s the practical application for it?”

And I said, “It’s a skill to pick up. Just like dancing. No practical application in my field but its a SKILL to pick up. Besides, I think every man on earth should be capable of pulling off a half decent waltz at a wedding.”

Sometimes, we all learn different things just for the sake of it. We pick up Spanish, we learn to make a tree house, we learn to unclog plumbing, we learn to make a new dish, we learn to do handstands, we learn to do a new dance, we perhaps even pick up ventriloquism. How cool is ventriloquism if its for entertainment purposes? Or something you can do to amuse kids like magic tricks? Or a dance so that you don’t look like jiggling blow up doll on the dance floor? Does it matter whether or not it has practical application to it?

Besides, everyone has a hobby. Mine just happens to be dancing.

***

Was talking to Tofupuff and she queried the validity of the palm reading I had done.

I mean, who knows, right? Who knows what was going to happen? Who knows whether its going to be a guy or a girl or a drag queen or a biker chick or a little girl that was going to change my life’s direction?

I personally have never taken these predictions to heart. I used to read my horoscope’s for fun when I was in the butchery, as when you sat down during morning tea, one of the meat packers would always read out people’s horoscopes and we would all contemplate what was going to happen throughout the day. I’ve had my palm read by the Speech Language Therapist previously in this post where I was predicted to be fertile enough to father a child.

I can slightly understand why people do this. Getting their palms read, I mean. Its a prediction of the future, knowing what was happening and then being able to prepare themselves for it. According to some websites on palmistry, the lines on your hands show you what has happened rather than what is to come. There may be a prediction or two but mostly, it talks about what has happened before. Hands are something we use everyday without thinking about it. And I’ve had a few predictions that were as true as daylight.

Sometimes, my future is so uncertain that it scares the fscking shit out of me.

Its perhaps the understanding that there is a Supreme Being in charge that would monitor the situation and even if there is NO Supreme Being, its not so much that there is no one to blame, more like at least I know I’m heading somewhere rather than nowhere, I’m aiming for something I don’t quite understand or know, but hey, I’m alive, I’m kicking, I’m walking and eventually, I’ll get there.

I know how I’m going to end, anyway.

Planted.

So during the past couple of weeks, paperwork has been flying fast and furiously between Dunny and Wangy. Signatures, loan agreements, legal documents, etc, flew as fast as lightning around the Land of the Long White Cloud in a bid to get everything done before Today. Sep 25.

And today, I was just about to get a patient up when my pager buzzed. 8162

Usually, when that happens, it means that I'm getting a direct call from somewhere.

Picked up the phone. 8.1. 6. 2.

Hi, Paul Physio speaking.

"Yo! Chuok meh tiok low!

It put a little smile on my face.

At last. Something that belonged to us. As a family.

I remembered my mum telling me that for so long, she has wanted one of her own. And we, as a family, have never really had one. But now we do.

So in a little street down in the freezing depths of Dunny, we have a family home.

***

Was talking to Tofupuff yesterday and I was telling her how I overheard one of the nurse's conversations about Wangy.

"You know, I told my husband that we were only going to be here 2 years. And that was 15 years ago!"

Ooh, Wangy's like a Bermuda Triangle, you never get to leave! said Lord Pharmacist.

And deep down inside, I swore that as soon as I could, I was going to get out of here. Sure, there's ballroom dancing and salsa to keep me in place but I still feel as though that there is world out there waiting to be tasted. Who knows, I might even pull a feat worthy of Bleeding Espresso fame.

Or who knows. Who knows.

I was talking to the Redhead about ceroc in Wangy that used to exist about 3 years ago. And kinda in a hush hush way, she mentioned that the teachers in Palmy were trying so hard to keep things afloat and in the end, it was run to the ground.

Hm.

As much as I wished I could pull one of these stunts, imagine reading this on my blog in the future.

Hi, I'm Paul and I was a physiotherapist. Yes, you read right. I'm NOT a physiotherapist. I was. Used to be. But now, I'm not. I have decided to leave the glorious profession of ankle sprains, backaches, cervicogenic headaches and cardiopulmonary physiotherapy techniques along with stroke assessments, Motor Assessment Scale, Dynamic Gait Index and BESTest for the life and love of dance, dance music, suede soled shoes, spinning skirts, rhythms that pulse through the night and lights that play a mirage on the smooth polished floorboards. My life, instead of consisting of donning a uniform and stethoscope and thumping on people's chests, will now include teaching the delicacies of heel-toe movements along with aerials and arm movements drawing circles in the air. My world will consist of jazz tunes, Ella Fitzgerald and George and Ira Gershwin serenading while we foxtrot and waltz over the floors. Sometimes, it will be completely different, with the synthesized sounds of Danny Fernandes and world music cha cha beats of 4 to the Bar's Make me Sweat counting time while people sweat it out on the dance floor. I will be clothed in only the finest wools of a tailsuit or in a plain white shirt, cuffs rolled up, black pants to the point 5 cm away from the edge of my sueded heels and I will spin and spin and spin. And I will show the people how they can love dancing as much as I do. To make the music beat and pulse through their veins and their interpretations of it, through their steps and through the smiles on their faces.

I think it was one of the old Disney movies that had the phrase "A dream is a wish your heart makes."

Oh how true. How very very true.

Bill.

Woke up this morning and immediately, I jump on the Internet. I find it more handy to do so than trying to get on a computer later with more than three people all struggling to use the Net at the same time at work. So I check it from home.

Gmail pops up, one of the first things, usually.

Then I get a bill for my internet use. The fsck….

I’m supposed to pay roughly $100 per month. The bill this time was double. And only one other person uses the phone as much as I do. Without calling cards, I must add.

Checking the paper bill, I see all these mobile phone numbers. They’re usually kept relatively short, in terms of call durations, like a minute each and stuff but it racks up like a b|tch.

That said, I finally decided to put a toll bar on the phone. Living with people does make it a lot harder, I guess. And after all, this is my first time living away from home and having to deal with all these little fiddly details. I wondered how on earth my flatmates last year managed this without going slightly crazy.

And with that said as well, I’m definitely gonna live alone when I get out of my contract. Living with other people is too fscking hard.

And as much as it is free reign around here and basically, people aren’t kicked out unless told to, I wish Annoying Flatmate can go away someplace. Preferably somewhere that tongues of fire, hot pokers and a burning hot mask exist.

And instead of lying in bed flat on my tummy getting mad about this while snuggled up in my duvet, I need to get up. Today is going to be h3ll at work.

Fate lines

Was playing the fool on the ward after work yesterday and one nurse was doing some random nonsensical palm reading. I offered mine.

She looked it at and told me that I would not do physiotherapy forever. I would leave at some stage in life. Plus, a woman will be involved in that life-changing situation.

First bit. True. How true I would want it to be.

Second bit. Uh. Okay. She said woman.

Now, what gets conjured up in mind is a hot, voluptuous lady who would inspire me into full time professional dancing and I would live happily ever after.

But because the word is “woman”, it could be anything from the stripper down the street to the receptionist (not hot, by the way) to my mother.

What I would kill for a more accurate prediction.

Bleh.

Dazed.

EDIT: I'm writing this bit in red, bold, and italic font because I honestly don't know what I just wrote down there. I'm emptying out my already empty brain. So basically when I walk out of here, my brain is at zero. Reset button, please, because I don't know what the hell I just wrote down there and I honestly do not give a flying fsck. Please forgive the language, the absurdity, and the stupidity of it all. This is what happens after a weekend of dancing, sleep deprivation, routine choreography for 6 hour stretches and not eating enough.

 

Would you believe that alcohol was NOT involved? Hm. I don't think so. But seriously, not a drop touched my lips. Bleh.

 

Night night.

 

So I'm back from the Palmy.

 

And because I was stupid enough to rush off without fully checking my bags, I've just realised that I left my laptop cable back in Palmy and now, I'll have to wait til it gets here before I can blog at home again. So here will be the entry on the work desktop then.

 

So what's new over the weekend?

Apart from me being quite tired and not exactly sleeping well due to the fact that my sleeping bag wasn't exactly enough protection against the cold, it hasn't been too bad at all. We did some dancing, plenty of practice for the routine and I'm definitely looking forward to the Simply Ceroc weekend that will take place in about 5 weeks time.

 

Man.

 

I'm definitely zonked.

 

I feel zonked, and I think I look a bit zonked as well right now. Bleh.

 

I'm sitting in the cozy armchair at work in my lamb wool zipped pullover and it is definitely keeping me warm enough right now. The temptation is not to fall asleep so that my colleagues won't find me with my mouth open and my head hanging over the back of the armchair tomorrow morning. Gosh.

 

I think I might call in sick tomorrow. Depending on the situation really. Or whether I can really give a fsck about what the ward is like tomorrow. Le sigh.

 

What I would really like to do is to be able to check out whether my dance videos on Facebook has loaded yet. Processing takes up so much bloody time. 

 

But until I get my laptop cable back...its hard to tell. 

 

Oh, I'm thinking of selling my laptop and getting a desktop. I actually find that since I don't lug my laptop around as much as I used to, a desktop might be a good idea. Maybe a small laptop for the times that I do go off somewhere and do something but for the meantime, a desktop seems to be pretty much the more sensible option. 

 

I don't think I'm actually blogging very effectively. All I seem to be doing is type down a few sentences and close my eyes in between. I think what I really need to do is get some sleep.

 

Or what I should be doing is my laundry right now.

 

Bleh.

 

I honestly cannot be fscked. Really.

 

Actually, screw this.

 

My brain is telling me to go to bed. I cannot be bothered to type out any of the theories that I've come up with lately. My last rant was the fact that the other couples who won the showcase events cheated because they were either instructors/near instructor level or they did something completely different and claimed it for a good cause. MEH.

 

I went for a 20 min ish run today because the Redhead's bike was at home and it would have been more convenient to bike back to the studio rather than walk back. Then, I forgot my watch and biked back there again.

 

And now, I forget my laptop cable. Honestly. Someone is trying to screw with me. But then again, I've heard that paranoia can arise from sleep deprivation. Not that I've been deprived per se.

 

Texted the Sociologist today with the message, "I'm not too sure what I want to do with my life aye."

 

Which is true, to an extent.

 

Apparently, we all have a purpose. Or so we're told or led to believe. And perhaps, finding that purpose gives us satisfaction, a joy and a peace of mind. To know that because you're doing that purpose, you are happy. And fulfilled. Or so we're told or led to believe.

 

So what does my life consist of? Literally?

 

Work. Dance. Trying to keep fit. Tofupuff. Family. Internet. Eat. Sleep.

 

Lather, rinse, repeat as necessary.

 

Oh my dear gracious me. Is this what I'm destined to do?

 

Stacie Orrico's song, There's Gotta Be More, comes to my addled mind at the moment.

 

There's gotta be more. Honestly. What am I missing?

 

Ther'es only so much dancing you can do before you wear your shoes out. What next? More lessons? More shoes? More outfits? More bits and pieces? More practice sessions? More everything?

 

Oh fsck me. I'm going home.

Hiatus

Temporary hiatus as I head off to Palmy for a weekend of dance extraordinaire.

See you folks Sunday evening!!

Theory.

I’ve been said to be a bit morbid.

I somehow managed to insert in the fact that I was going to kill myself in a conversation about a patient. This resulted in all said members participating in the conversation to stop and pause. Then Lil Social Worker exclaimed, “What a conversation stopper, Poet!”

I just smiled.

In a separate conversation from the one above, Annoying Flatmate was asking me my views on marriage. And I asked him back, “What’s the point of marriage?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

That’s my point exactly.

Apparently, marriage has become something we don’t even think about nowadays. Its something that happens. Or not. And even if it happens, it happens because of the fact that it is social conformity that we decide to get married. Or not. Or maybe it has religious connotations that you get married. Because a Superior Being tells you so. That if you don’t get married under said Superior Being’s approval, boy, you’re in Biiig trouble. Or else, its under someone else’s approval that you’re searching for. Parents? Grandparents? Parents in law?

I asked him again, “Why do you want to get married?”

He mentioned something about it being nice to have a wife.

Now this is the man who once mentioned that he needed a wife to cook for him. So he’s basically saying he needs a chef.

I put forward this point.

“Look, if you want to get married because of the fact that you need someone to cook for you, hire a chef. With your salary, you can definitely afford it.”

“If you’re wanting sex, you don’t even have to get married. Hook up with the right girl and you’ll be occupied all night long. Or not. Depends on what you’re after, really. A one night stand? I recommend the bars where the girls get slightly tipsy. Or something more long term? I recommend the bars where you meet a girl that’s not so tipsy but still wants to get in bed with you.”

“Or how about the loving relationship that everyone is talking about? Girlfriend? Partner? In the Land of the Long White Cloud, we’ve got something called a de facto relationship. Which means that you’re pretty much husband and wife minus the marriage certificate, the 1 carat diamond ring, wedding bands and vows and ceremony.”

“So you were saying that you wanted marriage for…?”

He mumbled something incomprehensible.

My point exactly. AGAIN.

Funny, really. The Sociologist and I were once talking about marriage and how some people used it as a way to keep the other person to themselves. Or maybe not. It was more of a trap rather than a willing voyage to experience life together.

So what is marriage, really?

I read in a magazine that the whole lovesick game is for teenagers.

Quote.

A man needs a partner, not someone to make him whole.

Unquote.

What do you think?

If we were to talk out the religious, social, personal, whatever, implications of marriage and just define marriage as it is, what is it?

A willing union between two persons to spend the rest of their lives together?

A formal binding contract that two people make with each other to stick it out the rest of their lives?

What is it?

This is really quite a rant for me.

Apparently, I’ve got a lot of theories on a lot of different things. Which I think is personally a good thing. I can sit down and discuss euthanasia with you. Or I can sit down and discuss the ideals of anything you want to talk about. Well, hopefully, something I understand a bit of as well.

Hm.

***

With 17 years more to go, I really do want to live life to the fullest. Life does become all the more precious with the less time you have.

Today, I saw a 91 year old with impeccable balance, poise, and drive. If I ever decided to put the gun down when I hit my 40th birthday, I would aspire to be like him.

He lived on his own, cooked his own meals, he was still driving, for goodness’s sakes!

Or hopefully, voluntary euthanasia would have become legal by law and I wouldn’t be assumed to be crazy for wanting to die young. What’s wrong with wanting to die young? Do I need to follow the dictatorship of the majority that everyone was to die old, wrinkled, frail, and diseased?

This was another conversation topic with Annoying Flatmate. He asked me, “Why do you want to die at 40?”

I waved a walking stick (yes, I was carrying one at the time) and waved it at the patients’ rooms. It pretty much emphasised my point.

“Do you want to be like that when you grow older?”

“Incontinent?”

“Insane?”

“Aggressive?”

“Demented?”

“Breathless?”

“Alone?”

“In pain?”

“Suffocating?”

“Choking on your own spit/vomit/phlegm?”

“Bitter?”

“Poor?”

“Terminal?”

“Sitting in your own filth?”

“Unable to wipe your own ass that someone else has to do it for you?”

“Do you want to be like that?”

“And even if you don’t want to be like that, how do you know that you’re not going to be a demented, aggressive man who is in pain and finally carks it by his heart failing or viruses taking over your body or flailing around in a bed, unable to understand, talk, paralysed, catatonic because of a stroke?”

He mumbled something incomprehensible.

My point exactly. AGAIN.

My outlook on things, you might as well go while the going is good. Live life to the fullest, enjoy all little pleasures, and when you feel that you’ve had enough of it all, leave the world behind.

Which in turn, would mean that it would be good to do a bucket list of sorts, actually. Hm. I really should.

Especially if all I have is 17 years left.

Digested.

A random title, I know, but I couldn’t think of anything better for the moment. One of the rare occasions, perhaps, when I run slightly out of words. I’m still blogging so I guess the brain still works.

I’ve jotted down little notes on my phone so I don’t forget what I want to write about.

Oh yeah. First one.

One of the orderlies came up next to me, this heavily tattooed man and said, “So how’s the dancing going?”

And I was like, “Uh….how do you know about it?”

And he said, “You dance with my girlfriend, J.”

Oh…

Truth is, it never came to mind that J had a boyfriend. Not to say that she couldn’t/shouldn’t have a boyfriend, its just that she’s…uh. Older than me. And usually people have partners or husbands or wives. NOT boyfriends or girlfriends.

But I thought it was quite cute the way the man put it. A grown man, affectionately referring to his love interest as his girlfriend. It kinda gave me a bit of hope that even a tattooed burly bloke who’s an orderly in the hospital as a bit of a romantic streak. The world can be saved, after all.

Oh, and talking about older people, I made a horrible mistake the other week. I guessed a woman’s age. And not only that, I overestimated it by 10 years. Hell has no fury like a woman scorned. Honestly. Bleh. So now, I underestimate every single woman by 20 years. Just to be one the safe side. HEE.

I’ve been telling a lot of jokes on the ward lately. I think its just nice to have a bit of humour in the workplace.

I remembered that quite a few years back when I told jokes to my friends on a regular basis, I always wanted to be a comedian. How awesome would it be to stand on a stage and just make people laugh for the sake of laughing. There’s too little laughter in the world nowadays. People rush around everywhere, trying to fulfil their little quotas and sometimes, all you need to do is to sit down and smile and know that your little world is okay. Its okay. Just smile. Crack a joke. And laugh. And enjoy the rest of your day.

Decided that I would branch out dance-wise as I usually do and decided to try some salsa. Man. OARSOME.

No words could describe the first beginners class. After all, we started off with the rueda and did some basic movements. I, in my infinite wisdom and naivete, decided to move on and do something more…haha…complicated. So I stepped up to intermediate.

And we did  the rueda and there were all kinds of commands being called and I rushed around like a headless chook but dear Lord, it was the first time I enjoyed dancing so much in a long long time. Beads of perspiration ran across my forehead but my heart, my feet, my hands, were in the dance. It took a little getting used to, especially with the partner swapping but once the footwork became apparent, it was magic. Pure, unadulterated magic of feet moving on the floor, sliding, gliding, swinging and then suddenly, we’re off and we’re on a carousel of our own design.

To be perfectly blunt, ballroom doesn’t quite give me that much enjoyment. If done properly, ballroom is pure elegance but the fun element…doesn’t quite exist. Everything is focused on the technique and style and whatnot but salsa…man, it is fun. And no matter what, it is ALWAYS fun. I absolutely adore salsa now and darn it, Wangy’s given me another reason to stay! Sigh.

On a separate note, we had a meeting the other day at work discussing the lack of staff in the department and apparently, my words, “As a new graduate…” got everyone’s attention. Granted, I’m the only new graduate in the department and I, perhaps, represent the people who are interested to come and work in the hospital. Especially new graduate students.

I discussed this with the Women’s Health Physio and she totally agreed with me that it was good that I voiced out my opinions and said some things out to the Service Manager. Crucial, as I was the new face of employment and my views on things could make or break the fact that other new graduates may or may NOT want to come here to work.

And here’s my healthy healthy meals for today, just because I can.

Sweet chilli and lemon beef stir fry. The peanuts make an AWESOME addition to the meal. Honestly. I never knew.

Grilled lemon and rosemary chicken breast with steamed green beans and salad leaves tossed in…

Blood and urine. Hah.

No la. Red wine vinegar and olive oil with salt and pepper to taste.

And I multitasked this morning. A three egg mushroom and onion omelette served with 2 pieces of peanut buttered wholemeal toast and the grilled chicken breasts at the side for lunch and dinner.

But anyway.

I FINALLY GOT THE DANCE VIDEOS!!!

And in some of them…oh dear deity in heavens above, I look like such a dork. This will be the last time I slick my hair back with gel. I should’ve stuck with the spiked up hairstyle. Whoops. HEHE.

I so am getting a haircut tomorrow.

Check out Facebook for the videos. Whoop-dee-doos!!

Dear you,

*click on images for bigger ones*

I biked 40 minutes to get to this spot. It was a little tiring but nothing compared to when I saw the bench in front of me.

You. And me. We will sit here one day.

We will sit here and hold hands and whisper sweet nothings into each others ears and no one will give a damn.

We will sit at this very bench and we will look out onto the amazing view of this forsaken place. Quiet. A few cars will zoom by but nothing will interrupt our gaze of this slice of heaven.

 
As I hold your hand, you will snuggle in the crook of my neck and we won’t say a word. We will only look out and gaze as the waters below us, the skies above us and the green serenity of the wilderness around us.

One day, it won’t just be me sitting on the bench. I’ll have you by my side, my dear. If only I close my eyes, I can catch your scent in the air. The scent of home. Where I’ve longed to be.

Where you’ll sit there and your hair will smell of fresh shampoo and errant strands will tickle my cheeks, my nose and we’ll just sigh and lean into each other’s presence, each other’s familiarity, each other’s softness.

In that quiet, we’ll finally understand what they mean by best friends not having to say anything and still having the greatest conversation in the world. That love is not just purely a physical or a sexual attraction but it is also one of emotion and spirituality. That holding hands or feeling your warmth seep into my skin doesn’t necessarily signal a prelude to raunchy, wild, abandon later between the sheets. Its just you. And me. Existing for the pure sake of existence.

They talk of love being sweet and pure and gentle and kind. This is it.

And in our silence, we’ll watch the sunrays slowly fade behind us, splashing its last lights onto the river.

You’re my angel, you know that?

My miracle.

Wherever you are out there, I’m thinking of you. And I can’t wait to look into your eyes and know that you are mine.

Love,
Me.

P.S. Work sucks. Bleh.

Anti-Social

One thing about living in a small town is that you can never really run away from anyone you know.

Like for example, I walk into KFC one night and there is the girl who does ballroom dancing along with her dad and mum. I purposely tried to ignore seeing them but guess what? They came up to ME instead. Le sigh. The good ole’ days where I’ll walk into a fast food restaurant without having to greet anyone.

Then just the other day, I was walking around an arts exhibition when I met one cardiac rehab class patient and another patient whom I treated for low back pain. Worst case scenario, they remember me like it was yesterday, whereas I don’t even know who they are anymore!

I guess maybe I’m suited more for the busy city life that has everyone ignoring everyone and you live your own life in your little privacy bubble *waves arms around oneself forming privacy bubble*

But honestly, sometimes…its hard to try and maintain the cheery facade whenever you meet someone you know. Wangy being Wangy, everyone heads down to the farmer’s market on Saturday morning. Its the cool thing to do, I think.

Anyway, just heading down there has me avoiding half the stalls because there are people I know there! I know, I know, I really should stop being such a fusspot but man, sometimes, all I wanna do is buy a few organic eggs and go home. Not stop to chat about my grandmother or the latest goings on with my dancing. Meh.

I’m still unable to get the dance videos that I wanted. Sadly. Yeah, I know. I’m being badgered for more pictures on Facebook but I’m struggling to find them.

Today starts day 8 of a 12 day workweek. Honestly. All the new grads who get to sleep in on weekends, enjoy 1 hour lunch breaks, and don’t have to cover three different wards and answer to the hospital’s every whim and fancy.

Talking about whims and fancies, I went for a bike ride yesterday and on the way back, I finally took the oncall cellphone out of my back pocket at about 6.30ish in the arvo.

Oh crap.

1 missed call. 1 new voice message. At fricking 4.30p.m.!

The message didn’t say much. Only this.

Please call extension 8235 as soon as you can please.

This led to general panic, thinking that someone was in horrible respiratory distress two hours ago and had probably carked it because they couldn’t reach me.

So I rang them back on the work cellphone (love how that happens without me paying a single cent haha) and then I get this.

“Oh, there’s this patient with a really swollen arm after a mastectomy. Can you give her an exercise sheet?”

Tooo lan.

For the love of all that is good and mighty and unremarkably ridiculous.

I, however, maintained a professional facade and coolly replied, “Yup. I’m on my way.”

This is soooo going on my time sheet as callback. For deity’s sakes.

Bike ride.

So I got myself a new little fancy doohicky. But will do a proper review later.

The weather was fine and I decided to go out on a bike ride straight after work. So once I was done, I got on my bike and I zoomed off into the distance.

All along the same road.

The idea was that I would keep pedalling until I thought I’d gone far enough. And then I’ll turn back.

Which wasn’t such a bad idea at all. I managed to get in like 2 hours of bike riding. Albeit at a rather leisurely pace, of course.

So I started off with my pre-requisite beautiful day shot. Weather was amazing. Honestly. Couldn’t ask for better. Not a cloud in the sky for MILES around.

As I ate my lunch, consisting of an onion and mushroom omelette and a grilled cheese sandwich, I had to take this beautiful shot of the cherry blossom tree right in my back yard. Spring is DEFINITELY here.

I think I’m starting to appreciate nature just that little bit more.

This amused me. Heh. And the reason why?

All the trees in the distance had a buzz haircut!! Haha!!

Okay, okay. Its just me. Bleh.

Oh, I took a really nice panoramic river view but I accidentally deleted it. Crap. Took me half an hour to get to that spot to take that stupid picture. Might have to do it again tomorrow. Le sigh.

I was looking at this thinking, “If I jump, emergency services would only get to me in about 15 minutes time. I don’t swim. A person can drown in approximately 3 minutes. Hmmmm…”

Wangy is located between a mainstream river, not unlike my hometown far away, and several hills and mountainsides.

See how beautiful the sky STILL is?

And on the way back, I stopped at the traffic lights to let a train go by.

A similar photo to the one I took earlier this year. Same place, just slightly further away. Plus, it was getting slightly chilly as well.

And looking out at the windows of the Surgical Ward. A magnificent end to a wonderful day.

Well, not work wise wonderful. But it was cool.

I’m just a little bit drained from all the work. Honestly.

Its time for a shower, a hot cup of tea, and a bit more Internet before I bid the world good night.

Dance Dilemma

So here’s the problem.

And maybe this is due to me having too many fingers in too many pies, THUS, having this problem.

As you all might know, I do quite a number of dances purely out of an enjoyment aspect of it.

I do ballroom, ceroc when I get the chance, and I’ve started taking up salsa as well recently.

As of this year, I’ve picked up ballroom for REAL and started competing as an amateur graded dancer. Which is fine. That’s okay. I’ve attended 4 competitions this year already and each and everyone of them have been pretty amazing. There’s always something that happens and its really cool.

So I’ve got one more competition coming up this year and lo and behold, its held on the 17th of October.

Now here’s the problem.

Because I also do ceroc, I had told the Redhead that I was keen to do a Ceroc Showcase on Labour Weekend, which is on the 24th October to the 25th.

See the problem now?

Because its a Showcase, we need to practise. RedHead lives 45 mins away and I have to head down to practise with her for it.

Now for the real deal breaker.

We’ve not started doing ANYTHING at all. No music, no moves, no nothing.

This being the Redhead’s first choreography attempt, she’s wanting to do something “technically” challenging and here I am sitting on my hands going, “Uh…you sure?”

I don’t go for ceroc classes anymore just because we don’t have classes here. My moves are outdated and I tend to stick more to style rather than anything else with my moves.

Plus, as a seasoned choreographer (I’ve done quite a number of pieces in my time, as well as one that won 3rd place so I’m pretty sure I’ve got the skill somewhat), she’s dilly-dallying with the music, moves, and PLUS, the clincher…she wants to lead for HALF the song.

Now the girl leading is an interesting part of it. You actually have to know how to lead. And I don’t get led very often. I can learn, for sure, but then again, I need to practise with her and oh man. Things actually look pretty suck right now.

So we’re running short on time, on practice, on moves, on the music, and on choreography.

Now, back to the ballroom comp.

We usually have ballroom dance time every single Sunday. And the competitions are usually held on the weekends as well. So if I do this ballroom competition, I can’t do the ceroc showcase.

This seems like a really bad case of wanting my cake and eating it too. Sigh.

We’ve got approximately 6 weeks to the showcase, 5 weeks to the ballroom comp.

I think we should be okay for it. Really.

If I look at it in terms of weeks, there still seems to be hope.

HOWEVER.

With the physios getting less and less and me having to do more and more weekends, I’m not actually sure if I like the idea too much anymore. So technically, I don’t have 6 weeks. More like 5. Or less.

So I’m really stuck here.

On one hand, I’ve got ballroom that’s conveniently located right where I am. I’ve got outfits, dance moves, EVERYTHING sorted out. As well as a teacher which is pretty darn handy to have especially if you’re competiting.

On the other hand, I’ve got ceroc that’s 45 minutes away, one costume, no dance moves, no music, no PRACTICE, and no handy teacher that can provide me dance moves that I actually like.

Seems pretty obvious which one is the clear winner, isn’t it?

Salsa, thankfully, does not cause any problems as its on Tuesday nights which I usually AM here in Wangy for anyway.

So here I sit too early on Saturday morning (all because I’m working) and going, “For fsck’s sakes! Make up your frigging mind!”

Hm.

What do y’all think?

So its time.

I’m working again this weekend.

Latest news of late: One more physio decided to pull out of doing weekends. We are officially down to 4 physios who do work weekends. And when that last one goes, its down to three. Whoop dee doo.

Work has become relatively routine for me. I’m seeing the usual suspects, kicking them out of bed and out of hospital, getting new ones coming in.

I observed a young girl of merely 16 who had attempted a suicide by hanging. Apparently, she hung for about 3 minutes in her closet before her friends who heard a “thud” came to investigate. They cut her loose. She did not look happy. She was sobbing hysterically in her room.

I saw a doctor pat a man on the shoulder and apologise because his wife was actively dying and that there was nothing else that could be done for her.

I rang the rest home regarding Suicide Dude and the next plan of action. Hopefully, he wasn’t going to undo all our efforts again.

As I walked down the grayish pastel hallways that hospitals always seemed to be covered in, I wondered at what really drove people to come to work in the morning. You hear all these horror stories about patients and their alternate lives outside of the hospital and you wonder how you can actually face that day after fricking day.

And I wondered what made me get out of bed every morning.

Talking to my parents and my sister recently, I’ve found that I’ve complained a heck of a lot about work. The Higher Authorities both know that work for me sucks (to a certain degree) and they’ve both tried to lure me back to Dunny, where the weather is cold but apparently, its all family. I’m not quite sure if I can justify the trade of weather and good skin for family and recurrent medical issues.

But what honestly make me get out of bed in the morning? Let’s have a look.

Perhaps, it is the usual dutiful Poet who wakes up in the morning, bangun pagi, gosok gigi, cuci muka, pakai baju, makan roti, minum susu, pergi kerja, senang hati (Wake up, brush teeth, wash face, wear clothes, eat bread, drink milk, go to work, feel satisfied) and then comes back mentally battered from the atrocities of the day. Or maybe its just the money. Good ole k-ching. Works pretty well as a motivator. I can take a day off and literally count how many dollars less that I earn.

I can pay off my addictions. I can indulge in little treats and bigger treats that I usually won’t treat myself to.

I can do stupid things for myself and not feel as much guilt.

Oh man.

I was pretty drained out today.

I came back from work, lay down on my bed and I was ready to pass out. Work seemed to drag for too long today. I had plenty of food and I drank at least 6 cups of green tea that caused me to run down to the department three times just so that I could go and pee.

And somehow, work just seemed to drag and drag and drag.

I’m looking at a relatively quiet day tomorrow. It should be okay. The few ops for knees and a few chest patients that I need to help clear out.

I’m also looking at a bit of dance and hopefully, some dance videos that I’ll probably upload on Sunday afternoon.

And for something completely different…Facebook once again sends its regards.

Well. Well oh well oh well.

You know, I really love GIMP.

Just like Photoshop. Except free.

And I can smudge people’s faces and put them up on this here blog.

But to be perfectly honest, smudging someone’s face into oblivion is the best way to end the day especially when said person once kicked me out of my only temporary place to stay. Ended up hiding in a room in the hospital for at least a month until I got caught out.

*evil grin*

Oh well. What didn’t kill me definitely made me stronger. As well as promoting some pretty awesome early morning posts as well as story writing on my previous blog.

Hm.

I’m in a bit of a dilemma about what to do regarding my dance experiences at the moment. But perhaps in a separate post, maybe. I think I’ve got too much on that plate to try and arrange into just the one post for now.

Anyways. Me out for dinner. Me hungaweee.

Sometimes...

*Please don't try and understand this post.

At the request of MediMart, who mentioned that sometimes, some of my posts are too "random" and actually doesn't make sense unless you know EXACTLY what is going on, I make a conscious effort to make my posts more flow-ey and more understandable to the average friend/acquaintance that would read this from afar.

But sometimes, perhaps, there are things that you probably wouldn't know about, shouldn't know about, couldn't know about. So much for honesty on the blog, huh? But then again, I never made such a clause.

 

You make me second guess myself. Really.

 

You make me wonder why.

You make me think.

 

You make me lie on my bed, awake at 6a.m. in the morning as the sun slowly creeps up over the horizon and I lie face planted on my bed running my thoughts through my head and somehow, all I end up with is a jumbled, tangled ball of string. Complicated, exaggerated, turntable like.

 

I can dance and dance - ballroom, salsa, latin, ceroc, argentine tango and all I end up with is sore heels, tired feet, sweaty hands, a pouding heart, drenched t-shirt, but still an unsatisfied soul.

 

People talk about spiritual feeding. About the little holes that no one can fill, that no one can satisfy, that nothing can satisfy.

 

You make me wonder. Second guess. Think.

 

And all I want to do is shut myself out of the world, in my dark little realm of a glowering computer screen, my fingers dancing over the keys, watching reruns of "Whose Line is it Anyway" on Youtube, and longing for things I otherwise will not have. Will not want. Will not be.

 

One day.

 

One day, I will disappear.

And perhaps in that disappearance, I will find what I have lost.

 

Post Paaaartay

So I didn’t exactly get any REAL pictures of me dancing. Pity, really.

The night consisted of me changing in and out of my tailsuit at least 50 times. Because I competed in both prelim and E grade events, I barely sat down for the first 3 hours of the competition. I only kept dancing, pretty much. And do you warm up quite a bit on the dance floor. Especially under a full suit.

So recaps, picture-wise from how the day started.

Started off with a crisp and frosty morning. Woke up at 7a.m. from a combination of nerves and being used to waking up early and not being able to sleep. Le sigh. Made myself a seared chicken and onion sandwich topped with cheese which is like awesome that I didn’t take pictures of. Oh well.

We arrived down in L. Hutt about half an hour before the craze began. Awesome day. Sun was beaming. It was a good day to be in the Capital.

Everyone was milling about, trying to get registration, etc sorted. I’d just put down my bag containing all the changes of outfit for the rest of the night.

Couples started to warm up with a cheeky cha cha cha on the dance floor. Latin was the first order of the day. Damn, the weather’s still pretty darn good today. All righty. Bike ride. +D Oops. Sorry for detracting.

Was lazy to get up and go to the bathroom to see if my bowtie was straight. But it was. All good +D

This was taken at 1a.m. in the morning after all the excitement was over and I had arrived home. I woke up to LatinLady poking me in the lapel from the front seat while I dozed at the back. I honestly hope I didn’t snore. Hehe.

So much for trying to lose weight for a Transformation Contest. This was pretty much ALL I drank the entire night. Well, not really. I had the one sausage roll and 2 bottles of water. So I guess my nutritional sins compounded aren’t that bad, are they?

Read them and weep, big boys.

This was the unexpected highlight of the evening. Latinlady and I knew that we had a pretty good cha rocking around the floor and we kept that up. Apart from completely slamming her into other people on the dancefloor, I think we maintained a relatively stable routine.

Said certificate guarantees us a leg up in moving up to D grade dancing. All we need to do now is win E Grade Ballroom and E Grade New Vogue. Stupid dances.

I told LatinLady’s mum, “Oh, I bet they’ll be talking about us for a while. New couple, just registered, taking E Grade Latin at our first registered comp. Hell yeah!”

The accompanying E Grade Latin shiny cup in all its glory. Mind you, when we won it, I was walking back to the table from winning another cert.

I was like, “Oh, I think we won something.”

LatinLady was like, “Oh my God! We won!!!”

Huh?

Until she had to explain to me that we won E Grade Latin. Woah. Big achievement.

And it was fun and games until we were told that we had to engrave it ourselves. The organisers HONESTLY suck.

Someone’s leftover fruit salad. I was bored after the first three hours because after that, we didn’t seem to dance at all. We probably sucked really bad for our ballroom and new vogue stuff as we didn’t get called into any finals then. But hey, that’s okay. We’ve got plenty work on our hands.

We were videoed, though, doing our cha. I’m hoping that we did get an unobstructed view of us doing our last and best cha cha performance EVAR. Accompanying video on Facebook, as soon as I can grab it from LatinLady’s mum.

And after all’s been said and done, its back to boring work on Monday. Stethoscope, check. Pager, check. ID card, check. Pen in back pocket, check. Nametag underneath physio logo, check.

Honestly, it would be so much more interesting just to be teaching dance. The hype, the excitement, the awesomeness of a comp. Couples spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning. Grace, elegance, everything all together.

And then I go back to my day job of walking people down hallways and up stairs and I get them to hack their lungs out for me.

Where’s the charm in THAT?

Do you remember.

Do you remember, girl, I was the one
Who gave you your first kiss
’Cos I remember, girl, I was the one
Who said put your lips like this
Even before all the fame and people
Screaming your name
Girl I was there
And you were my baby – Usher.

This song resonates with me for some reason this morning.

Is 9.08a.m. NZ time. I’m leaving for the competition in about 2.5 hours time. I’m lounging in my grandma made pjs and complaining about the weather.

Oh, its nice. Its just frosty as sh|t though. Skies are a perfect baby blue out there today. We’ll definitely be looking at some mighty fine weather this afternoon.

I’m getting slightly nervous. I did promise heaps of people that there will be photos/videos galore after I come back tonight. After all, it is my first registered dance competition so that’s a big deal. I’m keeping expectations low. PhysioAssistant J said I shouldn’t go in with a defeatist attitude but I think I kinda know where I stand at the moment. +D

I can’t wait for this evening. Its going to be grand. +D

See you all at the afterparty.

Pardon me. Nothing to see here.

That’s what life’s been like for the past several days.

After the initial excitement of the Transformation Contest, nothing else has really happened of late. I lead a relatively boring existence, to be perfectly truthful.

Apart from some internet gaming (read: Facebook gaming) which sees me puzzling over Biotronics and how the heck do I actually get a high high score, dance, and work, that’s basically it. Oh, yeah, and trying to keep active and fit in between.

Oh, about Facebook…

This is what I mean about anonymity absolutely going down the drain. For those of you who might know said people even after I’ve smudged their pictures to oblivion, they aren’t exactly friends. Per se. Not in my books anyhow.

But of course, once you see someone that you know on Facebook, you want to be their friend.

Fsck, I hate how loosely that word is used nowadays. Friend request, my arse.

And of course, out of pure politeness and courtesy, you confirm their “friend” request.

I think I’m probably gonna start using Facebook as a gaming thing rather than anything else in particular.

So like I mentioned earlier, I carry out a relatively dull existence.

Dance practice this week wasn’t of very much excitement either. LatinLady and I are practising our latin routines a hell of a lot more than our ballroom stuff. We’re going to suffer for it, really. I’m keeping expectations low but I’m still hoping to win something or rather. Hopefully. Hey, gotta go in with a positive attitude somehow. However, after we were finished with practice, she limped off with blisters from her new dance shoes. Dear lord almighty, we are royally screwed.

And to keep myself accountable to the healthy healthy meal I’m supposed to be eating, here’s dinner.

Chicken and cauliflower stir fry with green beans and a sweet chilli and lime sauce.

Good and simple stuff.

Oh, I’ve got myself a new SIM card. Will blog more about in future posts once I’ve tried it out.

I actually can’t wait until Sunday, where all I need to do is sit and do nothing.

Night night, people.