Monday, March 22, 2004
Twelth Night
It's just struck me that I don't know how to spell that. Twel...veth? twelfth. twlthtltlelnevermind.
Increasing evidence of re-minisce's inner-self taking over. That being the BSE of course.
Tonight is the last shift. Okay, Seventh Night, to be fair. This time tomorrow, I will be at home, hopefully having completed my Bart's application, sorted out my council tax fiasco (blasted Camden Council), caught some downtime in bed, and be just about ready for some fancy dining with a fancy-dining friend of mine.
And packed and ready to fly. Bizarre. All that in a day; right now I'm still in "work-mode". Scrubs, stethoscope and jacket. (yeah I wear a jacket at work in the UK. I feel strangely naked in scrubs, having gotten used to wearing a white-coat in my last job. That, and it's chilly in A&E.)
Pray God that tonight will be a nice calm shift, with few patients.
Having just come awake, re-minisce has wandered around the net a bit, and discovered that A L (wuyuetien) has tried playing a cello. Hey, so have I. And I can't wait to get home and fiddle (ha,ha) with my mom's cello a little bit. Mom has been learning how to play the cello (having moved on from her virtuoso-hood in piano and violin) and taught me a little bit for a laugh. I don't have the finger pads for it, but it does sound nice. Now if only someone would teach me how to play the flute. I've been yearning for learning (ug) in flute for a decade now.
I also found this on line :
http://www.diary-x.com/proposal.dx
now that is a brave man. That's a movie moment made flesh.
That's the kind of thing we, some of us, wish we had the guts to do, but never really do. Or, when we do, feel self-consciously aware of doing it, and somehow... cheapened.
This guy reads like it's coming straight off his head, into his fingers and onto the screen. And he really means it.
This guy's living a movie moment, and for his, and her sake, I hope she says yes.
If not for anything else, then simply for the fact that he's not doing it for himself; well not entirely for himself. Because this represents something more than selfishness. Because he's laying it all on the line, and perhaps something greater will come of his temporary leave of sense - perhaps forty years from now, when he's sat down with all his grandchildren, he can wheeze a little and say "yknow, back in the good old day, your grammy and me, well ysee i propsed onli...."
pause.
oh.
how sad.
Yes, I am nasty aren't I?
P, the other SHO doing nights with me thinks I'm very nasty.
P is pretty much the heart-throb of A&E. He's a BBI, and has the Clooney looks that women dig. The nurses pinch his butt all the time (poor guy). The other day this rather alarmingly large woman asked specifically (for some reason brit's pronounce that "pacifically") for him, although another doctor had already treated her. I did the usual "ah, I see you've made a fa.. riend" thing on him and he said it's always nice to be appreciated, and I said ah, yes, appreciated. And he told me I was nasty...
I wonder why?
It's just struck me that I don't know how to spell that. Twel...veth? twelfth. twlthtltlelnevermind.
Increasing evidence of re-minisce's inner-self taking over. That being the BSE of course.
Tonight is the last shift. Okay, Seventh Night, to be fair. This time tomorrow, I will be at home, hopefully having completed my Bart's application, sorted out my council tax fiasco (blasted Camden Council), caught some downtime in bed, and be just about ready for some fancy dining with a fancy-dining friend of mine.
And packed and ready to fly. Bizarre. All that in a day; right now I'm still in "work-mode". Scrubs, stethoscope and jacket. (yeah I wear a jacket at work in the UK. I feel strangely naked in scrubs, having gotten used to wearing a white-coat in my last job. That, and it's chilly in A&E.)
Pray God that tonight will be a nice calm shift, with few patients.
Having just come awake, re-minisce has wandered around the net a bit, and discovered that A L (wuyuetien) has tried playing a cello. Hey, so have I. And I can't wait to get home and fiddle (ha,ha) with my mom's cello a little bit. Mom has been learning how to play the cello (having moved on from her virtuoso-hood in piano and violin) and taught me a little bit for a laugh. I don't have the finger pads for it, but it does sound nice. Now if only someone would teach me how to play the flute. I've been yearning for learning (ug) in flute for a decade now.
I also found this on line :
http://www.diary-x.com/proposal.dx
now that is a brave man. That's a movie moment made flesh.
That's the kind of thing we, some of us, wish we had the guts to do, but never really do. Or, when we do, feel self-consciously aware of doing it, and somehow... cheapened.
This guy reads like it's coming straight off his head, into his fingers and onto the screen. And he really means it.
This guy's living a movie moment, and for his, and her sake, I hope she says yes.
If not for anything else, then simply for the fact that he's not doing it for himself; well not entirely for himself. Because this represents something more than selfishness. Because he's laying it all on the line, and perhaps something greater will come of his temporary leave of sense - perhaps forty years from now, when he's sat down with all his grandchildren, he can wheeze a little and say "yknow, back in the good old day, your grammy and me, well ysee i propsed onli...."
pause.
oh.
how sad.
Yes, I am nasty aren't I?
P, the other SHO doing nights with me thinks I'm very nasty.
P is pretty much the heart-throb of A&E. He's a BBI, and has the Clooney looks that women dig. The nurses pinch his butt all the time (poor guy). The other day this rather alarmingly large woman asked specifically (for some reason brit's pronounce that "pacifically") for him, although another doctor had already treated her. I did the usual "ah, I see you've made a fa.. riend" thing on him and he said it's always nice to be appreciated, and I said ah, yes, appreciated. And he told me I was nasty...
I wonder why?
