Thursday, August 11, 2005
UnWet Dream
I suppose I should write about how I spent national day eating breakfast at the botanic gardens (complete with flickr pictures) and how I saw Jacelyn Tay and... some dude... shooting... some movie... over there (complete with poor acting), and how I learnt a valuable lesson - botanic gardens + public holiday = no free parking, or about my poor breakfast companion who, after a long night's work, was threatening to keel over into her waffles and haagen daz ice cream. For a fleeting moment there I was worried my Seek Save Serve! ORDLoh training would have to come into use in getting her home... how do you do a fireman lift again...
Or perhaps I should write about how I spent all day yesterday dreaming about going for a nice relaxing swim after work before class... and how it almost didn't happen because some stupid ward called me at four fifty-nine (my time of obligation ends at five) to clerk in a new case... but luckily for me I'd got the class time mixed up and it started at eight instead of seven thirty. So a rather rushed clerking and consent later, I was zooming out of the hospital in the zoom-zoom mazda, when suddenly the mobile phone goes off and it's one of the bosses (who, at fortysomething with a wife and kid, should really know better than to try to flirt with the pretty nurses) asking if I'm still in hospital and can you come back and do a round. (answer, weakly... no i'm not... must i... oh okay then)
So there we have it. my wet dream (ha) disrupted.
Nevermind, if I had the time, I'd write about ceroc class, and rhapsodize about how much fun it is to dance again.
But I don't.
Time for work. sigh.
Or perhaps I should write about how I spent all day yesterday dreaming about going for a nice relaxing swim after work before class... and how it almost didn't happen because some stupid ward called me at four fifty-nine (my time of obligation ends at five) to clerk in a new case... but luckily for me I'd got the class time mixed up and it started at eight instead of seven thirty. So a rather rushed clerking and consent later, I was zooming out of the hospital in the zoom-zoom mazda, when suddenly the mobile phone goes off and it's one of the bosses (who, at fortysomething with a wife and kid, should really know better than to try to flirt with the pretty nurses) asking if I'm still in hospital and can you come back and do a round. (answer, weakly... no i'm not... must i... oh okay then)
So there we have it. my wet dream (ha) disrupted.
Nevermind, if I had the time, I'd write about ceroc class, and rhapsodize about how much fun it is to dance again.
But I don't.
Time for work. sigh.
