The reader accepts, on reading of this disclaimer, that the Internet is a vast wasteland of crap that spews out of human minds. This blog is no different. Any assumptions or conclusions that the reader draws from this blog are not the responsibility of the author, along with any physical or psychological harm that might result from the reading of this blog.
Author
The author is a paranoid, deranged and cynical misanthrope who records snippets of her life so that she will remember them when she grows old and withered. The identities of any names or initials on this blog are based on the assumptions of the reader unless otherwise specified, and the author claims no responsibility for them.
Reality
The author somehow got into medical school. Yes, you of the general public, shudder and fear the wrath of an inept doctor.
Loves
Reading, Maisy (my dog), tea, writing (albeit badly), piano, music, junk food.
Hates
Almost everything else besides the things mentioned above.
Friends
Bao Cheng' Bernice' Chien Young' Chun Hing' Claire' Faustina' Felicia' Ferly' Gloria' Irene' Irene & Jiaying' Jac' Jiamin' Jiasin' Jiaying' Lutheng' Karene' Marissa' Melesa' Mingyi' My fictionpress' Pamelia' Pei Rong' Qiu Ting' Rachel' Satires Site' Stasia' Sylvia' The Clique' Vinette' Wenjia' Xin Rong' Xue Ying' Yanne & I' Yanne & Jamie' Zeena' 203'
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Chat area
Despite it only being a 3 day week this week (not turning up tomorrow), it's been a pretty rough week. Quite a bit of it can probably be attributed to the monthly female curse (well, I guess guys with haemochromatosis would disagree), but I think more of it could be attributed to this frigging bullshit of a rotation called oncology.
The planning is deplorable. There is nothing more annoying than dragging yourself out of bed early in the morning (while bleeding profusely down under) to get to hospital by 8am... Only to be told by your rotation-mates that the clinic only wants 2 students and not the 4 that were scheduled. Given that it was breast clinic and I'd already spent 8 weeks on the breast team for surgery last year, I was already reluctant to go in. Throw in being in hospital from 8-7pm on Tues (admittedly, VH and I ran off to a dessert place to chill after 5) and 8-6.15pm yesterday (tute started at 5pm. And then my brother told me at the last min to find my own way home, meaning it took me 1.5hrs thanks to public transport), I literally had to flop my dead corpse out of bed. Imagine the rage when I was told (upon reaching the hospital) that the frigging clinic didn't want me there.
To put the icing on the cake, they apparently told my rotation-mates that there's a session tomorrow if the 2 of us who weren't there today wanted to attend it. In short, I told them to kiss my ass. No way in hell I'm turning up at 8am tomorrow (when there's nothing else on and I really need to get started on my case report/online case shit) for this crap that I was scheduled to attend today. And not if I'd already attended my fair share of them last year.
Loads of the stuff that they have arranged for us to go to is just a mountain of turd. We spent 40mins waiting for the chemo nurse to finish her lunch, only to have a 5min discussion on: 'This is the chemo clinic' *crickets chirping in the awkward silence* 'If you doctors are called down, we've usually already sorted the problem out. You just need to take this extravasation pack out and read the instructions on it'. And then dismissed us after that.
I mean, I admit that it's pretty easy to detonate my seemingly infinite rage nowadays. But to make me spend a copious number of hours in the hospital learning just about shitall?! Fuck this shit.
Then again, I've been feeling increasingly low and somewhat empty/lonely recently and I don't even know why. I just feel like I'm sick of everything, and the temptation of drinking myself to oblivion is growing stronger and stronger. Except that I know if I start, I won't stop and it won't do to turn up to the hospital hungover. It doesn't help that I already display Parkinsonian symptoms when bored, which seems to be more and more during this damned joke of a rotation.
I feel like I don't know what the hell I'm doing, and it's plain frustrating. My frustration's been displaying itself in my language and reaction to stuff, where I'm swearing a lot more and over-reacting to some things (excessively angry). It doesn't help that a lot of people around me seem to think I know what I'm doing, and it seems like they know what they're doing while I honestly don't.
Even if I want to, curling up into a foetal position and crying my eyes out won't help. I'm confused, exhausted and frustrated with all this pent-up rage that I don't know the source of. I guess part of it is due to being absolutely clueless about what I'm meant to do with uni stuff; I feel like a total retard. Piano teaching hasn't been helping, with my students being absolute fktards and cancelling on me last minute.
Maybe it's some sort of mid-life crisis. But it's almost like I'm losing a grip on my sanity, and the world is crumbling into jigsaw pieces that I can't seem to piece together no matter how hard I try. My brain tells me that alcohol is not the glue that will stick everything back, and will ironically melt everything to shits. Except that blunting of my senses and oblivion compared to feeling this crap seems like a much better option, even though it's hard with my folks around.
It's like my world keeps spinning in circles going nowhere at all, like some revolting and nauseating amusement park ride, and I want to stop the world and get off but I'm pinned tight to the wall, an angry wasp tacked to the wall by its wings. I don't know what to do.
12:33 AM