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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

Must. Get off. Computer.

Must. Stop. Surfing.

Must. Stop. Changing. Templates. On. Everything. I'm. An. Administrator. Of.

It's seriously one of those days. I can't peel myself away from doing utterly useless things, like changing the settings on things so that the right time is shown. And stalking Paul McDermott across the internet. And singing along to the same song, over and over again. And trying to find a print out of the symbol I've decided to get tattooed on to my back in Edinburgh. And not actually doing anything I was supposed to do today, and not really being bothered.

Unemployment stinks and rocks in equal measure. The main thing that can be said for not working, and not being able to work, and being willing to work but not able to find a job that suits, and being too lazy to actually work when you do feel okay and being too poor to do anything other than sit on the internet all day is that it really lowers your sense of self worth, but also lowers your ability to really give a toss about it. I am currently embracing my ability to stalk Paul McDermott across the internet, and being quite pleased about it. The Fringe Programme emerges in a matter of days, and I'm crossing all of my appendages that Sulid Gud will be attending August.

Now. To more serious matters. I went back to the child genius doctor who so kindly pumped me full of steroids, anti-inflammatories and anesthetic and called it an "epidural" last January. I saw him yesterday at the hospital, to explain to him that, even though I've now finished physio and hydro, am doing my pilates (nearly) every day and am stretching, exercising, swimming and praying as hard as my little soul will let me, my back is getting worser and worser as the days go by. The eventful day when I tried to go back to work and ended up having to get Mrs D in to town to rescue me was mentioned. My inability to take my socks off on occasion was also brought in to play. The increased use of valium was not mentioned, because I like valium - Valium Is Fun, Kids! - and I didn't want him spoiling my buzz. The intrepid child doctor - does anyone remember Dougie Howser MD? Like him, only younger - took a tiny look at me, asked me to touch my toes (which I can still do with ease) and decided that, yes, he would give me a golden ticket and shove some more steroids right in to my back "in the next few weeks". After that, he said, he was cutting me off for a while.

So hoorah! Rock on Edinburgh! By then, I'll be able to walk, dance, fall down, stand up, jump about and feel no pain! Well, not much pain. Some pain. But not enough to stop me from chasing Paul McDermott down a dark alleyway and bundling him in to the back of a van.

This entry was posted on 04 June 2004 at 3:39 pm. 0 comments

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