Hey!
Well, I'm not even going to read my last posts because it all came crashing down like a tonne of bricks about a week ago, its not Buh-duhs, its fucking Hairy Krishnas, THEY were the ones that tormented me, how embarassing, that I, Hannah Guidera, got my religions wrong, fuck.
Give me a break though, I quite sick, thats why I'm sitting in an internet cafe at 12.21pm instead of being at work. I did take yesterday off, and I have now learnt my lesson not to wimper and sputter when I call in sick, because when I came in waving my doctors cert and my swollen glands (come on, its one of the first time I pulled a sickie and I was actually sick, I'm gonna milk this for all I can!) they sent me home...
I've been quite sick on and off since easter, which is such a long time for such a strapping buck like me. So on tuesday when these lumps came out of my throat and my neck really hurt and I felt like I had taken some serious mind-altering drugs I started to feel a little worried. I asked a lot of dumb people if they knew what was wrong with me... and at the end of the night I thought that my glands might burst and I could die chocking on puss, I'm nothing but a terroist contaminating everything with my chemical warfare, just basically I might die and take thousands of people down with me.
So, I went to see the goddam doctor. And whadaya know, I fell in love, I was nothing but a mere fragile kitten, pathetically coffing every now and then. And this intellegent, strong man comes and puts his hand on my shoulder and takes me into a room, genarally caring about who I am and how I am and wanting to fix me. I even got all giddy when I was asked to take off my clothes and hop up on the bed. But hoping this routine check up was foreplay was just silly, as he just strolls back to his desks, tells me I have just a stinky ol' throat infection as he scribbles on a bit of paper, tells me to get some rest, look after my self and "for gods sake give up the ciggerettes!" and threw me out the window.
best fifty bucks I ever spent!
Now I can sit back and enjoy this dizzy head spin of a sickness, knowing that I'm not going to die.
There is something a little unfair about the piece of paper you have to fill out before you go in though, there's a little "Social Habits" tickbox you have to fill out.
Only 3 questions..
Do you smoke?
Do you drink alchohol?
Do you smoke marijana?
Yes I do all those things but I SWEAR they are the ONLY three bad things I do to myself! Why couldn't there be tickboxes for promescuity, and all those scary drugs, where I could quite proudly and smugly left them blank, or wrote a bloody great NOPE, not me, I'm good.
I knew all the receiptionists read it too, because they gave me those smiles that only suggest "my daughter is a fucking retard, and there goes another perfectly formed human being digging herself into an early grave/prostitution, what a sad sad waste. Well, at least she wrote her adress on this here form, because any day now the 'Super Human Transfusion Machine' dear hubby is working on down in the basement is going to be ready, and together we can take the brains of the unworthy out of thier bodies and replace it with someone deserving! and the world will be right again!"
Shame your daughter is MENTALLY RETARDED... dork.
Well, I'm getting that dizzy feeling again, I think I might find a park to go sit in and look at things, I might take a muffin to eat there too. FUCK! Its so great getting up early getting showered and dressed and made up, ready for those 9 hours of work, only to get there and told to fuck off, spat back out into the outside world where I can do whatever the fuck I want, and yay, because my brain is only working about 10%, I can actually appreciate it, and not sulk and go home feeling unwanted. I love throat infections! Ive even lost 3 kilos!
Horray!
Give me a break though, I quite sick, thats why I'm sitting in an internet cafe at 12.21pm instead of being at work. I did take yesterday off, and I have now learnt my lesson not to wimper and sputter when I call in sick, because when I came in waving my doctors cert and my swollen glands (come on, its one of the first time I pulled a sickie and I was actually sick, I'm gonna milk this for all I can!) they sent me home...
I've been quite sick on and off since easter, which is such a long time for such a strapping buck like me. So on tuesday when these lumps came out of my throat and my neck really hurt and I felt like I had taken some serious mind-altering drugs I started to feel a little worried. I asked a lot of dumb people if they knew what was wrong with me... and at the end of the night I thought that my glands might burst and I could die chocking on puss, I'm nothing but a terroist contaminating everything with my chemical warfare, just basically I might die and take thousands of people down with me.
So, I went to see the goddam doctor. And whadaya know, I fell in love, I was nothing but a mere fragile kitten, pathetically coffing every now and then. And this intellegent, strong man comes and puts his hand on my shoulder and takes me into a room, genarally caring about who I am and how I am and wanting to fix me. I even got all giddy when I was asked to take off my clothes and hop up on the bed. But hoping this routine check up was foreplay was just silly, as he just strolls back to his desks, tells me I have just a stinky ol' throat infection as he scribbles on a bit of paper, tells me to get some rest, look after my self and "for gods sake give up the ciggerettes!" and threw me out the window.
best fifty bucks I ever spent!
Now I can sit back and enjoy this dizzy head spin of a sickness, knowing that I'm not going to die.
There is something a little unfair about the piece of paper you have to fill out before you go in though, there's a little "Social Habits" tickbox you have to fill out.
Only 3 questions..
Do you smoke?
Do you drink alchohol?
Do you smoke marijana?
Yes I do all those things but I SWEAR they are the ONLY three bad things I do to myself! Why couldn't there be tickboxes for promescuity, and all those scary drugs, where I could quite proudly and smugly left them blank, or wrote a bloody great NOPE, not me, I'm good.
I knew all the receiptionists read it too, because they gave me those smiles that only suggest "my daughter is a fucking retard, and there goes another perfectly formed human being digging herself into an early grave/prostitution, what a sad sad waste. Well, at least she wrote her adress on this here form, because any day now the 'Super Human Transfusion Machine' dear hubby is working on down in the basement is going to be ready, and together we can take the brains of the unworthy out of thier bodies and replace it with someone deserving! and the world will be right again!"
Shame your daughter is MENTALLY RETARDED... dork.
Well, I'm getting that dizzy feeling again, I think I might find a park to go sit in and look at things, I might take a muffin to eat there too. FUCK! Its so great getting up early getting showered and dressed and made up, ready for those 9 hours of work, only to get there and told to fuck off, spat back out into the outside world where I can do whatever the fuck I want, and yay, because my brain is only working about 10%, I can actually appreciate it, and not sulk and go home feeling unwanted. I love throat infections! Ive even lost 3 kilos!
Horray!