Lucky lucky

Shake up some san pellegrino and blast it into my asshole and ask me if it’s still or sparkling. Ask me where I’m going and wait for me to tell you I don’t know. 
I’m not puking rhetoric and bullshit for the good of my time or my health, so why am I doing it at all. Why does anyone write anything. Why are we so obsessed with documenting everything on the internet?
Shit, dog, ask someone else. Anyone else.
I’ve been having a fairly nice time lately. Lingering on the cusp of romance with him or her; here and there, travelling around wherever. Doing whatever. 

It hasn’t felt all that taxing to hand in work once or twice a term, sit an exam, on the understanding that a fuck-tonne of the rest of my time is MY TIME.
It’s been fulfilling and I have so little to moan about when I’m this…..not malcontent.
So if I’m not going to moan, what the shit else is there to do? Well big things are going on in my life right now….so I’m going to twiddle on about something small. Tiny. Inconsequential. 
I have an underactive thyroid. My clinical symptoms were negligible when it was diagnosed, years ago. Normally people who have this get fat, lose their hair and develop dry skin, all the while experiencing draining fatigue. I experienced none of this. Seriously. Not one symptom. It got picked up on during a check for something entirely else. My TSH test showed up as being something ridiculous in the region of 98. So ever since, I’ve been taking thyroxine. 
What the fuck am I rambling on about? Well, this condition requires me to go get a blood test at certain intervals. And one of them fell this week.
I sat there in this complete shit hole of a walk in centre. Seriously, it was like every festival toilet queefed their contents into a centre for troubled youth, and there we all were sitting in there together hating every moment while the building’s security and reception staff minced about ineffectually, irritated by their own perfunctory existence. 
I was on my own, which was weird, as I normally recruit people to flank my attendance to this type of boring formality. But I forgot about it. And I don’t want to call people off the cuff in case it gives them the impression that they can call me off the cuff. Which I do not prefer. 
So I was sat there, alone, waiting. This place is such a sewer that they still work on a “take a ticket, take a seat” basis, so I was sat there with my ticket, getting stared at by people who obviously thought I was a curiosity in my heels, with my hair blow-dried all big and my lipstick. I needed to pass the time as I had like ten fucking tickets ahead of me, and all the accidental eye contact with grim strangers was making me nauseous. 
So I made a deal with the universe. 
I was sat there, thinking “well here I am. There is no better time for you to talk to me. I am literally otherwise completely Disengaged. Talk to me.” 

I looked around for something to demand. Anything. I stared up at the ancient red LED lights on the ticket marquee. The ticket number and the allocated bay. 
“Give me seven” I thought to myself. I made all sorts of things that me getting bay seven would mean. Implications about love, how my life was going to go henceforth, my health. Everything. 
“If you give me seven, it means all of these things are true. All these great things are true. If I get bay seven, that is you, the universe, telling me they’re true.”
I bargained and bargained. The whole time I sat there. I watched other tickets get called, bay four bay two bay nine. I repeated it in my head like a maniac.
I got seven.
It means nothing I know. Nothing nothing nothing at all. How could it possibly? It cannot and does not.

I was so stunned, I took a picture of it. And my ticket. But then I realised, I can never prove the thought that was in my own head. That moment was all me. I can’t give it to anyone, because it only exists in my head.
But as I walked away to let some stranger stick a needle in my arm, I felt strangely comforted. Reassured. Mental, I know. Why be reassured by something that means nothing.
But I think the whole incident speaks volumes about where I am right now. I’m allowing things to make me happy. No matter what they are. I think I’ll always have a baseline of sadness. It’s hard to have a past, and it’s worrying to have a future. But I think I’m easing my grip on those things a small amount, and it is just making my present so much more pleasurable. 

It’s a total revelation. Everything else just seems so silly in comparison. Why did I ever let myself get tangled in perspectives that weren’t my own? Family burdens, friendship expectations, colleagues. I mean who are they really, except just separate entities that have no jurisdiction over my life. 
I feel like right now, anything could happen and if it was good and I wanted it, I could open my arms and welcome it in. Anything. Do I sound psychotic? Maybe I am. And I fucking love it. I want more of it. Much more.
The people I’m meeting lately, the people I’m spending time with (why are so many of them fucking danish anyway…??) I’m not sure at what point it happens, but each time my life changes a huge amount I have a moment of lucidity, a sort of whiplash where I just have this feeling of “wow, this is all so different to before”. 

     I guess I’m taking a long time to say something very simple which is I think my experiences are becoming more tangibly positive (once again, as opposed to for the first time) because my attitude has finally shifted from learned pessimism to open minded hedonism. I was always a hedonist really, but I’ve had patches of real apathy. I’m not talking about magazine page, Facebook status apathy. I’m talking lay under the duvet and die. Sit under the bare sky all night in shorts and a t-shirt in winter apathy. I might die because I am not looking after myself apathy. Idiot apathy.
My experience with my back is teaching me that emotional pain and physical pain can often be treated in similar ways. There’s so much in the world to distract you that if you just fucking live in it, then it’s fucking tantalisingly wonderful. 

     I’m starting a placement in an oncology ward this month, and taking a fair few trips. So I’ll have something less wanky to say next post I’m sure….
But put your fingers in the dirt people, and enjoy the way it crumbles.
We only get one go.


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