funk

some days i wake up and, after downing that first coffee to open my eyes, halfway through the morning routine, i catch myself - why am i even bothering with this? it's not like ive been getting a kick out of life lately. working nights suck. and when im not working, im supposed to be studying for this exam that, at eleven months away, seem more bogeyman than deadline. what's more, after the nice, principles-based, practical specialty of respiratory medicine, we're up to infectious diseases. is there a fluffier, more waffly subject? what causes fever and rash in a fifty-nine year old man? oh i dont know - theres only about seventeen gazillion. maybe his wife just caught him ogling their seventeen year old neighbour. who cares?

its generally at this point i try to console myself: what else would i rather be doing? but i quickly realise that this is a dangerous and seductive question: do you want the whole list or just the top three? no, perhaps what i mean is: what else should i be doing? but once again that wont do (see the entry on 21.3.10). it's just hopeless. am i doing this exam because it's what im supposed to do? am i doing it because i dont know what else to do? i used to laugh condescendingly at my friends who i felt were doing exactly these things. whos laughing now? *choke*

i went to donate blood again the other day and found that i've put on ten kilos since we finished travelling fourteen months ago. ridiculous. mum thinks its because of all the beer that im drinking. the truth is im drinking less beer. its the lack of activity and eating out of boredom thats doing it. picture this - jabba the hutt in a "i heart ny" hoodie, with potato chip stains around his lips, slouching in front of his macbook, alt-tabbing between wikipedia and the same question on parvovirus b19 for the last three hours. this is not a joke.

what is a joke, a really bad one, is my entire existence. o woe is me, to have seen what i have seen, see what i see!


you'd want to cry too if you've just spent forty minutes learning about secondary syphilis (Lali Chetwynd, An Evening with Jabba the Hut, 2004, http://www.gasworks.org.uk/)