volcanic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- wash it all away So... I'm metaphorically tidying out my pencil case (when really I should be doing my homework). Do you ever do that- suddenly find a hundred and one things to do apart from the really big important thing that you're meant to be doing? My big thing that I'm not doing right now is filling in the "personal statement" section of my Uni. application form. I know that I could do it if I tried, but I keep procrastinating. I want it to be excellent, rather than just a resume of my life and jobs and why-I-want-to-do-the-course, and I can't quite seem to manage to summon up the necessary reserves of oozing excellence to distil onto the page. The nagging amateur psychologist in me has decided that this probably has to do with my own nagging doubts about whether or not it's the right decision to make in my life. The strident pragmatist perched jauntily on my other shoulder keeps reminding me that as yet, there is no decision to be made, so what's to lose. I don't have to make a decision until I get offered a place. Obviously, there's no danger of me being offered one until I actually get the form finished, and my referee to write sycophantic things about me, and the whole damn thing's shoved in the post and wending its merry way towards those nice people at UCAS. If I haven't got the statement bit done by tomorrow night's entry, you're allowed to kick me in the pants. Feeling a little melancholy tonight. Or maybe "flat"'s a better word. I don't know- one or the other- take your pick. Despite not being at work today, the mental grot that's clung to me since I got home last night after two twelve-hour shifts hasn't come out in the wash. I have ritual baths when I've finished a run of shifts. I mean, as you know all too well, I take great delight in my nightly baths anyway, but the post-work one is always a little bit more thorough. Everything gets scrubbed a little harder, and for longer. There's usually clean pyjamas and sheets involved, and even my hair gets washed, so that every trace of the place is removed. Somehow, it hasn't worked this time. I was trying to help one of my clients recover some saved Excel data from a floppy disk yesterday. he'd brought it to the nursing office, asking for help, and because I was impressed that he'd attempted to save it all by himself, and because he'd asked nicely (which isn't a given on our ward) I agreed to help. When I didn't manage to sort out the formula fast enough, he started giving me loads of grief, and then slammed his hand down hard on top of mine, which was using the mouse at the time. Ouch. What followed wasn't nice, and probably not particularly therapeutic, either, and my head was fried for hours afterwards. I couldn't speak to anyone, and took respite in a particularly bad Sidney Sheldon novel (although, to be honest, I've never yet come across a good one). By the time I'd done the incident forms (of which there were four: one for my hand, one for the assault, one for the subsequent restraint, and one for my colleagues carpet burns sustained during the restraint. Don't laugh!) I was yawning, miserable and ready to go home, and not even the fact that we'd been given a 23" colour TV earlier that day restored my flagging spirits. (Although today, having played Gex: Undercover Gecko on the PSone on it, I can appreciate it a little more) Last night was one of those nights when having someone to come home to would've made it all a little more do-able. Someone to run me a bath, rub my shoulders and crack me open a bottle of noxious alcopops would've made a huge difference. Bizarrely, I dreamt that someone- a male someone- asked me out. Sitting in a noisy, crowded bar with unknown people, this dark-haired man asked me out on a date, and then slipped his arm round me. In true volcanic-lacking-in-social-graces style, I squealed and chastised him for getting fresh with me. I promise you now, if it happens to me in real life, I'll smile sweetly, with my head tipped delicately to one side just like Lady Di, and say thankyou without letting slip how bloody grateful I am. Bath now: I have to scrub all this asylum off my aura.... 10:11 a.m. - 15.04.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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