volcanic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- MORE traumas! Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou to everyone who left kind words of advice and encouragement. They all helped me get through the morning. Today started off immensely well, Bob-wise. We chatted briefly during the morning, and he asked me to help him out with some research he had to do for his assessment. He'd also brought me in a book of J K Potter photos to look at, because we'd discussed photography lots yesterday. I was really chuffed about that, not least because the introduction had been written by Lydia Lunch, who I love with a passion. I sat and read it during my lunch hour, and enjoyed it. A bit later on, we went and sat on the ward PC, to do his research. Except we ended up talking about how our bedrooms are decorated, and Skin Two magazine and stuff like that. It was nice- it felt comfortable and easy, and I didn't particularly feel like I needed to do anything drastic or desperate-sounding, as I was just having a pleasant time. It was nice- we'd kind of spent the day having conversations as we passed in doorways that lengthened to the point where we were causing an obstruction. Then I took a patient to the local shops to buy some fags. When I got back, one of my colleagues, Dave, was chatting to me about Bob. "You know he's- ahem- "aware", don't you, he said. I was curious about how Bob knew, and eventually, after a good deal of probing, I managed to get Dave to admit that whilst I was out, the following conversation had taken place: Nancy (colleague): How's your research coming along, Bob? Bob: Fine, thanks. Emma's been really helpful... Nancy: Heheh. You know why that is, don't you? [pantomime wink] Dave: ...Because she fancies the pants off you! Apparently he didn't look horrified, surprised or unruffled, which is a minor relief, at least. Needless to say, I could have done without those comments, though, not least because I'm afraid that now everything we've talked about looks like contrivance on my part. I suspect my plea for help with the USB port looks like it has ulterior motives. Bugger. I didn't find out about this until after bob had gone home. Admittedly he didn't act weird or freaked or horrified with me when I'd said goodbye to him, but... This is a bit crap, really. I hadn't anticipated this happening at all. I just feel embarrassed- not about my feelings, but about the somewhat teenage melodrama-esque element that's been introduced to the situation. I don't feel in control of it at all anymore. And, I don't know how I'm going to face him tomorrow. Well, I do: I'll just try and act normally and not get into a state about it, I s'pose. Damn, though- I would've helped him with his assessment and stuff even if I didn't like him- I'd do that for anyone, and I would have liked him to be my friend, if nothing else. Come on, give me more advice, you clever people (and I don't mean about how to painfully torture my "helpful" colleagues, I mean about how to do some serious damage limitation that allows me to retain not just my dignity and my position, but also my allure!) Bless you- you're all stars. Thankyou... 9:37 a.m. - 08.08.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||