do not give blood and then fight; but you probably don’t need to be told this

Ha, today I awoke to the smell of fresh cake, which was a bit odd. And when I opened the bread machine, there was indeed something that looked a bit weird in there. Oh dear! Where is my beautiful loaf?

I have made brioche, it would appear. Goddamn, Marie-Antoinette time! I wonder how it happened? I wonder if I could repeat it? I wonder if I have anything that isn’t crab paste to go on it, because I do not think that will go down very well?

Nope. Shame; it was a mighty fine brioche too!

Since the move, Thursdays have returned to being Hellday. Which is more chaotic than it used to be, but actually slightly less hellish, overall. The nurses are still being nice whenever I go through to find things in the chaos, and I have yet to even set eyes on Dr Anonymous since the move to the new building, despite being just down the corridor from him. Which is why I call him Dr Anonymous.

Someone else I have never met: my new cellmate. She emailed to say she is excited to finally get to meet me!

And my Colleague I Suspect Is Up To Something is also excited. Or perhaps ‘impassioned’ is more the word. I was right in the middle of making the most of my time alone in the office (i.e. by taking my shoes off and singing while I work, both of which are rather antisocial activities – if you’re me) when she came bursting in to make a big speech to me about how much she owes the Boss* and we should totally get her a leaving gift. Okay, fine; I shall happily chip in, since it is the Done Thing, though we may need to give much thought to what is small and light enough to fit on a plane to Down Under. Dear god, though, I am an audience of one whole person, Oration is hardly necessary! Some serious scenery-chewing going on there, too. A straight face was hard work.

(*My Colleague I Suspect Is Up To Something owes the Boss, or so we are told, because she was on a redeployment list for long enough to be very nearly out the damn door. Though we have yet to unearth why. When lo, suddenly the Boss showed up and was all, Oh, we’ll take her! And thus my Colleague I Suspect Is Up To Something was saved, and we are now stuck with someone whose first act was to try and kybosh my holiday to the great US of A, for no obvious reason because I’d tried to be friendly and welcoming, and whose second act was to keep a Diary of Lies about us. I know this was hardly what the Boss had in mind, but still, Cheers Boss!)

But finally, the day was over and freedom beckoned. Right, since last night’s plans were also kyboshed by the Boss, can we cram everything into one night, i.e. go blood doning and to fightclub immediately after?

I see no reason why not! As long as we are Hard enough!

Maybe we aren’t. To my shame, I find blood-doning harder and harder. I thought I’d get used to the needle and the pain and the way the sodding local doesn’t kick in till I’m kicked out, but even imagining I’m feeding a big anaconda from my veins doesn’t work as well these days.

And yeah, maybe that idea was a bit stupid actually. I had to keep sitting out during the game I believe is called, ‘kick the shit out of the one in the middle’ and I wasn’t even in the middle! But consider! I was not at all sure I was up to walking four miles home in that nick, and if I had fainted on the way I coulda smacked my head off the curb, landed in a puddle and drowned, woken up with random strangers holding my wallet (it has happened before!), fainted in front of a speeding car, etc etc. At least at fightclub I might land on something soft and be Looked After.

(Ooh it is interesting to see where I place my trust – I rely on the people I hit and get hit by, week on week, to not put the boot in! Ironic, innit. And let us not forget, I have vastly misplaced my trust before! Hope springs eternal and fools never learn. Or something.)

Plus, I kinda assumed they’d say, Don’t be an idiot, of course you can’t fight fifteen minutes after giving blood, and send me home, and I’d look all Keen and Valiant without having to do a thing. Ha. Ahahaha. They didn’t. Hee. Money where me mouth is time!

However, at least I delivered the werewolf I have been carting around for two whole days now, and I am quite impressed that I survived spider tig, which involved many forward rolls – which probably did for me to be honest. And I kicked my instructor really hard in the leg, ahahah- I mean, whoops. Though I didn’t expect him to suddenly chuck himself into a cartwheel after I’d started the kick.

He said I was a bun. Not for kicking him, but for showing up.

Still, I did manage an hour, about half of which I spent sitting with me head between me knees, fnar fnar, and then the four miles home. After which I had a shower, thought about doing something productive, and thought I’d quit while I’m ahead.

In conclusion: yarrr, I am not immortal. Not even infallible. Bollocks!

However. Here is the werewolf:


About beshemoth

Mainly making art, making wine, writing and gardening. Having a life only as the above allows.
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