Yarr, it be harpoonin’ season!

Thought for today: The grit is always oranger on the other side!

Though sometimes, it turns out it’s just a trick of the goddamn sodium lights.  And the road is a bastard to cross to find out right now. Still, the breathtaking beauty continues (though this could be a trick of the cold. Minus thirteen last night, and not much more today. The frost crystal growing on the snow are now a centimetre tall!)

Sadly, my Colleague of Empty Kettles made it into work today. She came bursting in at eleven, complaining about the weather holding her up. During a pause, my Cellmate mentioned that I’ve been stomping an hour each way through all this and arriving on time. Which provoked a tirade. Well, people who only live a forty minute walk from work Should make it into work, there’s no excuse for them Not being at work!

It is possible that giving everyone in the world a massive ego would not help; my Colleague of Empty Kettles blatantly thinks she’s better than I am, and it doesn’t stop her one jot. Mind you, if I had a massive ego, I would dismiss her blather as just that: blather. As it is, my fury was Epic.

Alas, this is not the part involving the harpooning. No, the only salient remark I could think of in the heat of the moment was, Brooklyn RAGE! so I was forced to keep my mouth shut. Maybe I should cut down on the cartoons about children’s card games. But still! Not only am I blatantly at work, and have been all this time, I am here doing her work right now. Hmm. Since she’s shown up, that can go back through to see her now, and I shall take on someone else’s.

I have at least procured a kettle that someone had left in the cleaner’s room. The cleaner feared she would get in trouble if it was spotted, but doesn’t know whose it is, so asked me to guard it so she knows where it is if the owner ever shows up. I have generously bequeathed it to my Colleague of Empty Kettles. Now, she has no reason to come through and infuriate me!

I had to leave early today, having an appointment with a harpoon. Yes, this is the part about the harpooning. I rather optimistically decided nobody would have taken the route up the steep hill to the doctor’s; I was wrong, everyone had taken it, and it was like trying to get up and down a hill of glass. Oh the irony if I fall and get hurt on my way to the sodding doctor’s. I have worked out, I think, why I am so scared of falling on the ice and being injured – it’s so entirely random. You can be as careful as you like, and despite every precaution, this next step could be the one that lands you with a plaster-cast and months of backlog at work. It’s like a microcosm of Life itself!

By the time that was over, the actual smear test was almost something of a relief. And the nurse was very pleasant and professional. Look, this is the Brush I will be using! she said, holding up something that looked like nothing like a brush. It resembled a propeller attached to a foot-long cocktail-stirrer. Oh god, I would give good money not to have seen that; though at least I now know that, despite how it feels, they do not grab your cervix in a miniature mouse-trap.

The downside to health-care professionals being professional, however, is that I feel compelled to get embroiled in a Who Can Be The Most Professional About This competition, in which the ante is most definitely upped by me being the one who’s naked from the waist down, and which usually involves trying to keep my voice all in the one octave long enough to ask what holiday plans said health-care professional has, while also making the sort of faces last seen on Who Framed Roger Rabbit.

I suppose, in the absence of playing the professionalism game, I would be reduced to making harpoon jokes (database suggests: Moby Dick quotes, the Secretary With A Crossbow from Dilbert, Mako Tsunami the freaky fish guy). Would the person wielding said harpoon take it as a criticism of their skill? Do you want to accidentally provoke someone currently having at you with a propeller on a big stick?

So that was all better than it could have been, and then we were both, Yay! It’s over for another three years! Although we didn’t go as far as a high five. Well, that’s it – unless it shows anything dodgy, in which case I have to come back for an appointment with the Laser. Ha. Ever wondered how lasers can manage to be so multi-purpose? From hair removal to eye surgery to cervical abnormalities, they can fix it all! This is because ‘laser’ is often a euphemism; in this case, for an enormous soldering iron. Le shriek.

After all that, I was supposed to walk to the shopping centre for a scientific calculator. Because it turns out, some of my sums are wrong because my pishy calculator, while perfectly adequate for working out astrological birthcharts, faints when confronted by anything multiplied by ten to the power of eight, and gives all answers as, Eee! Mercifully, this explains why, at the start of chapter four, it said, For this chapter, you will need a calculator, at which point I nearly did backflips of terror, because I cannot calculate a square root in my head (and I’m fairly sure most other people can’t either). But, we’re supposed to? Does this mean, I’m meant to remember all the equations as well and not flick back to see what they are? I wouldn’t be doing this in an Engineering job; I’d be checking everything!

Showing a complete lack of spine and fortitude, I declined to walk any further in all this ice. Screw that, I am home alive and I would like it to stay that way. Tomorrow, I will cadge a lift all the way to the shopping centre; tonight, I will just sit in and do the sums without the scientific calculator! Just as soon as I find some Indoor gloves, for it is a bastard of a cold one tonight and my fingers will no longer respond enough to make legible writing.

Eventually, I found the indoor gloves. En route, however, I found three separate stashes of swimwear, totalling six different outfits. The hell? Nobody needs that much! I was just opening a tin of soup prior to starting the sums, however, when I sliced a big happy smile into my thumb. It gushed blood everywhere and needed a big plaster, which also prevented me from making legible writing. Sigh.

I do not count today as a success.

The one high point of the evening was getting a phone-call from my Chestnut-haired Old Mother. A very brief one. My landline’s back on! she announced. I would love to stay on and chat, but I haven’t had the internet for a WEEK. Byeee!

Awww, dingying her loved ones for her technological fix. She’s finally joined the modern age.

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About beshemoth

Mainly making art, making wine, writing and gardening. Having a life only as the above allows.
This entry was posted in idiotic injuries, please don't fire me, the fear of all sums. Bookmark the permalink.

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