A slight sojourn into the realm of clinically clean

Well last week i was suffering from a mild cold... (which my girlfriend so happily dubbed 'boy-flu') then later on the cold became more like someone had decided to kick me in the balls... repeatedly... i was rather concerned about that... images of ball surgery and nicknames like lefty and ol one nut came to mind. so i went to my GP. She decided i had clahmidia... how nice of her. so she did like every doctor in this country does and prescribed antibiotics and sent me home. i swear to god med school these days just tells docs to be to prescribe antibiotics and send ppl home.

I happen to be one of the few ppl i know whos chances of clamidia (sp)are small to nill. so i went home. later that day i decided after crawling around on the floor and wondering if i could possibly tie myself up into an even tighter faetal position that i should seek a second opinion. i staggered down the road to the drop in clinic and waited around there for a half hour of agonizing writhing on an examination table. the nurse there was a very special form of indecisive useless.

Eventually they called an ambulance. i got stapped in an whisked away to the Accident and Emergency. O happy o joy. Now to start the 4 session of pocking and prodding from another medical person. it was pretty obvious my pain was... uncommon. At least for me it was. The hot Aussie doctor tho was helpful and diagnosed Renal cholic... which sounded kinda scary... then she said it was also known as kidney stones... and thats why i kept trying to find ways to contort myself so i could have a good look at my own anus.

Let me stop here and say... morphine is a medical marvel. and my friend.

well 2 days later... a number of physical dignities destroyed (yes i was the subject of a group of undergrad med students and their resident doc playing with my nuts in public... not to mention my nuts werent sore anymore). BUT large doses of Voltarol and Tramadol (synthetic morphine) and a nice saline drip kept me well ensconsed in my own fantasy ER episode. 2 days later i am home.

Im high as a kite and hold my drugs close to my heart. until the little shit of a stone passes i think i will hold on to those pills of pleasure.

Hospital food sucks as always tho. its nice that there are a few dependable things in life.

Well at least i get a week of work paid and all the bed i could ever dream of having! yay!

see ya later...

In other news

Recently i realized i dont have many friends... its thanks to the constant reminders, or should i say lack of, from my cell phone. the only person who calls/texts me is my girlfriend, and thats mostly for 'baby could you pick up some bread on the way home?'. Funny thing is... i dont really mind. Ya ya keep your "awww marcus"'s to yourself... i have one or two VERY good friends back in the land of ice and snow, but here, in the fungus archipelago i seem to have either inherited the mates of my partner, or somehow attained the hangers on that life simply attaches to you whether you want them or not. Most of the time its not. I think i am becoming more and more reclusive in my personal time. Perhaps thats one reason why i am with my partner. she too is a bit of a recluse... we could spend an entire weekend in each others company and although the average amount of conversation occurs we dont need to reaffirm our existences in other ppl or eachother i guess by making up things to do to be social.

Perhaps it has something to do with the social state of this mushroom haven i am inhabiting. The media here is even more in your face and perhaps borders so much more on the fictional than factual that being social and what social is portrayed as simply dont match up. Some i suppose march off hellbent to find this social haven of pretty people and perfect martinis and along the way still end up pissing against a wall in a dark alley with one outstretched arm on a gritty brick wall for 'sway support'. Now the funny thing is, this form of social life is ALSO portrayed in the media. But somehow its funny. Or supposed to be anyway. I dont really see it. I dont need to watch 30 minutes of commercial free tv to live vicariously through other ppls hangovers. What am i looking for then? hell if i know. Not the serial hangover and not the plastic surgeons bar with sexy women and dayglow martini glasses.

These two commonly accepted forms of social existence simply dont match what happens if one goes out 'on the piss' as its called. I have wandered into this dialogue from the friends thing cuz aside from organized religion/sports there are few other ways to meet ppl and make aforementioned friends. I think my generation is started to collectively hermitize themselves. Its all around us. The advent of the blog is one. A safe, mostly solitary way to express oneself with having to experience the hygiene and mindless dribble of ppl constantly cutting in on our points. We want OUR time for OUR ideas and OUR space. please dont intrude. Leave me be to simply be. Perhaps i am wrong. But it seems as time progresses I myself am in my head more and in my mouth less. If its talk time its in an attempt to make my point or assure someone quickly and clearly so they can leave me be to do my thing.

Less and less i want to invite dialogue. Whitty 'smart' conversation truly has become mutual masturbation. Each person mentally tallys points for themselves on good quips and surgical reasoning. Neither walks away learning anything but instead give themselves a mental pat on the back for a well put together string of sentences.
Ah the rosy afterglow of a deep chat. Ive had shitloads of these socalled good chats... cant remember one of em. I could just have a poor memory but i have my doubts as to how GOOD those chats were.

So back to the original statement. If the chats arent that great, and the company isnt all that thrilling... and i happen to really like who I am without havin to mirror myself against another persons shortcomings or otherwise... then perhaps i dont really need that many friends. I count myself lucky for the two that i really do appreciate and know they appreciate me. i dont need much else.

emo aside... i finally finished my stealth suit army of doom... well actually i have 18 stealth suits (thats 54 deep striking SHOTS baby)and am one model away from a full 1500 point army. Thats quite the milestone... perhaps ill pick up the last broadside tomorrow. naw... if i do that i wont paint the shiny metal men in my box.

And now im looking for a good book suggestion. The booker list looks shit btw. Im kinda tired of the top listed award winning books. Somehow they are all starting to sound the same. In fact these best selling literary award winning novels are starting to remind me of the formula pop music that inundates High street clothes shops... sure the songs are catchy, but thats what they were PROGRAMMED to be. the books are the same... morally intriguing, shockingly funny, darkly moving, a journey of the mind that ends in the heart ... slogans of the dust jackets of countless books in the display windows of only your best bookstores. Bleargh. hrmmm SO you novel reading fiends.. prove me wrong! gimme something GOOD.

nite nite!