Left a week to roam

Some days you wake up and you just know you'd be better off staying in bed. There's a feeling that makes your muscles twitch with the promise of tension and your synapses fire discontent. You know it's not going to go well. Today has been one of those days. It's been trying. Oh so very trying.

Work this morning was all sorts of hell since the other receptionist doesn't seem to understand the basic principle of not double booking patients. Or entering data correctly. I'm supposed to be sympathetic because she's busy. Yes, well, I had 14 patients in, most already grumpy thanks to the heat, while also managing to not only fix the incorrect entries, but actually do my own paperwork as well. As I've said many, many times, this job is not rocket science. It's admin, filing, answering phones. In the future, monkeys will be doing it. Or robots. Perhaps monkey robots...whatever, the point is, it's not that difficult so focus and stop making more work for me.

I'm also quite tired of people acting so high and mighty about their degrees, and then they all end up studying teaching anyway. Oh yes, well done. On that note, I don't want to teach, alright? So kindly stop suggesting it. I know that my degree is generally rather useless, and even when it is of value it is in a hugely competitive area (and I've realised that I will generally be competing for jobs with my friends. Car pool for interviews guys?) but I'd still rather slum around before I teach. Just because I can do it, doesn't mean I should. I'd be a terrible teacher, plus I'd constantly want to kill them. I may possibly be a better uni tutor, but I am likely to instruct people to google something when they ask me a question. But this is all besides the point, I don't want to be a teacher! Bah.

I'm now feeling completely deflated. If anyone wants me, check the dark corners, I'm coming home.

This is the story of your red right ankle
And how it came to meet your leg
And how the muscle, bone, and sinews tangled
And how the skin was softly shed

And how it whispered “Oh, adhere to me
For we are bound by symmetry
And whatever differences our lives have been
We together make a limb.”
This is the story of your red right ankle.

This is the story of your gypsy uncle
You never knew ‘cause he was dead
And how his face was carved and rife with wrinkles
In the picture in your head.

And remember how you found the key
To his hide-out in the Pyrenees
But you wanted to keep his secret safe
So you threw the key away.
This is the story of your gypsy uncle.

This is the story of the boys who loved you
Who love you now and loved you then
And some were sweet, some were cold and snuffed you
And some just laid around in bed.

Some had crumbled you straight to your knees
Did it cruel, did it tenderly
Some had crawled their way into your heart
To rend your ventricles apart
This is the story of the boys who loved you
This is the story of your red right ankle.

Music: Red Right Ankle - The Decemberists
Mood: Tense and upset