bitful

I could indulge in a lengthy narration on how last week I was taken to hospital again (Watford Central, this time - lovely baby blue walls, and nasty nurse who shaved one square bald patch on each of my pecs and smeared them with lube without asking me permission - what if I was a highly-paid glamour model and had lost two weeks' worth of contracts because of that?), after fainting a few times at work, but I'd rather put all of that behind me. No indulgent self-pity here, sorry.

Let's just say that if you hear of anybody in London looking for a trilingual web jack-of-all-trades (and master of none), please let me know.

I knew all along that making coffee was not my greatest aspiration in life. It was alright to tie me over (oh, will the S/M clique at the back stop sniggering please), but as it turned into a proper career with the managing and the company car and the expenses and the travelling and the reporting - but without the paycheck that goes with it, my body clearly tried to pull the plug on me several times.

My body knows me best, and I shall listen to my body. And then it will show me its gratitude by growing bulges in all the right places and gracefully shrinking in other less appreciated ones (no physical effort required, of course). Won't it?

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 13th, 2004 at 11:29 pm and is filed under uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.