Lol, this is what one produces with paint when one has too much time on her hands.

Weather today was crazy! Forecast was for the southerlies with heavy showers and snow. Morning came. Hmm.... northwester blowing. Cool but not cold. Fine. Blue sky. Crunchy leaves underfoot. Birds flying past and playing in the trees. Riiight. Stupid weatherman. And boy did he have the last laugh. Afternoon came around and it started pouring heaps. I got out to catch the bus to work and if it wasn't for my precious umbrella I would have ended up looking like I've just been swimming. And I was only walking for less than 5 minutes probably to the bus stop. Ek! And shiver while I waited for the bus to come along. Evening came by, and it snowed. The signboard for the pharmacy got covered in an inch of snow that before closing time I decided to just put it out of its misery by wiping the snow off (and freezing my fingers at the same time) and bringing it in. Just as well Jim gave me a ride home (as usual, I'm such a leeeeeech ^^!) for catching a bus in that weather would have been crazy.

Will have to look through geriatic psych stuff soon in prep for next week. For some reason I can't seem to get interviews successful unless it has been pre-arranged for me to meet them. Psych ward time are good in that I do end up getting info from the patients I'm interviewing. Go on my own to K2 and I get nowhere. Twice now. That certainly can't be by chance. Sigh. Something wrong with me or something wrong with the person on the other end. Next time I'll do what Croucher suggested. Stop it and ask directly. I wonder if psychiatrists are generally cool people. And geriatrictions (who are also pretty slow-ish and laid-back). Because that's what it seems. And if surgeons are kinda the impatient and occasionally ill-mannered ones. But then so far, only surgery and the psych parts are interesting. The problems list of the elderly are just too much for me. Give me surgery where it's wham bam only one problem to tackle and that's it. Ugh. And don't get me started on murmurs. Man I hate lousy hearts. For some reason my ears hear the same thing on everyone, and I only hear the difference after it's been pointed out. Then it's kinda like... yea... I think so.... -_-"'

I feel fat. For some reason this year I've gotten hooked on anything chocolate. I'm still the same weight. It's good I guess, but on the other hand I've been wanting to get back to my previous weight, i.e. before I came here. Damn. Sometimes I really do want to get a knife out and slice off the parts I hate. I've wondered if I punctured myself with a big needle and then stuck a straw in, and sucked really hard, would it work like liposuction??? It makes me wish almost that I've got a job as a model or something to give me the determination to get it down. Lol. Daily 40 hour famines. I'll probably end up binging instead afterwards. Arrrgh. I swear if I ever hit the overweight margin of the BMI scale I'm going to jump off the twin towers, and let that be a lesson to all who let themselves grow fat.

I've handed in my long case for HCE, and still seeing Mr G daily. It's really nice to see that he's improving all the time, though I don't really think he would actually get full function back in his foot and back of the leg, or the fingers. These parts still can't move very well on their own whereas all the other muscle groups can now.

Sometimes I wonder if I would be able to live with myself if I had to lose that much function in my body. A toe maybe. A finger or a leg or a half of my body ..... would I still want to go on? This sounds so bad that it almost seems like I'm passing judgement, and when I'm telling the people I see to hang on they'll get better, but for myself, without my fingers I can't really see myself surviving without them. There really seems no point almost. I like walking. If I ever had to lose a leg, would I still be content to live? At this point it seems not. I used to think that if I had a choice, I rather be hurt really really bad that I wouldn't survive than be be hurt some and have to live with some part of me gone. With dementia I probably wouldn't mind living on unless I know I'm demented, though that's bloody unlikely. But I can't imagine if a loved one became so demented that they couldn't recognise me at all. Would I still be able to bring myself to see them? To love them? I hear of people with their loved ones changing so much, turning aggressive, physically and mentally, with their dementia. A niece refused to continue caring for a aunt after being physically attacked. Would I be the same? On one hand one thinks how terrible of the niece. But on the other, one can only put up with so much hurt before one has to withdraw.
I wish my brain would think less sometimes. -_-"'