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May 20, 2005

"I'm not happy. I'm just... mad?"

Why I Was Late For Work

I got tired of having to start up the loaned office laptop and carry stacks of CDs (pieces of metal, actually) in my bag. Since my office laptop’s CD-ROM thingy died on me a long time ago, I thought it was time I made use of my little 4-year-old compact MD player. Granted it was no spiffy IPod or whatevershite, but it still performed its basic functions, no? All I needed to do was to transfer the songs (which I painstakingly ripped from the originals into the PeeCee) into a MD and I would be good to go.

So this morning, I thought I could squeeze in ten minutes of my time to do the transfer, while running the risk of being ten minutes late for work. Well, the transfer was done hurriedly (think clicking on the mouse frantically while putting on your work shirt or trying to zip up the pants fast enough without breaking the zipper). So hurriedly that instead of Damien Rice’s O album, my eyes must have seen double (how? Don’t ask) and I got Corrine May’s second album instead.

When I turned on the MD (after my morning prayers) while making my way to the food centre (for my breakfast of wan ton noodles – dry with chili and loads of char siew, please), instead of the guitar-strumming Mister Rice, the soothing voice of Miss May was on instead. I went on a momentary “huh” in my head before realizing that, in the moment of rush, I must have chosen the wrong directory.

So now, I have Miss May’s second album on one portion of the MD while Mister Rice’s “B-side” album made up the other.

Anyway, if I got bored of Miss May and Mister Rice, I could always fall back on the other MD which I put together this morning. Let’s see, I have a whole host of songs performed by local artistes (no, not the cheena-esque Ah Du or Stef Sun) followed by the Observatory’s latest (but not really new) album.

***

I Can't Wait! (Part 1)

In other news, two days after making the most impulsive buy on the internet of my life, a regular every-two-hour check on the status of my buy via the Amazon(.com), the Inspiral Carpets’ Cool Like F*** (possibly the most-wanted item of my life at the moment) has still yet to be shipped. Granted, though the note on the status page stated clearly that I should be expecting that piece of metal to appear in my postbox or home anytime between 25th and 31st May, I could be forgiven for being impatient, no?

Darn. I am already suffering from withdrawal symptoms from not being able to listen to the full version of Caravan, Dragging Me Down and *ahem* the Inspiral Carpets’ cover of Soft Cell’s Tainted Love.

Argh! Hope time passes by faster than I can say “Vesak Day”.

***

I Can't Wait (Part 2)

And of course, there would be more than one thing I would be looking forward to next week (which looks destined to be the best week of my 2005). Besides the aforementioned physical acquisition of my desired item of the moment (although I know it is just a simple piece of plastic-coated piece of metal), there is a small matter of a football cup final which I would not want to miss. I am sure many like-minded fans the world over would be hoping that 26th May would come sooner rather than later just so that we might have something to cheer about for the coming lean summer months and not since 1990.

I have taken leave already so that I could get some rest the next day (on the 27th). I have already bought the tidbits which I could munch on at the ungodly hours of 3 am in the morning.

No wonder I have been in better spirits these days.

***

Monetary Relief

After a two-hour wait and getting the realization that I could well be one of the last few patients, I strode into the room and sat down next to him (who wore a face mask, which could well be useful for him because waiting at the clinic for two hours without a drink of water would surely render a stench emanating from the orifice on me face). He took a quick glance at the notes (which incidentally documented the results of my little adventure in the hospital a week or so ago when I had wires going all over my body and my bank account was relieved of $300) and said in a rather officious tone that I did not have sleep apnea after all.

“Your oxygen levels are fine,” he commented. “It is not likely that you have sleep apnea."

I raised my brows a little.

“So how do you feel about it?” he asked.

I was a little taken aback by this question. I mean, this was not as though he was diagnosing me for cancer and stuff. Why would he want to ask me about how I felt about this piece of news?

“I am relieved to know that I do not have sleep apnea,” I mustered a mutter after a minute of uncomfortable silence. Given the right circumstance, I would have talked about how I was glad my bank account would not be subjected to another hefty deduction (damn the inspiral carpets!).

The doctor sat back on his swivel chair and talked to me about options.

“You could start by losing some weight so that the mass of tissues would shrink. Or you could go under the knife… “(cue the dollar sign running amok in my mind)

“What do you think?” he asked.

(There was) Another uncomfortable minute of silence. I felt a little awkward, since a nurse was also in the room with us listening intently (I need no chaperon, damnit! I am a male. Can’t you see my Adam’s Apple or have I grown so obese that I have become a sexless being?).

“I think I’d prefer to lose some weight,” I responded. For a moment, I saw a hint of movement in the doctor’s eyes, as though he was saying inwardly that I was yet another one of those cheapo patients and his sales technique had failed once again.

So, it was his turn to raise his eyebrows a little, as if to denote his skepticism and disbelief. With a mutter of “all the best”, he dismissed me from his consultation room.

***

Fad, Whim and Fancy

Meanwhile, on the psoriasis front, after the frantic use of the tar-based shampoo (which smells of used charcoal in the barbeque pit, really) twice a day (before work and after work), my scalp no longer itches. This is good news, of course, since no itch may mean that the spots are no visibly red enough for onlookers to gawk at my grossly abnormal head. The irritating flaking of my scalp is still there and it continues to deny me the privilege of wearing darker-coloured shirts since the thicker than dandruff flakes would be prominent enough to scare the living daylights out of those who commuted on public transport with me.

The worrying thing for me is this secret and evil desire of mine to shave off all me hair once this psoriasis thing eases. Scary, isn’t it?

And no, I will not look as good as Sinead O Connor lor, more like Humpty Dumpty instead.

Heh.

Posted by D W at May 20, 2005 11:00 AM

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Posted by: fhope at May 21, 2005 04:31 AM

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