Tempus Fugit

Time Flies…

   Aug 09

Pop Goes The Bebbes

Three catches in one night. Much happiness. The smell of clotting blood and placenta mixed with meconium and maternal faecal matter is difficult to remove from one’s nostrils even after having showered.

But that makes four. Yay. Quota achieved.

Am strangely serene and calm given it’s five weeks until certain doom. It’s weird… I no longer care how I go. If I get through….w00t. If don’t….meh…more free time for me to pursue other goals and more time for me to go work in other jobs that pay better. There’s always supps. Or repeating. No skin off my nose.

Med Revue starts Sunday….stuff to do. Arghh.

Thirty piping hot pizzas on the back seat of one’s car feels positively radioactive….a heatwave of steam and fat warming the backs of your necks whilst making it damn near impossible to see out any window. Thirty pizzas also fills up the entire back seat. People look at you strangely when you are carrying thirty pizzas.

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