Fully sick mate
A long pause in the blogging process for the last few days as I am currently at home sick :-( So you need to imagine this entry in a suitably pathetic, croaky sort of a voice. As my housemate kindly pointed out, it sounds as if my voice is breaking at last. At 26 I am obviously just a late developer (one day my child you will cease to be a girl, and become a man).
Anyway, I have now taken as much sick leave in the past two days as I took in the previous two years. This sounds virtuous of me, until you realise that in the previous two years I took about 13 weeks annual leave instead. Ah, nothing like paid vacation time in Europe - to be wandering along the banks of the Seine, getting paid as if you are at work. Never did understand why people want to stay at university forever. Being paid is fun. Being paid for doing nothing is even better.
This is the first time in quite a while that I have been sick in the way that totally makes you regress to childhood. I mean that in the ‘build me a fort of blankets and look after me’ sort of way, not the fevered delirium sort of way. I want to curl up in a little ball and cuddle something soft. Pathetic? Yes, but I don’t care. My housemate made me scrambled eggs for breakfast today. She rocks.
Being ill also gave me some very bizarre dreams last night. The central point of all my dreams eludes me, but it involved the establishment of a very noisy veterinary school at the ANU, me and some friends moving into a tree-house (I’m fairly sure you were there, Lyn), and a pet miniature Tasmanian Tiger. It started out as a fairly normal Tasmanian Tiger (I mean, ignoring the fact that they are extinct and were not small enough to pick up with one hand and tuck under your arm), but by the end of the dream it had turned into a Tasmanian Tiger wearing a kilt and riding a motorbike. A very small motorbike.
I swear the only things I have taken are vitamin C, throat gargle, and (insert name of painkiller containing paracetamol and codeine).
And the latest in the ‘why New Zealand is a funky-ass place’ news? A fabulous aricle about a NZ$200 000 dispute between two New Zealand companies that was resolved in an out-of-court settlement - a best-of-three arm-wrestling match.
The match took place between the respective chief executives, which I think is healthy. It shows a willingness to take responsibility, and to do some real grunt work. The defeated CEO stated that losing didn’t hurt nearly as much as the lawyers’ bills would have. Could only have been better if it were mud wrestling.
And a great big hooray me because I have tickets to see Ben Harper and Jack Johnson in Sydney (insert happy dance here).
A long pause in the blogging process for the last few days as I am currently at home sick :-( So you need to imagine this entry in a suitably pathetic, croaky sort of a voice. As my housemate kindly pointed out, it sounds as if my voice is breaking at last. At 26 I am obviously just a late developer (one day my child you will cease to be a girl, and become a man).
Anyway, I have now taken as much sick leave in the past two days as I took in the previous two years. This sounds virtuous of me, until you realise that in the previous two years I took about 13 weeks annual leave instead. Ah, nothing like paid vacation time in Europe - to be wandering along the banks of the Seine, getting paid as if you are at work. Never did understand why people want to stay at university forever. Being paid is fun. Being paid for doing nothing is even better.
This is the first time in quite a while that I have been sick in the way that totally makes you regress to childhood. I mean that in the ‘build me a fort of blankets and look after me’ sort of way, not the fevered delirium sort of way. I want to curl up in a little ball and cuddle something soft. Pathetic? Yes, but I don’t care. My housemate made me scrambled eggs for breakfast today. She rocks.
Being ill also gave me some very bizarre dreams last night. The central point of all my dreams eludes me, but it involved the establishment of a very noisy veterinary school at the ANU, me and some friends moving into a tree-house (I’m fairly sure you were there, Lyn), and a pet miniature Tasmanian Tiger. It started out as a fairly normal Tasmanian Tiger (I mean, ignoring the fact that they are extinct and were not small enough to pick up with one hand and tuck under your arm), but by the end of the dream it had turned into a Tasmanian Tiger wearing a kilt and riding a motorbike. A very small motorbike.
I swear the only things I have taken are vitamin C, throat gargle, and (insert name of painkiller containing paracetamol and codeine).
And the latest in the ‘why New Zealand is a funky-ass place’ news? A fabulous aricle about a NZ$200 000 dispute between two New Zealand companies that was resolved in an out-of-court settlement - a best-of-three arm-wrestling match.
The match took place between the respective chief executives, which I think is healthy. It shows a willingness to take responsibility, and to do some real grunt work. The defeated CEO stated that losing didn’t hurt nearly as much as the lawyers’ bills would have. Could only have been better if it were mud wrestling.
And a great big hooray me because I have tickets to see Ben Harper and Jack Johnson in Sydney (insert happy dance here).
posted by Marissa @ 3:58 pm
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