When I did my laundry yesterday I didn’t wash any actual clothes. Only scrubs. I have dreams almost exclusively about my residents. Also had a dream that my elderly Arabic coworker borrowed my favorite scrub top and wrote “This belongs to Amy” in pen down the front so he’d remember to return it to me. (I was surprised both that he had it without my knowledge and that he’d managed to fit into it, while at the same time not surprised at all at the fact that he’d want to wear a woman’s scrub top).
I worry that this job will kill my back and I’ll be hunched over trying to help people while bent in half.
I don’t know if I can be a CNA for the rest of my life.
A degree in University Studies is probably pretty freaking useless.
I keep overhearing people saying nice things about me, because elderly folk are bad at judging how well I can hear them.
(unless the rain and the stars count?) I like having the experience still waiting for me, untainted by bitterness and ruined expectations.
also, this is my new motto. I mean… I’ve been living this for a while but here it is in a smashup of letters and phrases (as told to my best friend in a facebook convo):
For now, I’ll do what seems best and throw myself at whatever I feel like, with the perfect blend of wild untamedness and discretion.
you’d think these would cancel each other out. au contraire! Discretion just keeps me protected from overdoses and STDs! bonus!
I love being young and stupid. I love being allowed to make terrible decisions. I stay up too late because every single night, I forget how horrible waking up tastes on four hours of sleep. I dance because I can’t help it. I write because I have to, and I have crushes on men like I’m a thirteen year old girl. Once in a while I get what I want, because the universe is impressed by my audacity. WWMBD. this is living.
For those of us who are unabashedly weird and crazy and do not care what other people think. I love you just for this.
Supported by the crutches of human impotence, the wheel of life spins inexorably. Its stops are few – until it reaches the last stop of all. When we are born, it pauses long enough to take us on, and then it stops again, this second time enchanted into momentary stillness by the miracle of love. While we stand enraptured beside our beloved, seeing the moon and the vast night sky, as it were, for the first time, the decrepit wheel dangles its crutches idly and seems to burst into fantastic bloom. This is the magic hour, and when the spinning begins again we scarcely are aware of a faint, ominous creaking noise.
-Coronets 25th Anniversary Album
you want morbid? I’ll give you morbid, dollface.