acopiabelladonna

[acopiabelladonna]

What can we do to keep living

[acopiabelladonna]

Where is the line

Lola was a good girl. A smart girl. She was everything she sought to be, but lesser somehow for it. She wanted everything, and everything consumed her, the way it does countless others. She was dating a boy who for all intents and purposes was similar to her; the shared the same favourite bands, had enjoyed the same foods, had the same sense of humour. He was kind, gentle, careful about boundaries and consent and had sisters for siblings. Blonde, tall, blue-eyed, everything on paper that she wanted. But somehow, was not enough. Somehow, more time spent with him meant less time thinking about him when without him. She had forgotten to reply to his messages for days.

Then, when regretting going to work for night shifts, she found another. A tall, not-so-classically-good-looking senior doctor, who by night one was her new favourite person. Spending 12 hours with one person, night after night, can either make or break a new friendship.

He was in to all the things she was, and brought a new repertoire of life experience, knowledge, and suggestions of new books to read and places to visit. He brought new ideas, new concepts, new life into her dying soul. More importantly, for her, he made her laugh. Over and over, even when she was angry or upset, he managed to twist a smile out of the contorted pursed lips she developed when mixed feelings played in her heart.

She had offered, out of the goodness of her heart, to pick him up for work and buy him breakfast in payment for taking her pager overnight so she could sleep a few hours. But also, she sought more time with him wherever she could fashion it.

She asked the Lord, is this who I’m meant to be with? Is this finally the one person, after all those who’ve broken me?

Lola was an impatient person. Seeking always to coax trees of life when they were just small sprigs coming out of dampened ground; to push for connection when the tether was only just fragile enough in its beginning to snap with too much force. A force she gave all too willingly. And yet she knew this, but could not stop it. It was the one thing she hated herself for; she craved attention, love, and a deeper connection, but when one needed to wait for it, she was ever impatient and it never came to fruition. Then she’d blame herself for it, for who else was the culprit? Why couldn’t she just wait for love to grow in its natural state?

And that’s what happened again. The black dog ever looming to catch her by surprise.

Night five, and she had slept ineffectively the day leading up to it. She felt tired by the time she had to arrive for work, and no amount of caffeine could improve the bags under her eyes. “I was born with them,” she’d say, but would find any product under the sun to try and conceal it.

Somehow, despite her antidepressants and her effort to improve her current acne problem, her mood was hazy and anxious. It tugged at her heart, making a deep hole in her chest where happiness seemed to be sucked from everything. She wanted to be around this man so much, she almost forgot herself in the process.

It wasn’t her fault, entirely, though. He had laughed and touched her arm too many times to count; had caught her up in a hug while walking; had brought her head to his shoulder when she was tired. All this in a few days can make any heart swoon, and long for comfort. Like a junkie looking for their next hit, the keen attraction was unlike any other.

So night five, she tried to sleep in the Resident’s quarters on a lump-filled couch, light streaming in from the flickering EXIT sign above the entryway, and a raging storm battering down on the tin roof outside. She managed an hour at a time before another job buzzed on her pager. Her heart didn’t feel any less empty, the more she slept. So, a few times, she tried to tell him. When finally, at 5am, she successfully had him sitting next to her on the couch. She sat sideways, knees up, feet just under his legs. He sat with his long legs stretched out over another chair, sitting perpendicular to her.

“Do you like me,” was all she could muster out of the million different ways she had phrased the question in her mind. “Of course I like you, otherwise why would I spend so much time with you,” he replied. So casually, she thought; so unabashedly direct. It musn’t mean what she thought it meant, so she asked again. “Elaborate,” she requested. He was confused by that. She meant, do you really? Would you like to date me? Why won’t you hold my hand when we’re in this dark, quiet room, or kiss me? Is it too early? Am I too immature for you? Too anxious, dark or complicated? Why is my heart pounding so hard and that vortex in my chest gettting stronger and stronger?

“As more than just your resident?” She clarified. It took him a few minutes of silence to contemplate. “Well.. yes..” He said, just above a whisper so she could just catch it. The reply floated in the air, a new wave of hope.

Until he added, “But I don’t really know you..” 

Crash. 

Her walls slammed up around her chest. Her flattened mask came on show, and for the rest of the night, she felt and thought both everything and nothing at once. She was all-consumed by grief, and hope, and tragedy. It washed over her, repeatedly, dragging her under. The silence was deafening. The moment stretched out until she couldn’t bear it anymore, and all she wanted was a hug for her soul. He moved to the other couch across the room, and she longed for him to be near her.

Whilst she tried to gather her thoughts, a feeling stayed with her of wanting to lay beside him, stretched out on the couch. It was both comfortable and uncomfortable, but it didn’t go away. So she did. Lola manouevred to the other side of the room, and sat for a while the way they did before, only this time she stared into the abyss, no smile or light in her eyes, just contemplating the next move. Eventually, she sighed, and lifted his one arm off his chest as he lay there, flat-backed, legs stretched out, and she curled herself in the crook. She could hear his heart race momentarily as she lay her head on his chest. It fluttered again when she moved her left arm deeper behind his upper back, lightly touched his other arm with hers. He hooked his arms tighter around her, and she felt him breathe.

They stayed in this trance for only a few minutes before he said, “Is this a good idea?”

Shattering the quiet.

“No,” she said, “and yes.” She left it for a moment before adding, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable...” “It’s both comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time,” he said.

She didn’t know how to feel about that. It seemed neither did he, for they both lay there silently for a few more minutes before she decided it was probably best if they didn’t, and got up to move to the other couch once again.

In the day that followed, she could no longer feel happy. The black dog revisited and told her how nice it was to see her again. He would never be far away.

He had told her the last girlfriend he had, they broke up only recently. Her mind decided that was too soon for him to feel anything but heartbreak, and how could he even be attracted to her, having dated only skinny asian women before? As he said, she was ‘so white’. Made in jest, of course, but nevertheless hurt her in ways she couldn’t describe to him just yet. Her past hatred of her body crept in, and like an old friend, never really left her.

The days would be long after this. A brief connection for a lifetime of self-hatred.

[acopiabelladonna]

First day of the rest of my life

The first day I started back at the hospital, working under Interns, learning how to do their job (as next year I’ll be a junior doctor), was both exciting, exhausting, and slightly frustrating. I loved it because I am scared to start working as a responsible professional next year, in a world full of hierarchy, but it wasn’t actually bad at all. I had overcomplicated the fear in my head, but today was enlightened to feel the compassion of the doctors, the jokes between staff, and the sense of belonging behind ward notes and discharge summaries.

However, things weren’t all rays of sunshine and fairies. After a sleepless night, I woke up early, hardly ate breakfast, and was out the door for a 7.30am start at the hospital. I packed my gym gear to hopefully get a 12.30 or 5.30pm class in on my way home. Eating throughout the day, like I’m meant to as per my Nutritionist & GP’s recommendations, was a battle: I took two small snacks in my satchel (one cheese, one with a home-made nut bar) and threw them in my mouth in the middle of ward rounds, hoping the Reg didn’t notice.

Working this early, it’s impossible for me to go to gym or yoga prior without being a half an hour late to work. When I left at 5pm - later I realised it probably looked I was racing to get out the door at 5pm on the dot (ie. unprofessional) - I was aiming to go to a cross-training session on the way home. By the time I got there, it was 5.15pm, there was a long line for tickets, and so I decided to get changed first. I was changed literally within 6 minutes, but when I got out, the class was full. I admitted defeat, collected my gear from the lockers, and walked home. I’m grateful for the night off, but also so annoyed I put the effort into being ready for gym, left early for it, and couldn’t attend.

You might be thinking, so what? Can’t you exercise tomorrow? Why is today so important? Motivation is a hard thing to foster. It takes a while for me to want to exercise rather than binge eat everything in my pantry. I’m now much larger than I was when I started this whole medical training adventure and more recently, I packed on weight from a breakup, a diagnosis of lactose intolerance, and turning to carbs as a crutch in a vegetarian diet. Ultimately, this leads to the stress of rock-bottom self-confidence, clothes not fitting, and with MedBall occurring in around a month’s time that I had a perfect dress for, which I now don’t fit into, I have a very long list of reasons why I should be hitting the gym erry day.

Without exercise, not only my physical health declines but my mental health is affected also. I’m grumpy, tired, easily argumentative, my confidence plummets, negative self-hate creeps in, and slowly I end up hating my work and ultimately, my life. Yoga or a short, high intensity workout class makes my energy peak for the rest of the day. If I get it in early, I’m bubbly, cheerful, productive at work, and enthusiastic.

If our entire careers end up like this in Medicine, it’s no wonder Intern suicides are higher than any other profession. Working 7.30am - 6pm every day means we as doctors are deplete of motivation, energy, and time to exercise efficiently. I find this worrisome considering prevalence for burnout and compassion fatigue from the Medical Journal of Australia in 2009 was 69% and 54% respectively. That was only 6 years ago. I’m in that category; I’ve already had burnout, and I’m terrified of ending up devoid of happiness again. Exercise relieves me from that possibility.

I’m out of ideas. I signed up to the gym so I’d have a place to exercise, as I have no motivation to run outside when it’s 5 degrees, and doing yoga at home is becoming less and less.. I guess we’ll just have to see how the next few months go.. Here’s hoping the culture of long days, not eating, and drinking vats of coffee to keep going, doesn’t impede on what I consider a healthy lifestyle. I just hope next year I can continue how I wish without jeopardising my future: by exercising, by snacking, and getting home on time. I feel like that’s a dream too far off for me to grasp.

[acopiabelladonna]

History repeating

I think we need to talk. Problem is, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say. I don’t have any words, to be honest. You apologised for how you treated me, over a year ago; leaving, never speaking. You needed to find yourself and visit your family after years way. I understand that. But here we are again, fingers gently caressing as they slip past each other, softly pushing against the boundaries, gently leaning on the line and seeing how far we can move it.

Two drinks and two hours later, the fireworks have left clouds in the sky with a deafening silence. You’re leaving again and I’m not sure you’re coming back. I’m not sure I want you to. What’s the point, when I said in no indefinite terms I wasn’t ready for that much intimacy, and you pushed ahead anyway. You broke my confidence and saw me on the bed, flat backed and hands cupped over my mouth. Leaving me with fingertip-shaped bruises on my arm and a hickey on my neck.

[acopiabelladonna]

Time flies by, and this isn’t getting any easier.

I’m fucking things up.

I’m torn between the boyfriend of months, and a few others I barely know. I’m not a relationship person, I keep saying. Perhaps I’m not meant for long-term relationships. Perhaps most of us are destined to not find someone who’s good for us, or never leave those who aren’t.

On paper, he’s close to perfect. Let’s face it, everyone’s flawed. But when does it come to tipping the scales towards too flawed? He’s aware of my ongoing need for psychology; for the childhood abuse and the mistakes that followed. He’s aware of my physical flaws, and says there aren’t any. My acne and my scars, physical and mental. He says we’ll fight it together. Somehow I feel like I’m fighting it all by myself. In a corner. Trapped.

But I’m hurting. It’s perpetual. It’s hard to lift.

I’m starting to think perhaps it’s just us. I’m not attracted to him, and although on paper he’s fine; saying his name as my boyfriend grates on me. I’m not in it for the long-haul. We live together and only having us to fill the void of this house is straining. It’d hurt him to know the things inside my head.

I really want to cut this whole experience out. From the holidays, to the nightmares, to the days spent curled up on the couch. It always goes that little bit too far. The holidays lead to relationship talks on how we aren’t meant for the long term - he wants kids, I don’t. I want to live overseas, he doesn’t. We have vastly different career trajectories. Nights of cuddling turn to touching, and far too much making out and talking about sex (on his behalf) than I can take. I keep reminding him of a negative feedback loop - the more he talks about it, the less I want it. He kisses too much and touches too much. He pushes the envelope. I keep telling him to stop touching my arse, my boobs, my abdomen. Every goddam day. I should record myself to play on repeat. The times I actually felt comfortable initiating sex were with those who didn’t mention it as a possibility, let alone an eventuality.

I’m pressured and trapped. There’s no way out. Did I mention we live together?

I could dissociate, picture someone else when kissing him, or avoid sleeping in his bed. They’re all primo bad choices. Or I could talk to him.

But what am I meant to say?

I’m getting more and more attracted to men that aren’t you? Your physique isn’t the issue, it’s the lack of connection I feel when you take your clothes off? I’d rather we spooned than look at your face?

Dividing the line between not wanting to have sex from body image flawas, past abuse, past trust issues, and the lack of physical attractedness to my partner is probably the most difficult thing I’ve had to face. Why do I have to feel? Anything past 2 months and it becomes an emotional investment that I don’t have the energy to make. Sex is easy, but doing it over and over again with the same person, is not. Who knows when it will end.

[acopiabelladonna]

Karry Ka-Ying Poon

[acopiabelladonna]

The power of fear

Tonight I was invited by proxy to a party that by all intents and purposes was nearby, and not a difficulty to get to by public transport. Yet, it was windy and miserable outside, and fear struck me. If I don’t know anyone, that dreaded small talk when I’m not drinking alcohol (because I don’t), filled me with such anxiety that I could barely breathe.

It sounds pathetic, but that’s what anxiety is. I could barely move from the couch, even when my housemate offered to drive since she was going the same way; even when I tried talking to my boyfriend to push me to go; even when I had a relaxing bath and decided I’d get dressed - I walked up two stairs, and stopped dead in my tracks. I didn’t want to go. This person whose birthday party it was, wasn’t a friend I’d like to get to know better. With anxiety, it comes down to just that: who do I consider worth it enough to push myself out of my comfort zone?

It’s sad, but it’s true.

Somehow I woke up the last few days not wishing to go to work, despite my work being an absolute holiday .Easy hours, easy money. Nothing much stressful. I go to clinic, I see a few patients, I even admitted one (which is a big deal as a junior doctor). 

I’m not sure I’ll get through this.

Another night.

[acopiabelladonna]

Dig me a ditch, I’m done.

I feel like my body is about to explode. My heart is a time-bomb, and it’s ticking furiously.

I work in a fantastic hospital with wonderfully kind staff, but sometimes the patients are the most draining thing about my job.

I have a family who, despite having a diagnosis, groan on and on about not being taken seriously; about us ‘leaving mum to die’, and cry all the time.

If I had cancer, like this patient has, my family would be strong for me, not weak; not crying; not focussing on the terrible; not saying I was going to die; not saying I wasn’t getting the treatment I need; not undermining the system; not undermining the trust between a doctor and her patient.

My head is heavy. The lovely staff on my ward noticed I was sitting in the same area, mulling about, avoiding walking outside the ward where this particular family was hovering, ready to tackle me down. They empathised, and said that they thought I was crying! My anxiety must take such a toll on my face. I just responded, “I don’t want to go out there. I have nothing else to say. I can’t tell her her diagnosis because I’m not the haematology team, I don’t know what chemo she needs, I don’t know what prognosis she has.. I have nothing”.

My Registrar prodded me to prompt the Haem team to takeover care. After a full hour, she took the reigns and just called the other Reg, and thankfully took over care.

I’m sad to say that I’m relieved this patient is no longer my problem. I had no answers for weeks, because it wasn’t our issue - it wasn’t under our specialty, the problem she has. It was a blood issue.

Over and over, this family made the prospective diagnosis worse and worse. “She’s getting weaker” they said, “Her rash is spreading”, they cried. All I could say was that were weren’t at “square one”, that we had done lots of tests, that we found something wrong, that the final diagnosis was just taking time. I emphasised she needs to get out of bed, to not have her muscles melt away. But they don’t listen. I’ve had the same conversation with them for days. This is the prospective diagnosis. We’re waiting on the lab. It’s good that she has no pain, she needs to eat, she needs to walk.

I’m depleted.

I knew I should’ve taken off at midday.

[acopiabelladonna]

There’s a first time for everything

Funny how life turns out.

Beginning my first week as a doctor, beginning my first long-term relationship with medicine, and with a man. Both things I didn’t think would ever arrive in my life, but here they are. A man who doesn’t want to leave me, who returns when he hears the first few lines of Sia’s Fair Game - a minimal cry for help; a song that reflected my fear.

You terrify me ‘Cause you’re a man, you’re not a boy You’ve got some power And I can’t treat you like a toy

You're the road less travelled by a little girl You disregard the mess while I try to control the world Don't leave me, stay here and frighten me Don't leave me, come now enlighten me

It was a night where we had just become intimate, and I, unwittingly, had become shut off. I begged in my brain, whilst he cuddled and caressed me, to switch off; to cut off all emotion; to withdraw. They call it an anxiety symptom: the act of de-personalisation.

It wouldn’t happen for a while, but then I was serene. I was detached. It was oddly freeing, but he was there, worried. He looked into my glassed-over eyes, my plastered on small smile, no soul found. He was anxious, getting angry at himself and me, but in a calm way. In the way that you know you can’t fight a brick wall; in the way you know you can’t push past a certain point in the early stages for fear of freaking the other person out. So he sat, wondering, scared and alone. And I sat, emotions flushed out, calm and unaffected.

I stumbled upon Sia’s song “Fair Game”, and oddly it characterised everything I was doing. With him having just shut the door, I wanted to be alone for a while, but simultaneously knew I shouldn’t kick him out without a reason.. So I sent him the tag to check out the song.

Moments later, he had opened the door, like the return of the main character in a movie. I stood up from the couch, took his hand, and went to the bedroom, where we laid down and just held each other for a few minutes. We started talking about what really happened, how scared I was to continue the relationship, and in time, he actually made me come back from the brink. He stroked my hair, said kind words, and we both felt better. I may have even felt happy.

This is new for me.

I don’t usually feel this content and calm with a relationship. I’m usually wondering how many times is the maximum to text someone in the day, whether calling them is too forward, when to wait until the next date. Our first date was a week after we’d spent hanging out and laughing over Sci-Fi movies and overcooked popcorn in a bag. A fancy dress and a glass of wine later, the most fun date of my life had happened.

He bought flowers for me after a week, just because. They were a combination of my favourite colours; he’d listened.

He comes home every day after work and says he missed me. He doesn’t let me get out of bed without at least three trials.

He’s different.

And now we wait.

Wait for the inevitable.

[acopiabelladonna]

International relations

I'm overseas, and while it's glorious to see new cultures and view centuries-old architecture, I still feel empty some days. Whether that be home-sickness or missing the one person I wish I could have a longterm relationship with, is yet to be determined. I was speaking to a Sri Lankan woman on the trip who had gone through a messy divorce and no longer sees her children who she bore some 20 years ago. I empathised with her, saying I hadn't seen my father since I was 10, and she asked why. I shared the story of my parents' ugly divorce that went for two years; at the end of which my father hadn't bothered to make contact with me after leaving me waiting for him on Father's Day, present in hand. This discussion progressed on to whether I trusted people, and the answer was a calm "no, not men, anyway. I can't fathom how people can be married for 40-odd years"; I don't really believe that a marriage can last, and with divorce rates being the end for 50% of all marriages, who can blame me. I went through a stage that occasionally visits me, whereby I don't feel that heterosexual men can love. I think they can maybe be infatuated with women, and certainly they can want sex from us, but without the latter I think it's very hard to believe they could love unconditionally like most women can love. This stems from the experiences I've had where those I've fallen for, finally decided to trust and rely on at times, have left me. The last relationship I had, everything was going smoothly, and when he came home from a brief overseas trip, we were so happy. Honestly, he came home and was so excited with me waiting for him at 2am with presents for his belated birthday, that he tackle-hugged me to the bed and didn't let me go. A month later, he came home from work and said, mid-conversation, with a weak, solemn tone "We need to break up. I care about you, but I need to find myself". He was shaking and I ordered him out of my house. I cried for weeks. My bulimia hit its highest height, and I stacked on a tonne of weight. I fell apart. Looking back, recovered, it's hard to believe I thought we would work. We were in two different sets of career paths, and when he spoke of his passion I could barely follow it or commit it to memory. Fast track to now, where I've found another man who perfectly fits me. He is supportive, kind, gentle, and yet of strong-build and has a wonderful sense of humour. His hugs make me feel completely at home. It hasn't been long, but one night he told me he hadn't bothered to re-apply for his job in the new year. He instead is going back to his home state (a good day's drive away), and for me not to count on him coming back. I stopped dead in my tracks and could barely look him in the eye. In the end, we decided to see each other until he leaves; he found it much harder to tell me he was leaving than he thought, and didn't want to stop seeing me. On the one hand, when being questioned here (overseas) if I had someone back home special, I'd reply with a sort of, but he has to leave in January and I passed it off with a shrug of, flights would cost $400 to see him. The husband of one couple said "so you're going to let it all go for $400?". For a while being here, that resonated with me, and I was hopeful. Then, the less he and I communicated while I was here, the more I realised how early it was to be thinking ahead. We don't know how the future will pan out. I love having a plan, but sometimes we can hardly rely on ourselves, let alone another. I used to want someone to love me, but now I see it's far more complicated than that. I have one man I will love for a long time, but we will hardly be together, and that is just how it will be. Our lives have crossed once, we chose against long distance, and it may be one of the biggest mistakes of my life. But that's behind us now. So it comes down to a new revelation: People may fall in love with you, but that doesn't mean that they'll stay.

[acopiabelladonna]

When You Look at Your To-Do List on Monday Morning

[acopiabelladonna]

When Your Friend Wants to Meet at 10 a.m. Instead of Noon

[acopiabelladonna]

When Your Boss Schedules a Morning Meeting

[acopiabelladonna]

When You Walk Out Your Front Door in the Morning

[acopiabelladonna]

The back-to-back

Saturday came.

I had a waxing appointment that left me hair free from top-to-toe, and let’s just start off saying, it was worth it.

And I had my first date with D&D. It turned from coffee, to wandering, to occasional touches on the shoulder, arms, thighs, then dinner.

I had prior arranged to see Theatre that night, and was still awaiting a message to tell me what time and where to meet him for a ‘show’. That’s literally about all I knew at 6pm on Saturday “meet me for a show in the city and then back to mine”.

So, sitting on the same side of the table at RicePaprScissrs, an oddly asian-fusion restaurant in the city, D&D and I confused each waiter. “Are you waiting for two others?”. I would reply “No, we’re just bucking the system”.

Nervous thigh pats and shoulder touching later, he paid for dinner, and we wandered around further, before Theatre messaged me and told me to meet him at 8.30pm.

The point is, coffee with D&D turned in to dinner, which turned in to a weak chai latte and mint hocho at a chocolate shop. At one point, he joked and my hand lifted to caress his face, and rested there for a good 4 seconds. I don’t know what happened, it was just there.

Walking to see Theatre, D&D dropped me off at the corner of the place I was meant to enter, and we had our second cozy, squeezy hug. He pulled me close, after I noticed he had gone for a kiss on the cheek prior to the hug intiation, and I actually had a hard time letting him go. With my hands held close to my chest and my eyes cast down, I mumbled “I kinda want to kiss you”.

He lifted my chin up, smiled briefly, and kissed me, closed mouth but softly. I pulled away only to say I couldn’t be rude to the friend waiting for me, and walked down the hidden laneway. Slightly jogging, half-skipping, to the staircase that led me to Theatre.

Sitting in a low-lying, partially crumbling red velvet 70s-esque loungechair, was Theatre. Perpetually glued to his phone, in his Gryffindor sweater and cute, round, HP glasses. He was trying to briefly relax before yet another show he was invited to see.

I ran my fingers through his hair, half-shivering with delight on behalf of D&D, half just proud of having a date back-to-back with another. It was polyamorous guy’s dream.

The show was called “Never Date a Songwriter”, and it was quite good. The date was good, we were very comfortable together, and when we sat down briefly at the end of the show before riding to his apartment in South Melbourne where we would proceed to have excellent sex (sorry, TMI), he told me he needed to decide in the next 48 hours whether to travel to New York over New Years, or just straight up move there.

Part of me became sad, but I knew this really didn’t have a future. He’s gorgeous, and maybe in a few years we’ll have another episodic romp, but our career trajectories are uncertain, and can lead us to living in very different cities. Him in New York or Edinburgh, me in Switzerland or Uganda.

—-

So, back at his apartment, he informed me I had left my black lacy underwear on his floor weeks prior. He was nonchalant about it; having washed them, and handed them to me dry. This is what being an adult looks like.

I slept maybe 4-6 hours, got up, showered, and got home around 9am after our second round of great sex.

I messaged D&D for brunch, and eventually saw him at 4pm for coffee, which again became wandering, then dinner, and one step further, of watching movies on his couch, and staying over for the night.

It was probably the most happy I’ve been for 72 hours. Needless to say, I’m nailing it.

[acopiabelladonna]

Bachelorette: Reality edition

So I’ve been dating around 5-7 people at the same time. I feel like a 21 year old male, “exploring my options”.

Two have real promise for the long term. Two others did not get a rose. Those I let go with the same sort of text message:

“I’ve been thinking, you’re very cute but I feel like we don’t have much in common. I’m happy to be friends, but I didn’t think the conversation flowed that well.”

Both came back saying they thought we got along quite well; one actually had a mini-fight with me over it. And they say women are the emotional ones. Here you go, let’s call this one Data.

“Honestly, this is the kind of conversation I would much rather have had in person, but OK. I don’t really know what to say, I know I’m not overly talkative all the time, but I haven’t felt that the conversation flow has been bad, other than a few times on Thursday when we out to dinner, but was kind of caught off guard with learning your name wasn’t Lola” [my bad, girl’s gotta play the game right]

BUT HE DIDN’T STOP THERE. It was like reading a novel.

“I’m still trying to learn about you, I don’t know, maybe I should have talked more about me? I like the person you are, you’re cute, have a great personality and the effort you put in to make a difference in the world is inspiring. I would definitely like to keep seeing you”.

Needless to say, the following few texts were something that were sent by him probably in the hopes of guilting me into another date. Mumma don’t do pity dates, sorry mate.

----- So then there came a Wild Card -----

Meeting D&D

One day, late in the week (a Wednesday to be precise), there, in the middle of morning ward rounds, was D&D. He came out of nowhere, I’d only seen him a week prior, introduced myself to this glowing being of positivity, and with a flashing smile, we immediately got along.

So Wednesday he showed up in my life again. [That’s a bit melodramatic, but for the point of this post, I’ll go with it]

I bounced over, and started a conversation. We joked; he has my sense of humour (and what’s more, laughs at my jokes and perceives my awkwardness as cute and endearing - #lifegoals), and eventually I decided, at the end oft he day to give him my number. I forget the exact timeline, but here we go.

I was allowed to abscond around 3.30pm, and I decided to write my name and number down on a mini post-it and walked by him, sticking it on the patient notes he was writing in. It said at the bottom “coffee? :)”

Then I proceeded to swagger out, quite chuffed at my bravity, down the hallway.

BUT ALAS

I am me, and therefore I left my bag in haste, in the lunchroom. I stopped in my tracks half-way down the hall, and asked my male colleague to grab my bag (Black and White! GO GO!)

He couldn’t find it. I stood in the hallway, trying to act nonchalant whilst D&D stood there, trying not to smile at me. I had to totter past, grab my bag, and run past him again, saying goodbye for the second time.

As I was leaving, I turned on my heel and yelled down the hallway “Getting to leave before Allied Health! Crazy!” (Allied Health get to leave every day at 4.30pm on the dot, and have weekends off. Doctors and Nurses work maximum 12 days on, with 2 days off. In between that, doctors might be on call overnight. Life can be pretty brutal).

That night, I had a date with someone else, “currently moustached” guy; AKA number 3.

I came home after that minimally exciting date, having had an okay time, but no way as exciting as others had been, and slipped into a cocktail dress, heels, and threw on red lipstick. Within 10 minutes, I was out the back door for the end of semester photo of my Grad community at College. Nailing it.

Later that night, feeling oddly upset and teary, I decided to fuck it all and go for a run. I came home, sweaty and accomplished, and continued to finish with yoga at 12.30am. It was the most freeing part of my week.

And then Saturday came, and that is a whole ’nother post.

[acopiabelladonna]

Our powers combined

“It’s like the opening sequence of Captain Planet. OUR POWERS COMBINED. Except, you + anyone = amazing mixed race babies”

Let me bring some context to this.

My friend Caramello is half-Polish, half-Moroccan/Israeli --> dark skin, green eyes, big nose, fantastic black/brown hair. (Polish + Jewish noses = no chance).

So somehow we got onto the conversation about children, when I was educating him on the types of contraception (Implanon = arm, Mirena = uterus; latter lasts 5 years, meaning no children wweeee)

So he said:

“WIND”

“WATER”

“EARTH”

“LOVE”

“FIRE”

“Why the hell is love in there? Said the elements”

“Oh wait.. it’s HEART!”

Me: Nice. Way to let the 90′s down.