p-earfect sense

I was feeling a bit sad yesterday, before I got my ear syringed.

Yesterday when the lovely dokutela extracted a pound of ear wax from my ear, I morbidly thought (taken I was depressed and deaf): “What if he finds a tumour down there?”

Like, what if he found a great, big throbbing cancerous tumour so large and bulbous, the doctor would gasp in awe and pronounce, “Why, I've never seen something so large and carcinogenic in all my life! You have three weeks to live, Peas. Sorry about that.”

The scary thing is, I wouldn't be devastated. And I'm not certain the world would cry either.

Death only scares me in that the place I'll go to in the afterlife may have the likes of Slobodan Milosevic and Jack The Ripper in it, who aren't nice people. But death hardly scares me anymore.
It's got to be helluva less stressful or sad as life on Earth.

I mean, if I had three weeks to live due to Cancerous Ear Tumour, what's the worst that can happen? I don't pay SARS the money I owe them? (which I don't have?)

My car won't need to be serviced, it won't matter that I'm broke, I may not experience another broken heart, and I won't need to diet in time for summer. Also, I'll die while on holiday in the Seychelles, which wouldn't be such a bad way to pass now would it?

Morbid thoughts really, so I was almost disappointed when two giant globules of wax were flushed from my ear instead.
At least I can hear again. I realised how debilitating it is when you can't hear yourself talk, nevermind people around you.
Now it feels as clear as crystal. So that's super. I guess.

hold the tantrum...for a while

The voice of reason spoke to me through the medium of Mr 747 yesterday.

I got to hand it to the guy – he's a sensible chap. Besides being hysterically amusing, (fuck he was on form on Saturday, Jesus. Hangover Humour obviously works for him, because he was just rolling out the one liners like it was nobody's business.)

Anyway, besides being funny, serious, fun, and loving any music with more than 3 000 beats a second (ie: Disko Kandi is in his CD player), he managed to talk me out of doing something rash and volatile yesterday. This is not to say I won't do it, but I'll at least sit on it a while and think about it first. "Don't get too tense...buy a caravan."
Ah.

But the nicest thing was he said he'd still back me up if I did do it. Bless. That kinda meant a lot.

(His workmates...Howdy hi. Stop chirping him.)

Also, when I was freaking out about my job status, he managed to throw in some positive reasoning about it. It's good to know – mostly because I'm very unreasonable sometimes so this definitely helps.

You know when you get hot-headed about something, and steam blows out of your ears and you think you're just going to explode if you don't actively do something, and your dogged-determination and fiercely stubborn nature makes you just the most unreasonable person on the planet? (I'm only unreasonable when I'm pissed off - generally I'm pretty sensible, I swear.)

I'm more content with life on a general scale than I've been in a very long time. Maybe it's because summer is here, the flowers are out, the music is good, and the gin and tonics are cold. I don't have many complaints right now, except for the usual like being overworked, Joburg traffic and I'm paler than a Scandanavian who's lived beneath the Earth's crust his whole life.