(1/11) “When I was a baby I came very close to dying. I’m not sure how to say the name of the disease in English, but all the water in my body started to dry. I couldn’t gain weight and I became very weak. This was during Saddam’s time, and the hospital staff told my mother that in two days they would euthanize me. But my mother refused to accept this. She called everywhere and found a clinic in Jordan that said they could give me treatment. There was an American doctor there who saved my life. We stayed in Jordan until I was seven, and then we moved back to Baghdad. One day I was playing in our garden and I heard very loud noises and the sky was really red and everyone was screaming. It’s very hard to describe. It was like there was blood in the sky.”
“It’s a Monday in Jan.” - the title and email I just received from my boss.
I’d like to reply: yes, this is a necessity, it’s my 31st birthday and I’d like to not spend it in this office from 8:30am to 7 pm. I’d like to spend it with my friend, Katie who is visiting from NYC. I’d like to spend it getting all the free birthday sundaes, and coffees, and pretzels, and yoga sessions you get on my birthday.
I’d like to spend it sleeping in til 8am, buying myself flowers, and taking myself to breakfast. And no, 31 is not the end of the world, but you know what? I’m single, everyone close to me is forming relationships, I don’t have a career when it seems that everyone has got that figured out, I live alone with a cat, and I eat peanut butter out if the jar..
And sometimes I don’t even use a spoon! I just stick them slender phalanges of mine right on the jar.
I’ve got 20 days to hope that 31 will break the curse of bad birthdays. Derp city.
I have spent my entire weekend, friday-saturday-sunday, doing university work, going to work, then coming home and doing more university work. I had two unexpected patient deaths today, of which I was left to wash and dress both the bodies for the undertakers by myself because we were so busy, and I abhor coming home smelling like death, it smells like iodine and aborted dreams. Tomorrow I’m seeing Panic! At The Disco perform in Edinburgh and then the day after I’m seeing 30 Seconds To Mars perform in Glasgow, good god am I going to be exhausted on Wednesday. I hate exam season, I hate Christmas rush, I hate crowded public transport in cold weather, I hate that the next day I have free to do whatever I like is Christmas eve, I like that my brain is burning information into my internal library so fast that I am reminded that my IQ is my one redeeming quality but I hate that this process always interrupts my already abysmal sleeping patterns. I haven’t written anything in months, I have plenty to write but I just don’t have the time to do so right now, which is monumentally frustrating. I need to write in the same way that I imagine people need to have sex, if I don’t do it I might kill and eat somebody. I’m just ranting, there’s no structure to this post, I need to go to bed.