Coffee, Butts, and Buses

    I rely on public transport to get me anywhere my legs cannot legally take me. While it's not nearly as bad as people with cars who have never traveled by bus think it is it most certainly does have its moments and one of  those particular moments has happened to me twice now, in all my years of busing. It involves sitting in a coffee spill that is not fresh enough to notice having sat in it but still damp enough to get all over your clothes. While it is not the end of the world or that big of a deal in our age of automatic washers on both of these occasions I happened to be wearing hand wash only items of clothing that also happened to be white.
    This last time I did not notice the coffee stain on my skirt until about two weeks after the fact. Worried that I now had a questionable brown, runny stain all down the backside of my favorite skirt permanently forever I set it in the bathroom for washing the next day. I then spent the next week ill and drugged out and it is just today that I have been able to get back to my everyday living things. I woke up, took a shower, and threw a load of laundry into the washer. I went into the bathroom to put the laundry soap away and tidy up a bit and that's when I unburied my coffee stained skirt from under a pile of used towels. Now that the stain had dried I became concerned that it was indeed going to be there permanently forever so I decided to tackle it then and there since I was never going to get around to it otherwise. Out came the laundry soap again and a scrub brush and I soaped and scrubbed that coffee stained skirt like a soaping and scrubbing fiend. After a couple washes the stain apeared to be gone and I felt quite satisfied with myself. I was feeling better and my skirt was now clean and line drying in the bathroom...that's when my gaze was caught by a pile of striped items nearby.

    My skirt may be one item checked off my to-do list but I'm afraid the same cannot be said for my pile of filthy stockings...

Morning Thoughts: Clocks with Hands

    Today I woke up thinking about the emergency room. (Well, actually I woke up thinking about menstration but I'll save that for another day.) I then began thinking about clocks in the ER, specifically the clock that was in the room of the particular ER I was in last year. As my still sleep soaked brain took me through this thought ramble I came to the conclusion that ERs should never, ever, EHver have anything but digital clocks. Why you ask?

    While I was there I remember waking up every hour and trying to figure out what time it was, a Herculean effort given the amount of pain I was in/drugs I was on at the time and it went something like this:

Okay, there's the little hand and the big hand. One of them is for the hour and...day? No minutes. Hour and day--minutes. Which is which again? Okay the short one is...the short one is definitely hour. Hour. Now the other one. Why is it moving so fast? Oh, there's a second hand I couldn't see before, okay. Now the little one. Wait, didn't I already figure that one out?

...

What do they stand for again?

    And that's about when the medication would kick in and I'd pass out again. Needless to say I never was able to figure out what time it was. And yeah, okay, I realize there are far more important things we need to fix about our hospitals but you have to start somewhere right? And my four o'clock in the morning, half asleep brain thinks that clocks are the perfect place to begin.

"NOT the Intro!!!!"

    Today I decided to start writing something on here. This poor naked blog has been sitting here for some time with nothing on it and I'm beginning to feel sorry for it. Sometimes I can hear it sighing to itself when I'm sitting alone in my room and that's really starting to creep me out. Now, I know what you're thinking: (Nothing.) "How pathetic is this person?" I know because that was my first thought as well. My next thought, however, was that anyone looking through enough blogs to actually discover mine is definitely more pathetic than I am, so why the hell not?
    I have a comic that I work on. Well, "comic" isn't quite accurate. It's more of a crappy picture book that sometimes has writing in the pictures (on a blog) but I don't always have the energy required to make and then publish that so I decided to do something with just writing (okay, and the occasional picture) in it as well since that generally saps less of my vital stats.
    Or does it? I have to admit I have been putting off writing on a blog for some time now and that's mostly because every time I sit down to write on it, I have to go on the internet which means having The World thrust into my face like an extremely unwelcome piece of chocolate cake after you have already eaten a whole entire chocolate cake and really don't want anymore. (Also, you have an allergy to chocolate.) This causes my thought process to get stuck in this:

I hate people, I hate people, Ihatepeople, IHATEPEOPLE, IHATEPEOPLE, IHATEPEOPLEIHATEPEOPLEIHATEPEOPLE,IHATEPEOPLE,IHATEPEOPLE,IHATEPEOPLEGRRARRRERRARRRERRRARRRRR--

which then snowballs into a giant run on monologue only a dinosaur could understand (or possibly not. I have to confess I have never had the pleasure of speaking with a dinosaur and this could be an incredibly insulting, specist remark.).
    I feel no need to make an introduction piece because I think the point of a blog is to get to know someone through their writing and what they say so now's a great time to start practicing that thing called "patience" as I probably won't be updating this very often.
    Enjoy getting to know me.
    Or not.
    (Probably not.)
    Cheers.