The Black Dog

Apologies for the silence; exams pending have had me all distracted. Game on tomorrow, and I'm decompensating a little bit. I'm sure my ability to deal wit this shit gets less with every passing year.

Anyway, I'm not sleeping, and generally of low mood, and this reflects in my work, which, I guess makes me a bad professional.

We'll see, I guess.

The patient so keen to declare her love for bum sex survived her 4 metre fall, and seems none the worse for her frontal contusions.

Must stop now before I become bogged doen with navel-gazing; the Black Dog looms large on my horizon.

More later; I'm on nights this weekend, which will surely be a fertile hunting ground.

What The Future Holds...

If only we knew. The cliche, the thing they always say is that you should always wear clean underwear, in case you get knocked down. Actually, if you do get knockeddown, no matter how clean your undercrackers were this morning, they're sure as hell soiled now.

I discovered a varient of this aphorism. When graffiti'ing your clothes, just cast a little eye to the future.

Because when, after 6 pints of snakebite, you faceplant into a concrete floor, and bruise your brain into a coma, it won't make it any easier for your parents to bear when they find your nice white shirt has "I love bum sex" scrawled in massive letters on it.