Degas

It's nearly 10pm and the TV's on in the background with Jimeoin talking about smelling fingers. It's not funny but the canned laughter seems to find it hilarious. Hive minds I guess.

Another long day. Fun. Well, not really, but not painful, and I guess the fun days at work have to be pasted together with the banal and the awful. Working tomorrow too, and I'm not looking forward to it. On an average day there are plenty of sad stories involving alcohol and that certain stench of someone that's trying to pickle themself a cell at a time, but on the weekends it's not just the sad stories it's the stupid stories, and the completely unnecessary stories and they all smell groggily the same.

And unfortunately coming home tonight, I'm less than amused by Bingley's decision to get himself more than tipsy and thus have the choice of sleeping next to that delicious scent of acetone or the couch. Though he'll feel sorrier tomorrow, when he gets to deal with 3 boisterous children and sunlight.

Anyhow, enough grumbly talk.

I'm goign to be going out "bush" soon to be a country doctor on my own in a little town. I'm frightened and excited out of my mind about it at the same time. Terrified because ARGH sick kids, and potentially having to deal with Very Bad Things on my own. And excited because I will be doing real good. I will be seeing a lot of people who don't have easy access to a doctor and I'll be using my knowledge and judgement to help them. I think part of me believes (honestly) that it will be all very much like some English melodrama that's shown on ABC with locals leaning over stiles and sheep gallivanting past while I look off into the sunset knowingly.

When in reality it's going to be a lot of paperwork and referrals and bog standard listening to chests and trying to get people to take their medication. But still - *looks fondly off into the mid distance with breeze billowing hair Drover's Run style* - I'm looking forward to it.

I'm not looking forward to being separated from my family, and I've consciously pretty much blocked the thought out. I tried once to imagine it and I caught my breath like someone had just slipped a stiletto between my ribs so I've quashed those ideas deep down into my "not now" box, which is quite empty at the moment, having had a decent spring clean this year.

Anyhow this is so mashed between Bingley and the TV and work and I'm disgruntled and tired and all over the shop and looking at spending the night on the couch. So I'm going to end it here. The banner pic is a Degas, one of my favourite impressionists. The girls had their ballet "portraits" done today and thinking of them dancing today helped me all through the day.