I got a raise!
In both salary and position!
Yay!
Things I loathe:
- My thesis-meeting today in which I was crushed. To oblivion.
- Not having enough money to go on a well-needed shopping spree
- "Getting in shape" means I actually have to do something about it.
Things I love:
- Being pulverized on the thesis-meeting means there's only one way to go: up. And that there will be only a few months more of this shit and then I'm done!
- Getting to come home. Eventhough Sami is not home this week, the safety of our own place was much needed today.
- Good food! Not a day goes by that I don't eat great food! Which gets me to the next point:
- Brussel(s?) sprouts! Man, I love them, boiled and salted. Yummy!
Every home has one.
In my parents home it's called the "the gym" because that's where they have their indoor bike and weightlifting-machine. Before this it has been "the room in the middle" because it is in the middle of the staircase, in the middle of two floors, and "the chinese room" because of the futon and china-red carpet. I suspect their multifunctional room of no purpose has been just that to the people who lived in the house before my parents, too. Because it has wooden bars mounted on the walls, and a huge mirror so the girls of the previous family could practice their ballet. My mother uses the wooden bars to dry laundry on, and we used the mirror as kids to practice our best dracula-faces.
Every home has one. That room you have big plans for, but it kinda sidetracks all the time. It's like that compartment in your wallet that is always nearly exploding with receipts.
Our multifunctional room of no purpose is "the office-gym". When we moved in I wanted to have a sexy office with dark woods and red curtains and a matching carpet. Sami wanted a gym. I said okay (but don't you drop BO on my matching red carpet) and he said okay. So it has red curtains and a red carpet. It also has Sami's weightlifting gear, which blends neatly into the dark, wooden, huuuuge bookshelf. Since it is, "the office", we keep our good looking books here, no paperbacks. Just our Papillon, everything by Mario Puzo (the Sidney Sheldon production is far to huge to fit nicely) and his Sven Hassel war-books. They look really good behind the installment where we dry our laundry. The sweat of his Karate- and Brazilian Jiu-Jutsu-costumes blends in nicely with the ambiance the dark, wooden desk creates. When I write my thesis, or he works on his laptop, we always do it in the living-room. Oddly enough, practically never in the Multifunctional office that we designed to be a work-place, but on the sofa, with cords from the laptop dangling between our legs.
The Multifunctional room is where I kill our plants, too. It has a lot of light and good places to keep plants, so that's where they die in our household. Hanging from the ceiling, in a variation of rope-arrays os a sitting hammock Sami brought back from Ecuador. We very rarely sit in it and I am not sure if the hook the previous tenants left in the ceiling is meant to carry a person. On the floor of this room is where we keep about 20 variating electric devices and the handy laptop-bags we own. They seldom see the laptops because they are in principal scattered around the house. We also have The Broken Audio-device that fits nicely into this room, and all the interview-material from the empirical research to my thesis. And finally, in the far corner on the right, over there, do you see it? That's where Sami lands when he comes home from a trip. This is where sweaty socks gather, equipment pile and scuba-gear smell, all bringing their own little extra thing to our Multifunctional Room Of No Purpose
Everyone who has ever worked in customer service knows all this, but here are a few highlights of my career, and my day:
1. "You're not OPEN?! You open at 9!!? I've been waiting for at least TEN MINUTES!"
Yes we are open, we just love to lock the doors in front of the faces of paying customers. During office hours. Just for shits and giggles.
2. "What do you mean I can't have it now?!
While we provide the service of making your lotions and ointments for you if the doctor prescribes them like this, be prepared you won't get them at 5 to 8, on a friday-evening. Yes, I mean it when I say that it takes 30 minutes of boiling to dissolve the ingredients. Yes it is in fact necessary or the lotion will split, and not work. And the half that works will burn like hell. And yes, I am alone here, no I am not hiding another member of our pharmaceutical personnel in the storage room, so no, I can't possibly lock myself in the lab and make this for you right now. And for what it's worth, I highly doubt acne will cause spontaneous combustion of the brain during these 2 whole days you have to survive without ointment.
3. "I can not recommend this for kids/pregnant women/old people/on open wounds/people who are on cancer treatment."
"Well that's just a load of bull isn't it? My 4-year old is a big boy!"
Yes. His receptors however, are not. But how correct you are that all the clinical trials are just a way of pumping you, the customer for money. They are mostly conducted to annoy people and keep them waiting for say, the cure for cancer.
4. "I read in the papers that you might die from these!"
Yes. A person over in a country far, far away did die from these. And from the snakepoison he was drinking at the same time. Still, it's always a good idea to read the warning labels like the devil reads the bible.
5. "Phew, you're still open!"
Yes we are, and congratulations to you for making it with one minute to spare! I don't have a family or hobbies that would require my presence anyway.
6. "What?! I need a Prescription? and Money?!"
Yes you do. This is however still a business, so we do require payment, even if your cholesterol meds are through. It won't kill you over the weekend. And we do require valid prescriptions because of a tiny thing called The Law. No, I can't transform myself to a prescription right here, I am very sorry.
7. A good look over me and then the punchline: "Are there any... you know... humans here?"
There's one on this side of the counter, how about assholes on your side?
8. "What do you mean I can't return it? I don't need it/it has side-effects!"
No you can't. It is a prescription medicin, and the law prohibits us from buying it back from you. We have no guarantee on where you have kept it or how you trated the package. Would you wan't somebody elses old insuline?
Welcome, you all, to a life of pharmaceutical goodness.
Today I'd like to talk about my professor. His name is Alf Rehn and he teaches my major, Organizations and Management. He was for a while the youngest professor in Finland, and isn't that much older now. He has been, by the media, described as the enfant terrible of economics. Personally I find it hilarious that I study something so gay that people who are described as the enfant terrible of it are considered megacool. Don't get me wrong now, Alf is megacool and the best talker I have seen. Most of the lecturers in what I study are great at giving lessons, but his lecture was the first one I didn't fall asleep during. That happened a lot during my pharmacy studies, so this was actually how I came around chosing my major. And he's on vox.
He is also the most productive person I have ever met. I swear he poos books. They just seem to happen every once a few months. And they're quite good. So today I'd like to point your nose in the direction of Dvalin and I hope you at least read "The 99 dollar hamburger" in his book The serious unreal . I found it enjoyable, and like practically anything I've read by him, an eye-opener. Hopefully you'll enjoy it as much as I did.
And the second topic of today is one I seem to be coming back to. Honey, I think your job sucks.
The organization Sami is working for is a real rarity, especially in Thousandlakez. For whatever odd reason, it has been formed so that over 90% of all the people who work there are men. So the work-environment reeks of macho and farts. And since most of his bosses are divorced older men (because of the organization), they don't give a crap when he tries to say that the missus ain't that happy with these decisions you guys make over here. Next week, another speed-organized course in whatever, where ever the hell it might have been, but point being: he's not home for 2 weeks. And I was told yesterday, when it was announced.
Dear bosses of Sami: You guys suck.
Hi there little darling, this post is for you. It is not done out of spite, but out of worry.
Darling, I know about your anorexia. Everyone knows, it's very clear. I've been around enough bulimics to know only you can change this, so I'm not here to judge you. And I've been around enough friends who suffered through bulimia to tell you that right now it isn't a strict diet anymore, it hasn't been in years.
Darling, we are not good friends, just aqcuaintances, but I'd like to tell you a few things.
Darling, I worry about you.
Darling, I've known for years because through these years of studying, I've never seen you eat a full meal. Once I saw you eat an orange, but Darling, that does not constitute as a meal.
Darling, you are beautiful. Your mirror is not telling you the truth, and neither is your brain. You are the most well-put together woman I know, and the hardest working one. But Darling, you don't need to do this to yourself.
Thin is not beautiful, not at all, and control should never be excersized in a way where it harms you. Control should not be excersized over food, it is not alive and it can not hurt you. If you eat one meal you can still pause, you will not lose control.
Darling, right now you know you can't even have a full meal, your stomach wouldn't allow it. It would probably turn your stomach.
Darling, I can't force you to eat, and I can't force you to seek help, and I never will. I will not judge you. I am writing this because I know you sometimes read my blog and I hope you will read this: I worry about you. I worry that you won't realize anything is wrong until your organs start to fail.
Darling, people think you're pregnant because you have not seen protein in a while. Lack of protein will do that to your stomach, not excess fat, because you have none. You know why you have to dress in layers and why you're cold all the time? It's because you are so thin that the your body-fat doesn't suffice to keep you warm. If you eat protein for a while the stomach will get smaller. And yet I know that suggesting you eat something is like offering you a syringe with poison and offering gently to stick it in. You have to choose the lesser of two evils, but until you eat, that stomach won't go away.
Little Darling, I have never suffered through anorexia. I have however been through enough to be able to relate and if you ever want to swap stories, I am here. If you feel like you're not sure if it's you I'm talking about: ask me. I will tell you.
Dear Darling, please realize that you are ill, and seeking help does not mean you've lost control or are weak. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about.
And then there was a dress.
Yes. It's done. We tried... or rather, I tried 4 and eventually still took the first one. It's really beautiful, has an edge to it, and requires a lot of veil to cover up so that the catholics won't pop a vein.
But now, y'all can breathe again, he has a suit, I have a dress and so we're not coming naked. And knowing me you know it ain't a puffy-pink-ribbon-roses-dress.
But knowing me you might wanna start worrying about how it just might have a bunch of skulls and spiders on it. And I'm not saying it isn't black.
But that's all I'm telling about the dress, so you'll just have to wait and see. Have a really pleasant, carefree 6 months.
xoxo
Today was the day I was scheduled to meet Dr. Törnwall, the man without a first name if you judge him by the papers sent to me. He was 20 minutes late but eventually I still didn't get a parking ticket, so I forgave him. Not the most charming guy on the planet, but apparently what he lacks in charm he makes up for in talent. Turns out the situation isn't as bad as I thought. I have been told I'm the only one who has a jaw that grows shut, and he told me
"No. It's fairly common and 70% of the people who suffer from this are women. What we're gonna do is take an MRI and see where we'll go from there"
"Ok but what are my options, because I've been told that prostheses(es?) for jaws fairly often eventually crush the base of the skull."
"No they don't"
"Ok but see I was told that.."
"Yeah. They don't, they're safe, if you can ever use that phrase to describe prosthetic devices but you were probably talking about titanium prosthetics in the joint..."
"Yeah. Or... I remember it was metal."
"...but we don't use titanium. What we use is polyethylene and we would replace the whole joint with it, but let's not jump to conclusions. We'll send you a time for an MRI within the next few months and two weeks from that you'll schedule another time and then we'll work something out."
"Great! I know you said before the criteria for getting a prosthesis are pretty strict, but judging from those x-rays do you think I have a fair chance? I mean, the right joint is..."
"...not much, I see that. I'd say you've got a good shot at this. And even if you don't qualify for a prosthesis, we'll have to make up a game plan, because all this growing shut is partly because of scar tissue, and the more we cut you open the more it will grow back."
How fantastic is that! We have game plans and schedules and I might be able to get a little plastic in my face! Happy day! And he seems trigger-happy enough to slap me on the table and cut me up any day anyway :)
My co-workers think I'm pregnant (Hi, Mom!).
Lately, I have felt a bit peckish all the time, which has led to me consuming amounts of food that would cater for a few football teams of pregnant women. So my colleagues have become sure of the fact that I must be, at the very least, carrying triplets.
I have been asked about this (several times), and when I've said no to the question, and to the follow-up "but at least you're trying, right?". All this has been promptly disregarded the moment I reach for yet another smoked whole pig pear.
My insane craving for salmiak also counts as proof, and apparently heat waves are also something pregnant and post-menopausal women have first dibs on.
It feels really awkward when people are peering to see a baby bump under my lab-coat. Since I have retained a bit of fluids lately I am not at my fittest. I'm thinking about starting to reply to the baby-question with a "...nooo..." and a gentle stroke of the stomach paired up with a devious smile. I guess they'll notice after a while that nothing is growing (apart form my ass) anyway.
And all this because the Hormone Express has indeed arrived, but we are traveling with a completely different set of tickets.
"You know what day it is tomorrow?"
"Umm... tuesday."
"No, silly woman. What is it apart from a tuesday?"
"Um.. 12th of february?"
"...which is...?"
"A bland, sucky day without winter and lottery-winnings?"
"No. It's our anniversary tomorrow honey"
I totally forgot. I kinda had a picture that once you're engaged and shit all these kinds of anniversaries wouldn't count, so I forgot. Man I suck. I hope I don't forget the anniversary of our engagement when it comes around. I shouldn't, because the date's in the ring. But still. I suck.
