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August 2, 2010

BAD START TO THE WEEK

cp2206

cp2206

Contributed Photograph #

2206

Specimen #

11,268 PS

Title or Subject

POSTERIOR VIEW OF UTERUS WITH FIBROIDS; PUS TUBES; CYST OF BROAD
LIGAMENT.

I walked into the chemist this afternoon and the pharmacist asked me “How are you?” and I just wobbled into tears. All about things making me happy and sad. Happy because Club Philos is on this weekend, someone is driving home early to see me, because at least my Internet is kind of fixed [even if Firefox refuses to work and I still need a different router]. Sad because one thing in my life just goes on for infinity and the doctors and psychiatrists who are supposed to take care don’t call, or when they do have some feeble excuse, the expensive industrial sized shredder at work was jammed and no-one would outright confess [tragic I know but who is the fuck face who has to then try and explain why the shredder has only be used for reasonable office use has gouges in it from scissors being jammed in the teeth to a moron on the phone who won't want to help - but then as a total jobs worth I totally lost it and found out who did it and made them do all the painful calling the long line of unhelpful people], tried to catch up with my work but just couldn’t.

Now my bra is digging in and my house is a mess, but at least I have some flowers on my shelf. The florist was laughing at me when I said “What else have you got that looks like weeds?”

OH I JUST REMEMBERED I GOT A PRESENT FOR SOMEONE AND I GET TO GIVE IT TO THEM TONIGHT!! INSTANT THRILL!!

And I got a lovely note from F.K. who wished me a balloon around the world and even the dark side of the moon. What a sweet thing to say.

So – I am in Paris for the bank holiday weekend this month. 27th – 29th or something like that?! Who is there and what is there to do. I still want to go to the Museum for Skin Diseases. So any suggestions other than that.

In news from cat land, Hobart is in seventh heaven. She has found a white rubber band left over from the BT Maintenance man’s visit today. While he was here on the phone wearing his horrid cheap belt and uniform I sat on the sofa in my nightshirt imagining how awful it would be to have sex with him. Feel his horrid skin grating against my skin, his nasty hands grappling with mine all while he cavorted with me while he was on hold to the call centre that he had to use to check how many megs I could take. His English wasn’t very good and he was probably someone’s father, if not grandfather. What is it with me and revolting old men? Charles Bukowski has a lot to answer for on this impressionable young mind.

Erghh… back from that warped imagination k-hole.

Here’s to tomorrow which has just gotta be better.

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