I’m not sure what it is about me, but what should be simple tasks always turn into epic adventures. This was certainly the case today.
Honey needed to go to the vet this morning and I volunteered to take her. She’s a 15-year-old German Shepard cross and I love her to bits. We got her when I was five so I guess it’s fair to say we grew up together. She slept on the end of my bed every night until she decided she was too old to jump up anymore.
The last time I accompanied her to the vet she was very sick and all curled up on the front seat of my car. That was not the case this morning. This morning she was very excited and keen for adventure.
With the right background music convincing Honey to get in to the car would have made quite a funny black-and-white chase scene. I let her in to the house with the intention to fix her to her lead, only to turn around to find her gone. I poked my head out the front door to see her running to down the driveway, closely followed by mum who was yelling at her to stop. Never mind that Honey is completely deaf.
It took some convincing but I finally managed to manoeuvre Honey in to the car. I breathed a sigh of relief, only to find that she wouldn’t give up that easily. I was now faced with a debate over which seat she would sit in. You see, she had decided that the driver’s seat was her choice. I however felt that I should be sitting there, me being the one with the car keys and licence. Honey didn’t agree.
Luckily with a fair amount of bargaining and promises to let her sleep on the clean laundry (her favourite past time) she acquiesced. The rest of the trip went without a hitch. It wasn’t until after paying the exuberant price for the ointment she’d been prescribed by the vet and making our way back to my car that things became… well complicated.
Honey did not want to get back in to the car. She was much too preoccupied sniffing the other animal smells, she would not be convinced. Heaving a sigh of frustration I dumped the armful of things I was carrying in to the centre console. Grabbing her around the middle, I managed to manoeuvre her squirming body in to the car. Honey hates being picked up, even as a puppy she would thrash around until you put her back on the floor. The look that she gave me as I wound the window down a turn and closed and locked the door on her could easily rival the dirty look of any human female.
As I pushed the door closed I had a niggling feeling of something not being right. I looked down at my empty hands. The passenger side door was locked. The drivers side door was locked. My keys were in the centre console. Honey was in the passenger side seat looking out at me, ears up in interest.
I felt my stomach drop, and the words “Oh shit!” scrolled across my mind marquee style. My immediate response was to call for help, my hand flying to my pocket. It was empty. My phone was in the car too. After some creative cussing I decided to take action.
The window was down just enough for me to slip my arm in up to my forearm. I tried to push it in further, just enough wind the window down a scratch. After about five minutes of this I realised it wasn’t going to be possible.
My arm was burning and Honey was still sitting on the front seat smiling out at me, clearly enjoying the show. Fingers of panic were starting to creep up my spine, tears prickling behind my eyes. As far as I could see I had two options; manage to squeeze my arm through the window or return to vet surgery and ask for help. The second option wasn’t particularly attractive, not only would it be mortifying but it would mean leaving Honey unattended.
I decided to try the arm through the window one last time. My car is the type with the lock next to the door handle rather then near the window. I realised with a little bit of feeling around I could brush the lock with my fingers, this was accompanied by a surge of hope. With a few more tries, biting my lip against the pain my arm was in, I was finally able to push the lock.
After retrieving the keys I collapsed onto the driver’s side seat shaking with adrenaline and rubbing my quickly bruising arm in self-pity.
I looked over at Honey, worried that the time alone in the car may have stressed her. The look I got in response was one that clearly summed up what she was thinking “That’s what you get for picking me up. Way to go jackass”. I can’t say that I disagree.
The unfortunate death of a mobile phone
Technology is not my forte. Give me any piece of equipment with so much as a wire in it and I guarantee that I will break it. This is not my intention; usually I am happily typing away at a computer or putting through an order on a register and the next thing I am confronted with a black screen. My dad tells me that I have sexy fingers, that is to say I screw everything I touch.
Sometimes I break things out of mindless stupidity or carelessness. My most famous case occurred when I accidentally destroyed my mobile phone.
I’m one of those people when it comes to my phone. I have it on me almost all the time. When I’m sitting on the lounge it sits beside me, when I’m driving my phone rides shotgun and at night it is snuggled next to me under my pillow. When I don’t have my phone on me I have a feeling that is uncomfortably close to compulsion.
The infamous night of the freak accident I was sitting on the lounge watching television with my late phone. Television watching was broken up intermittently with the cheery singing that my phone emitted whenever it had received a text message. (To be honest this “cheery tone” was the theme song to Thomas the Tank Engine. I’m a little bit embarrassed about this looking back. I’m much more mature then that now, I’m proud to say my ring tone is now the Adams Family).
It was during this text messaging session that I realised I had to pee. I had that feeling of despair, knowing if I were to trek to the bathroom and back I would not be able to regain the level of comfort I was currently enjoying. This resulted in an internal battle:
Me: Body I’m sorry but this is bad time for me right now. Maybe later?
Body: *Building pressure in bladder*
Me: Maybe you didn’t hear me? *speaks louder* Now is not a good time, I will visit the bathroom later.
Body: *Pressure continues to build*
Me: I’m beginning to think you are just being ignorant. Must I remind you that I control you, you do not control me.
Body: *Sharp pains in abdomen*
Me: *Jumps up and sprints to the toilet*
As I sit down I hear the musical Thomas-the-tank inspired chirping of my phone, which just happens to be clutched in my hand. I open the text and begin typing a reply as I relieve my bladder. I’m still doing so as I turn to flush the toilet.
From here on everything happens in slow motion. I reach out to press the flush button and my beloved phone slips from my grasp. It rotates comically through the air, one flip, two flip, three flips *SPLASH*. I let out a blood-curdling cry of horror. Thinking only of saving my phone I plunge my hand in after it.
It isn’t until after I pull the phone out that I realise what I’ve done. I’m dry retching and sobbing as I make my way to the sink.
My sister appears in the doorway asking what the matter is. My reply: “I just stuck my hand in my pee!”
Sometimes I break things out of mindless stupidity or carelessness. My most famous case occurred when I accidentally destroyed my mobile phone.
I’m one of those people when it comes to my phone. I have it on me almost all the time. When I’m sitting on the lounge it sits beside me, when I’m driving my phone rides shotgun and at night it is snuggled next to me under my pillow. When I don’t have my phone on me I have a feeling that is uncomfortably close to compulsion.
The infamous night of the freak accident I was sitting on the lounge watching television with my late phone. Television watching was broken up intermittently with the cheery singing that my phone emitted whenever it had received a text message. (To be honest this “cheery tone” was the theme song to Thomas the Tank Engine. I’m a little bit embarrassed about this looking back. I’m much more mature then that now, I’m proud to say my ring tone is now the Adams Family).
It was during this text messaging session that I realised I had to pee. I had that feeling of despair, knowing if I were to trek to the bathroom and back I would not be able to regain the level of comfort I was currently enjoying. This resulted in an internal battle:
Me: Body I’m sorry but this is bad time for me right now. Maybe later?
Body: *Building pressure in bladder*
Me: Maybe you didn’t hear me? *speaks louder* Now is not a good time, I will visit the bathroom later.
Body: *Pressure continues to build*
Me: I’m beginning to think you are just being ignorant. Must I remind you that I control you, you do not control me.
Body: *Sharp pains in abdomen*
Me: *Jumps up and sprints to the toilet*
As I sit down I hear the musical Thomas-the-tank inspired chirping of my phone, which just happens to be clutched in my hand. I open the text and begin typing a reply as I relieve my bladder. I’m still doing so as I turn to flush the toilet.
From here on everything happens in slow motion. I reach out to press the flush button and my beloved phone slips from my grasp. It rotates comically through the air, one flip, two flip, three flips *SPLASH*. I let out a blood-curdling cry of horror. Thinking only of saving my phone I plunge my hand in after it.
It isn’t until after I pull the phone out that I realise what I’ve done. I’m dry retching and sobbing as I make my way to the sink.
My sister appears in the doorway asking what the matter is. My reply: “I just stuck my hand in my pee!”
Taking the time to reflect
Reality is starting to hit as I prepare to enrol in my final semester; no matter what I decide to do next year this chapter of my life will be over. All going to plan in under six months I will have completed my university degree.
It’s hard to believe how fast the last three years have gone and it’s hard to imagine how much I have changed. I began uni as an insecure, melancholic 17-year-old who made a last minute decision not to defer her degree. I will leave a semi-confident, almost 20-year-old who is finally secure with herself and her own attributes.
I had expectations of what university would be like. I expected it to be a bigger, scarier version of school. In which the teachers cared little about their students and assessments were stringent and difficult. The last two years of school were the worst of my life; my outlook on university was bleak. What I’ve experienced over the last three years has been nothing as I expected. The majority of my tutors and lectures have taken an interest in me, a small number of which I now consider mentors. I’ve been able to express myself and my interests throughout all of the assessments that have been set. And I’ve done better then I could have imagined.
There aren’t many people that I went to school with that I still talk too regularly. In fact there’s probably only two or three. I’m not one to hold on to relationships. Despite myself I’ve made friendships over the last few years that I sincerely hope will be life long. Is that too cliché to say? I’ve met a group of amazing, intelligent people. This is something that I did not expect.
I’m sad to be finishing. Apprehensive about what comes next. But also excited, I’m ready to conquer the rest of this semester and then the next. Ready to begin my next challenge.
I guess it is time to take that next step towards the imminent future: enrolling in semester two subjects.
I take my hypochondria on a trip to the doctors
I’m a hypochondriac. This is a condition that has been made 100 per cent worse with the ease of the internet. Today has been something of a hypochondriacs nightmare (or dream, I get a feeling of righteousness when I discover my concerns are justified).
I was at the doctors on Monday being examined thanks to exhaustion and dizzy spells. This resulted in a blood test on Tuesday and a subsequent doctor’s appointment today.
Before tutorials this morning the phone rang. I answered it to find the nurse from the doctors surgery was at the other end:
Nurse: Hi Rachael. We were wondering whether you would be able to come in today to discus your recent test results.
Me: *heart kicks in to overdrive. Oh god, I’m dieing. Or pregnant. Oh god.* Ermm, I already had an appointment booked for today? At 12?
Nurse: Ohh you do? Sorry to bother you then. We’ll see you at 12 then.
I’m confused and bothered by the phone call. Matters are made worst when I tell Jade about it. He is a fellow hypochondriac, though he’s not as comfortable admitting it as I am. His reply: “Oh god. You’re dieing. Or pregnant.”
After a morning of inner turmoil, I arrive at the doctor’s surgery only to wait 20 minutes longer then was strictly necessary. By the time the doctor calls my name I’m sweating and on the brink of hyperventilating.
The visit went as follows:
Doctor: Okay, lets check out these test results. Your full blood count looks good, everything seems to be here. Good, haemoglobins are present.
Me: *Internal sigh of relief. I have no idea what haemoglobins are but they sound important and I’m glad I have them*
Doctor: Hmm, your cholesterols up a little bit
Me: *Oh god! Heart attack! Hardening arteries!*
Doctor: You have a high level of uric acid as well. You might find this disposes you to gout in later life.
Me: *Uric acid? Will that kill me? Gout? Sounds deadly!*
Doctor: Your Iron levels are very low. Make sure that you’re taking a supplement. That explains the exhaustion.
Me: *Feeling a little calmer. This isn’t new to me. I can deal with this. Feeling a little smug, I told everyone I was feeling sick didn’t I!*
Doctor: Okay, before you go we’ll check your blood pressure. Oh dear, that is very low no wonder you’ve been dizzy.
Me: *Horror! Have no archived knowledge of this condition, must Google. Feeling even smugger. Low blood pressure huh? Maybe everyone will take me seriously now*
Once I finally leave the surgery I return to Jade in the waiting room. He’s looking pale and antsy. “What is it? Oh god, you’re dieing? You’re pregnant?”
I was at the doctors on Monday being examined thanks to exhaustion and dizzy spells. This resulted in a blood test on Tuesday and a subsequent doctor’s appointment today.
Before tutorials this morning the phone rang. I answered it to find the nurse from the doctors surgery was at the other end:
Nurse: Hi Rachael. We were wondering whether you would be able to come in today to discus your recent test results.
Me: *heart kicks in to overdrive. Oh god, I’m dieing. Or pregnant. Oh god.* Ermm, I already had an appointment booked for today? At 12?
Nurse: Ohh you do? Sorry to bother you then. We’ll see you at 12 then.
I’m confused and bothered by the phone call. Matters are made worst when I tell Jade about it. He is a fellow hypochondriac, though he’s not as comfortable admitting it as I am. His reply: “Oh god. You’re dieing. Or pregnant.”
After a morning of inner turmoil, I arrive at the doctor’s surgery only to wait 20 minutes longer then was strictly necessary. By the time the doctor calls my name I’m sweating and on the brink of hyperventilating.
The visit went as follows:
Doctor: Okay, lets check out these test results. Your full blood count looks good, everything seems to be here. Good, haemoglobins are present.
Me: *Internal sigh of relief. I have no idea what haemoglobins are but they sound important and I’m glad I have them*
Doctor: Hmm, your cholesterols up a little bit
Me: *Oh god! Heart attack! Hardening arteries!*
Doctor: You have a high level of uric acid as well. You might find this disposes you to gout in later life.
Me: *Uric acid? Will that kill me? Gout? Sounds deadly!*
Doctor: Your Iron levels are very low. Make sure that you’re taking a supplement. That explains the exhaustion.
Me: *Feeling a little calmer. This isn’t new to me. I can deal with this. Feeling a little smug, I told everyone I was feeling sick didn’t I!*
Doctor: Okay, before you go we’ll check your blood pressure. Oh dear, that is very low no wonder you’ve been dizzy.
Me: *Horror! Have no archived knowledge of this condition, must Google. Feeling even smugger. Low blood pressure huh? Maybe everyone will take me seriously now*
Once I finally leave the surgery I return to Jade in the waiting room. He’s looking pale and antsy. “What is it? Oh god, you’re dieing? You’re pregnant?”
A change in direction
I’ve had a complete change of perspective this year. Over the last three months I’ve made choices for myself that will likely send me in a direction completely different to where I thought that I wanted to go.
My grandfather died six weeks ago. It wasn’t completely unexpected; he’d been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. He was expected to live for another six months, yet he died of a heart attack. There’s probably a huge number of contributing factors to my change of mind, but I suspect that this is one of the biggest.
I guess that everybody must obsess over their mortality. I know I do. I have spent a good number of sleepless nights contemplating the big, ugliness of death. I’m not a religious person. At times like this I wish I was. It must be comforting to have faith.
What I’ve been thinking recently is that when I die, what do I want to have achieved? I found myself no longer caring if I get impeccable marks, if I go on to have an excellent career. I don’t want to be the woman that never sees her family because she spends her life working.
This isn’t a useful trail of thought to be experiencing during my final year of university. Everything is harder this year and more intense. I should be working harder, quite the opposite to what I have been doing.
I’m going to finish my degree, I’ve come to far not to. As for next year, I’m not going to stay. I intended to do honors but I’m no longer convinced that is what I want.
What I want is to start my life with Jade, something I can’t do at the moment because I spend all my time at uni and not enough time working. I want to write a book. I want to open a book café. I want to know that when I die I will have spent my life doing what I wanted to do, not what I thought that I should.
My grandfather was hugely proud of me when he was alive. He loved to tell people how well I was doing and how much I was going to achieve. I worry that this change in direction would have disappointed him.
The most embarrrassing moment of my young life
Of all the stories I could have shared I think this one will allow you to get the fullest picture of who I am.
Choosing my most embarrassing moment is actually easier then I thought. I am prone to them, in fact my life thus far has been a montage of embarrassment. I’m clumsy and have a talent for saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. However this was definitely a stand out.
A year or so ago, probably longer, I was invited to go to the movies with a group of friends from university. I was feeling pretty nervous about it, I hadn’t really hung out with any of them outside of uni and socialising isn’t my forte. What’s more was that I was desperate to impress one of the boys that were going; Jade Ashworth.
I spent longer deciding what to wear then I usually would have. This was my opportunity to prove that while I may have been a dork at uni, I really was cool. I intended to seize it.
We met up at the movies and decided to see Hancock. I was feeling pretty impressed with myself, oozing confidence and playing hard-to-get. Feeling like the life of the party.
I don’t remember much of the movie and I haven’t seen it since, so I can’t offer any comment on it. Hancock had just come out, it was over school holidays and it was a rainy day; the trifecta. Needless to say the cinema was full. Yet I don’t think it’s too self-absorbed to say that the people who were there that day probably remember me better then they do the movie.
It was about halfway through when it happened. I had to use the bathroom. I was cursing myself for drinking the whole large Coke I’d bought. Getting up to go to the toilet posed a number of problems for me: firstly there is no way to maintain gracefulness while you push your way through the rows of annoyed patrons. But also if I got up to leave I ran the risk that someone else would capture Jade’s attention while I was gone.
Finally I decided that I couldn’t hold on any longer. I got up, pushed and “sorry”ed my way to the aisle. I was trying to “breeze” out of the cinema. The reality, however, was that I got down two steps before I slipped; the rest of which I went down on my bum. The whole cinema saw it and were in hysterics. Those who were unfortunate enough to miss it were quickly informed, people not even bothering to whisper “Did you see that girl?” A room of strangers bonded over my miss fortune.
It wasn’t all bad though. I took it in pretty good spirits; laughing at myself. I walked back into the cinema afterwards with my chin held high, ignoring the sniggering.
What’s more I got the boy. Unfortunately he’s never let me forget. Just the other day he was laughing to himself, then said “Hey Rach, do you remember that time…”
Choosing my most embarrassing moment is actually easier then I thought. I am prone to them, in fact my life thus far has been a montage of embarrassment. I’m clumsy and have a talent for saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. However this was definitely a stand out.
A year or so ago, probably longer, I was invited to go to the movies with a group of friends from university. I was feeling pretty nervous about it, I hadn’t really hung out with any of them outside of uni and socialising isn’t my forte. What’s more was that I was desperate to impress one of the boys that were going; Jade Ashworth.
I spent longer deciding what to wear then I usually would have. This was my opportunity to prove that while I may have been a dork at uni, I really was cool. I intended to seize it.
We met up at the movies and decided to see Hancock. I was feeling pretty impressed with myself, oozing confidence and playing hard-to-get. Feeling like the life of the party.
I don’t remember much of the movie and I haven’t seen it since, so I can’t offer any comment on it. Hancock had just come out, it was over school holidays and it was a rainy day; the trifecta. Needless to say the cinema was full. Yet I don’t think it’s too self-absorbed to say that the people who were there that day probably remember me better then they do the movie.
It was about halfway through when it happened. I had to use the bathroom. I was cursing myself for drinking the whole large Coke I’d bought. Getting up to go to the toilet posed a number of problems for me: firstly there is no way to maintain gracefulness while you push your way through the rows of annoyed patrons. But also if I got up to leave I ran the risk that someone else would capture Jade’s attention while I was gone.
Finally I decided that I couldn’t hold on any longer. I got up, pushed and “sorry”ed my way to the aisle. I was trying to “breeze” out of the cinema. The reality, however, was that I got down two steps before I slipped; the rest of which I went down on my bum. The whole cinema saw it and were in hysterics. Those who were unfortunate enough to miss it were quickly informed, people not even bothering to whisper “Did you see that girl?” A room of strangers bonded over my miss fortune.
It wasn’t all bad though. I took it in pretty good spirits; laughing at myself. I walked back into the cinema afterwards with my chin held high, ignoring the sniggering.
What’s more I got the boy. Unfortunately he’s never let me forget. Just the other day he was laughing to himself, then said “Hey Rach, do you remember that time…”
