An entry about a new job [and almost sex. ...but I'm chicken].
First and foremost, I wanted to write an entry about sex. But sex in our society is taboo. Sex is trashy. Discussing sex is strangely related to the bourgeoisie and not the educated. Sex is supposedly crude, unrefined, and boorish. […but isn’t that how we all came into this messed up world anyway?]
So, instead of being the slut, I suppose I’ll talk about my new job. To save up some money whilst I’m looking for a glass studio [I have been toying with the idea of building my own from scratch up at Covode, Pennsylvania], I have a part-time job. This was tricky since I have a hundred and one morals and problems with working for certain companies and/or persons. Ergo, I work at a hospital. I’ve a boring job, but that’s just fine with me. I’m a EKG heart monitor technician. Not exactly the job of my dreams, but 1) it’s only part-time, 2) I work from 11pm-7am [slothing hours], 3) I have great health insurance [bastante importante], 4) it’s 0.7 miles from my house and 5) it’ll give me money to save for glassblowing necessities.
I just got back from a benefits meeting at the hospital and the freakiest thing happened—an elderly woman fell down right in front of me. She gashed her forehead and blood was gushing everywhere. Since it just occurred, the people such as nurses and doctors who could really help her [not people like those silly monitor techs] hadn’t arrived yet and all I could do was send for help and watch her loose a tremendous amount of blood. Her flesh was gone, I could see her skull. During the meeting, I kept having horrible flashbacks of that little old lady and blood squirting onto her spectacles. Poor old lady.
Anyway, I had no tissues on me, and all she had was one of those little travel packs and I was trying to convince her to use more than just one or two, but her reply was “yes, but I hate to part with these; they’re all I have.” Um, Madam, your head is hemorrhaging, I think you could send your husband or child out to Kmart and buy another pack or twelve when you get this little problem taken care of. Soon thereafter, nurses came out to help. Old people are so funny about certain things. I’m funny about certain things, too. I suppose that means that I’ll be notorious throughout my town as that weird and idiosyncratic old lady with dreadlocks. Eh, I’ll add color to the world.
I must be off, I have to be at work at 11pm tonight and I must sleep or else a person could die. Hrmm, that would be funny, but it isn’t. Somebody could die. How frightening! Maybe I shouldn’t be so flippant about this job after all.
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