Don't Call It Optimism
But while eating (Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Deli Turkey. Seperate of course) a few minutes ago, I suddenly realized that none of this matters.
If GIKD decided tomorrow that I'm not worth her time, so what? There might not be a million other girls interested in me, but last time I checked there were slightly more women than men on Earth. I like those odds.
In short, I pledge to devote my time to having as much fun as humanly possible. I plan to drink, flirt, break things, and cause all sorts of trouble in my reckless pursuit of meaningless bacchanalia. (Special thanks to Powerhawk for a great word.)
In other news, I'm sick as all hell, but that won't stop me from working tomorrow night. I always worry a little bit that I'm going to cough while I'm in a nursing home and give someone's grandma her last case of pneumonia. Does that make me a bad person, or a good person?
I really hate nursing homes too. I want to emphasize very clearly just how much they suck. These people's family just literally throw them in a home, and forget about them, and it's sad. Most of the time they just pedal around in their wheelchairs and block up the hallways. Every now and then you get one guy who just yells "help!" incessantly. I used to go and see what was wrong, until I figured out it was always the same thing, and that's the fact that his mind is turning into pudding.
Only one guy has ever made me legitimately sad. I was taking him back to his nursing home from the hospital with a transport company I worked for, and the guy was totally coherent, and very sharp, just physically old. He'd been a journalist for years, and had all kinds of incredible stories about the places he'd been, and the things he'd seen. When we got to his apartment at the nursing home, it was amazing. It was filled with all sorts of things he'd picked up on his travels, carved figurines from Africa, a handmade blanket (he said it was for Yak, but I'dve slept under it.) from Mongolia, just unbelievable things. And TONS of pictures. This guy had real photographic talent. One of his pictures was on the cover of Time in the 70s, and he'd been published in National Geographic too.
All the same, he quietly, and without really complaining, mentioned that his family never visits, and the only people he gets to tell his stories to are the nurse's aides at the home, and they don't really care. I truly felt bad for the guy.
I'm working 3 weeks later, and we're paged to the nursing home for a cardiac arrest.
You guessed it.
We didn't even work the code. He'd died in his sleep, and was dead-dead when we got there. All I could think about was his good-for-nothing family taking all of his treasures and either packing them away in a box, or selling them on eBay.
Man, this piece on optimism turned into a real downer. See what happens when you let me ramble? I'll be funny next time.
If GIKD decided tomorrow that I'm not worth her time, so what? There might not be a million other girls interested in me, but last time I checked there were slightly more women than men on Earth. I like those odds.
In short, I pledge to devote my time to having as much fun as humanly possible. I plan to drink, flirt, break things, and cause all sorts of trouble in my reckless pursuit of meaningless bacchanalia. (Special thanks to Powerhawk for a great word.)
In other news, I'm sick as all hell, but that won't stop me from working tomorrow night. I always worry a little bit that I'm going to cough while I'm in a nursing home and give someone's grandma her last case of pneumonia. Does that make me a bad person, or a good person?
I really hate nursing homes too. I want to emphasize very clearly just how much they suck. These people's family just literally throw them in a home, and forget about them, and it's sad. Most of the time they just pedal around in their wheelchairs and block up the hallways. Every now and then you get one guy who just yells "help!" incessantly. I used to go and see what was wrong, until I figured out it was always the same thing, and that's the fact that his mind is turning into pudding.
Only one guy has ever made me legitimately sad. I was taking him back to his nursing home from the hospital with a transport company I worked for, and the guy was totally coherent, and very sharp, just physically old. He'd been a journalist for years, and had all kinds of incredible stories about the places he'd been, and the things he'd seen. When we got to his apartment at the nursing home, it was amazing. It was filled with all sorts of things he'd picked up on his travels, carved figurines from Africa, a handmade blanket (he said it was for Yak, but I'dve slept under it.) from Mongolia, just unbelievable things. And TONS of pictures. This guy had real photographic talent. One of his pictures was on the cover of Time in the 70s, and he'd been published in National Geographic too.
All the same, he quietly, and without really complaining, mentioned that his family never visits, and the only people he gets to tell his stories to are the nurse's aides at the home, and they don't really care. I truly felt bad for the guy.
I'm working 3 weeks later, and we're paged to the nursing home for a cardiac arrest.
You guessed it.
We didn't even work the code. He'd died in his sleep, and was dead-dead when we got there. All I could think about was his good-for-nothing family taking all of his treasures and either packing them away in a box, or selling them on eBay.
Man, this piece on optimism turned into a real downer. See what happens when you let me ramble? I'll be funny next time.
posted by C at 1:59 AM
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