My Excellent Band-Aid

My band-aid, the one Nick gave me after I fell down whilst cycling yesterday, is so waterproof that after taking a bath this morning and getting some water retained in it when I peeled it back to check on the wound, kept the water in until this evening when I did some stretching and it tore a little, leaking fluids.

At first I thought I was bleeding some sort of pus, but closer inspection revealed it to be merely water - dirty, but just water.

I am impressed. Here's a picture of the band-aid in question.

I was also scratched behind my right ankle, the last two fingers of my left hand (looks like I knuckled someone and barely connected) and my right palm is chafed. Nick fell too, and also due to a child, but he left without a scratch (except to his ego when he calculated his timing). It would seem I missed out on the How to Fall section of riding a bike.

Triathlon's this Saturday. Whoot. Not prepared. Gonna suffer.

By the way, you can tell from the nature of the post I'm somewhat bored. There's nothing new, nothing exciting in my life the past few days. I've been laid off work, so I can only tay at home and whine about how little money I have and how much I need to do all sorts of things but just don't have the drive to do them.

Sent resumes to some companies for part-time work as IT Helpdesk officer, VBA programmer (I was desperate) and amateur copywriter. I have no idea of the process of a copywriter, but I reckon if I can write a blog and come up with titles for every entry it can't be that hard (the same kind of attitude got me to join the triathlon - it's just a little swim, bike and run! Can't be that hard). I am considering turning down the Helpdesk one even if I get it (though it is the one I have the most work-experience in) and trying for more waitering instead. I am told I cannot leave the hospitality career with a failure - it will haunt me the rest of my life and leave me with a disappointment in an IT career (if you want to call helpdesk that) that has become a refuge house for failure.

It is painful, though, to learn that you're not really that good at something and people don't even want to have you work for them when you're damned cheap. But I suppose I should give it another try. Crystal Jade, here I come, with my stunted level of chinese and all.

Et étudée le français est difficile. I am trying to pick up french. So far progress has been abysmal. I cannot yet form any coherent sentence short of "je t'aime", which any little schoolgirl who has watched or read any vaguely-french-related novel or movie will know. I am also handicapped by an inability to read the International Phonetic Alphabet which I vaguely remember mother having extolled virtues of, which I ignored, in my younger days. Curse the lazy youth that I was for not learning more useful things in the past instead of having extensive knowledge of the elemental traits of the final bosses in Final Fantasies! Now I just hobble along where I can, trying to hawk up enough spit in my throat to make the french noises that sound like you're choking for air or have lung problems from smoking too much. Curse the systematic, easy-to-learn phonetics of my mother-toungue for not giving me a more extended set of tonal ranges to begin with!

oh, and by the way, in case you didn't catch it the whole Band-Aid thing (whilst factually true) was merely a metaphor for a lack of subject to post on, thus the usage of stock-post-themes and the retention of foolish ideas sweeping out of a seemingly impermeable consciouness.

Do I have a future in copywriting or what?