2nd thoughts.

"It's called stress. Don't do it. Don't do it. I don't recommend it to anyone! Just don't get married and don't get divorced." – Peter Andre

This is him complaining about the troubles of marriage. You’d think he was being just a tad immature about the whole thing. Especially since he’s been married. A favourite singer of mine, especially with the hit “Mysterious Girl”, he’s acting a bit like a 16 year old who just broke up with his/her boyfriend/girlfriend.

I’m currently also browsing new cellphones. Not that I’m extremely wealthy at the moment but hey, its okay to dream, right? +D

Currently talking with Dory. And I came up with the definition of tact.

Tact: The ability to say what you want to say without saying it the way you want to say it.

Today has been an interesting day. Interesting as in “nod your head and go umm…”

Why?

First of all, I received a letter from Temper Tantrum Lady. Please refresh your memory as per requirements.

She apologises for her rude behaviour. Hm. As an afterthought, perhaps, after she demonised me in front of the ENTIRE ward. Apology. Accepted. Quite nice handwriting too so she’s doubly forgiven. I think its unfortunate what happened to her and the doctor is an egghead however, her behaviour was uncalled for. Apparently, I became well known as the physio who made people do exercises without giving them oxygen. Wow. What a reputation I’ve built up in the 8 months I’ve been working. Sounds as though I graduated from the French Prison Torture Academy.

At least my eggs were happy this morning. Um. Maybe not. If you tilt your head to the left, you would notice that its kinda like a straight mouth at the bottom.

Go ahead. Look at the picture and tilt your head slightly to the left. See what I mean?

And anyone remember Starvation Dude?

I went to see him today. And I chatted with him while I tried to straighten out muscles that have cramped and seized up for far too long.

He was an apprentice for a shipping company. He loves jazz and chill out music. He’s got a lovely son. No, that hand doesn’t do very much. And yeah, its a bit sore. Yeah, he’s a leftie. Just like me.

And suddenly, my thoughts about him dying became a fad. A past distant memory and all of a sudden, I felt ashamed that I condemned this man easier than I do myself at times. I thought of all the moments that I said I would have given him a gun and told him to finish the job properly and boy, have I made a mistake or two or three, even.

This man is alive. This man has a past. This man is just like me. Or like any other human being. He loves his jazz stuff. Loves piano lounge music. Enjoys talking to his son.

I wondered when his world became so dark. When did the clouds block the sun so that he couldn’t see a reason to live anymore? When did nothing mattered? When or why did he choose to end it all and what made him flinch?

I wonder. I truly truly wonder.

Of course, I’m no psychiatrist. That takes time, apparently.

But if I’m ever given a chance to sit down with this man and talk about what happened to him, I wouldn’t give that opportunity up for my Wednesday private ballroom lessons. And you know how much THAT means to me.