Quite common

Is it just me or is everyone watching the big bang theory now? It's like Sheldon Cooper's become a household name practically overnight.

I have been assaulted by a viral upper respiratory tract infection in the form of acute viral rhinopharyngitis, otherwise known as the common cold. There is no cure. And symptoms may last from 7 to 10 days according to wikipedia. This seemingly minor illness has caused me to take half the day off yesterday and stay inside today after waking up to what felt like the AGM for purulent naso-pharyngeal mucoid secretions, being held very claustrophobically in my general sinus region. Consequently I have spent an entire day inside, well most of the day, doing not much else than watch the big bang theory and tinker about on my guitar. After much deliberation I have come to the conclusion that making nice sounds come out of guitar effects equipment involves hours of turning knobs and pressing buttons all the while thinking "oh ok, I didn't know I could do that...... ok wow there are a lot of these....... so if I try this with this then it should...... sound like crap.....hmmmm..." etc etc. That's only my hypothesis in any case.

I'm sorry, perhaps you were expecting something more substantial from a blog post. I could rant about my distaste for obs & gynae which inevitably every fourth year medical student is moaning about at the moment, or express my joy at the fact that I'm off to London in 9 days, but nay, I shall delay these. Let's be on to something a bit more insightful.



Thought. Perhaps in all the relentless motion of the day one does not consider just how much time is spent immersed in it. Standing still, as if waist deep in a pool, though not of water but of notions, ideas, perceptions and wonder. Instead of the sensation of the wetness of the water, or it's cooling effect against the skin, there is the warmth and complicated emotional tango of subjecting the mind's eye to the number of situations the self is being projected into. Some as real and relevant as what kind of schedule the morning will bring, others as pointless as imagining all kinds of strange and wondrous events and trying to decide what course of action would be taken should it actually occur. These both represent parts of active thinking, anticipation, planning, imagination and deduction. However they are not the most peacable form of thought. For it is those moments when all falls quiet and your sight fixes absent-mindedly upon some large item of furniture opposite, or perhaps a print on the wall, and the world around you narrates to you some secrets of life. The still, small voice that breathes into you as you are conscious of everything and yet of nothing. The small fragments of flint and material, lighter than air, floating and twinkling in the light of the lamp, dancing before you like faeries in the night. The room rests in itself as all the items sprawled around it cease to seem as clutter for the night; for all intents and purposes those are their rightful places. The warmth of the bedsheets melts through skin, as if you were butter in a giant cotton baked potato. This place is still. And safe. Say not a word, but listen to the voice of life.

Out.