My shifts start again on Monday, so my last day off is Sunday. I'll try and do a post on that day, and a few more as to not go astray.
Anyway, this was going to be about me. Again - did you expect different, maybe?
I'm not a healthy person; and it'll only worsen.
The only real medical ailment that meanders me is asthma, and even that isn't that bad. However, like many people in the world, my existence will be unfurled. Hopefully not by some horrible disease, but simply by being at ease. I do work out; it's something that I could not do without. But it's not enough, although it's not as if I don't know my stuff.
Whatever, though. I must admit, I'd rather live a happy ten years than a thousand unhappy ones. Does that show that, in my heart, I'm a mindless hedonist? I don't know. I don't particularly care either. Here I am; here I remain.
I quite doubt, however, that my job will be something that extends my lifespan. Stress increases the risk of obtaining numerous diseases; if I didn't have weekends, I feel for sure that I'd only still be alive because the diseases were arguing over which one would finish me off. It's just... I feel like the only person in a gold mine who knows what gold looks like. Everyone else potters around, acting like idiots, and it ends up being my job to fix everything up for the ungrateful bastards. Speaking of bastards, the patients aren't exactly the most pleasant of people, or indeed grateful for the effort one puts in. The NHS is great and all, but...
Bah, that's driving my blood pressure up, not down. Screw it, where's that CD...
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