Quality Use of Medicines

There’s this one unit that has been giving me such a difficult time.

  • It’s disorganised, topics are all over the mulberry bush.
  • The course was squashed together into 7 weeks, instead of 12 or 13.
  • The unit coordinator doesn’t give a shit. He uses the conflicting arguments to support badly cobbled-together lectures. They include: “You as post-grads should be independent in your study.”, “Some of you guys have no background in this degree, so you’ll need to do more study.” and “I want to have your academic backgrounds so we can tailor this course to you guys.” Why aren’t you making it equally accessible for everyone considering there are no pre-requisite units for this post-grad course?

Thank goodness for drugs (used appropriately and as prescribed.): Caffeine. Ritalin. Ativan. They wake me up, help me focus, and help me not freak out.

First exam tomorrow. Oh fuckity fuck.


Derailed by Meconium

I finished that assignment 2 days and 3 hours late. I don’t know what it is. I drag my feet on an assignment, dreading how awful and gruesome it will be, but without fail, once I get into it, I’m immersed. Once I complete it, I look back and think, “That wasn’t so bad. Not nearly as bad as I thought it would be.”

I do not understand these strong avoidance tendencies I have. I (and nearly every other uni student, I suspect) employ all manner of distraction to avoid study and assignments. The house needs vacuuming and mopping, the dishes should be done, I need more study food, these tweets from @TheMaleNanny are hilarious so I must read them ALL, with his tumblr, oh look his mate theguyliner has such fascinating dates, let’s read them ALL, good AND bad.

Oh. and the absolute classic method: one more episode, then I’ll start. Oh those crazy kids. Namely, me. Do you know what the assignment’s topic was? Dental anxiety. Oh, the goddamn irony.

Anyway. Now that the immediate assessments are cleared, I can catch up on notes and study, do some banking, set up appointments and get onto the car insurance people. Also, I discovered the old Toyota Corolla won’t start. I need to sell you! I should have sold it back in January, but to be fair, we were moving house and Dad demurred, saying he and Mum would need it when they came to visit. Must ask around for some jump cables.

I went for some late night cuddles. P was wearing these PJ bottoms and a sunshiney yellow t-shirt with Chewbacca in Kanye West’s Stronger sunglasses. Definitely cute. P seems to be more keen on to meet up and see me during the week, which is nice. I was so supremely content in that moment, despite the grim and bleak Christmas episode of BBC’s Call the Midwife. (Honestly, I can’t wrap my head around Miranda Hart being serious! and so posh.) In my head, ran the following exchange:

Pro side: Just say it. It’s easy. It’s a good moment. Use your words. I. Love. You.

Con side: Are you insane?! P could start thinking, “What the hell? Run away!!”

Pro side: No P won’t! You can add a little sigh at the end with a smile. It’ll be endearing. You’re already in P’s arms.

Con side: Yeah, right up until P says, “I …don’t feel the same, sorry. We should stop seeing each other.” Oh look, she’s just given birth. Popped it right out.

Pro side: What was that first poop a baby makes called? The really gross one?

Con side: Let’s ask P.

And with that, despite some minor skirmishes later, the main argument for whether or not to say the weighty ILY was derailed by meconium. (Might I suggest the more weak of heart and those eating not click the link.) Yes yes, it’s nice that our backgrounds allow for us to remain unfazed by such things, but it certainly isn’t the environment in which you want to bring forth the first I Love You.

So I settled for this. Yeah, I’m chickenshit.

The mission:

1. Say I Love You.

2. Get P to say it back.

3. Slowly change P’s attitude on having children. Or just one. We could do just one. Yes! Good strategy.

4. Oh and get my life sorted all this week as I have it off.