Wednesday, 19 April 2017

Don't bother to read this.

Anzac Day is six days away. I don't actually know yet whether I will be needed to work in the morning or not. I do know I will have to work in the afternoon. By 'in the morning' I mean 'in the middle of the night'. I also don't know what I would prefer to do. Probably neither. The thing is, the days on either side continue to be chockers with school groups, (700 kids today, nearly 700 tomorrow, about 7000 the next day, not even joking about that in any way shape or form.) As you can see I am not really able to think about anything else. It is just the most horrific prospect. And anxiety about it is infecting everyone, with the possible exception of some of the police, who appear to be as cheery as ever.

I got my bike to a bike shop and if all goes according to plan it should be fixed tomorrow evening, so at least I will be able to get some proper exercise when I get it back. Driving to and from work today sucked immensely, and taking PT tomorrow will also be horrible but in quite a different way.

The only other thing worth documenting is that as of this afternoon about 3 pm, I appear to be afflicted with a rare yet harmless condition that internet health information websites describe as "vibrating breast syndrome." My right breast is intermittently buzzing, as if it contains a very tiny mobile phone set to silent. I wonder who is ringing me? It must be something important, because they keep calling. Perhaps it's Christopher Pyne ringing to say that Anzac Day is cancelled. How did he get my breast number? It's really annoying, but according to the internet it's not lethal. I am content with that.

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