Another week passes, another scribe scours his life to air his grievances. Will it never end?
I’m a busy man, a man of few words, a man with little noteworthy to say. So let’s skip the chitchat and get to the finish line.
THE BAD-ish: About a year ago, I was minding my own business, working in a small round-welding company. Shoveling metal tubes from one container to another, I started feeling unpleasantness in my hands. Removing my gloves, I noticed my hands were covered in what can be best described as a moss-like eczema. Alright alright, I had noticed it earlier, it didn’t just appear out of nowhere in one night, but I did nothing until it was too late. The first doctor I visited was convinced it was herpes, and gave me cortisone-salve. Which, in case you don’t know, is not recommendable (and hell, if I’m going to believe a doctor who doesn’t know his shit). It wasn’t until I went and visited another doctor, that I was told my infection was more likely a result of an allergic reaction to the chemicals used in preservation and washing of the metal tubes. For one reason or another, tests to determine what I actually had were never made and at the time I was feeling way too bad to demand anything. I got antibiotics, I got better, what reason would I have had to complain? None, until two weeks ago.
When I reserved this FiF spot, it was with a creeping fear. Would I, when the time came, even be able to use a keyboard? Would the next two months be filled with agony, doctor visits I couldn’t afford and sweet, sweet pain? As it turns out, no. As I write this I’m none the wiser, but have twice smote down my enemy with mine hands, from mine hands. It was pretty late to the week when I realized this and I didn’t want to cancel so late, so I guess this is a “yay”- kind of a Flush it Friday.
As it happens, I don’t really have anything to flush anymore. ‘Tis a terrible feeling when you’ve nothing to complain about in the present tense.
THE GOOD: If someone would ask how my life is right now, I’d tell them I’m bored to brink of non-existence. So bored, watching the paint peel off the walls feels like a solid plan for the night. If, however, the same specific one was to present to me a question about how my future looked, I’d have to say “It’s the middle of the night, and I’m wearing sunglasses, how the hell am I supposed to see anything? Go bother someone else, Patrik.”
Honestly though, I’m going to apply to a university to read psychology. While there is a bundle of reasons I have decided against it for now, it has begun to seem that it is inevitable to do it sooner or later and now seems like a solid moment for me. Hopefully come autumn, I’ll be burying my nose into a massive pile of
cocaine books. THE UGLY THE BEAUTIFUL: The beginning of a new life is a beautiful thing, some say. Personally I’ve always thought of people who’ve found anything beautiful in a baby crawling out of its mother’s womb a little on the sick side.
But a new generation of flushers is spawning, from the left and from the right the halls are filled with newborns and pregnant wives. I guess it’s something worth raising you glass to, regardless of whether you are one of the newly-appointed fathers or the cavities of your soul are only visited by the wind, carving you hollow, leaving only pain behind, until you’ve got to fill the holes with something and you reach for the glass *note to self: more beer*
Whatever the case, whoever you are, it could be worse. Have a good weekend.