The usual suspects…

So, I’ve done week one of a seven week training course. It’s pretty damn full on what with codes, medical terminology, exams and frigging homework. The people in the training course follow the same standard pattern of any course I've been in. It’s like someone had a list, ticking it off, as they gathered the usual suspects together: -

1. the extremely annoying non-funny woman who tells everyone she is ‘kooky’ and ‘very funny’ on a regular basis just in case we’re likely to think she’s not funny – common occurrence - and go with ‘just plain irritating.’
2. the deep, intensely existential man who thinks he has the wisdom of the ages and that everyone wants to sit at his feet and listen when he's really just full of shit..
3. the country girl away from home and everything is ‘well, golly…’ who makes you smile with her ‘well gollyness.’
4. the man that knows everything and constantly interjects, at any opportunity, with ‘when I was in…’   
5. the woman that appears to just be at training, where the food is very, very good, to eat everything in sight.
6. the man who analyses everything he eats and then goes into a long dissertation on why everything will kill you as you sit there eating it.
7. the Dad who worries whether everyone will get to training on time and drives the training bus because he’s very responsible.
8. the woman who swears every second word.
9. the clothes analyser who has a heated, distainful opinion on what everyone is wearing but only brought one change of clothes for herself.
10. The divisionists who decide who belongs on what team or in which group and 'no, you can't joins us because we've decided you're not one of us.' 
11. then there’s the woman who just wants to get through the bloody course without thinking about food, clothes, navel gazing, alcohol, I-remember-when-ness,  kookiness and who hates who…

Humans = weirdos 

Crimson...

So I bought this really impractically coloured crimson sofa thing today. It doesn’t match a damn thing in the house but then nothing I own matches. I looked at the colour choices. Cream – nah, I’m always rushing, rushing, rushing and I spill things as I dash around. Brown – practical, matches things, it’s a grown up colour, and it makes sense. Nah. I don’t want any of that. Crimson. Impulsive, silly, crazy and I expect Wayne and Cheryl, my budgies, if they looked from their perch inside and saw it they would roll their eyes in horror yet at the same time be dead jealous. Crimson is the colour of madness, fools and silly buggers. It matches nothing. I’ll have it.

That then led to what to do with the two recliner chairs I have. They’re 15 years old – yes, I’m a keeper of things – and in good nick because my mother, bless her crimson toenails – always made sure as kids we understood we had to ‘look after things.’ So, I emailed a friend at work, I was at work too, but questions about recliner chairs are way more important than whatever it is they pay me for. He suggested selling them in a freebie classified that runs every Tuesday in the Cairns Post. Good idea but there is a problem. To get it free you have to say as little as possible in a certain amount of words yet it has to make sense. This is hard for someone who writes because we’re emotionally tortured, sensitive, angst ridden souls who delve deeply into the depths of the swirling morass of feelings that make up humankind and complex needs and raw emotion need space to breathe and grow so what we write becomes a part of us and is embedded in our psyche and our readers are enriched by the experience. I put ‘2 recliners. Very good nick. Phone ####.’ Yep, considered that embedded.

Beak banging…

So, I was given some budgies. I’ve called them Wayne and Cheryl. They’re said to be incorrigible. They bang their beaks on the cage and annoy their owners. I was asked did I want them? Hmmm, irritating birds who care not what others think and do their own thing? Why yes. Welcome Wayne and Cheryl…