Oct. 3rd, 2012

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I oftentimes feel quite comfortable being in a hospital, which runs quite contrary to what most people feel when they are in hospitals. I suppose it is some sort of expectance not to pass in a hospital -- some sort of false sense of immunity or immortality, i.e. sanctifying the institution as some sort of holy ground serving as a safe haven from the external and the dangers it harbors. Even though shows themselves totally depict the opposite which is more congruous with reality, I tend to believe this from the perspective of the visitor and even as the patient with the congested aorta and cranial nerves falling out of my ears. From the time that I kept a company friend in the hospital one weekend in Korea...to having been there for one of my relatives just today. Perhaps it's a peculiar, half-selfish like because of an escape from the Groundhog's Day that has become my life.

Whilst continuing down the road to abnormalcy, I may as well unload my bosom and bear forth the truth that I would not mind being some sort of hired hospital companion to help patients occupy its material real estate. The following stipulations would have to be guaranteed:

  • No waste management (I'm not seeking orderlyship)

  • No limitation just to patients (the anxious carepersons are people, too, I guess)


Something just would not quite congruous with my hypothetical source of emolument being from Pay2Care services.

Having an official/reception/non-janitorial/cafeteria job in the hospital of my alma mater would be at least magnificent...if it has been written in every unwritten law that I shall not be a doctor. I was impressed by the environment. The quantity per dollar of breakfast could alone disenfranchise all McDonald's locations within a 10-mile diameter. The residents weren't above reciprocating a smile; the doctor has been reflecting well the standards and prestige of the hospital; and the nurse already has a letter of recommendation by me in the cognitive works. As some sort of implicitly celebratory occasion (since everything had gone quite well), I created a whole new universe by how much I consumed at Outback Steakhouse -- and solace wasn't taken in this because of the fact that the accompanying margarita drink brought about nary a shape-shifting transfiguration in any of the cells of my body...since cells change shape when alcohol courses through one's body, amIright?

I guess it isn't too unfitting that the cute little adipose creatures from Doctor Who sprang to life in my memory when thinking about/feeling this whole new dimension of gormandizing I've reached tonight. I wish that my adipose were able to compact and depart from my body like they do in that show; I'd even keep one/two/seventeen of my own hard-earned adipose compacts as pets.

(27 hours late!)

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January 2013

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