When Doctors Don’t Know What’s Wrong

When Doctors Don’t Know What’s Wrong

This guy makes so much sense it hurts :/ I kind of wish I had a doctor like him/her.
So, yeah. My wrist's been playing up again, and good grief, it hurts so much. It doesn't usually hurt this much. I can barely move it without hurting. I have my last history exam tomorrow. I hope the pain goes down by then :/
I'm also slightly terrified that when (because I will, at some point soon) I go to the doctor, they'll tell me that it's all psychosomatic and my wrist is fine. Which will really piss me off, if they do so without at least taking an X-ray.
Though perhaps if they X-ray it first, I'll grudgingly accept it.
God, I don't want this pain to be in my head. It hurts so much, and there's no logic behind when it hurts - no pattern or similarity in the times - and what a waste, you know? Wasting time in pain when you don't need to be.

Fran's a sweetheart about it though. She doesn't take anything from anyone- for example, if someone thought to even mention  anything about women's rights and belonging in the kitchen - she gets all fired up and doesn't stop ranting until I force a subject change. Or give her food. Occasionally I let her go on, because bitchy!pissed-off!Fran is one of the more entertaining things in life :) But anyway - considering that she doesn't take bullshit from anyone, and we've both discussed and agreed that there's a high probability of my wrist pain being psychosomatic, if ever I complain - or even if she sees me rubbing or flexing my wrist without saying anything, or if she sees me favouring my left hand over my right - she'll immediately offer to carry whatever it is that I'm holding (which I refuse, usually, because please, I'm a big girl now) for an indefinite period of time. Which is lovely of her. I like that she gets protective over little silly things that we've agreed will probably turn out to be made up by my brain.
It shows that she cares, and I think I prefer this quieter subtler form of affection than the ostensible physical type, where everything is hugs and kisses. Though we hug and kiss too, but not to a very great extent. This is more of a case of actions speaking louder than words, isn't it? It's nice :)

My wrist still hurts, though. I think I'd prefer it if it didn't hurt so much, even if it does help me understand my friends a little better.

Peace :)

Time Is Disappearing (But Only In My Head)

Okay so I just looked at my calendar and it says June. What. I don't understand - I swear it was like January yesterday. I don't know where all the time has gone :/
I feel as if I've slept all the time away, but I can't have, because I've been shouted at for not sleeping enough so many times and  I do remember the middle months - BUT WHERE HAVE THEY GONE???
It feels so confusing. Bah.
I swear GCSEs are fucking with my head.
Pffft.
O_O

I can't wait for the summer. It's just going to be parties and friends and learning things that I want to learn, not things that I have to learn :)

Anyway, we had a little party (i.e. about five or six people, excluding my parents and me) last week. Now, my family are all crackheads, and partying is their personal drug of choice.
So it got to around two in the morning, and if we froze the tableau, it would look a bit like this:
My sister's upstairs in bed, asleep, so she's unharmed by the madness that is so often wrought when alcohol is involved :P
Someone has been laid out flat on the floor, because my dad's favourite form of entertainment is to rile his guests up. Other people are drunk off their faces, and have been egging my dad on, and find it hilarious when the guy who's been my dad's victim for the night punches his friend (as opposed to my dad. O_O Men logic).
I'm torn between embarrassment and (condescending) amusement, because another guy has been giving me 'friendly advice' on how to spend/take care of my money, because of my dad venting to him earlier about how I once spent £300 in one go (**sigh** Sometimes, a girl needs serious retail therapy, okay?) and as my lecturer for the night is also completely pissed, his words are slurred and he keeps on going on about how we're mates, even if he is over forty years of age. Geezer.
And the genetics professor, the film professor and my mum are bonding/communally despairing over how the youth of today have no motivation and no interest in politics or global issues.

**cue another sigh**
Actually, this is a pretty standard occurrence.
We had another 'friendly get-together' last month, and my dad managed to incite someone else to violence as well. Except that guy hit a woman, which wasn't so okay, so most people glared at him until he grovelled for her forgiveness. Which she gave, because she was also drunk off her face and he's a bit of a wimp.

Although I quite enjoy watching these, because I get the pure amusement of seeing people get drunk and make utter fools of themselves.
:D

Peace, motherfuckers
x

London, and Achilles, and The Battle of Ilium.

I went out with my friend Fran today. I arrived at Charing Cross at eight twenty-five. That's like dawn, for central London. It's so pretty in the early morning - there are very few people around, and no one speaks, and there are very few cars or other vehicles. It's so quiet, as if the city is just waking up and stretching its arms. I love it. I love it so much. If I lived in central London, I'd wake up at five every morning just to feel the atmosphere.
It was amazing. Fran turned up at nine, and then we went off, wandering around London and just looking. We walked from Charing Cross to Covent Garden, through Soho and to Holborn, and we somehow arrived at Farringdon, which is amazing, because that is fuck. all. away from Charing Cross. And when we checked our watches, we were kind of shocked, because it was only twelve twenty, and we'd been moving for so long that it felt as if it should be three or four. We were tired enough for it to be.
We sort of collapsed after we reached Farringdon - I'd somehow sustained some sort of injury to my foot, and it ached and hurt enough that I'd wince internally with every step, and Fran was physically exhausted to the point that even after she'd had two coffees she was still swearing like someone had just slapped her mother.
When Fran starts swearing indiscriminately, it means that she's either tired and sleep deprived or she's PMSing.
I was tired too, but that doesn't count, because I'm always tired and I never get enough sleep, so I'm pretty much used to it, and I can push on, somehow mustering the energy to move. Fran is actually sensible, and she sleeps at normal times :)
So we took the bus back to Trafalgar Square (one of my most favourite places in the world) and sat by the fountains for a while, before agreeing that it was too blustery to remain there, and so we moved to the Pret-A-Manger in order to properly rest.
Unfortunately, Fran ended up falling asleep, and it took me a combination of violence (hitting her and poking her) and removing the Frank Turner playing in our headphones to wake her up. So we left Charing Cross and agreed to return home.
I'd told my mother that I was going into school, and therefore would be home at the usual time - five. But it was only three, so instead I went into a coffee shop and read a book that I'd bought earlier on - 'The Song of Achilles'.

It.
Is.
So.
Emotional.
I can't deal with it. It was a new spin on the story, making Patroclus to be Achilles' lover, and showing the whole tragedy of the Battle of Ilium from Patroclus' perspective, and I don't think that I've ever been more distraught when reading a book about the classical legends. There was this line that Achilles kept on repeating: 'Why should I kill Hector? He has done nothing to me.'
And I couldn't deal with that, because it was due to a promise Patroclus made him swear - not to kill Hector for as long as possible, or at least not until Hector had taken something close to his heart - a promise that Patroclus had made him swear out of love for him, because of the prophecy that Achilles would die, young and beautiful, blazing with glory on the plains of Ilium, once he had killed Hector, pride of the Trojans.
But Hector does do something to Achilles.
He kills Patroclus.
And Achilles is livid.
Because he loves Patroclus.
'Why should I kill Hector? He has done nothing to me.'
And Achilles kills him once Hector has slain Patroclus, because then he has done something to him, causing him to suffer a loss far greater than the ruination of his pride at Agamemnon's hands.

And the greatest hero of the Achaeans falls, but only after he has lost his heart.
Heroes never live happily ever after.

'"Name one hero who was happy."
I considered. Heracles went mad and killed his family; Theseus lost his bride and father; Jason's children and new wife were murdered by his old; Bellerophon killed the Chimaera but was crippled by the fall from Pegasus' back.
"You can't." He was sitting up now, leaning forward.
"I can't." 
...
"I'm going to be the first." He took my palm and held it to his. "Swear it."
"Why me?"
"Because you're the reason. Swear it."'

Oh, Achilles. Seriously. How is anyone supposed to be able to deal with that?
It's heartbreaking.
I don't think I can deal with that.
It's books like this one that really throw the tales of old into a new light - they make them so much clearer. Now when I think back to the Iliad, the rage of Achilles, and the destruction he wreaks upon the Trojans once he finds Patroclus dead, barely clad in his armour, it's so much more emotional and painful.
God, I read 352 pages of sheer legend in two and a half hours. I think that says something about how much of an effect this book had on me. Nowadays I usually find myself losing concentration and taking a few days to finish a book, if not just putting it down somewhere and forgetting about it.
**curls up in bed and hugs books to chest**
**stays there**

Wasting Energy On Misanthropy Is... Well, A Waste.

Stupid people hurt my feelings.
Seriously.
There's a page on Facebook called 'Always be Yourself. Unless You Can Be Pikachu. Always Be Pikachu', which I originally liked because of its excellent name. Then I grew to like it even more because its name is actually quite misleading, and rather than a Pikachu fanpage, it's actually a page where the admins (Mark and Ted) post sometimes offensive (but always hilarious) jokes, interspersed with discussion threads and amusing pictures.
That particular page's main admin is called Mark, and he terms himself a misanthrope. Usually I don't take people who call themselves as such seriously, because, please, you're probably just going through an angst phase, but this guy actually does seem to despise humanity as a whole, which is very entertaining, because I get to read him being snarky and bitchy to mostly everyone who dares catch his attention on the page. I don't especially understand why he has such a grudge, as one must be very closed-minded to truly judge every human being as equal to all the others one has met in one's life (I mean, there are seven billion people out there, chances are you've not even met ten per cent of them.), but it makes for a good five minutes of amusement each time I sign on to Facebook :)
Anyway, the Pikachu page is essentially a page where people make jokes in order to offend other people, and in general bitch people out for being idiotic.
Which makes me happy.
Because I really hate stupid people.
Well, not hate, per se. I just view them with a great deal of condescension and scorn. And I find it difficult to feel bad about that, because, well, they deserve it for behaving in such a manner.
Hating requires a great deal of effort that I'm just not prepared to put in, especially for such matters worth so little of my time.

Good grief, I do come across as such a snob/bitch/person-who-ought-to-be-beheaded.

I think I wanted to talk about misanthropy. Possibly. I don't know. I'm going to talk about it anyway.
According to the dictionary, the definition of misanthropy is 'a dislike of humankind', stemming from the Greek 'μισανθρωπια' (misanthropia), which, when broken down, is drawn from 'μισο-' (hating) and 'ανθρωπος' (man).
I presume that usually, misanthropy in an individual is formed once the individual has experienced something traumatic or emotionally stressing, sourcing from someone close to the individual. Most likely, the individual will have gone through a series of problems, probably similar in nature, all linked to humans who the individual knows well or view as personally dear to them. From there, the individual will feel a slight resentment, possibly blossoming into fully matured hatred or dislike of humankind in general, and not differentiating in judgment from person to person. The individual will not trust easily, but perhaps they will keep a few well-knowns close to them and view those select few as precious to them.

I don't particularly understand this viewpoint. Maybe this will make me appear naive, but, well, regardless of how many people who you have fallen out with or who you feel have become untrustworthy or traitorous, surely you should be aware that there are at least six billion other people out there, all of whom are different and therefore there will most likely be someone kinder in nature than whomsoever has hurt you in such a way?
It's hardly logical to form a hatred of mankind as a whole based on experiences gained with a handful of people, most of whom are likely insignificant and irrelevant on a wider point of view.

I think so, at least.
Talk later, my babies :) x

Eminem is Aggressive and Sleep Is More Interesting Than Latin

I've gone back to listening to rap- i.e. Eminem.
He's so aggressive. It's kind of intimidating. And his music videos always have really bright lights flashing everywhere. It's like he has some kind of grudge against epileptics.
Hm. And they all do really weird things with their hands. It's like they've got cling film or something stuck to their hands and they can't get it off.
Yeah, I'm watching/listening to 'Lose Yourself' right now. This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo.
Kind of like YOLO.
LOL. YOLO makes me laugh. It's so silly. People are silly.

I want to join the army. I've always wanted to join the army. Since I was seven and I first found out that you had to do something with your life once you grow up. I can't remember if I've mentioned something like this before. But yeah.

Say what you like about Eminem, at least he's not always going on about crass crude things like girls' tits and how he'd like to 'tap dat' or whatever.
I don't know. I'm a natural born snob, I can't help the douchelikeness.

Anyway. I'm going back to pretending to memorise my Iliad now. Greek Verse Lit GCSE is on Tuesday.
Oh yeah, and the late night (early morning) physics cramming actually worked, and I feel quite confident about that particular exam, which is nice :) And Latin Language was a complete pisstake, and took me fifteen minutes out of the whole hour to finish it. And another five to check it over three times -_-
Then I had a nice forty minute nap :) That made me happy. I like sleeping.

Heat and Chilled-Out-Ness

It is incredibly hot over here.
Seriously. Hot enough that I've stripped and am now sitting in a strappy top and pyjama bottoms. Usually I spend my days cuddled up in skinny jeans and a hoodie. And thick walking socks that I don't use for walking in.
Unless I'm on D of E. Which is like living in a wilderness except you have to walk up mountains and ungodly distances everyday. But also insanely fun.
So. I'm in the middle of GCSEs now, and it's kind of scary. I am resolutely not thinking of the importance and the effect they will have on my happiness next year once I receive the results.
I was on the coach home form school the other day, and I realised; sitting GCSE exams is kind of like walking up a 1600+ft mountain while on your period. I.e. painful and strenuous, but you get through it by sheer willpower and stubbornness alone.
SHEER
WILLPOWER.

I've now got this image of a stick-figure with my head standing on top of one of those mountains you see drawn by kids (you know, the ice-capped triangles) in a victory pose, going 'RAWRRRR' and making very macho accomplished manly noises.
It's amusing enough.

Erm. I've got physics tomorrow. I'm slightly worried, because I slept through two years of physics lessons (like, nojoke. I actually slept through all of them) and so now I know n.o.t.h.i.n.g. about physics apart from 'speed=distanceovertime' and 'PET: power=energyovertime' but that's IT.
I should be revising (LEARNING THE WHOLE SYLLABUS IN ONE NIGHT DAMN YOU)
But effort, man. It's like, chill. Drink a slush-puppy. Have a cigar. Take some drugs and have a silent rave.
Just chill, you know? Let what happens tomorrow happen tomorrow, you know?

But DAMN if I'm not screwed tomorrow. :S/^_^

Doors In Camden

Sometimes I think that I could be on the verge of something incredible - as if whatever I'm thinking about could actually be done this way and good grief that's so clever, but then all of a sudden I get distracted by something- a butterfly or the folder sitting on my window bench when itreallyshouldn'tbethere, or remembering the ache in my carpus - I probably broke my pisiform bone when it got hit by that minibus, or it's the triquetrum or the hamate that I broke, but I have no idea and damn I wish I could X-Ray my own bones... And it's not healed properly, and it still aches, even though it's been well over a year since and it's so not fair and I wish it would just fix itself... These things are supposed to happen, because howboringwouldlifebeiftheydidn't, but they're not supposed to stay bad or broken or hurt, they're supposed to fix themselves... That's what usually happens.
Anyway. Yes, so it's easy for me to be distracted.
And that's so irritating. I could have understood so much by now, if only I could lengthen my attention span just a little. It's like having a dream of walking towards a door, but waking up just before you open it. Or discovering something terrifying, but waking up before you react to it. So much frustration.

It's funny, because I seem to spend most of my life feeling too sleepy or tired to move, but I could actually be so clever and things could be somuchbetter and why am I always so tired?
I want to know why and understand this, but I'm kind of really sleepy right now. And I can't think properly. It's all disjointed, and I keep on seeing purple and dullyelloworange at the edges of my vision. And I'm hungry, but the thought of eating makes me feel nauseous, for once.

My friend once said that going out with me was akin to taking a five year old who'd never set foot outside the house into the city. I wasn't sure if that was because of my attention span or how interesting the outside is. In Camden, there's a restaurant, and it's got massive doors that are the size of a small tree, and it's the kind of bright red that looks like the Sun. And it's so pretty. 

Rhododendrons Have Feelings Too!

There is never nothing to see. There is always something, and if you can't see it, well, that's a clue in itself, isn't it?
I've been thinking about Sherlock way too much recently.

And the Reichenbach Fall. How he faked his death- why does no one ever talk about the rhododendrons?
He spent ages fiddling with them! And they've been used since the times of the Ancient Greeks, and rhododendron ponticum is well known to be a cause of h.y.p.o.t.e.n.s.i.o.n. and b.r.a.d.y.c.a.r.d.i.a once ingested in any form.
Hypotension: a physical state in which the blood pressure is abnormally low, especially in the arteries of the systemic circulation, i.e. the part of the cardiovascular system carrying oxygenated blood away from the heart.
Bradycardia: in an adult is defined by any heart rate at less than sixty beats per minute.

Oh, wait, didn't John briefly manage to take Sherlock's pulse? Oh, that couldn't possibly have been deliberately designed so that he'd feel barely anything - which couldn't possibly have been caused by something which slows down the blood circulation in some way. Hydrochlorothiazide? Yeah, maybe- except it's a regulated chemical which can't just be bought from your local chemist. How about an arm band? U.s.e.y.o.u.r.b.r.a.i.n.s. it would have turned his arm blue, and would have been freezing to touch- and he only died a few seconds before John caught up to him. He would have noticed something.
Or, hang on, there's this miraculous plant just chilling right in front of him. Oh, it's a rhododendron bush? Nah, probably just an ornamental plant- that's what they're there for, isn't it? Oh: it causes hypotension and bradycardia - nah, must be a coincidence. We all know how much Sherlock loves his plants, after all.

It really frustrates me how no one ever talks about the rhododendrons. They're important too, you know.