What's in a name...?

I don't understand it really. But it's just the way I am. I do all my best thinking either in the shower, or when brushing my teeth. When I say 'best thinking' I don't mean that I come up with solutions to food security or world peace, but rather that this is when my brain tends to really get it's hands dirty, regardless of the idea in question.

Last night, standing in front of my bathroom mirror still dripping and wrapped in a towel after a shower, the topic of choice was names. I began to think about all the people that I'd met in my life and how so many of them seemed to display traits that were common to all the other people I'd met with the same names. Take, for example, Tyron (or any variant thereof, such as Tyrone...).

To this day, I have never met a single individual by that name that was even vaguely pleasant. Parents, if you have a boy and you don't particularly want to spend a good part of your sons life in the principles office at school being read the riot act and waxing his growing list of misdemeanours, don't name your child Tyron! It's strange, but true. My mother was a nursery school teacher and my aunt, a primary school teacher, for many years and both confirmed for me that there is indeed a hex on that name; all who bear it are nothing but trouble.

This is not to say that I believe that Tyrons the world over are evil. Far from it! I just have yet to meet one that wasn't.

This all got me thinking about how no matter what the name in question is, it is forever associated with that first person that we met who had it. Another example: I remember in primary school (elementary school for our American readers) having a girl in my class by the name of Angelique. While a tad on the naughty side, what really set her apart from the rest of us was that she had been born with a physical impairment. Her left leg had not fully developed and thus was permanently about 15cm shorter than her right leg. She wore a prosthetic leg extension all the time except for when we had to do PE (physical education - an excuse for teachers to park off and bark orders at children already burnt out from a hard day's work in the classroom).

The truly amazing thing about this girl was not her leg, but rather her approach to life. Angelique was, in spite of all that her biology had thrown at her, unstoppable! I remember that she was always very friendly, but took no nonsense from anyone. She always stood up for the underdog (with the added advantage that few people would argue with a metal reinforced plasticised leg extension...) and even when doing PE, she strove as hard as, if not harder than, all the other kids to do well. As such, this name has a number of connotations for me: scallywag, virtuous and unbeatable.

Another example from primary school was a girl by the name of Catherine. Actually, more than one by that name. And, true to form, both Catherines had equally unpleasant personalities. The first left our school shortly after entering the second grade, much to our unanimous relief. This child, in hindsight probably a deeply troubled individual, would frequently erupt into fully fledged temper tantrums in the classroom. I remember one in particular when she trashed the reading corner, tossing books willy-nilly and overturning the bookshelf, a feat I at the time marvelled at, unable to budge the bookshelf under my own strength. Obviously, rage provided a fuel unmatched by any amount of sugar and tartrezine.

The second Catherine was with us for longer than the first. But, while physical violence wasn't her thing, her skill lay in her unmatched ability to be very unpleasant. She was one of those kids that just never had anything nice to say about or to anyone. Somehow she had friends, but I certainly didn't count myself in their number. In both cases, I learned very quickly that the one thing common to the name was the tactic you used when dealing with them: don't! Just avoid them completely!

So prospective parents, think long and hard about the names that haunt and colour your past. Consult with others about the names that shaped them and give much consideration to the idea, before frivolously applying a label to your offspring!

Am I deep enough for Emo, or shallow enough for Scene...?

http://littleblackcherry.bttradespace.com/ViewPost.aspx?ID=28

The above, much like Eebee's post, make me wonder about the fate of human kind.


Emo is just about the only social movement which makes me REALLY annoyed. While I cannot claim to be a fan of rap music and gang culture, Emo trumps it, hands down. There's just so much about it that is really irritating! Where do I begin?!

I'll start at the top and work my way down.

I've always wished that I had straighter hair. It would make it manageable. But I would never go through all the effort that emos (is that even a real word...?) go through to make my hair look straw-like and lifeless. Something else that many people fail to realise is that straight hair works for some people and just doesn't for others! I was at a party recently where a friend of a friend announced that he had spent the 2 hours prior to the party straightening his hair (not that we could really tell...it was still all curly). Now, I am fairly certain that most normal males live by the principal of 'if you have clothes on and the mop is vaguely under control, you are now socially acceptable'. So the fact that the emo movement has resulted in a borderline-hysterical buy-up if hair straighteners by men, worries me...

The other element of the emo hair that I find...amusing, to tell the truth, is the obsession with the long fringes (bangs) which must be drawn down over the face. I love walking through campus and seeing an emo kid walking down a corridor, face entirely obscured by their hair. Occasionally, the hair will rise briefly as they blow furiously at if from underneath in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the outside world. While this (somehow) appears not to be done out of annoyance, it appears more to function by preventing collisions with other people and stationary objects.

Helen described the typical emo hairstyle very well: an upside-down mullet.

Next is the make-up. This is about one of the only things that I think works from the emo movement. Eyeliner makes everyone look so much more dramatic and in many cases can really accentuate beautiful eyes! Again, it really works on some people, and not so much on others. In my opinion, the best are those who try to keep is as simple as possible. The alternative is nothing short of ridiculous...

Image from here and here

Then the clothing. There is a reason why girls jeans are made for girls. I saw a Fall Out Boy music video last night in which Pete Wentz was wearing a pair of bright red skinny jeans. The boy looked like the depressed elf that escaped Santa's workshop! It was ridiculous! Having said that, other elements of the emo gettup I like. I'm a fan of black, so that's one plus to their image.

I think the element of emo-ism that annoys me the most is the pseudo-psychology of it. It is a movement that arose from the ashes of the American dream in white suburbia where teens were growing up, wanting for nothing, and this really pissed them off. They had nothing to be angry about and thus they became angry at their lack of anything to direct their rage at. From there it was a hop, skip and jump to being broody, withdrawn and in many cases resorting to self-mutilation and suicide. In short the social aspects of emoism border on pathological.

I personally know of people who are in that exact scenario (albeit, not in America...), provided with everything that they could ask for and resorting to self-injury because it is the done thing as an emo. In truth, this element of the movement has left me with a great deal of pity for emos. Their existance is so fragile and sad that one cannot help but pity them. Another part of me wants to slap across the face really hard and shout 'Snap out of it you stupid *&%#$! Your life doesn't suck!'


Now for the twist in the tale: In order to show that I harbour no ill-feelings toward emoism, and to avoid being one of those people who everone says "...don't knock it 'til you try it" to I, tomorrow, shall become emo. Helen has agreed to help me out and we shall take photos and I shall post them.

I'm starting to think that Helen might be right...we DO need a couch...

At the moment, in spite of the recent family tragedy, my supervisor has been forced to continue acting as head of school. Our official head of school is on sabatical at the moment and seeing as nobody really likes the job, my supervisor reluctantly took on the responsibility. Apart from the ease of conducting admin within your department when your supervisor is head of school, it also means that people are constantly looking for him. And this, in turn means that our lab is constantly being invaded by various people who are waiting for him to finish with whoever he is with at the time.

Herein lies my motivation for a couch. We need to set up a waiting room with a little coffee table, some magazines (all must be at least 15 years old and slightly faded...) and a couch. That way, we would not be forced to entertain people who are not here to see us anyway.

Today was a particularly good example of this. I had made up my mind last night that today was going to be my catch-up day for all the actual work that I'd missed last week. I set my alarm for 07h00, figuring that with traffic and all I could be at varsity by 08h30 at the earliest, giving me loads of time to do stuff.

I only managed to drag myself out of bed at 08h30...

So, I arrived at university around 10h00 to discover that my supervisor was well into his numerous meetings for the day. I chatted to a labmate while prepping the coffee machine (I'd also made my mind up that, seeing as how today was going to be one of my work-furiously-all-day-to-make-that-guilty-feeling-of-laziness-go-away days, I would have a cup-a'-java to speed things along) and openly panicking about how much I had to do. That's when Mr. S arrived.

For newcomers to this blog, Mr. S is our department's groundsman/tech-support/ex-nuclear-physicist-exiled-from-Russia-and-hunted-by-the-KGB/equipment person. This diminutive individual is characterised by his thick Russian accent and eyebrows and his inability to understand the concepts of personal hygene or personal space. For some inexplicable reason, he likes me (I've never really had any dealings with the man...), which I never really question, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth (ironic...); he's not someone who you want to get onto the bad side of.

Well today he came around to see my supervisor, undoubtedly about some or other claim form or internal requisition which was not filled out correctly. But seeing as he was busy at the time, Mr. S decided that our lab was the most appropriate place to wait for a free slot. While my labmate and I continued our conversation, in a mode of unease, Mr. S felt the need to point out that I was cold, and drinking coffee.

I agreed. What with it being winter and all...

He then injected himself into the conversation, informing us about irrelevant topics such as the 'vind tschill vind' (Translate: Wind chill factor) and how each area of Johannesburg will experience different temperatures to the other areas because, well, it's different. Both my labmate and I listened in awkward silence, agreeing at the appropriate times and hoping that our supervisor would be lured into the lab by the smell of coffee.

Suddenly, without changing tone or any indication that the conversation was over, Mr. S declared that this wait was taking too long and marched out of the lab. Somewhat confused, my labmate and I exchanged glances and continued with our chat. Suddenly, another person appeared at the door. It was Harry*, another member of our support staff, who, surprise surprise, was here to see our supervisor. We exchanged greetings and almost immediately thereafter, he was summoned into my supervisors office.

About 5 min later, after I had managed to switch on my laptop and settle down to do some serious email procrastination, Mr. S reappeared at the door. This time the topic of conversation was to be the benefits of taking an academic position at our university over a support staff position in terms of the accumulated leave. I sat, at a loss for words (I really don't know that much about how the leave at our varsity works!), agreeing at all the right places and generally looking interested.

Again, he declared that the wait was taking too long and stormed out without any hint of actually being annoyed, and despite the fact that he'd been at my desk for all of 5 min. I think that he anticipated social awkwardness and made the pre-emptive strike, terminating the conversation before he ran out of stuff to rattle off at me.

After relaying part of my plight to Eebee, he suggested that I make a sign like the one below to prevent this kind of thing.

I however think that a more appropriate response to the situation would be the couch and waiting room...

*Names changed to protect the relatively innocent...

Joined at the hip...? Thank goodness, no!

Everyone has one at least. They are those people who are part of the staff where we work who drive everyone else insane! Ours comes in the form of a diminutive Russian man with no concept of personal hygiene, or personal space. I shall refer to him as Mr. S.

Now, for some unknown reason, Mr. S seems to think that I am his best buddy. It's really quite a useful position to be in as he tends to control the flow of important hardware around our department, such as field equipment, laptops and the like. Being his chum (in the loosest sense of the word...) means that I normally have access to all these things with minimal effort.

On the down side, he seems to think that I go about my day, yearning to have conversations with him at close quarters...

A really good example of this occurred last week when he came to discuss some recording equipment with Megan. Megan is trying to record ultra-sonic communication in rodents as part of her MSc project. As a result, Mr. S has had dig up equipment that has not seen the light of day in eons. Last week, he brought the equipment down to our lab for her to try and figure out. Once he had dropped it all off and left, we spent the rest of our Monday afternoon fiddling with the various cables and microphones to try and get all of it to work.

By the end of that fiddling session, we had come to the conclusion that there were various pieces missing and that Megan would have to contact Mr. S and get him to find all the missing bits. Megan then contacted Mr. S and asked him to find the parts she needed which he did. This was then the beginning of the problem.

He arrived in our lab with a box of various cables. Because he and I are best buddies, he, now well enveloped in my personal space, began to ask me a barrage of questions about why I needed these cables and what it was that I was trying to do. I pointed out that I wasn't trying to do anything and that it was in fact Megan's project. However, with my pitifully minuscule knowledge of sound recording equipment, I managed to answer most of his questions.

He decided that the information that I had given him while Megan sat, somewhat anxiously yet a little deflated after being completely sidelined from her own research, in the background, was sufficient and that we had to go and see if one of the other staff members knew anything about the missing cables and how to work the contraption in the first place. Mr. S beckoned me to follow him, which I then echoed onto Megan and the three of us went a-wandering.

Mr. S also has an annoying habit of letting himself into peoples offices and labs without request, as he has a key for every room in our building. So, it was with a surprised and somewhat terrified face that we were greeted by the last staff member to have ever had anything to do with the equipment. After a good grilling from Mr. S, we left the bewildered staff member to return to our lab.

Upon our return to the lab, Mr. S continued to interrogate me as to what it was that I wanted to do. Again, I reinforced the point that it wasn't my project. As if oblivious to anything I had just said, he suggested that I look up the contraption on the Internet, which I dutifully did, seeing the opportunity as a chance to remove myself from his fetid aura (if you know what I mean...). So, at the comfort of my desk I began searching the net. To my horror, a dark, smelly presence took up residence on my left arm. Mr. S had realised that a small area of my desk was not being occupied by paper and felt that this was an open invitation to take up the space and direct my surfing over my shoulder. I found myself performing swimming breaths in order to remain consious at my laptop. Eventually, after about three web-pages had been thoroughly reviewed, he decided (thankfully!!!) that I was not achieving the results he desired and that he would find it all himself.

He departed, leaving a sniggering Megan and a shell-shocked me to breathe (literally). About 10 min later he reappeared with a large wad of paper which he claimed was the manual, printed off the internet.

Party! I wish not...

So, seeing as every other person I know that has a blog has taken to writing again, I feel compelled to do the same. Gotta keep up with the Jones's and all that...

I recently went to a party to celebrate a 25th wedding anniversary. In this day and age, simply having a 25th wedding anniversary is quite a feat and cause for great celebration. However, in this particular case, I just wish that I didn't have to celebrate it with the couple in question. The problem is that they are a family who I have known for some time and in that time I have grown to like them less and less. They are crass, crude, entirely self-centered and juvenile, all of which I cannot stomach. I realise that I am a snob, but what can I do?

So, on Sunday evening, I was dragged, reluctantly, along with my family to this party. Due to the fact that my one sister is currently in the UK, our party of party-goers consisted of my parents, my sister and I. The party was set to start at 5 (what kind of dinner party starts at 5 in the afternoon?!) and the dress code, according to the invitation anyway, was 'smart'. This in itself caused great consternation as none of us could figure out where on the continuum between naked and meeting the Queen of England 'smart' lay, but we figured it sat around the region of smart-casual and dressed accordingly.

Upon our arrival, we realised that smart actually meant, dress as if you are going clubbing in a really seedy area, or alternatively, as if you were going to a house party.

Starting the evening realising that you are severely over-dressed didn't help to improve my outlook on the festivities. The immediate arrival of a waiter with sparkling wine improved my assessment of the situation and after discovering the snack table, I began to think that perhaps things really weren't going to be all that bad. I was gravely mistaken...

To cut a very long, and painful, story short, things tobogganed downhill from this point on. The sparkling wine ran out within about the first 30 minutes, only to be replaced by a truly vile, dry white wine which put a proverbial cork in my sister's and my plans to get tipsy in an effort to make the experience bearable. The DJ for the evening turned out to be tragically overconfident with regard to the ability to woo the audience with his wit. In addition to this, his ability to cram just about every politically incorrect concept into everything he said, as well as a great number of expletives as punctuation didn't exactly warm my sister or I to him. There are hip movements displayed by a 50-something old man on the dancefloor I witnessed that are now permanently burned into my mind which, really, I could have done without. Not knowing a single person there, apart from the celebrated couple and their family didn't help much, but having a camera eased the boredom slightly.

Luckily, we had been placed at a table with a family that had two small children, thus providing the means for our escape. We kept a close eye on the state of fatigue of the children and with the emergence of the first yawn, we proclaimed that we too had best be on our way.

Much to my relief, my mother has decided that this was to be the final event of the family in question that we would ever attend. I've waited about 5 long years to hear that...

Another one bites the dust...

Tonight on the news, it was announced that Robert Mugabe, current self-appointed president of Zimbabwe, no longer has control of the country and that it has now fallen into the hands of the Generals and ex-militia that formerly supported him. Coupled with this, there have been reports of escalating violence in the country and the ruling Zanu PF group are claiming that it is a result of the opposition party, that majority of whom withdrew from the recent run-off election between them and Mugabe for fear of their lives, are mobilizing, training and arming themselves. The country is in the state of a 'minor civil war'.

Why am I suddenly delving into the realms of international politics? Because, I am ashamed to admit, now it affects me. It is a horrible thing when one realises that you are just as bad as all those people who just don't give a crap about Africa because it's not on their doorstep. Well, now it is on my doorstep and I am heartbroken.

I love Africa. I'm not entirely sure why I do (living here probably had something to do with it...), but it occupies a very special place in my heart. For example, I can't help but choke-up when I hear African choirs singing. It's bizarre, but true. And now to see another African country dissolving in the corrosive effects of corruption and loonies, I am truly sad. Not just for the people who may die, be raped, mutilated or forced into service against their will, but for what the whole situation says about Africa. It says, Africa is a place with no hope. If one of the most successful and rich countries on the continent crumbled as easily as Zimbabwe did, just because of one man with syphilis, what hope is there for the rest of them? It sounds horrible, but I am getting to a stage where I have lost all faith in current world leaders and really wouldn't mind if some sort of underground organisation were to simultaneously eliminate them all in one painful pull on the plaster hiding the worlds wounds. That or just have the human populous be eliminated by the most deadly virus the species has ever known...either way!

What really scares me is that I know that this is a dangerous place to be in. Revolutionaries and dictators rely on the fact that there are people like me around. The ones who need a new hero to lift them out of their ditch. Bearing this in mind, I shall persevere and pray for a better tomorrow, while knowing that tomorrow won't be better, just different.

The lighter side of xenophobia

As many people the world over now know, South Africa, once the 'rainbow nation', a haven of tolerance and acceptance, is in the throws of a spate of 'xenophobic' attacks. How much the attacks have to do with actual xenophobia and how much is simply displaced rage at the government for failing to provide the necessary poverty alleviation and housing that they promised, I do not know. It has been really terrible to watch how a small band of disgruntled citizens have completely destroyed the countries image and caused untold suffering to the people that they are attacking.

While all of this has been happening, something that has fallen to the wayside is the reactions of the rest of the population to the violence. Naturally, good people don't make for good news, unless they slip up and get caught doing something bad. But it has really been amazing to see just how the country has opened it's arms to those affected by the violence and has taken them in.

Over the airwaves, there have been public declarations of disgust over the behaviour of the individuals perpetrating this violence, and unusually, there have been no misguided politicians saying that they agree with the xenophobes! (This sort of idiotic thing does tend to happen with South African politics...). It's been refreshing to see that the vast majority of the country actually have their heads screwed on the right way and have shown that they will not tolerate this behaviour!

As well as simple lip service, there have been countless charities and volunteers that have given of their time and money to help the displaced. There are shelters being set up everywhere, for affected peoples to stay, out of harms way. People are volunteering at police stations to help feed and clothe people, as well as help look after children. It has been truely amazing to see that we are not a bunch of ignorant thugs who can't think for ourselves, but are in fact a caring nation who love who we are and are not willing to allow the actions of few to ruin it for the rest of us! Well done South Africa, your actions have made me proud to be a South African and to share this beautiful, amazing place with you, in love.

God is a DJ...?

Hey blog-readers!

I hope you have your ranting-caps on, because here comes a little rant...

Last night I watched the documentary 'Jesus Camp'. It was really scary! I was horrified to see what they are doing to children in the states and, undoubtedly, other parts of the world! While I am a christian and I believe in evangelism, what they were doing on this camp really was very saddening and very maddening at the same time.

One of the arguments put forward for why they should be indoctrinating their children at a bible camp was that '...the muslims are doing it, so why shouldn't we?' (Muslims was pronounced Muzz-limbs). Firstly, I would like to point out just how incredibly short-sighted that point of view is. Just because they are doing it, doesn't mean that it is right! Are they saying that since Muslims extremists are willing to train up their children from a young age in the ways of Islam and sacrifice them as suicide bombers, that we christians should be prepared to do the same?! Where, pray, in the bible does it say ANYTHING about raising up our children to murder innocent civilians in this manner? For those who are not familair with the christian bible, it certainly says nothing like this at all! Jesus christ was once asked by a man which of the ten commandments were the most important. Jesus replied with 'Love the lord your God with all your heart, soul and mind. Love your neighbour as you love yourself.' Now, how exactly is blowing up innocent people an act of love?

The second point I'd like to make about what was said is that God gave all of mankind the amazing gift of free will. This means that we, as people, must choose whether we want to serve God, accept Christ as our lord and live as God intended for us, or not. I have HUGE problems with anyone who thinks that they are saving their child by indoctrinating them! I believe that it is right to teach our children about the ways of God and how to live their lives according to godly principals but at the end of the day, it is up to them to decide whether they want to follow that path or not. No matter how much we love our children, or how much we don't want them to go to hell, it is not our choice to make and we must accept that and let them choose.

There were so many things in this movie that upset me. Another example was a little girl who was part of a dance-worship team. She would practice her dancing for God every day and when asked about her dancing said that she loved to dance for God, but found that sometimes, she struggled to keep her dancing focused on him. She added that she knew that dancing just for fun was ungodly because, as an act of worship, it would not be focused on him. This distressed me intensely! I think that it is so sad that a child should be taught that it is wrong to dance for fun! There is no place in the bible, to my knowledge, where it says that a person must dance for God alone and forgo any pleasure that may be derived from dancing just for the fun of it!

There was another segment where the children were being preached to about the evil that is abortion. While I myself remain divided on the issue, I feel that there was a more disturbing underlying problem with what was being taught to these children. Many of these kids were between the ages of 5 and 12. Now, I may have just forgotten this, but I have serious doubts that children of age 5 will know how human reproduction works, never mind the details of abortion! What kind of people force children to learn about the practice of abortion and how evil it is when these same children probably don't understand how that baby got there in the first place!

The final part that I shall rant about (for there is SO much more!) is about how incredibly naive they all are! One of the main reasons cited for the bible camps was that children are so open to what you have to tell them which makes them great for moulding as tools to do what you want them to do. Psychologically this is a very valid point, however, I find it terrifying that someone could consiously think like that and not see the horrible potential for the situation to get WAY out of control! The other thing is that these kids just accept whatever is being thrown at them as the truth! And they think that anything that seems vaguely related to God is good. This is very worrying because, I believe, people were given brains for a reason - to use them! Thinking and reasoning are part of what makes human beings so unique amongst the other species that share our world! What good is that if we don't use it? And, what greater way to slap God in the face than to say, 'Sure, you gave me the most amazing brain on the planet, but I'd prefer to not really use it. My life is just a lot easier that way...' This kind of thinking reminded me of something my mother said once. I was listening to the song, 'God is a DJ' by Faithless tonight while cooking my dinner (hence the title) and it too, reminded me of this conversation.

I had just recieved the CD 'Sunday 8pm' (Faithless) for christmas and I was listening to it one day. My mother happened to be in the room and 'God is a DJ' played, followed by another song 'Touched by the hem of his garment', both songs with obvious religious connotations. However, this is where the problem comes in. My mother was very impressed with the music because it was *obviously* about God. But the fact of the matter is that it is NOT at all! 'God is a DJ' is about how for the youth af the time, what mattered to them, their church, was the rave and dance scene. It was a place where they could go and just be themselves, free of the contraints of society and religion. Now the point that I'm trying to make is that my mother just blindly accepted the music as good because it had the word God in it! It is this kind of blind faith that I find scary and wish that I could somehow change.

I am sorry for offending you, if you feel offended by this post. However, I am not sorry for what I have written here. These are my thoughts on the matter and I believe that they are backed up by the bible and good, old-fashioned common sense. Take it or leave it...it's up to you...

P.S. The preacher man at the end of the movie, who preaches about how evil homosexuality is has apparently come out of the closet and has been excommunicated from the church. I find it all hysterically ironic!

My first day!

I'm a bit torn about people that work at video/DVD stores now...I realise that it has to be one of the most boring part-time jobs one could ever have! At the same time, it's SO easy!

I went off to my first day at work, rather apprehensively. I was a little nervous due to the fact that my boss freaked out at Helen on the phone recently and by the sounds of things was not all that impressed with me, considering I would be going off on field work with Helen. So, I arrived there with a sense of mild dread.

I arrived about 10 min early and stood outside the store with the REALLY grumpy cleaning lady who, after I greeted her, made some very annoyed and desprite tugs at the stores main door. In a way, it was rather funny. I've never made someone look that desprite to go anywhere by simply greeting them!

The boss then arrived. She let us in and quickly ushered me behind the counter and then went to put out all of the store parafinalia. I was a little confused as I had just been shoved behind the counter and then she ran off to put out all the heavy-looking stuff like the gumball machine. I immediately went to help and was told to collect the middle-of-the-night-returns-box and take it behind the counter, which I did.

She then taught me to use the computer system, which is piss-easy by the way, and I got stuck into returning DVDs. It's rather fun, in that you really don't need to think much, simply scan stuff in and that's all! Then, I had four people come and start new memberships, which I did. I'm good at that too.

The day progressed with many smoke-breaks. I don't smoke, but my boss does. A lot! And after what sometimes felt like a lifetime and sometimes felt like a blur, my shift ended. I then headed home to eat something. I was famished! You have no idea! I hadn't eaten since 8:30 that morning and it was already 5:15 in the evening!

And thus concludes my first day at work.

Here are the lyrics to a song by 'Faithless', called 'Last this day' from 'To all new arrivals', which I've had stuck in my head all day and I think are really rather beautiful:

Lines to the skin, that are saying neither son nor sin
Tubes to the mouth, cannot laugh or sigh or even cry
A drop in the ocean, a second in all time
One star in the endless sky, but you mean
the whole world to me, you're an island of light

So please, bless this day
Stay, one more day
Please, bless this day
Stay, one more day

Stay one more, stay one more stay one more day
Just one more, just one more, just one more day

All this madness around us, you all-knowing and so still
You were made in love, and grew in hope, born in pain
You have them running around, trying to make you breathe again
One tiny link in an endless chain, but you mean
the whole world to me, you're an island of light

So please, bless this day
Stay, one more day
Please, bless this day
Stay, one more day

So please, bless this day
Stay, one more day
Please, bless this day
Stay, one more day

So please, bless this day
Stay, one more day
Please, bless this day
Stay, one more day

Random Fact For The Day:

By raising your legs slowly and laying on your back, you can't sink in quicksand