Personality plus

Well, my drug trials begin soon.  Not the kind that involve a criminal court and an angry mob, I’m talking about the needle-in-the-vein, guinea-pig-experimentation kind.  And I’m the guinea pig.

I’m not sure how I’m going to go, as the new drugs I have had to go onto in the last few months to ensure no contraindications on the trials have turned what would have been a mere mood swing beforehand into something out of a Bram Stoker novel.  My husband has taken to having his hand on the front doorknob after I get up in the morning just in case he has to go down to the shop for something he has ‘forgotten’ for a few hours until my medications settle down.

The upside of the whole thing is that even the local nutters are keeping away from me.  I think they figure I’m one of them now so their scare tactics will be better served on somebody a little more gullible and a little less likely to take a swing at them.  The greenies and their sympathisers are also giving me a wide berth.  Gossip gets around fast here and apart from the few that are privy to what is really going on, it is taken as a given that I may end up on the 6 o’clock news in the near future and they don’t want to end up on there with me.

I’m hoping that the new drug I will be given next month will balance me out or at least make me feel a little less likely to want to put my hands around the neck of that woman down the road who keeps telling me that it’s all in my head and I need to snap out of it.  I know what I’d like to snap and it’s not anything in my personal vicinity.

With any luck the real problem in my head, the remaining tumour, won’t grow and I will be feeling like a new person.  In the meantime, expect sarcastic comments, acid degradation of fools and zero tolerance for the masses for a few months more, at least.


So, what of it?

I think about a lot of things.  How things work, why things are the way they are, where we come from.  I read books on evolution and ancient man and subscribe to Darwin’s theory of evolution.  Having said that, I also understand that a theory is a collection of ideas intended to explain something and only based on the evidence or current views at hand.  Tomorrow may yield more palaeontological evidence that takes us down a completely different track.

Not even two hundred years ago it was believed that the earth was just a few thousand years old, everything was created as it is today in that time and that Earth was the centre of the universe.  Before that we were convinced that the earth was flat and we would fall off the edge if we got too close.  Enlightenment brought with it new and scandalous ideas.  Tomorrow there will be new theories to undermine the seemingly solid evidence of ancient man, his descent from the trees and his ascent to the modern Homo sapiens of today.

I puzzle over modern man and his idiosyncrasies.  Where did some of the shit we carry around come from?  I wonder if man’s propensity for hate, war, murder and anger is a remnant of the ancient brain geared for survival of the fittest in the inhospitable and dangerous stone-age world.  Millions of years of living in a savage environment, scratching out a meagre existence and fighting for survival would surely be ingrained into man’s genetics in some way over a very long period of time and come into play more often than the more ‘civilised’ of us would care to admit.

So I’m going to burn in hell for my opinions.  I’ve taken my ‘don’t-give -a-shit pill today so I don’t care.  There may even be a God.  I’m open to the conjecture of a higher entity of sorts running the show from beginning to end.  I’ve seen things that even quantum physics may not be able to explain – but I’m practical and world weary.  I fail to understand many of the religions of the world and what they propose.  I see the bigger picture around me every day in the actions and the reactions of the many involved in the game.

I have a few questions and theories of my own regarding the way it was, will be and very well may be in the distant future.  Scientific theory is only as good as the next big thing ripped out of the earth.  Nothing survives for extremely long periods of time, not even bone, and therefore what is dug out of the earth is but a small representation of what has gone before.  We have no real way of knowing what really happened, so we hypothesise and postulate but the truth still eludes us.  The same may be said of religions.  What is real and what is not?  Old stories and evidence abound but they are at odds with each other, steeped in centuries of secrets, violence and intrigue.  Religion has been, in the past, a way of controlling the masses through dominance and fear and the only congruent factor on the road to absolution is a belief in a higher being or entity – salvation, love and peace, which, in my opinion, is at odds with the pain, violence and intolerance that precedes it.

So what is real and what isn’t?  Who knows.  What I do know is that the world could use a good shake up.  We are only players in a bigger story.  Why expend valuable energy carrying the can for heresay?  Why believe in what has gone before implicitly?

Question everything.  If that is not possible, practice contraception.  The world could use a little less of what has gone before.

The renovation run

The last two-and-a-bit weeks have been a testament to my resilience while under duress, my tact, my dedication to the cause and my patience.  My mother will probably argue in regard to my habitual and distinct lack of patience of the past but I am nonetheless holding my own at present, amidst what resembles a disaster zone of dust, wood, plaster and more building implements that you could poke a stick at.

I had managed to remove myself and my office from the chaos and relocate temporarily to the lounge room to tap away quite happily, unperturbed by the screaming saws and nattering nail guns.  My Bose QuietComfort 15 headphones lived right up to their hype of complete noise cancellation until the builder systematically worked his way through the house plans and began pulling the main door out of the lounge room to build my new frame.

I decided, at this point, that dust was more hazardous to productivity than noise pollution, so I shut my operation down with some good sheeting and a bit of packing tape and headed out the door for some renovation retail therapy.

My first port of call was the local bathroom showroom to pick out some tasteful tiling to match and compliment the neutral overall colour scheme that I was aiming for, which should have been a snap, as I considered myself to be the Chief Art Director and Colour Coordinator of the household.  After two hours of wading through fancy Italian-look natural stone, stone lookalike, glazed porcelain, unglazed porcelain and marble lookalike, I was seeing double, so I decided on a travertine-type fancy stone lookalike without the Italian price tag.  I paid the deposit and left them to the order, continuing on my way to the carpet showroom down the road.

Picking out a piece of carpet was even more educational with a choice of commercial heavy duty loop, heavy duty twist, home and commercial heavy duty loop and twist and home heavy duty twist and loop.  I was pretty much over it by the time I reached the luxury shag line and made my choice on colour, durability and price and headed for the door.

I made it home in good time with the groceries in tow and was feeling pretty pleased with myself on a job well done.  My husband was looking pretty pleased with himself too when he pulled into the driveway with my vanity a half hour later – until he spotted my face when he opened up the top of the container.

‘You got the wrong one.’

‘Yeh, I know.  But this one is bigger.’ he shrugged.

It’s the wrong one.’

‘Yeh, you said that.  But it was the same price.’

‘It’s still the wrong one!’  I threw a piece of packing foam at him.

‘I got a bigger one for the same price,’ he ducked and smiled at me.  ‘I thought you would be pleased.’

‘What is it about being bigger and pleasing women that so fixates you lot!’  I screamed at him and started marching inside.  ‘You better tell the darn builder, because he’s going to want to know all about your bigger dimensions!’

Somebody snorted and I looked up to see the building crew lined up along the veranda watching the show.

I slammed the door to their chortling and left them to it.

My husband made peace later and bought me a bunch of flowers and the dust has metaphorically settled somewhat.  The bigger vanity managed to fit into the allotted space and the style was still in keeping with the overall appearance.

My husband tells me he was considering me when he picked the bigger vanity as I would have more space in which to put all my ‘junk’, but I’m not buying it until men all over the world are finally extolling the virtues of medium-sized 4wds, warships, planes, trains and condoms.