Another month down and only one to go before Fartford becomes a vision of my past. Between a manic stretch of back to back day and night on-calls coupled with the miracle that is the capacity for human adaptation, the time has passed faster than a libidinous politician could disgrace his own reputation.
Further to this, I have received my first gifts from a fan! As a side, I implore any of you who read this blog and benefit either by laughter or engendered gratitude knowing that by comparative analysis your home life is really actually very nice and mine is really actually very shitty(!) to please also send presents. I just love presents! In this month I have received a very decadent memory foam pillow to support a situation that put into question my heart health. I also received an American-sized jug of bleach to detox my dormitory, and a container of melatonin gummies that are so delicious I can't stop ingesting 1.5mg a pop artificially flavored grape somnolence buttons and then snoozing in inappropriate places and times. I also received some wine and Prosecco to keep me entertained in my own company, because those who know me know that to enjoy my own company my brain must be maximally silenced. Oh, I even got a spray painted skull of some unknown wild animal with tiny horns. Not sure what to make of that one.
I did another mandatory load of laundry. Turning underwear inside out to avoid a wash cannot be applied to bath towels. So I threw them all in, closed the door and hit start. This was met with immediate regret, and whilst I rushed to abort the mission and remove my dirty but soulfully untarnished towels, the machine was resolute in holding my items hostage until the cycle had been completed. And when it was, three hours later, I retrieved my items smelling this time not of fried potatoes, but of fresh human excrement.
I finished my last long stretch of on calls on Wednesday at 11pm, and had an early morning flight out of London on Thursday, for which I had to pack the morning of because the suitcase I use for travel is also the device I use as a makeshift set of drawers to contain the items that cannot fit in my "closet". The suitcase occupies 85 percent of my floor space which means I also can't fully open the door to my room, turning micturition into a creative display of me sucking in and shimmying through the crack in the door to access the bog. This also means I have to empty the suitcase of the things unnecessary for travel and store them on my bed. Hence I can't pack in advance. Well I could, but then I'd have to sleep in my suitcase. But this is all just to say that I have now fekked off to Milan and carted straight up to Switzerland, into the arms of the ones I love, the pine trees, the mountains, and the smell of bovine excrement, which I can say from experience is far superior to the human equivalent.
