Friday, September 08, 2006

Day 19

Note to self: NEVER walk 9.25km in silver lame ballet pumps. Jesus. Oooow.

On kicking off the ‘pumps of torture’, I nearly had a heart attack – not because my feet were bellyaching, but because I looked down at my toenails and thought I had gangrene, a severed nail bed and an incredible vanishing nail. After three minutes of extreme panic involving a cold compress and lamas breathing techniques (I hate the sight of my own blood – especially when it comes to gross things like toes…) I realised, that alas, the conjured up nail deficiencies were actually the remnants of a nail varnish party my sister and I had had when she was visiting a few weeks ago. I painted each nail a different colour, hence the varying scale of diseases I thought I had. Just goes to show how much time I spend looking at my toes.

I had counseling again today. Interestingly I went in as angry as I could be and came out feeling rather good about myself. My counselor was quick to point out, “I love how you say: “I’m furious”, when you sit there as calm as can be with a smile on your face”. Damn public face. Well - I don’t like to make a scene.

My head is unraveling quicker than a bad pitch in “Dragons Den” so I must go and download the latest information that helps to explain my randomly selected, mood du jour.

P.S (God this is turning into a “Dear Diary, why so blue...?”) Picking scabs is still as fun at aged 29 as it is aged 5. Plus, the magic lotion that stops scabs itching is pure almond oil. Wish I’d know that at 3 in morning while I was chewing the back of a wooden spoon to stop me scratching. (I would never actually do that - chew a spoon - as I have a phobia of untreated wood.)


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