On Crumbed
I sit langurously here in the Eleanor Harrald computer room, pure butter shortbread biscuits crumbed at my fingertips. I suppose I should not smear the keyboards, but in the circumstances where I now finally have time to take a breather, I care little in what buttery vandalism I partake in.
I’m still in the hospital, a different one at the moment, far thrown out in Whoop Whoop Land. I had thoughts of working here; now I’m not quite certain still. At least I’m encasing myself in an interesting milleu of surgical manifestations; Rahul once told me that one knows it if they find themselves reading it in depth when they get home. I cannot help but agree, to some degree, with his decree.
What goes on beyond Medicine you may ask? As I am now staying with a family, I find myself quite absorbed with the domestic dynamics that has not quite fizzled me out yet. I help the kids with the homework, read to them before they go to bed and do my bit with household chores. Yanty’s helping me fiddle with my green fingers, for I’ve just potted two herbs in the garden. I still go regularly to the gym (a new one now since I stay in the ‘burbs) and I do meet up with my cherished friends.
I have started on those Japan photo entries, if your excellent memory somewhat yearns for this catching line. I have just finished a book written by the wonderful Liza Dalby - she is the only non-Japanese geisha; her book a documentation of anthropological observations she has made in her three years as one. Immersing myself in Ward Work (even before I am salaried, unfortunately) has diverted my attention away from the things I enjoy in life, but Liza’s words somewhat recreate the refreshing smells of Kyoto; of a time when little else mattered.
I will be back soon, I promise.
