Funk, Trunk and Junk?

Over time I've grown accustomed to saving up various garbage we like to call 'memory'. Bus passes, movie tickets, old exercise books, old text books etc.etc. It's kind of genetic (which is the recent and popular excuse for many things these days - obese and don't want to exercise, well you must have a fat gene. Psychopathic- well it was just in your gene to be evil. I guess this is a moving away from 'you-have-a-choice' trend we used to have months before)- A middle class inherited trait I think. The thing where you save up every last piece of everything in the hope that someday they will come in use. They never do and usually I end up buying new ones at the time of need anyway (hence why we tend to have around 2/3 dozens of unused Christmas cards, 2/3 dozens of unused pens bought from $2 shops and lots and lots of mouse pads.

I have old birthday cards dated back to 1996 and I don't have the heart to throw them out. I have also kept some things from an ex-lover of two months and don't have the heart (rather the time and the motivation) to throw them out. The contents of my 'memory-drawer' is the ideal place for someone to procrastinate and that's what usually happens during the examinations. Oh well .. maybe it's time to throw some out. The big question I was faced with during the Dhaka-vacation was what to do with ex-lover's stuff we sometimes/usually/often hold onto. I couldn't answer due to lack of substantial experience. I suggested burning- dramatic but effective nevertheless. Why shouldn't we make a ritual (consisting of fire) out of the fact that we've moved on.

The newfound policy should be (for everyone) to not store anything more than a year. So throw out those love letters and poems and cards and the teddy bear!

The Importance of Making Appointments!

[No .. this is NOT the promised extravagant 100th post .. I decided to scrap that since the readership never reaches more than two people]

Approximately four hours is how long I waited at the medical centre to get checked up by a practitioner. Of course, let's not blame the busy doctors (five of them on duty in fact) or the receptionists parked on their behind all day long organizing (!) patients to their rightful doctors- I blame myself. How stupid would I have to be to think that I could ever see a doctor without an appointment (which I usually make anyway- so why not this time?).

Turns out that the boils on my feet contracted from Bangladesh (more specifically from Middle Badda) which resemble genital herpes are viral, hence it's merely an waiting game 'till the boils dry up by themselves.

Four hours and I'm back home with having missed breakfast, a three hour lab (where attendance counts to at least 10% of the course), no treatment and a firm believer (and an 'advocator') of appointments. I did however manage to get a doctor's certificate for the past three days for missed classes which could possibly save me from tiny mark deductions.

I have only one thing to say- I miss Dhaka.