While some people sulk and mope, droning along about how life sucks because they can’t get their hands on a limited edition designer product, why on earth has their object of desire not even noticed them, or how they’d manage to brew such a pimple on their otherwise bare cheeks.

Some people are enslaved. Starving. Dying.

So forgive me when I come to work each day, looking like I’m fucking euphoric.
Cause I try too, even though I may not be.

For the audit, my ward managers allocated each SN to do a short write up on each patient. Without much of a choice, and a fat ass on the line, I did the sane thing and started burying my nose into the case sheets. Forced to delve deeper then the average day’s changes, I found myself being sucked into another dimension I had been blind too. I found out that histories affect us all.

History manipulates the hands of tomorrow.

To date, it’s been about 2 months since I last stepped back into the linoleum lined floors of the hospital. Already, my hospital has decided to give us a Donatella Versace twist on the uniform.

From a previously decent color to a somewhat translucent slutty white.

Tell me how much more torture they’d like to put me through. As is, my eyes are burning from the onslaught of oversized, dangly bits by citizens with an albeit too healthy an ego, that, or an apparent lack of insight.

Soon, I’ll be treating my eyes to an obvious barrage of obscene underwear pattern and design. Not to mention the high potential for the Japanese Flag. Read : Menses stains.

I have no one to seduce in my ward. Most of the doctors appeal to the blind.

And thou shalt not bad mouth thy patients.

Good lawd. Please send me a good looking man (with specs) to motivate thy limp body to work. Ahhhhhhhhhhmeeeeeen.