when it comes to new zealand sauvignon blanc, i prefer monkey bay to stoneleigh, no question. and yes, i am drinking white wine. piss off!
i am also finally reading douglas coupland and although he is very self-consciously witty, i am enjoying it a lot so far. at least it makes sense. i am truly sick of novels whose authors feel that style trumps substance. not everyone can wax poetic for seven pages about the turbulent ruminations of one character without causing me to practice my newly acquired skill of Putting The Offending Book Away.
i never used to do that - if i hated it, through gritted teeth i'd read the damn thing cover to cover. must be the second half of the thirties heightened awareness of my own mortality. or, perchance i have used up my lifetime alottment (how the hell do you spell this damn word?) (not that way apparently) ok, i mean allotment of patience. which would go a long way toward explaining my recent attitude towards my job.
my job. hmmm...i used to be so bloody good at making the nervous calm, the frazzled relaxed and the scared comfortable. now anytime a patient gets shaky and tells me how much he hates the dentist, i have to force my mouth shut because what i really really really want to do is tell them about someone who has real problems. like the woman in rwanda who was forced to kill her own baby and then was gang-raped by so many men that her pelvis is crushed but because her husband was macheted to death in front of her, she is the sole bread winner for the remaining family and so, despite her severely painful condition, she hires herself out as a porter to put food on the table. oh yeah. poor you with your dentist phobia and your SUV.
and it is after noon, so i can very well have a glass of wine without earning that particular look from you.