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Friday, June 18, 2004
So I had my stupid glucose test this morning. I feel totally violated. In the past two days or so, I have given, like, four blood samples for testing, two urine tests, done an ECG, had a physical (including a ball/hernia test thing which I've never done before), a complete drug history write up, and now this cunting glucose thing. My God. I totally feel raped. At least now I will be able to sympathise with the people when I watch SVU. Except I'm, like, better looking and have more panache.

And the worst thing about this cunting test I did this morning (well, one of the worst things), is that I had to get up at 5.40. That's AM, people! Do you realise it's dark then? I thought the sun rose at six? I had to turn on lights to navigate myself to my bathroom. There's nothing more depressing than having to set your alarm before ten. Anyway, I cruised over to the hospital and got there at seven for this stupid test. In case you don't know what you have to do, you get in there, they suck out some blood, and then they give you this drink and then sample your blood over the next two hours to see how your body reacts to sugar. Or something. Anyway, the drink was completely heinous. You'd think I'd be used to swallowing big loads of sugar-based substances by now! I was seriously gagging and choking it down. It sort of tasted like warm, thick cordial, in the flavour of ass. Bright green ass.

Anyway, I sat on the stupid bed and read some stupid magazines (NW, you suck), and watched some stupid "news" program with some twat named David Cock or Kock or Koch or something. He's bald and fat and looks like a paedophile? Anyway. So I finally finish at 9 and leave... only to find my car in the carpark has a cunting flat battery! How tiresome. I had left my fucking... half lights? What do you call them? Not the full glarey-ass beams, and not the regular beams. Anyway, I remembered that when I was driving in, the Sun still hadn't risen properly, and everyone else had their lights on so I got guilted into turning on my halfies. See?! They were right! Peer pressure is evil.

So anyway, I rang up bitching to Mum, telling her I have a flat battery and asking her what I should do. I mean, I know you can, like, roll your car down a hill and it starts up. But I so was not about to attempt that. Anyway, she wasn't much use as she was waiting impatiently for a call from a hospital which was making her late for tennis so she was a bit cranky I think. Anyway, she told me that she'd ring the RACQ. Anyway, they said they'd come within forty minutes which I personally found unacceptable. I mean, dude, I'm in the city centre. How can it possibly be forty minutes from one of your "mobile mechanics"? Whatever. Although I shouldn't bitch, the chap arrived rather promptly and I escorted him to my car.

He was actually rather nice. I don't deal much with the blue collar people (except for, like, pointing them to where the blocked drains are, etc.). Most of my parents' friends are, like, proper professionals who are a bit hard to talk to sometimes, unless the martinis are flowing. Anyway, this dude was rather affable! He had a shaved head and actually complemented my shitbox car as being good. How nice! Maybe there's something in being a blue collar worker. You get to wear those bulge revealing King Gee shorts and be outside all day. Anyway, he started it up in about two seconds, and then drove away. I was expecting to be put out all day by this inconvenience, but I was actually home by ten. Pretty exhausting experience though. I was meant to be studying today, but all I've been doing is napping, eating Twisties, and working out what I'm doing tomorrow night in celebration of finishing one of my exams.

Ah, fuck it. I'm sure the standard Friday night protocol will be activated.