I looked up at the calendar this morning and realised something: I have to be back at work in 5 days. EEEEK! Only Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday to go, then I'm back at the old IT-flavoured grindstone. Which I can't really complain about, as I'm doing it voluntarily. She Who Has Delusions Of Grandeur And Actually Thinks She’s In Charge At Casa MacBride has decreed that if I turn into a grumpy stressed bastard again she's going to make me quit by Christmas. I can imagine the resignation letter now:
How macho is that? And I fear complications as well. Of an medical nature. Yes -- I had my follow-up consultation with the new noseologist this morning and he wants to climb up my nose with a knife. Again. What is it with these surgical people and their fascination with my forbidden nostrils of mystery? I'm thinking of charging admission if the trend continues.
Seems that there are a number of faults with my nose, most of which seem to be down to heavy scarring -- and other such fun things -- following the first two ops. So back into hospital goes Mr Stuart for another round of festering frolics. *sigh* If anyone wants to send sympathy cards it's going to be the 6th of November. As you can tell from my bouncy and sunny demeanour, I'm not exactly looking forward to this, but then it's got to be better than feeling hungover the whole time. Especially without the fun part of getting blootered first.
That's why I worry about the whole 'no work for grumpy sods' rule -- if I leave INoGitch they'll cancel my health insurance and I'll have to pay for all my own nasal spelunking with optional blood loss. And to paraphrase the great Dalai Lama: to fuck with that.