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Posts Tagged ‘Wednesday-itis’

It took me years to say “I’m a writer”. Now that I finally do it, I find it’s more of a liability… especially when you put it down as your occupation on a form. 

And not just because bank managers don’t feel comfortable lending you large quantities of money (unless you’re in the Rich & Famous Writerly Category, in which case you wouldn’t be reading this – or asking your bank manager for money).

No, I’m talking about those medical forms where you have to remember every major operation and minor hiccup since you were a toddler. Which gets harder every year. I used to write ‘Business Communicator’ because that’s what I do. Now I’m too lazy and just put ‘writer’, because that’s also what I do.

Big mistake. Last week I went to a doctor for a particular examination. There I sat, on the examination table, half naked, and he waltzes in and says (as he’s examining me), “So, you’re a writer”.

Not, oh I see you had a caesarian, a knee reconstruction, and…hmmmm, yes, you sold one of your kidneys on e-bay (because the bank manager doesn’t lend money to writers).

No. “So, you’re a writer. What do you write?”

Okay, I admit I squeaked – because writers hate that question anyway, and because every time I say I write Women’s Fiction they think I mean chick-lit or…

“Write for Mills & Boon then?”

“No,” I say. I’ve only got one nerve left today, and you’re getting on it. “They rejected me when I was twenty – because my characters were too cliched.”

He didn’t hear me. His question had merely been an opening so he could regale me with his own literary successes (and I use the term loosely), all while performing a perfunctory examination on me. When I didn’t ask him to recite his apparently very (very) good haiku, the last skerrick of professionalism left the building.

His parting words, as he tossed a sheet of instructions at me, were “you should be able to understand that. I wrote it in monosyllables”.

Then there was the doctor who also wanted to know what I wrote – then spent half the consultation telling me her life story and the other half trying to sell me cosmetic procedures (do you want fries with that?).

When we finally got to the pap smear, she popped her head around my leg and said, “I even went on RSVP – what do you think of that?” There I am with a piece of chilled metal between my legs and the consult reaching triple digits – I’m not thinking, okay?

I guess I’ve been spoilt with the really amazing doctors I’ve had, so the freaky ones just do my head in.

Anyway, I’m changing my ‘occupation’ on forms now. I’m going to put “counsellor”. No, wait… that would be a red rag to a bull!

Maybe I’ll try MYOB. I wonder if they would?

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You know all those trivial things that drive you nuts? Well, this Wednesday rant, Louise and Sandra want someone to:

  • pick up the dog pooh in the garden (the dog eating its own pooh does not count – it’s just a whole different world of problems)
  • clean the fridge, which is starting to look like ferals-ville (oh, and fill it up with lots of healthy food and bevs – and some not so healthy ones!)
  • clean the toilets every day – in fact, clean the whole friggin’ house
  • stop asking us where stuff is that I’ve never used (even though I always know the answers)
  • do the washing, hang it out, fold it, put it away… yadda yadda yadda
  • and do anything else that will make us STOP being distracted from the things we really want to do. Like write. Or exercise. Or drink coffee… and stuff.

So there.

L & S

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clonesYou know what we hate? Clonesville. Everything the same, thanks to the corporate copycat syndrome.

We’re a franchised culture where you can walk into a shopping centre here, on the other side of the city, or in another state, and the same shops are there. Aren’t we getting just a little bit too comfortable with the familiar?

Then there are those Fast Food outlets that are same same the world over. That’s comforting to some people, but it’s soooo Bland.

Then there’s those formulaic TV shows and movies – different actors, same plotlines, same one-liners. Why? Because the networks go with what works. Or worked. They want their money safe, so we get served up the reheated leftovers. Oh god!

Or those ‘beige-ist’ housing estates crammed with million-dollar, architect designed residences. Every house may be fabulous in its own right, but chuck ’em together in those tone on tone, elitist estates and they blend into a bland mass where all signs of human existence have been erased. Blah.

Even our language is, like, blaaaaand. And don’t get us started on corporate-speak. How many customer-focused, performance-driven teams delivering cutting-edge solutions can there be out there? Or open dialogue, synergy, relationships being leveraged, win-win, and anything ‘going forward’ (the latest meaningless buzz word…because, thank god, you’re not going backward).

We even heard a relationship expert the other day saying it was ‘important to maintain open dialogue, so you get the results you want going forward’. Oh please! Imagine being a fly on the wall in their bedroom…zzzzzzzzzzz

When are we going to welcome in a new age – and we don’t mean lighting candles and taking up the downward dog position. We’re talking about the Age of the Individual. Shedding the clone mentality. Having the guts to be different. Being real.

And talking in a language that doesn’t put people’s brains into neutral.

End of rant. Happy Wednesday.

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A University of Vermont study has shown that Wednesday – not Monday – is the worst day of the week.

Personally, it’s my most favourite day…except possibly Friday. But in the spirit of furthering (or skewing) research, we’ll be doing a “Wednesday-it is” blog every second week.

For our inaugural Wednesday-itis rant (which is late, we know, but we were having such a great day we forgot to complain), we really really really hate:

a) Stupid drivers who slow down for the warning signs. People, when the sign says ‘hazard 2km ahead’ there’s really no need for you to slam on the brakes!

b) Online bookstores selling the same book under a different name. (Okay, so I’m feeling a little bit stupid not knowing that Karen Joy Fowler’s Wit’s End is the same as Karen Joy Fowler’s The Case of the Imaginary Detective – but there should be a disclaimer!)

c) Microwave popcorn.                               You need a reason? ‘Cause it’s disgusting. That’s all.

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