Last night we saw a programme about a boy with a rare muscular disorder that will kill him before he turns 20. His body emaciated and failing, the kid nearly died from breathing in a grain of rice. When he couldn’t swallow food anymore, a team of specialists had to surgically implant a feeding tube in his stomach via his mouth without anaesthetics because even the sedatives could kill him. And this guy still managed to drag his ass to university.
So we made a pact never to complain about anything ever again.
Um. Hello. I’m at work right now. And.
Nothing.
09 October 2007
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3 comments:
Yeah, but he's not suffering from a dry throat requiring him to drink fluids, is he? Do you think I could drink beer instead of water?
I think the ultimate midlife crisis thing would be a sportscar with a banjo instead of a steering wheel. Strumming away as you speed down the open road. You probably need a convertible if you want to be able to turn the banjo to steer.
I'll tell my boss that you say it's ok for me to drink beer.
You have a few years to perfect your harpsichord-on-wheels idea before your midlife crisis. It's nice to have a goal. Except then your midlife crisis would probably have to involve you stopping driving a "harpsi-Ford" (sorry) around and switching to sensible transport and clean living (e.g. a combined oboe-pogostick).
Also, I was meaning to ask, is that your chin in the banner at the top of the blog?
(Sorry if this is double-posted, but blogger seems to think I'm Dutch and I can't read the instructions.)
Pure curiosity, I assure you. I don't have an ulterior motive. Or a set of labelled photographs of chins. (Um, I promise... maybe I should shut up.)
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