The importance of having lampshades

Note to self: Please keep your big ideas to yourself from now on, okay? Because now you have the job of implementing those ideas on top of the work you already have. Which is absurd!



Awkwardness is here to stay at Circus Central. They’ve gotten rid of the moony assistant editor and replaced him with none other than…

Fuck

And I’m trying to think of ways to stretch out the precious few hours I have in a day, or to find the courage to request a promotion in title so that I can at least have an assistant. Either/or.

Enough said about work. Let’s see what last week had in store in terms of

PAIN

As it turns out, the excruciating pain I was experiencing in my mouth was to do with the fact that my temporary filling fell out, leaving a gaping hole to an exposed nerve that the dentist didn’t find that first time around.

Which leads me to the second point I wanted to make:

A root canal is not as painful as others would have you believe. As my dentist said (and demonstrated): as long as you numb the area appropriately, the patient won’t feel a thing.

He wasn’t quite as upfront about what a patient will feel once that long hour of hard drilling and scraping has been accomplished and the numbing finally wears off, but que sera sera.

And if that isn’t bad enough, I also put my arm down on an exposed light bulb on Saturday, creating a perfect circle of charred skin. At least I now know that lampshades serve more than an aesthetic purpose. The price of knowledge does not come cheap, people! Uh, person. (God, who even reads this thing anymore?) (Don’t answer that.) Enjoy the fruits of my labour.

Hey, so I didn’t want to say anything before because I didn’t want to jinx it, but it’s been twenty-two days since I’ve had a drink – nay, a single sip of alcohol (unless you count the Victorian Lemonade, which unbeknownst to my consumerly fervour had 0.5% alcoholic content but was too costly to pour down the drain, so. Yum.).

This decision was taken because I finally realised that I like waking up to no hangover and prefer not to have heated debates about issues that only matter when I am pissed as a fart.

Besides which, I hear that unless you’re a six-foot-tall celebrity (maybe), shaking your thang whilst standing on a speaker after you’ve hit the 30-year mark is considered. Shall we say. Pathetic? That’s pretty much what ‘uninhibited’ entails for me, so off the sauce I go.

And you know: it’s not so bad. I’m staying home more and extending my voracious opinion in social circumstances a bit less, but maybe the world doesn’t need to know so much about my personal application of Nietzsche’s ‘eternal return’ or how hard done by I was during my adolescence. Probably.