Chapter 1, Part 2

So like I'd said... I'm planning on writing a book. I guess I'll keep putting bits of it on here to kind of keep me going...!

Frumpy stood there stunned. He knew of Smokey, and he thought she was alright, nothing really stood out about her before, but here he was, heart in his mouth, not knowing what had hit him. If she had got that name from being smoking hot, he now knew why. He felt as if she’d burnt him when she bumped into him, her eyes bore holes through him and he swore she could see deep into his being, but her warmth radiated through him making him feel a level of comfort he hadn’t known here. Before he could stop himself he’d asked her if he could get her something, coffee, water, anything to give him a few moments with her. He didn’t know what it was – he’d never felt this way before about anyone. Sure he loved flirting with girls, using them for a little fun, but this pull was just... he had no words to describe it.

As he watched her walk away, he felt a strange surge of relief that she hadn’t accepted his offer. Afterall if he wanted to get to know her she would have questions too and he wasn’t much of a talker – he had secrets, a shady past he wasn’t proud of and he just wanted to start over. His relationships up until now had been superficial and shallow based merely on fulfilling his needs which to him justified his fooling around. He wasn’t out to impress, he was aware that it showed in his shabby attire, his worn shoes, and his unkempt hair. His seniors had told him off many a time for his stubble as he was a doctor now – he needed to be presentable. He’d polish up for a day or two before slipping back into his old frumpy self. He was here for a reason, a purpose. He needed just a few more years of experience and then he had a plan to leave this place once and for all, bury his secrets, and never return.

Suddenly he felt alive. For the past three months, since he’d come to this God forsaken place he’d felt like a robot without an ounce of consciousness. His days were predictable – only sometimes they involved a girl joining him – but even then, he was numb inside. His thoughts seldom reflected his life nor did he express any emotion. At most his brain analysed and interpreted data from his research studies and transmitted neurosignals that let his hand find the scalpel to pass to the good doctor; that too only because he needed to appear sharp and focused in the OR and do enough work on the research front to keep him employed. He would much rather spend his days lazily spread on the cushions in front of the TV, clad in nothing more than his favourite boxers, playing Call of Duty.

 

 

 

Doctor Doctor!

I've decided to write a book. Here is the first chapter - or a part of the first chapter anyway! 

Smokey. She was hot, in a subtle yet smokin' kinda way. She was unaware of the way her hair blew effortlessly in the wind, her bold glasses framing her hazel eyes with the long lashes brushing against the lenses, the kohl outlining their almond shape. Of course, she didn't know that's what they called her. The men looked at her with a gaze that would make anyone uncomfortable but she never noticed; she was in her own bubble. She worked hard, barely spoke to anyone, kept to herself, trying to remain focused on her dreams and aspirations of becoming a professional so that one day she could lure and charm that one guy who would add meaning and purpose to her sometimes dull life.

She was a doctor, as was he. They roamed the same halls, retracing each other steps but they never exchanged glances, let alone words. He was always flashing flirty smiles at the nurses, residents and the gorgeous Dr Ra-Re made his knees weak. She was married of course, just like him, but it was no secret that he was mere putty in her slender hands. When she sat studying in the library her mind often drifted to the good doctor's office, and one day she absent-mindedly let herself go have him check out her eyes. Dr Strangelove approached as Smokey sat opposite him, and she could feel a strong, almost magnetic, pull even with the gadgetry between them. Moving her eyes into place she was almost grateful for the slit lamp, though she couldn't help but wish it wasn't there. He asked her the regular questions, about having finished her medical degree, he'd taught her of course, but a conversation! It made her heart flutter. "You have beautiful eyes," he said, "they're a door way to your soul." Her breathing slowed, as she wondered if they revealed perhaps too much. Slowly he held her head, his fingers gently grazing her lashes as he brought it into place, examining each eye with an intense focus. His fingers sent sparks coursing through her, she felt her heart beat race, and only once he moved away did she realise she'd been holding her breath. What was she doing? He was married, and he had a reputation. She shook her head, erasing the inappropriate thoughts running through her mind, she needed to get back to studying. She thanked him for his time before he could tell her to have her glasses changed, and tripping over her own feet she made a quick exit.

Still in her own world she was rounding the corner back to the library when she bumped into Frumpy. That wasn't his name of course, it was just how he appeared, and so she'd named him that in her own world. He was manly, with his square jaw, again, didn't have the best reputation but she had an inkling he was misunderstood. As she processed all this information, he held her shoulders, almost peeling her off of his big frame, asking if she was alright; she looked shaken. He asked if he could get her something, but she was so dumbfounded that he was even asking, clearly unaware of the pull she had on him, that she bowed her head down walking past as if nothing had happened.

As she sat uncomfortably in the wooden library chairs, staring at medical books, the words making no sense, reading line after line for the twelfth time, she decided her mind was surely in the gutter. Little did she know that the two men that had made her heart race and her lungs cease to function were going to play such a vital role in the next few years of her life, causing immense heartache and sorrow but they would also bring an equal amount of joy. They would be the source of her worries but they'd also make her smile and feel special; like a woman. She'd finally know that she too could be wanted. But for now she was clueless, trying to focus on memorising the pages lying open before her.

De-stressing

So lately I haven't been feeling a hundred percent. A lot of things were contributing to this... heat, dehydration, bad work conditions, increased responsibility and therefore pressure at work, stresses in my personal life, not knowing what to do next or which direction to head in. For the past few days my kidneys had really begun to hurt and after doing some research and also talking to a couple of people I realised the damage could be irreparable. So, in an effort to salvage them, I started drinking more water, I try to do 2-3 km of interval training 4 times a week at minimum to stay fit and work on my stamina and general feeling of well-being but the problems persisted.

Lately I'd been fatigued, not sleeping well, nauseous, had a lack of appetite, headaches, dizzy, body and joint pains - honestly it sounded like I'd aged fifty years! My friend's a doctor - got a list of tests to get done, cbc, tsh, etc. but everything was, thankfully, normal. So what's the problem I asked? Her response... "probably just stress".

I blog to vent. And perhaps I need to do more of it. I feel like other people don't always understand how I feel, and sometimes they are either sick of listening to me whine and complain or they just don't have the time. And I can't blame them. I also get sick of folks who keep crying over spilt milk that has dried up and become a stinky curdled mess! "Cry a river, build a bridge, and get over it!" Unless you have a blog and want to whine into this blackhole of an abyss. And honestly, who really cares about other peoples problems? Don't we all have a bunch of our own to worry about? Those who want to entertain themselves with random ramblings of a sometimes drama queen who over analyses things, can be super sensitive and is almost always right are warned... the doc says I need to de-stress. You are the people that are going to get a lot of juicy blogposts in the near future! Don't worry - I keep the real boring stuff tucked safely away in a journal - but I'm quite the storyteller - so I'll take the good bits and mince them into something worth reading! Good for you - fun stuff to waste time on, good for me - out of my system!

Since I promised myself not to get too personal here you might not even be able to tell when and where I'm doing it - the venting! Woohoo! Oh and also - I'll be writing some fictional stories inspired by some of my friends. They've had some interesting life experiences but since I don't want to expose them and their colourful natures - we'll just let it be "fiction inspired by somewhat true events, slightly exaggerated and given a better ending!"