I
am floundering a bit at the moment. The demands on my time at work are
substantial and the English for whom I work are being most unreasonable in
their expectations. I am working very long days. The English are issuing a bevy
of often ridiculous instructions and commands to me in a typically arrogant and
pompous British fashion. They are inundating me with often bizarre and
unnecessary exactions from atop of their ivory towers in London.
This
includes repeated requirements for me to visit the tough and harsh projects
that we are undertaking in India. I love India but it is hot and dusty and I am
old and crusty. It concerns me too that much of my time is spent in aircraft
and in airports. Traveling at high altitude in pressurized confined spaces does
not agree with me and nor indeed does airline food.
I
am tired all of the time.
I
am floundering too with repeated visits to doctors and hospitals in an effort
to determine the cause of persisting headaches that I have been suffering for a
couple of years now. Singaporean doctors have twice injected me in my face.
Yes
in my face!
On
the Friday just gone Singaporean doctors injected a dye into my head to watch
the blood flow through my brain. I was conscious throughout this entire episode
although I near fainted from the sheer horror of the experience. I went weak in
the knees. It is also now very clear to me that when Singaporean doctors make
comments such as, "this might sting a little" or "this might be
a bit uncomfortable' - they are generally vastly understating the
situation.
It
fucking hurts!
The
Singaporean doctors have also drawn inordinate amounts of blood from my veins
for testing and I have also been in the MRI tunnel twice where I discovered
that I have claustrophobia. The MRI tunnel is a very unpleasant experience
indeed.
The
site of blood makes me all weak and trembly - even my own.
Particularly
my own.
I
have never liked injections or blood. Who does? Vampires do of course. The
doctors would not allow me to photograph them injecting me in the face with dye
when they were watching the blood flow through my brain. I doubt that I could
have taken a very good photo anyway as I was shaking and weeping and screaming.
It
is no wonder that I am floundering.
I
should say at this point - as I have said several times before in my writing -
don’t worry Mum. Don’t panic. There is no cause for alarm. The test results
have found nothing untoward and my brain is functioning normally. My blood is
flowing freely.
I
am perhaps just allergic to Singapore.
I
am now under the care of the highly qualified Doctor Chua who is a specialist in
Pain Management. He has more letters after his name than are in the entire
alphabet. Doctor Chua has prescribed me some medication called Lyrica to trial
for a fortnight and my headaches have already diminished a bit.
I
Googled this medication when I arrived home. It is powerful shit. I went
straight to the adverse reactions section for this drug and confess that I was
a wee bit worried to read that one in 500 people who use Lyrica may experience
suicidal tendencies and it is also possible for hands and feet to swell
enormously. I have not however yet felt like throwing myself off my balcony and
my limbs are so far un-bloated so I think that I will be OK.
I
do feel an increasing desire to to climb that Ivory Tower in London and throw
off a few of those English for whom I work. I don't think that this desire is
related to the medication though.
It
is just me.
It
is just them.
The
Ivory Tower reference I made with regard to the English for whom I work is
biblical. It is from the Song of Solomon. Which is in the Old Testament. The
term is symbolic and originally represented 'noble purity'. There never was an
actual tower constructed of ivory but that would have been a sight to behold.
In
his song Solomon used the phrase to describe of all things a woman's neck! He
wrote:
"Thy
neck is as a tower of ivory".
I
do not believe that this is particularly flattering. A neck like a tower? It
sounds like he was in admiration of an albino giraffe.
At
some stage in the nineteenth century the phrase began to be used for people who
were considered to be willfully disconnecting themselves from others.
Inhabitants of Ivory Towers believe that they are somewhat better than the rest
of we mortals. A significant number of the English for whom I work reside in the
said Ivory Towers. It is my wish that they will one day fall from their lofty
heights and be splattered on the ground below.
To
flounder is to struggle clumsily or helplessly and we all do this at times.
Life often throws trauma at us that causes distress and anxiety.
We
flip and we flop.
The
origins of the term are a bit obscure. It has been suggested that it perhaps
arose sometime in the sixteenth century and in Holland of all places - from the
word “flodderen’ which means to ‘flop about’.
I
have always been a little puzzled why Holland is also referred to as the
Netherlands. I could look it up but I am not really all that interested and I
simply could not be bothered.
The
flounder is also a fish. It is a rather strange looking one that I have both
caught and eaten before. They are delicious. Here is a picture of one:
It
is very unattractive and it looks quite grumpy. It is not dissimilar in
appearance to some of the English for whom I work.
Please
do not confuse my use of the term fish here. I am not actually referring to the
substitute word for ‘fuck’ that I have adopted in an effort to diminish my
swearing. I am talking about the fish creatures that live in the ocean and in
lakes and rivers. It is interesting though that when one catches a fish - be it
a flounder or some other species - they generally ‘flop about’. The Dutch would
say that they ‘flodderen’.
The
flounder is a very flat fish that swims about on the bottom of sea beds. It is
a salt water species that will never be found in lakes or rivers. These fish
have been around for a very long time and there is a record of them dating back
to the thirteenth century. Their name is similar in a number of
countries. Norwegians refer to them as flydhr; the Germans
call them vlundere; and the Danish
name them flynder.
The
Greek people however refer to them as platys.
When
I was a kid by brother and I and some of our mates would go “floundering” at
night. We would shine bright torches in the shallows of beaches and the
Flounder fish would be attracted to the light. We would then spear them. We
would often light a fire on the beach and barbeque them and sometimes we would
also gather mussels and oysters from the rocks and eat them as well.
Yum.
Mercifully
this weekend in Singapore we have a long weekend. Friday is a public holiday to
celebrate Versak Day. This is commonly known as the Lord Buddha’s Birthday.
I
have not been invited to his party.
I
intend on having a very relaxed and laid back long weekend reading my book and
laying by my swimming pool. There will be no ‘flodderen’ for me and I will not be flipping and
flopping about.
I
will not be floundering.
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