More musings from the zoo.
The people I care for can roughly be classified into three categories. One, people who have to stay and don't mind staying because they know they need the care; two, people who have to stay but don't want to; three, people who don't have to stay but want to.
The first and second categories, however, are actually extremes of a continuum.
But it's the third category of people that always raise mixed feelings in me. On one side I, like most people, find them a pest. Not only because they're probably depriving a genuinely ill person from a place, but also because they tend to be attention-seeking and present something that people in the game euphemistically call a "diagnostic problem".
However, at the same time I feel pity for them. What could possibly turn someone to be like them? There are many reasons, of course. Some obvious, some not so. I've seen one who was a homeless person, for who a bed in a hospital is a respite from the driving rain outside. He enjoys hospital food, which is no doubt a sight better than what he can get. Another person I've seen was actually wanted by the police. Yet another, was unconsciously trying to get out of national service. Some, however, have a job, a place to live, a family. One wonders what they get out of pulling all these stunts.
More than a year. And thought it was just a phase, that is, until a certain park-ranger dropped a note and i realised that people do read this blog, and hey, why don't I start writing again, then?
I know some people write no matter what; I'm not one of them.
One year and so many things have changed, it's like I'm an entirely different person. Well, not entirely, since the real me, if there is such a thing, is still recognisable beneath all this worldly trappings. Or so I'd like to think. I passed my exams, I started working for real, I get a salary, I rent a place to live. And I work. Did I say work? Yes. Seventy-five hours a week if I'm lucky. Ninety or more otherwise. Yet this idea is exciting enough to drag my sleepy ass out of bed and start typing.
So here, an experiment: I want to make this a blog that even read by my closest friends will still make them wonder if it is written by someone they know. I was calculating how vague I could be, yet still make this interesting.
Name, obviously out. Nobody I know uses their real name online.
Gender, hmm. Will be more interestingly vague if I can keep that out, too, although granted it's more difficult to do in English.
Occupation. Let's see. Say I'm a carer (with apologies to Mr Ishiguro). I care for people who are unwell. I work in an institution where unwell people are put together and cared for until they're back on their feet, or dead, or until we manage to get someplace else to take care of them.
The rest is irrelevant. I'm just a human being doing what society expects me to do, doing it (I hope) decently enough, and liking it enough to hope that this is what I'l be doing for the rest of my life.