Georgetterox

Whore says, love is like fart.

You keep it and it makes you ill, but if you express it then it just makes chaos.

So the solution is, is it better if we’re made without fart? I almost agree, till tonight my ER is visited by a girl who can’t fart. And she moans.

“How long can’t you fart, Ma’am?” I asked her.

“It’s been two days, Dooc!” she moaned.

I smile. What a peace the family is with no fart.

But the patient doesn’t agree with my smile. “But it’s ill, Dooc! I can’t waste! Aaaoogghh!”

Her intestine almost doesn’t make a voice. Her blood exam is terrible.

The family agrees about the hospitalizing.

So I told the patient to fasting, then I prescribe a tube to reveal the air from inside her stomach, and also medicine for her family to buy.

It’s done already. It’s just the matter for the nurse to get her into the room.

Then it’s been an half hour. Hey, the patient still moans, “Aaoogghh!”

I get to her, then I examine her. Have I mistreated her?

“Ma’am, does it still hurt? Have you had the drug already?”

The patient just looks at me, like I’m nuts. “Which one, Dooc?”

Her Mom who stands by her, says, “The nurse hasn’t given her one, Doc.”

I look at her suspicious. “Has the nurse given you the prescription?”

The mother remembers now. “Ooh, I gave the prescription to my husband. He’s waiting outside. Wait a second, Doc.”

Then she bursts out to her husband. “Kang.. Kang.. have you bought the drugs or not?”

I look out, to a man who’s just already called by his wife.

He’s standing outside, calm, cool, and smoking. He shows a black plastic bag on his hand.

“Yes, I’ve had it..!”

The lady takes over the bag, then she reveals the drugs.

She shows me the capsul, still sealed and yet unopened. “This one, Doc?”

I goggle. “Madam! You guys should’ve let the nurse have the medicine.

The nurse couldn’t cure your daughter coz you just kept it in your hand!”

The husband bursts in, coz he can’t take it that I’m upset to his wife. “Doc!

It’s not our fault! I was just already gonna give the nurse the medicine.

But you told my daughter to fasting, then how will she drink this drug?”

At the moment I find out, I’m the stupid one, not him.

“Sir,” I stared at him in a very deeply pity look.

“The drug is supposed to be inserted inside the anal,  not for getting swallowed..!”

I really love holidays!

Whether it’s just another Sunday, just another Holy Day, or even just another independence day, I really love all the days that written in red at the calendar.

Even actually I have a good job with good salary that enough for me to spend for hedonism, but I still have my widest smile at holiday.

Especially for last week, where the week drives a chaos for me.

Imagine, just because at Friday all the hospital will be off for independence day, the patients became so lot at my office along four days before.

But I didn’t really feel well at all, I’ve been dispepted for days and I didn’t want anything except sleeping (I don’t want any medications. I hate being treated by accumulations of substances that could damage my kidneys).

 

And I still had to avoid the pursue of Pak RT for request of joining another race of eating krupuk (oh, please, Sir, why must it have to be krupuk?  Why don’t make race of eating spaghetti, pizza, or roti cane, that at least more spicy?)

And the disease of loving holiday has been inherited in my family blood.

For my Dad, an holiday is another day where he’s got extra hours for editing the questions of examination for his students.

For my Mom, an holiday is a day where she can have time for accomplishing her jewelleries design project.

For my sista, an holiday is a day where she can exercise under tutorial of Jane Fonda,  by staring at her big belly above the TV, as the spiritual trigger.

And for me, an holiday is the day for me to lay down in my Bringharjo intimate dress by watching infotainment, by massaging my nausea belly.

But in this holiday, my Dad sighes a lot. He said, the material for his students’ examination is not enough.

So he phoned his colleague, to have him prepare it.

The colleague worked it on, and he wrote away the material.

This retired professor, couldn’t mail the draft coz he didn’t know how to use internet.

And he couldn’t save the file in the flash disc, coz he just knew how to save in floppy disc.

But my Dad’s computer doesn’t have a ware for reading floppy disc, it just applies flash disc  and CDs.

And the professor hand-writes is really terrible, so he felt that he was supposed to drive the material by himself to our house, so he could read his material for my Dad.

It’s hard to make a deal with another old nervous-technology man.

 

In Indonesian phrase, nervous-technology means gaptek.

OMG! It’s my family’s turn for being nervous.

The living room is neated away, and all the things that drive awkwardly: the tools for designing the necklace, the edited papers for the examination, the photo of my sista’s big belly, have to be covered under.

Including the toilet that I’ve been puked for days, I sprayed away with room-perfume.

Who knows that the professor wanna have a pee, don’t let him vomit when he enters in.

And my Mom wished that the professor didn’t wanna play guest-and-host for long time, so we didn’t need to invite him for lunch. Have I mentioned that my Mom doesn’t cook at holiday?

It worked out.

Coz finally the professor just intended to drive his writing, and he didn’t sit at my living room for more than five minutes.

Right when he’s gone, five minutes praying for he praises my neat house, lost and replaced by the sigh of breathing for thankfulness.

Mission accomplished.

I’ve just realized, even at holiday, we can’t remain being ourselves.

At my colleague, my Mom has to pretend of being an housewife, not being a lady who’s madly in love with her jewellery designing project.

My sista can’t look like a girl who’s worried of her weight, and I have to look fit, no matter that I’ve suffered coz I’ve been vomiting for a week. That’s why the house had to be neat as my Dad’s colleague came.

I think I feel like wearing a liar mask coz I’ve lied a lot.

And as I told this to a friend, he just replied like a shit,

“Oh, so you just pretend wearing mask? I thought your face is bitchy just like that..”

Ok, this time I’d like to tell ya about my tour to a book fair at Bragastraat.

D’ya know, for just a bookworm, I’m a kinda customer which often tortures the book vendors. The main causa is the most primitive character of mine: never be satisfied.

I’m a picky, though while I’m enjoying book-shopping, I can spend the same amount with the amount that I spend while I shop in boutique.

Ya can imagine, it’s pity of the vendors at the book fair if they’re visited of just 10 people like me. They could be broken off.

Imagine, what’s the reason for the small vendors to joy a fair?

They’d like to jack up the transaction amount by undercutting the discount sales, wouldn’t they?

But if this is the way they do the fair, then I think they’ll get nothing except loss because the income ain’t enough for returning the capital.

That’s if they’d like to assume from their view as the vendor, not from mine as the customer.

Imagine, the novel is discounted 15%, and I still didn’t buy it.

Though I’ve set my eyes on it since 3-4 years ago.

I think, if the discount is just 15%, then I shouldn’t buy it on the fair, but I’ll just buy it at my favorite place in Supratmanstraat.

In Supratmanstraat, they discount 15% for the books, and they cover each of them in transparent plastic.

Though if I’d like to, I just should buy the book at the fair, then I’ll cover it myself at home. But I don’t wanna be loss.

I don’t buy 5-10 thousands rupiahs books, which placed in a big basin.

The basin reminds me to the socks sale which sold 10 thousands rupiahs for three pairs, at Paser Baroe.

If only the authors were there, they’d cry coz they’ve spent months for writing creations, which finally undisplayed at the racks, but just put awkwardly.

No need to degrade the prices, just displaying like that is enough to downgrade the books.

And that’s the reason I don’t buy them, though I know they’re written well.

I can’t let the books downgraded by displayed awkwardly.

That’s the way I respect my writer colleagues.

Book fair should be a good chance to find the rareness books, which seldom found at the big bookshops.

I love the fair coz I’ve found Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, which edition is hard for me to find when I wander around at Palasaristraat.

The surprise for me is that I find the original novelled script version of Addams Family of

USA

, complete with the pictures of the scene.

What the hell with the second status, coz it’s well-packaged and the smell is still like fresh from the printing, and it’s important that it’s not sold at dollar and reasonable in rupiah.

I don’t wanna just buy a book from a stand.

Just make the note of the name, if it’s necessary, ask the address.

If we can buy a good and cheap book from the indie pubisher, then it’s not impossible for it to supply us more.

If we could get a lot, then why do we just have one?

Sorry dory mory, we’re stylish bookaholics, not just another bookworm.

I assume, I should change my number. This mad man starts to drive me crazy, too.

I wonder, why being insane has to ask you come with?

Three weeks ago, in a morning, I got a message.

He confessed that he’d just had a drug named Deptral from a doctor and now he felt poisoned. He assumed that he was dying, so he apologized to me.

The number was unidentified, so I didn’t really care.

Oh, once I replied him that I’d like to say hello to Taufik Savalas.

Probably, he might would meet Taufik in heaven.

He must had thought that I was just kidding, so that night, he messaged me.

He said his name.. shit, just call him Cliché. Of course I was astonished.

I knew him. We both went to the same school since I was 14.

As we were graduated, I preferred being doctor, while Cliché went to the best institute in our town.

I never heard anything from him, until two years ago, I heard that Cliché had moved to the capital city, to an unelite university.

Once I wondered how an intelligent kid like him had left the ivy league to move to an unpopular campus. Feels like being down-graded.

But I wasn’t astonished of Cliché who still messaged me for the last time before he died.

I was astonished more coz I found a man who felt poisoned at 8 a.m, but he still could hold a cell-phone at 11 p.m, and still could message, too. It must be a miracle at ICU.

Cliché was still alive a few days later. I knew, he messaged me again.

He said, he wanna work at Pertamina and he wanna know how.

Well, I assumed, so Cliché’s dead was delayed. And now he wanna work.

I didn’t reply him. I don’t work at Human and Resource Department, anyway.

He messaged me again. This time he said, he was graduated.

I saluted to the people at my age who had just passed this year.

The teachers must loved him so much and it must be hard for them for passing him.

Coz I was annoyed of Cliché’s messages, I told about it to Dieth, an architect in Singapore, who’s accidentally also my ex-schoolmate.

Truthfully, Cliché also often messaged her, and the contents were exactly the same!

Oh, so there wasn’t only me, I was disappointed.

I wonder why Cliché love annoying us, is it because I’m foxy and Dieth rocks?

It’s not our fault if we’re attractive enough for not being missed, but why does it have to be the geeky Cliché?

Cliché messaged me again last week, as I was working.

He said that he was comma because of the damn Deptral and he needed 50 millions for surgery to eliminate the medicine. I was sick.

Comma guy usually doesn’t send message, and a 2-weeks-consumed drug must’ve become urine now, so surgery won’t work.

I felt insulted coz I was misled in stupid way.

You can’t let someone catch you in the act if you’re lying!

And does it suppose that he’s already died now?

Is this another die-hard part 5?

Yes, I know I’m pretty, but does it have to be my fault and make Cliché extort me that skanky? 

Why.. why me?

Why do you love me?!

Then I came to my ex, who was also Cliché’s ex-classmate, too.

Then he told me that Cliché had also been annoying him in the same modus.  Ck. Ck. Ck.

I thought Cliché only liked me and Dieth, but actually he liked my ex, too. What a greedy.

I’m disappointed that my friend has to end this tragic.

Cliché that I know, always got the good marks at school, never flirted with the hot chicks, and always brushed his hair with a litter of Gatsby.

All the people in the ivy league must’ve succeed, but Cliché was dropped out coz he couldn’t adapt there. So now he is late-graduated, being crazy, gay, and comma.

Geez, why intelligent-and-pious kid always becoming insane?