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Those inhalers are like rainbows and sunshine and oh, I want to marry one.

They let me have my laptop here so I don't have to feel totally alone. And I'm sleeping pretty okay even though my hospital roommate snores.

Has anyone here ever killed someone before? A friend?


It's a matter of waiting until he dies, but watching Joly, every day, hearing him breathe like that, when he's the one of us who has always been so easily sick and knowing not only that I've put him there, that I've sentenced him to die as easily as if I'd held a gun to his head is something for which I don't think there are any words. He's going to die, and then the others are going to get sick and I am going to kill them too, and to make matters so much worse, they're putting things into quarantine and he cannot even have his L'agile or 'Chetta with him to give him any comfort.

I put him in this place. I put him here by letting him come to help me, and to see me here, and I'm the reason he's going to die. I don't have reservations for myself. Well, I'm afraid to die, but if I must, I must, and I only hope I've done some good in the world, somewhere along the way.

I accept my own mortality. What I don't accept is mortality for my friends, and myself being the cause. I'm the one who is responsible for all of this. I'm the one who should be saving them. Not doing this. Never this.



I don't know what to do.

Had to check myself into the hospital today, surprised I made it.


There is nothing worse than missing work.

I don't feel good. Not in the I caught what everyone else has way but thanks to my therapist tying me into knots yesterday. Anyhow, its a good day to stay in bed and watch a movie, so what is the best American movie and why? It will help me decide what to watch.

"Aye, I'm alive. And aye, I will be suing. Now get me a fucking lawyer!" - Oliver Wood

Okay guys and gals, lets be honest here a moment, how many people buy themselves a present too while they're shopping for everyone else? Me, personally, I am splurging and ordered my Christmas dinner from a catering service. This way we can all eat well and have to do none of the time consuming prep work.

Best present you got yourself, lets hear it.

Call me a Grinch or whatever but I still dislike Christmas. Growing up it always reminded me of the family I didn't have and the odd looks kids in school give you when they ask you what you got and you say nothing. Before you judge me too much, I did get my sister and a few friends presents. As for the Christmas music, trees, and lights I'll pass.

Lets move on to New Years.

It's snowing again. Going to be absolutely insane getting to work tomorrow.

Spent some time outside letting the snow land on my eyelashes.

( Behold! )

Now I just need a pint and a shag and I can consider today a well spent apocalypse.

Unsurprisingly, it seems that all of the claims the world was to end today have come to nothing. I doubt some people will be put off, though.

If the world's going to end tomorrow, tonight I want to do something crazy that I said I'd never do. Maybe I'll get a tattoo or something.

...My sister turned up on my doorstep last night. I... haven't seen her for years.

This could turn out to be an amazing Christmas for once

Today I went for a light jog. Only made it round the track once but that quarter mile was the most thrilling minute and a half I have spent since last December. I cannae express how elated I am with my Christmas miracle.

I've missed football...

I'm typically a rather long winded bloke and I have a bad habit of rambling on when something peaks my interest. My mother calls it passion, Da calls it attention grabbing. In any case, now that my shoulder is... fine... healed... perfect.... I'm flabbergasted. I never knew having a dream come true could be so powerful and uplifting. I am nae used to good things happening in my life, and the change is inspiring.

I'm going to play football again. I'm going to be me again.

I'm going home.

It occurs to me that this sudden climate shift is possible proof that the world really DOES end tomorrow. What Time Zone is that scheduled to start happening during, again? Because damn, I've got some stocking up to do. The internet informs me tampons are great for more than just women, but to jam into all sorts of wounds, and that I should be picking up toilet paper to sell at a premium.

So, I bought fridge cookie dough and eggnog. If it comes down, you're all fully welcome to swing by my place, where I will be barricaded underneath the table with this treasure trove that I'm sure you all are dying to share in.

Somewhere along the way, I'm also running a trial gravy experiment, and attempting to wrap a bathrobe, scarf, and other hard to handle gifts. Pray for me. I may never return. Of course, provided we die tonight, this is all moot anyway, but I'm hoping I'll be one of the survivors ready to rebuild the human race to all its former glory.

What do you think? Is asking women if they want to repopulate the earth coming on a LITTLE strong in that time of great need? I wouldn't use it otherwise.

Well, probably.

Who wants to go have a snowball fight?

I will take on all challengers!

I think I had too much to drink last night. Really strange dreams. That's easier to talk about than

I was at a weird School in Scotlaand (thanks, Oliver for infiltrating my subconscious) where they put a talking hat on my head. There was magic everywhere, and I went to sit at the Hufflepuff table. Hufflepuff. What a weird word.

For those of you who may not be near a window, there's a smallish meteor shower or a bunch of shooting stars happening. It's really beautiful. They say if you wish on a shooting star, your wish will come true.

We'll see if mine does.

So apparently we're looking for a third roommate.

Rules? Don't clip your toenails on the kitchen table, and make sure you love crawfish.

Oh and we are Sherlock and myself. I am Peter.

Obviously...

Anyway, uh... phone number is here. xxx-xxx-xxxx. If you call me and ask me what I'm wearing all creepily like? I'm telling you a man-thong, and you're not going to feel horrible.

I had the weirdest dream last night. I was a kid, I was British, and I was practicing magic. My Dad took me to the wand shop and bought me my first wand. He didn't play baseball, though. Gosh, that was a strange dream.

I left the tv on PBS after "Antiques Roadshow" and Masterpiece Mystery! came on. Those accents must have infiltrated my brain.

It figures that I move back to California and it's going to be raining for the next two days. If I had wanted rain, I would have stayed in England. Of course then I might have been forced to kill one or both of my brothers. I'm just glad to be away from their constant bickering. It was enough to drive anyone mad. If it weren't for our father's bloody business, they wouldn't even speak to each other. I am 100% sure of this.

I'm afraid I've failed to introduce myself, as people seem to do on these things.

The name's Bond.

A one night stand ladyfriend of mine says that gentlemen don't sing in the shower. I say if singing Heart in the shower is wrong, than I don't want to be right.

Also: in an effort to be more social, I was thinking of starting a poker night. For pennies. Don't worry, I won't take you for more than a couple of bucks. Who's in?

Stir Crazy.

7½ inches. That is how much I cut off my hair. I have been considering it for a while and sometimes change is good. There is also only 14 days left until the cast comes off.

( Cut for photo )

I don't - he can't be dead and I'm so sorry Oliver and everything is so wrong right now. He can't be dead. He can't. He was so kind and

You know who deserves a holiday? Room service waiters. Thank you, room service waiters, for tolerating seeing people in various states of drunkenness, undress, or all of the above. This tip's for you.

Hi! I was told this network is for OC residents to get together and stuff, so I thought I'd post. I'm Lorna Dane, I just moved to Newport Beach this week. I'm a Libra, and I have my masters in Botany! Yay, me!

Anyway, I wanted to say hello, and invite everyone to a preview of my new shop on New Years Eve. I'm the owner and soon-to-be operator of Grassroots, which will be a pot dispensary and also have crafts for sale. Until the place actually opens I can't sell any pot, but (amusingly enough), the number one thing I got from the local crafters when I put out the word to them was pots. So we have those. Plus, I can give you plant advice!

There will also be free drinks and a snack bar. If we don't all die in a horrible way that the Mayans tried to warn us about, please come in and check the place out! The party starts at six, and we'll serve snacks until we run out or people have mostly dispersed to the bars.

You know what I don't get? Why do people always throw pies in other people's faces for pranks? YOU'RE WASTING PIE! THAT'S JUST STUPID AND FOOLHARDY AT BEST. Throw awful things like ... I don't know, badly cooked liver!

... that being said, I kind of think that instead of Secret Santa, we should do Secret Prank Wars or something. What do you guys think?

It's odd how suddenly having free time on your hands can make for a weird mood. Being on medical leave from work, and having to take it easy, period, makes life odd when you're used to being active. There's a sense of wrongness to not being able to work out right or run, or all the little things that I'm used to doing.

I sense that I'll be reading a whole lot more this couple of weeks. Anyone have any recommendations? As I've not read much lately due to work, I am open to anything, really.

Crivens, am I thankful to be going home at the end of this week. Home. With my large satellite television, speedy internet and a nursing stripper bestie. Because in case anyone was confused on the matter, hospitals are rubbish! They donnae even get good football coverage (that's soccer, for you Americans).

Celtic played today at Tynecastle and I heard that it was a brilliant match. I heard, because the bloody sodding fucking piece of arse telly here at the hospital donnae air the bleeding matches! Oh! says the slutty intern as she leans too bloody close again, Watch it on the Internet, she says. Here's a public service announcement to all the slutty lasses who may or may not be reading: if you are going to waist your time (and mine) throwing yourself at a bloke, at least have the common courtesy to brush your fucking teeth before you hover all close and pucker your fatty Botox lips. Possibly the least attractive thing I have ever encountered. Ever.

Aside from that, guess what Halitosis Haley! I cannae watch the match on the Internet because of fucking zoning restrictions! What is WRONG with this country? I will PAY YOU MONEY to watch the match. Good, honest, solid, reliable sterling. And what do I get?

We're sorry, but our plug-ins are not supported by your country of origin.

Internet, so that we're on the same page, you and I - American is not my place of origin, you impudent dingo bat. And a wee text screen that updates every quarter with the play results... Nae acceptable, America. Nae acceptable.


On the upside, I have learned a lot about American football in the past week. You lot are a bunch of numpties. Brilliant, though, because apparently no rugby player ever thought to put on pads or a mouthguard.

Oh, and in case anyone was wondering (which I know you aren't), Celtic 4:0 Hearts.

So I have a kinda sorta random and unexpected gig coming up... three days a week for the next month.

How to explain this one? ...actually, it's sort of embarrassing. I was goofing on this piano at Smyth's fancypants department store -- and someone heard me. He owns a fancypants hotel in Tustin. He wants me to come and play Christmas songs on his fancypants grand in the lobby.

I'm still trying to figure out why I said yes. I think I just miss the piano. You know? Meh, maybe I'm alone there, missing pianos.

...I have to shave and get a haircut and wear a tux. Oh brother.

Actually, this grumpy attitude is all a put on. I'm pretty excited!!

There's so much stress put upon being relentlessly, constantly cheerful around this season. I've had a headache since Thanksgiving.

Bored.

I know that the tattoo I want to get from my dreams is going to hurt. I wonder if I took some Valium or Xanax if it would help?

Is there a 'bah humbug' like expression for Thanksgiving?

Screw the harvest, I'm going to work that day and I'm going to glower at things and nobody can stop me.

Who else feels like an insomniac? I cannea get to sleep last night for the love of war or money.

I just want to go for a run or do some puhups or kick a bloody football

Yesterday I had a date. It was brilliant. She's....

I feel comfortable around her. Nae like most women. She's grounded, I can tell. Fun. Beautiful. But I think she doesn't realise how intelligent or quick witted she is, which actually makes her sexier in a lot of ways I never realised innocence could.

I'm nearly twenty-six and I've never had a serious relationship...

This isn't normally something I'd write about on a public forum but my psychiatrist seems to think it's healthy progress. We'll see... I'm just thrilled I can move my fingers!

I wish I had fantastic dreams like the rest of you. I just dream about meeting fairly decent looking blokes and flirting with them. And getting hit by cabs.

I fractured my femur last night during rehearsals. Please do not tell me you are sorry because you have nothing to be sorry for. Also please do not ask me if I am alright. I am tired of everyone asking me that. The surgeon put pins and stuff in it, it is okay. Am I fine with it? Not at all and no, I do not want to talk about it. I just want to go home but they say will not happen until tomorrow night at the earliest.

How likely is it that I can talk a nurse into getting me some ice cream? Ice cream makes everything a little better.

So, what do the women of the valarnet do when they really need a romantic and/or sexy hookup? Hypothetical, but wondering.

I don't think I've ever been so hungry or anxious in my entire life. It's been almost twelve hours since I've put anything in my stomach and there's still several to go before they put me under. I feel like an addict coming down off a high. And there's this lad who keeps walking by the window shoveling pudding down his throat and I just want to wrap my hands around his neck and strangle him until--- some. And you want to know the worst part? They have me hooked up to this IV bag and I'm pissing every half hour and I'm not even drinking anything!

I don't mean to complain. I know there are people in the world that can't eat because they don't have food to eat-

No, I am complaining. I'm complaining a lot.

I'm fucking hungry.

I'm trying to stay calm, but I can't hold back my excitement.

I got an email from the personnel department of Stark Industries. They want me to come in tomorrow for an interview.

I bought a Ducati Diavel today. A pre-op gift to myself. We'll call it insurance, an incentive to recover quickly and healthily so I can get out on the road and ride her again.

She's a real, fit machine, I must brag. 162hp at 9500rpm. That's a lot of power between your legs and I'm happy to report that I enjoyed every mile of it coming back from the dealership in Sacramento. I'm paying for the joy ride now, though, with my shoulder. But it was still worth it. I just... I don't know, needed a last thrill I suppose before they strap me down and slice me open.

Best ten hours I've spent in America without question. Highly recommended to any gear-heads reading.

How many postings on this message board start with "I had the strangest dream last night..."?

Because, well, I had the strangest dream last night.

My business is failing, I'm going to lose my flat, I'm hungry.

Being an adult sucks ass.

Anyone got any life suggestions?

( cut for being borderline meta, but not really )

I know Election fatigue has really set in for a lot of you today, but just remember this is a celebration of what it means to live in this country. We are able to elect, able to dissent, able to assemble and able to choose.

The candidates I won't get into. But take the chance today to exercise one of our most basic rights as Americans. Please vote.

I feel like now that I've had time to settle in I should start looking for a job. Is it really as easy to find a nursing job around here as pople say? I don't really mind the hours so much but it would be nice to work in a hospital with pediatrics. That could be a nice job. Though I think I will be looking for an ER position because that is what I am really used to.

The phone has rang seven times in the last hour. I've hung up on all seven of them too. Yes, I know it's election day and if you ask me it's pretty tactless to call and harass people for votes. Besides, you would think the British accent would be enough to deter them. I don't even sound like I'm eligible to vote.

I'm told writing can be therapeutic. Sounds like a load of bollocks to me, but doctor's orders so I'll buy into it for now.

Since my dominate arm will be out of commission for nearly a month following next week's surgery, I've decided to take up a blog. I can peck out the keys well enough with a finger but I can't write with my left hand to save my life. Actually, come to mention it, I can't do anything with my left except stop a football but there wont be any of that for a while yet. And apparently, my musings need to be legible so I can "reread and reflect". Mental and physical therapy together for the next six months. That's a long time to discover untapped left-armed potentials.

If all goes according to plan, I should be back on the pitch by the start of next season. Mid, if there are PT setbacks. I can't bring myself to think on any other scenario, but Dr. Snell says anything is possible.

Dr. Andrews, the madman with the scalpel, has explained as much to me about the surgery as I care to know. The shoulder isn't like a knee. There's 360 degrees of rotation in a shoulder, only 90 in a knee. And in my shoulder, there's no articular cartilage left. Biceps tendon's detached from the bone. Three separate pieces just ripped clean off. And that doesn't include the scar tissue from the bodged surgery in London, or the atrophied muscles. Dr. Andrews says he's going to try and repair my collar bone in the process, but it's secondary to the joint. Honestly, I'm surprised the club is willing to sponsor this sort of rehabilitation. The odds aren't in my favour.

But I'm determined to stay positive! Hope Solo could handle it, the minx. Why not me?

So on that note...

Hello blog. This is Oliver Wood, documenting the road to recovery. Doctor's orders.