Marly gets a checkup.

Okay. So I have been nudged to write more. I always tend to get slumpy at blogging when I feel like my life has gotten boring ... and not very 'wild undertaking'-y.

And yet, here I go.

If you don't feel like reading self indulgent weepiness, please skip to bits below, otherwise, put on some soft woolie socks, grab a box of tissues, and ready your DVD player with your favorite romantic comedy for afterwards ... and consider making yourself some hot cocoa ... you know, the kind with marshmallows (the big camping kind, not the inferior small ones, they melt too fast).

Here it is ... my 'I've been in Australia for two and a half months' weep. I am tremendously lonely. I have no qualms about doing things on my own. I am happy to do them, and they give me a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, like 'look at me! I am a strong and indepenant woman who doesn't need anybody' but at the same time it is getting pretty stinkin' old.

Window shopping in the mall, movies at the theater, walks in the park, trips to the beach, sight seeing, and concerts, I've done them all on my own, on a pretty regular basis. I don't let my 'alone-ness' get in the way of my fun. But when I'm sitting at the dock in Freo, and a rather hefty and hairy guy walks past me sporting only the smallest of speedos, I only have myself to snicker with. I miss having friends. I've always been so lucky in the past that my roommates for the last six years of my life have all been my closest set of buddies. My gal pals to roam with, to have adventures with, to laugh and cry with. I miss that. I miss that a lot.

I bet you're all weeping right now, and getting ready to watch Grease just to make yourselves feel better.

I know, I know, I feel dumb for complaining. I have a wicked sweet job that's finally putting me on a career path, Liz is fantastic and we do stuff together. AND I get to live in a country where the citizens don't understand my accent and everyone thinks my name is Marly. I'm living an awesome life, and I am having tons of fun ... I am just really lonely too.

Okay weep fest over.

IF YOU SKIPPED ALL THAT, HERE'S A GOOD PLACE TO COME BACK IN AGAIN.

Before they could give me a job offer, I had to be able to pass a physical exam (pretty sure that it would be illegal for them to do that in States until after they have offered me a job - but since I passed, I'm not complaining). I called and set up my appointment, which was going to require a trip to the city.

I had the earliest appointment (I like being first) and caught the early bus into the city. I love going into the city because you have to cross the Swan River in order to get there. It's beautiful. It's summer here and so it's sunny every day (and well, there's also a hole in the Ozone right over my head, so that helps too ...) and the water is a brilliant blue, it reminds me a little bit of crossing Lake Washington in Seattle ... only, you know, with sunshine.

Every time I go to the city, somehow, I always seem to forget and find myself being reminded (with jaw open) that Perth is a proper city. It takes the sound of wobbly high heels and mobile phones accompanied by the smell of coffee in to-go cups and freshly applied cologne to remind me that I am just one small person amongst the giant buildings, fighting against the relentless current of men and women wearing business suits on their way to jobs that I hope are as important as they make themselves look.

Because I was the first appointment I was seen quickly and was taken to the physician who would be doing the Musculoskeletal bit of the examination. In my head I imagined that the test would comprise of this: Please touch your toes. Good. Now please lift this weight. But what my imagination lacked was a physician with same attitude as the guy who invented P90x. I came in ready to touch my toes, and his first request for me was to get down and start doing pushups.

Several pushups, as many sit ups as I could handle, swats, what Whitney likes to call 'the invisible chair' against the wall for two minutes on the stop watch (I'm good at those) and a full minute plank (those are hard really hard, and after a minute my arms were shaking) later, he was finally ready to have me touch my times ... and then had me do it five times more.

I laughed out loud when he deposited me to a different person for the next section of my exam, and she asked to take my blood pressure! I don't know if I really lost this in the previous section or what, but their scale said that I was about 4 kilos less than I actually weigh, but I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I kept quiet. Also, I am a few centimeters over 5'10" ... who knew?

After those things were out of the way, the nurse asked me if I had to go to the bathroom. I hesitated. I didn't have to go to the bathroom but I could. As I mulled this over in my head, she interrupted my thoughts by saying, "Don't worry, it's not for a drug test."  Now. I'm not really sure how to take this. Do I look like someone who would need to worry if I was asked to take a drug test, OR did she decide that recreational drug use would be a good habit to pick up since I am returning to the world of residential care? Either way, I pretended like I didn't hear that, and said that I could go to the bathroom.

She took me to the bathroom and showed me these little pH strips that were to be put in the urine to check my protein, glucose, keytone levels and check for any blood. And then she showed me a Styrofoam cup ... you know, like coffee. I laughed really loud and said, "Sorry, haha, sorry, at first I thought you were telling me that I was going to have to pee in that haha!!" An awkward moment passed as I realized ... that yes, I was expected to pee in a styrofoam coffee cup. I did my business ... frankly feeling weird that I was peeing a cup that someone might also use to get water from in the lobby, and put the pH stick in the cup and pulled it out again. Apparently she was supposed to do that, but was okay with me having done it. She handled the stick, the cup, and the paper towel all without gloves. So no gloves and handling of pee-pee stuff combined with the use of a styrofoam cup in the use of urine analysis made me begin to doubt the legitimacy of this whole process.

My third and last stop was with a doctor who kept coughing and sputtering into her hands, then had me get on the table and touch me all over the place (checking my organs out), and then washed her hands after she had been touching me, instead of before.

I think that maybe Australians are as laid back about germs as they are in their personalities.

But no matter what, I've got the 'all clear' except for some annoying background checks that I have to get from the FBI in the States and from the Police Station that used to be across the street from my house in St. Croix. But all systems are GO, and I begin work for the Department for Child Protection here in Perth February 13.