What did you do at work today?

Yes, I made a rubber band ball. I'll try and update this as it grows.

Can't be mondays for feeling motivated in work.

Still looks more constructive than my day has been so far.

I am still a student, so I don't have an everyday job - but on the other hand I had one of the craziest exams ever:
one teacher didn't like my recitation, but he didn't want to give me a Fail mark, so he sent me to another teacher, who finally gave me an Excellent mark. My nerves almost burned off inbetween.

Havent had a job in almost 3 years.
That last day of work I came in said I was quitting and sat and talked with a few people for a couple of hours then went home.

Today, i have been mostly doing other people's work

...and taking a chunk out of my knuckles while i was at it

*waits for someone to take a picture of a turd in the work toilet*

Haha that ball is awesome!

It doubled in size before I left, I'll post another piccer tomorrow if I get enough time

my latest injury

vyp was bitten by a vampire, le gasp

nah, that's the traditional blood sacrifice to appease the god of the machines

There's today's shot. Unfortunately out of elastics now.. Shall I get some colored ones to mix things up, or just keep with the color?

Don't be fooled, check the coin sizes.

I think Vypra's knuckles are bashed up from doing too much fighting Well, it is Northrend up there which she and Vex lives, ya know That, or she's been using her fist on poor old Vex again ... (hehe)

As for work, I'm typing up a story about a woman who fights for the rights of marginalised children in emergency zones (Burma, Haiti, etc). And just submitted 23,000 words of a proposal on my book about a Belfast priest out in South Africa. -->

****

Quote :

"Father, Father!" they cry. Everywhere he drives today, across the ochre-coloured roads of Atteridgeville, past the shacks which litter the hillside opposite the hospice, Kieran Creagh is heralded as some kind of saint, a good-luck charm for the people of the township.

Today he sings out another body, a lung cancer victim who has just died in one of the two rooms used for a patient's final moments. His staff join hands and also sing, and prayer is repeated in the local tongue.

"Duumu leyla Laaaa'feyla," the women keen, voices lilting from elderly throats, as the grandchildren of the deceased look on. "Everything is fine."

The priest doubles over coughing for a moment – thanks to his injuries he has been left with the lungs of a 75-year-old – and there is now a nervousness, an anxiety for every unexplained noise that wasn't there before. "The staff took turns to stay with me in the house after I came back," he says, softly. "They always called out 'ko-ko' when they arrived, so I'd know it was one of them."

Last year he faced two of his attackers during a trial which lasted most of 2008. They're now serving 25 years in prison; three others were sentenced for another attack; but the rest are still at large. And just as South Africa prepares to welcome the World Cup next year, it also remains one of the most violent nations on earth. Sexual behaviour has yet to change and it tops the league for sexual violence (rapes).

"I get 60 or 70-year-old women coming in here with AIDS," Creagh continues, speaking sadly. "I'm angry, aye, that the men don't change."

And his anger extends to the Church in Ireland itself and the scandals of its sex abuse years. "We need to mourn as a nation, we need to repent, we need sackcloth and ashes," he claims with some bitterness. "We need our own Wailing Wall or some monument of atonement."

Meanwhile, Creagh looks to his own future with both excitement and uncertainty. A further attack on one of his neighbouring priests, a 76-year-old Irishman, has left him feeling "sickened" – four other Passionist priests have been attacked here in recent months and a nun raped in Botswana – and he admits to feeling more vulnerable since his own shooting.

But Leratong is here to stay, he maintains. "Too much love has gone into it; too much need remains," says the priest, looking out over the crowded valley as the sun dips to the horizon. With that he smiles once more, the years dropping away from care-worn features, and the man everyone here calls simply "The Father" stands and heads out for his evening rounds once again.

****

Usual stuff eh? (I've travelled out to South Africa and Belfast a few times now to do interviews for this autobiography: above is sample from an article I wrote about this guy. Book will be in first-person i.e. his voice not mine)

Wow, even that extract was quite moving. I'll look out for the completed peice

Vypra wrote:

Wow, even that extract was quite moving. I'll look out for the completed peice

I didn't mean it about your hands, of course