No rest for the wicked.

Oh. Saturday. The weekend started off with me paying a man to shove his fingers up my box and whisk them around asking "does this hurt? I'mma put pressure on your cervix, is that close to the pains you're having? How about now?". I don't think I'll ever feel totally comfortable with talking to and keeping eye contact with strangers that have their fingers inside me. I got a huge, two week dose of something that should solve the problem of the "inflammation" that I've apparently been carrying around with me for two years. Oh, and let's just hope that chlamydia test is negative or bf and I will have a VERY awkward it-wasnt-me-it-has-to-be-your-fault exchange of accusations.

I then paid a man to order me around a neighbouring suburb trying to teach me how to shift gears, look in the mirrors, dead angle, signalling to turn while breaking in the steep slope and keep track of any traffic around me in a friggin Golf that behaves very differently than our old trustworthy Volvo. Sometimes I just get the feeling that humans are not supposed to be moving any faster than walking speed. I could agree on horse-speed too, but it's borderline. He finished it off with calling me a sissy.

Not to mention the behaviour of my dear boyfriend that is under all kinds of standards and what you can expect from a 30 year old man. Dealing with men is, not entirely surprising, EXHAUSTING. I need to rest from this weekend.