It was a really manic Monday, yesterday. Went to the Registration Department first thing in the morning (after dropping by the Post Office to post some job applications) to find out if my new IC was ready for collection (I had changed my address in April) and also to check if my mother's IC was ready as well. When I arrived at the Department I was aghast at the length of the queue ~ all the way down the staircase from the first floor and for about a 100 metres outside. I was hesitant to join such a long queue; definitely not before determining if it was the right one. So I walked right up to the front of it and along the staircase I bumped into an Officer in uniform and so I asked him if it was the queue for IC collection.
Apparently, it wasn't. Thank God! Collection was on the Ground Floor. It didn't take too long before it was my turn. The Officer there said if I had brought my mother's current original IC, I could have collected hers as well. That was convenient. He also said that my Driving Licence was now integrated with my IC, which means I don't have to carry two pieces of plastic around, just one. I asked him if I could put my Health details too. He said that feature was not implemented yet but I could add Touch n Go credits to my IC. I usually use two stored value cards when I travel on the LRTs ~ STAR and PUTRA. So I'll wait until I've used up my stored value on these cards before adding Touch n Go credits to my IC.
He also advised, although it was possible to do so, not to integrate my ATM card with my IC as the ATM machines cause wear and tear on the ICs ~ and that it would cost $50 for each replacement IC.
Then went to a hospital to get a referral letter to see a specialist. Decided to pay a courtesy call on a counselor friend before doing that and that courtesy call ended up being a 90-minute chat about Cognitive Therapy ~ the work of Aaron and Judith Beck, and David Burns, in particular. And also of George Kelly, particularly the use of transitional constructs in correcting cognitive dissonance. The counselor used to work for my late father as a Probation Officer.
Getting the referral letter was a breeze but finding the specialist's clinic wasn't as easy ~ why they call it "Clinic C" and not the "Urology Department" beats me. Finally found it (had gone to "Clinic G" and they told me to go to "Clinic C.") Got an appointment with the specialist on July 9, at 9 am. Went to the Blood Bank (only they don't call it that ~ Blood Transfusion Centre ~ or something equally wordy) to find out if I can donate platelets instead of whole blood. The staff nurse ~ she had really interesting eyes, must be her coloured contact lenses ~ examined the veins on both my arms and told me that I wasn't the optimal platelet donor as my veins were unsuitable for the 90-minute procedure. That vein I have ~ whatever it's called ~ that they usually use to hook up to the machine was too deep and the vein that I usually use for whole blood donation was unsuitable as it's prone to collapse if hooked up to the machine (whatever it's called). Anyway, they allowed me to use their super-duper accurate weighing machine (73.35 kg) and gave me a cup of Milo for my trouble.
As I had some time before lunch, I went to watch some surgery conducted by a surgeon friend. I'm editing a book of his, and he usually wants me to watch him in action so that I can visualise what he is writing about in his manuscript. Helps me with my editing, he thinks. If you're the sort that doesn't have a stomach for blood, gore and miscellaneous body parts in various states of dissection, then you probably wouldn't enjoy the mee soup we had for lunch afterwards as much as we did.
Washed my mom's new Honda Accord for the first time in the afternoon ~ our driver had left us for greener pastures at the end of last month ~ and I worked up quite a sweat. Didn't realise washing a car can be such good exercise.
Couldn't resist an invitation from a friend to watch the 5.15 pm showing of The Prisoner of Azkaban at the Amcorp Mall. I was so knackered by the day's activities that I slept for about 20 minutes during the show, which was during the crucial time that explained why Sirius Black was the good guy and not the bad guy he was initially made out to be (or was it the other way round?). Anyway, it wasn't critical, Harry Potter plots (like Life itself, I suppose) have no logical progression ~ you just enjoy the special effects and adventurous twist and turns for what they're worth while it lasts. Live life moment to moment, I say!
Copyright 2003-2004 Azlan Adnan Legal Notice
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