three days in the life of junior doctor strikes

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three days in the Life

okay so this wasn’t exactly during the junior doctor strikes. let’s just say it was.

huh?

sorta like one of those week in the life things you see on youtube. except more bleak and boring but strangely more relateable

saturday

6.45am

jump out of bed. fuck this can barely walk. this ankle sprain is no joke. this ain’t no get-me-out-of-year 4 PE injury. can ankle sprains feel worse with age?

11am

parkrun was a no-go. feeling like an absolute lemon. let’s try to run.

1.30pm

full kit wanker. a wanna-be phil sesemann. 10 yards in the sun. nah bruv. you ain’t running today. firstly, you ain’t got the talent (big bulky leg strength talent that is). secondly, just go get a maccies. biscoff mcflurry is quite fit to be fair.

sunday

9am

right you little wasteman - you’ve got your sleep. ankle is still attached. let’s have a banger.

5.30pm

meal prep went well this week. until i just slammed in an asda lamb rogan josh. nonetheless we’ve got this cappucino flavoured muller lite yoghurt to smash into. mid-spoonful. the yoghurt is all over the desk. the group chat has erupted and poor sainath has taken an utter violation.

7pm

still laughing my tits off at the group chat. somehow with all the happy juice - my ankle feels alright - let’s test it.

8pm

warm up complete. ankle’s tight but loosens after strides. let’s try a 10k run.

9pm

10k in the bank. bus pulls in. thank the heavens. as soon as i get on the bus. a 40 year old woman blurts out - ‘oh my goodness, you look like nick kyrgios!’ time for bed.

monday

8am

back on sleep. back on the regular foods. a scrumptious home-built ham and cheese ciabatta sourced from the finest yellow labels in the land. emails flying in. dad’s like you’re in luck. what? rebate from the government! shit now i can afford a house deposit on a rental for next week. spreadsheet time.

7pm

tenancy application email all neatly completed. double. triple. quadruple checked. not normally this over the top. but man, with this dodgy ankle - a good property is all i have.

8pm

hobblin back into my room after slamming in a crosta mollica guilt-free. hajra’s like ‘what happened to you.’ i’m dieing.

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