Whinewhinewhinnnnnnnnne

Oh, for... for... bloody hell.

So, I changed schools when I was fourteen, right? It meant that I effectively missed out from having the anti-tuberculosis vaccine, the BCG. Which made me happy. The BCG is scary and big and stupid and leaves a lifetime scar on your pretty little English rose arm.

So far, so avoidant. BUT OH NOES. TB is on the rise in the continent. The disease that killed poor Satine in Moulin Rouge and stole away one of Europe's greatest writers, George Orwell, is on the increase. It's nearly killing people in London. All NHS workers must be vaccinated against the disease. The nurse today told me that I need to have the vaccine before starting permanent!job. She also told me stuff about my generalised anxiety thing, which I already knew. Go, me.

So, farewell, unscarred white arm. I shall miss you. Never mind that I have a morbid fear of needles and will scream as the nurse administers the dose, there will be a centimetre-long scar on my arm forever OMG. And I bet it's right over the rather quite fetching freckle on my left arm. Bloody England. >:

[/waaah, emo]

I really dunt like needles.