Blodgivning. Elleeeeer?

Idag gick jag för att ta prover så att jag ska få ge blod. Det är liksom dags nu. Jag fyller alla kriterier och får göra det och har ingen anledning att inte göra det (förutom den jädra latheten...).

Så jag gick dit.

Efter att ha gått vilse lite.

Och sa mitt glada HEJ och frågade vad de behövde av mig för att jag skulle få ge blod. Mitt leg, sa den rara henniskan i kassan. Okej, sa jag och sträckte fram mitt körkort. Det här har ju inte de fyra sista siffrorna på, sa hen. Nej, sa jag. Okej, sa hen, då sa jag kolla upp om det är okej.

Och det borde det vara, kom hen fram till, pga EU/EES-körkort. Men efter en liten stund blev hen osäker igen och ringde en kollega för att kolla.

Och enligt vad jag kunde utröna sa kollegan ungefär...

...

Så. Alltså. Om jag hade varit engelsk medborgare med engelskt körkort hade det varit en okej legitimation att använda.
Eftersom jag är svensk medborgare måste jag ha svenskt leg.

Okej.

Men.

Det är alltså svårare för mig pga är svensk medborgare?

Får gå tillbaka med passet helt enkelt. För mitt blod ska de banne mig ta!

It's all about the labels. I'm told.

I've been thinking about sexuality recently. Partly because I recently watched all the episodes of Sugar Rush over a few days.

It's always baffled me why people feel the need to make such a bit deal out of sexual preference. The need to label it, that you either are or are not this or that.

I know that for some people, it's about identity. About fitting in with a peer group, somewhere to meet like-minded and so on. And I know some are incredibly uncomfortable with the whole thing; both for themselves coming into contact with homosexuality and seeing it around them.

And I'm not going to blame anyone for feeling uncomfortable. Or for wanting to fit in. I just can't quite get my head around either of the two. I guess that's part of the beauty of everything - that we're all different; that we think feel want different things.

Years ago, someone I was close to made a big deal out of telling me she was bi. There'd been such a build up to this grand revelation, she was clearly scared about telling me and worried about my reaction. When she finally did tell me - I couldn't stop myself from laughing. I wasn't laughing at her, I wasn't belittling her, I wasn't laughing because I thought the very idea was ridiculous. I laughed because it was, to me, such a non-revelation. Does that make sense? It obviously was a big deal to her, but me? I didn't care.

Another friend - who I hadn't known that long - picked up a lass in a club one night we were out. She later apologised to me, and said she hadn't wanted me to find out like that. Like what? The same way I would've found out she was straight if she'd've got off with a guy?

I don't know. I wonder if this post comes out sounding stupid - or patronising - or even mean. But I don't mean to be either of those.

Whilst I understand the perceived need for labels I don't understand needing them - in my head that sums it up nicely but that may just be in my head ;)