Well, that was a waste of time

The oestrogen patch debacle continues. 

I've learned now - ring around before. Find out if, and where, there might be these HRT patches, which appear to be made of unicorn piss and rocking horse pancreas, might be.

The calls were made this afternoon. 

Priceline had none. 

The independent chemist up the road laughed in my face, before asking if I was suicidal or psychotic. 

I had some luck with Chemist Warehouse. There were three boxes of the alternative patches in the state. 

One box in Wangaratta. 

One box in Safety Beach. 

And one box in Preston. 

I called Preston and asked for the box, (which appears to be a knock off of a knock off, but the TGA is allowing them through) to be put on hold for me. 

After work, I made the drive out to Preston - somewhere I've spent very little time. It's about half an hour's drive away. 25 minutes on a good run. 

I made it into the chemist.

I went to the counter. 

I scanned my phone for the script. 

Only to remember that the script was given to me in paper form and was sitting on my dressing table.

Fucked by technology yet again - I'm so used to getting my prescriptions off of my phone. 

The nice girl behind the desk has put them on hold for another day. 

Still. 

A wasted trip. 

Into the suburbs. 

At night. For nothing. 

Grrr.

At least the car heater is working well. 

And I'm leaving work at 2 pm to go down to Apollo Bay for the weekend. 

Still...

Today's song: