Oh, you poor misguided people. While I thank you all for your generous spirits (most of you anyway, willowtree) in telling me that my whining isn't as bad as it could be, I had to laugh at those of you who inferred that I'm an amateur. So - because the stars have aligned in both blogville and real world-ville - stick around. I'm turning pro.
Fasten your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy night.
I'm so damn tired I can't see straight. I've worked nine out of the last ten days. I have Saturday off and then I go back for two more days. I'm on call virtually every day I'm not already scheduled for the next three weeks and I just found out that there's a music program at school that no one told me about that takes place smack in the middle of a shift I picked up. I'm tired of drug seekers and charting and coming home with my feet throbbing so bad that I can feel my pulse in my toes for hours after work. Does anyone have a primary care doctor anymore? Because I'm sick to death of running like a dog all day to take care of people who have colds or need a prescription refill or think it's cheaper to go to the ER than to pay their clinic co-pay. It's called an EMERGENCY Department. I believe you when you say it hurts, but a hangnail is not an emergency. For every person that comes in I have to do a full body assessment (and chart it) and a full list of all of the medications they take ( and chart them) plus an entire medical and surgical history (and chart it). And if you come in and we tell you not to drink or smoke or keep shooting up or to make sure you take your meds and then you do none of the things we say, do not call me foul names and snap your fingers at me when you ask me for something to "take the edge off". I got your damned edge right here.
I slept so hard last night that I completely missed a severe storm that whipped through in the middle of the night. I didn't even know about it until my mom emailed me at work to make sure we were okay. I mean I knew there was a storm. I woke up in the middle of it.(It's hard to sleep with three quaking dogs on your bed). I just kind of missed the part that a lot of people seem to think was a tornado. The trees in the road driving to work should have tipped me off. Although in hindsight, the eighty mile an hour winds should have also been a clue. How can I take the kids to the Silence of the Lambs basement if I don't even wake up?
I' m tired of coming home and seeing dishes and trash and dirty laundry everywhere. Why am I the only person in the damned house who ever empties the trash cans? And which kid is it who unrolls a bunch of toilet paper every time he sits on the pot, so that when he gets up there is a pile of TP coiled up in front of (certainly not in) the trash can? Have they priced toilet paper lately? Not that it matters, since Trixie loves nothing more than to chew TP, leaving big gloppy clumps of it everywhere. Why do all of my children confuse the bathroom with the library? I wouldn't really care except that when they're done they leave their reading material laying on the floor in front of the toilet and apparently think the magazine or book is clever enough to put itself away. And how old will they be when they flush? Or turn off the light? Or the TV when they leave the room? And why does every TV in the damned house have to be on at all times?
I walked in the door tonight and within fifteen seconds Gumby was hitting me up for a sleepover and SD was wanting to go out running around the neighborhood with a kid who I think has some issues. It didn't take ten minutes before they were fighting and squalling over something stupid that involved a hidden soccer ball and a head lock. Sasquatch is out at a movie but I have no idea how he got there or when he's coming home. I would just call him on the kid's cell phone but it's broken and Verizon won't give me a new phone unless I pay them a hundred and something dollars because I still have a year on my contract and you can't get a cheap phone without a new contract. So I've been giving the kids my cell phone but I couldn't do that today because I was on call and I needed my phone in case I got called in, which of course I did.
It's not like I don't need the money. We found out there are foundation issues in the house, which will set us back thousands. The FG is moving out June 1st and there will certainly be money involved in that. We still have to have the roof looked at, although if these storms keep up it's anyone's guess what will happen to the roof. Maybe a big tree will come through in a part no one is sleeping in and we can just collect the insurance money. We have ants in the downstairs bathroom and I frickin' hate ants. With a passion. We have wasps on the sunporch and I frickin' hate wasps. With a passion. We may still have mice in the laundry room but I'm not sure. They've either gotten sneakier or they've moved up to our bedrooms. I frickin' hate mice. With a...never mind.
SD has an 8 am soccer game, which means we have to be up at practically the crack of dawn, or maybe it just feels that way since I want to sleep until noon. Gumby has a play in a class where I've already paid a boatload for him to be in it, but now have to pay for the performance tickets to boot. And the two of them tried out for a local summer production that is costing an arm and a leg, and even though everyone had to "audition", anyone who tried out got a part, because god forbid they'd turn anyone away at those prices. So for the equivalent of all the household utilities for the month (or a tank of gas), I'm the proud parent of two Oompah Loompahs.
I have a few friends who are totally pissed off at me because they're tired of my hiding out and not returning their phone calls. Some of them have taken to just hunting me down like a rat and dragging me out of the house kicking and screaming. Now that word has gotten around work about what's going on with me, I've started getting invitations to do things after work, which, being me, I totally blow off, which makes people either pissed or more determined. I've even heard the dreaded words "I have a friend who would be perfect for you." Cool. A blind date at some point in the distant future. That sounds great. As soon as I finish chewing my own foot off I'll get back to you.
Well, that's a start. Damn. That felt good.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Posted by the rotten correspondent at 12:02 AM