I think I have finally lost it. Sitting on the train this morning staring out into the pre-dawn darkness, unable to make out any actual landmarks, I couldn't remember if I was going to work or coming home. My watch showed 5:30, so it could be either. I actually felt a tiny bit of panic when I couldn't figure it out. I finally reached into my bag to see if there was a cold Slimfas.t in there (that would indicate morning). Yup, cold can of breakfast, must be on my way to work. A few moments later i realized that my cell phone displays am or pm so I could have used that. Thank God it's Friday! Wait... it IS Friday right?

 

1. The sound of my bones snapping back into place when I got out of bed Sat morning woke up the dog (and she looked pissed!).
2. The loud groan I heard as I took the first few steps was coming from me.
3. I had to have an entire cup of coffee in me before I could make out what my partner was saying to me (until then it sounded like “la la la, la looly la”).
4. When I finally understood that what my partner was asking me was “what do you want to do today?” all I could think of was “sit on the couch and watch T.V.”
5. I seriously considered having the dog walk herself.
6. While kayaking I just paddled out into the ocean and bobbed in the surf for an hour rather than join my friends in a race around the lobster pots.
7. I was not hung-over; this was the morning after doing NOTHING!

First off, if I can be here and ready for your surgery at 7 am in the effing morning, WHY CAN'T YOU?  I didn't want to get up at 4:30 am to come in here, but no, you wanted to be the first case of the day so we were all fresh! Well now your ass can sit and stew in pre-op cuz you just got bumped to noon! Ha!

What sick f%ck  created the copy machine? Why tease us with promises of instant reproductions all collated and stapled when all we really get is mangled paper, toner all over our NICE CLEAN SCRUBS, and a surge in blood pressure intense enough to finally dislodge that clot and leave me in a coma? Why? Just flat out tell us the truth!

The instructions should read..
1. Put your originals in the tray. 
2.Take 40 sheets of paper and crumple them, wipe your ass with them, and roast them over hot coals. 
3.Stuff said paper into the body of the machine, being sure to burn your fingers at least once.
4.Dump toner on yourself and coat your hands in it.  
5.Close the door of the torture device.
6. Open door of torture device again and try to remove jammed papers.
7. Close door again. 
8. Kick door and use foul language when error message and beeping continue.
9. Open door again.
10. Peer inside to locate phantom paper that torture device claims is still in area 3
11. Tell device that there is nothing in area 3. Do not be fooled by device's silence!
12. Slam door. Beeping starts again (I told you not to be fooled!).
13. Open door peer inside.
14. Close door. Beeping will commence.
15. Remove originals and stomp off down the hall cursing, and ignoring the soft chuckle emitted by the device. 

I went to Atlanta this weekend to see a dear friend. It was wonderful. It was also very emotional for me, but I will post about that(and the visit) later when I can deal with it. At this point I would just like to take a moment and thank Air Tran for one of the most stressful flights I have ever had (and that includes the one where we had to land without an airport!). The only easy way to do this is to just list the stressors.
1. plane was late getting to our gate so we got on the plane late (only rates a 2 on the stress scale)
2. once on plane (second to last row), a big argument breaks out because 3 people are sitting in someone else's seats. (still rate is still only a 2, but this adds entertainment value!)
3. turns out that the shady-looking people "squatting" in the other people's seats (directly behind me), are not even ticketed passengers with Air Tran. How did they get on the plane? And why did they need to be reminded to take their carry-on bags when they got booted off the plane? Stress level to 4.5
4. Someone mentions the terrorist activities 'across the pond' and insists on speaking with the captain. Flight Attendant tells him "it's none of your concern, sit down". Flight Attendant demoted to 'sky-waitress' in our minds now. Stress up to 6
5. enough passengers insist on speaking to someone with the FAA that they finally bring a FAA chick on the plane to explain how those passengers got on the plane. stress steady at 6
6. Cute FAA chick comes up with reasonable story (tooo long to get into) that was total BS and showed HUGE holes in the security at Air Tran. They offered to let people off the plane. We all desided to stay. Stress at 6
7. One of the 'correct' passengers behind me is a cute little 1 year old boy. Unfortunately he brought his parents and his 2 year old brother (who I will refer to as FLA (f-ing little Asshole). FLA begins to kick the back of my seat. Stress to 6.5
8. We have to wait 5 minutes to pull away from the gate because FLA's parents keep letting him pop out of his seat and run up the isle. stress at 6.8
9. We are on on the runway, second in line to go. All departures suspended for storm passing through. FLA begins screaming he wants to watch his DVD. Stress to 7.2
10. FLA's parents keep trying to reason with FLA about not having electronics turned on yet because of sky-waitress. FLA keeps screaming "But I'm a BABY!!!!" stress up to 8
11. Storm changes direction or passes through or whatever. we take off. mid flight FLA grabs sky-bitch's butt just as I turn around to get her attention for the fella next to me. Sky-bitch tells me to "keep my damn filthy hands to myself!" (I had just used my Purell!). Sky-bitch does not believe other passengers that it was FLA, not me. FLA's parents deny it was FLA. stress up to 8.8
12. FLA continues to kick, scream and complain because his parents did not charge the batteries in his DVD player and he can't watch it. We land. There is no open gate for us to de-plane through because we are late. They shutdown the engines. People start to head for the bathroom. Sky-bitch tells them to sit down, most do. One won't. "you won't let me off the plane, I am going to the bathroom. I don't answer to you, I answer only to God! And God says I can go." She goes into the bathroom. Pilot says we have a gate but can't move til everyone is back in their seat. God's pal in the bathroom can be heard singing some God-type song in the bathroom. Passengers start yelling for her to come out. She yells back "don't be rushing me, I ain't gonna hurry for no one but the lord!" she finally exits bathroom and walks slowly to her seat, taking her sweet time getting settled and putting her seatbelt back on. FLA pops out of his seat and heads for the front of the plane. Pilot comes on and tells us that they have just given away our gate because we were not able to "behave". Stress drops 8.0 because that was funny.
13. FLA's parent refuse to physically restrain their horrible little snot and passengers offer to do it for them if they won't. Lots of verbal fights break out. Stress up to 9
14.Passenger tells FLA to get in his seat or he will be thrown out the window. FLA skulks back to seat. Stress still at 9
15. plane finds gate, we get out finally. The girlfriend gives me a big smile and a great smooch. Stress back to zero:)
Air Tran - YOU OWE ME!!!!!!!!!

I was just reminded how lucky I am to no longer be at my old job. I spent 4 years working with some of the most severely mentally ill women you can imagine. Those people you see with the tinfoil hats talking to themselves (or worse, talking to you!). Those were my gals, my 'ducklings'. We cleaned them up, put them in a nice big house with all of us to help them, and we got them the care and treatment they deserved - if they wanted to work at it. It sometimes would take 2 or 3 years to get someone stable and on the right meds, so that they were able to re-build their lives. I loved my gals. They tried so hard to keep it together. Well anyway, that job ate me alive. I couldn't go home and not worry about my charges. The job was all consuming. One gal was so debilitated when I got her that I caught heat for even accepting her into the program (they had to show a desire to get better). This gal could barely speak, but the pleading in her eyes was all I needed. By the time I burned-out and left the job, that gal had gone from spending 240 days a year on the psych units, to being hospital free for over a year. She had a full-time volunteer position where she was very well thought of, and she lived in an apartment with another of our program graduates. Enter Dr. Pain-in-my-ass. I used to fight continually with the shrinks to get the best treatment for my gals, and while it is nice to have people on the fewest meds possible, if the consequence of that is sending someone plummeting back to the depths of hell, I say leave the meds where they are! Dr. P.I.M.A. waited until I left and dropped this gal's meds. The patient didn't want the drop (she'd been through that before and the doc knew it), the staff asked her not to lower it, and the patient's family asked her not to lower it. She lowered it. I just got a call saying that the patient decompensated so much she is being sent away to a permanent psych unit. She can't even speak anymore. She's locked back in the hell of schizophrenia.
I want to kill that doctor. Everyone involved with that patient had seen what happens when her meds get messed with. We told the doc. we showed her all the medical records. She thought she knew better. I hope she rots in hell.
I am devistated to hear about my little friend being sick again. This happens every day in that field. It was killing me (not to mention my "ducklings"), I had to get out.

"if your heart bleeds for every sad song, then your life becomes an open wound" - Greg Greenway

MRI scheduled for 9 am tomorrow (only took 6 days to get authorization). Our MRI department calls me and tells me that the auth came through, but the insurance co is insisting I go to another hospital, about as far away as you can get and still be in NYC. Our MRI is two floors away! We are a participating facility! We told them to make it at my hospital! So, I make a few phone calls to the insurance company. I probably have several warrants out for my arrest by now, but I got the location changed. Trying to explain to some nit-wit why it makes no sense to send a person who is on crutches and IN PAIN on a multiple-train trek accross NYC when she could just take the elevator down 2 floors, is harder than one might think! Has everyone lost their f-ing minds? Why is this so hard?? I hope that whoever came up with that bullsh*t system, suffers a burning sensation everytime they pee, for the rest of their d@mn life, and can't get autorization for treatment!!! I really feel for people with very serious health issues who have to go through this. I guess the most effective way of getting treatment would be to go and choke the sh*t out of someone at the insurance co. and get arrested. Prisoners get immediate treatment - no authorization needed.