If you emailed me today and I didn't respond, it's because you're not my ex-husband or my BFF. Those two lucky (?) people were graced with correspondence from me today, which started at 5am, during a period of time where nothing creative was accomplished, which was frustrating. I like to write in the morning. Writing at night after a draining day that wasn't quite "Jesus Shootin' Heroin" but was more like "Jesus Abusing His Xanax and having 3 gin and tonics" is an accurate description of my brain after 10pm.
Though I did compose a wicked text to That Guy Who Never Texts Me Back about a song we heard on the way home from De Kalb. It read, "My favorite music moment on our ride home had to be the classic about a May-September romance thinly veiled as an attempt by the older guy to pry her into bed with promises of tequila and cocaine by a band named after a dildo in 'Naked Lunch.' A more perfect soundtrack doesn't exist. And if you were paying any attention to the sardonic irony of that and can tell me what song it was, I will give you half the royalties off my first book. XO"
Let's see what just about ANYBODY would do receiving a text like that.
And if any of you can name the song, you will likewise be rewarded, so feel free to comment and guess if you're so inclined.
Work was frustrating today, to the point where I called it a draw at 5:54 pm and clocked out before my 6pm quitting time. I was also expecting a phone call, so that hastened my exit. My so-called superior drove me nuts today. She's been working for the practice for 25 years, and is very good at task-oriented work. Give her something to accomplish and she'll see the project through. Give her a group of diverse females to manage and she's an illogical trainwreck. She tries, but continually fails. It doesn't help that she's chronically intimidated by my personality, particularly when I (and it's easy to) outwit her and use words she doesn't understand.
Today was her utopian idea of How To Be in Two Places At One Time. When you take a patient in to an exam room to take his/her vitals, you have to leave the front office, where the phones are ringing off the hook. It cannot be avoided. My impression of the priority of the job is to keep the doctors moving with patients in the rooms to examine, and flow the patients in and out of the office. People on the phone come secondary to that. I was chastised out loud today for letting the phones ring while I was doing rooms. She said she could see the phone lines blinking in her office. We are short-staffed, with only 2 girls up front several days a week. We have a lot of shit to do and it's immense pressure. I raised the question, "If you saw the phone lines all blinking from your office, why didn't you come up front and help answer them?" to which I got no answer. That's what a good leader should do. I also mentioned that I *do* answer the phone when I return from the exam room, after she came up with another lame ass idea that would interrupt patient flow through the office. Seriously, am I the only one who sees what a huge clusterfuck this all is?
There's some special lunch cruise on Lake Michigan that is a ladies' company outing on Saturday, which I bowed out of, citing taking care of my son as an excuse. He's chief among the reasons I'm not going, but what's also significant is that everyone will be drinking, and it's an uncomfortable place for me to be. My so-called superior suggested I leave Luke home alone for 4 hours and come along. Not bloody likely. It may boost morale in the workplace, but no thanks.
I take 3 15-minute breaks throughout the work day, during which I chain smoke and during the 2nd break, eat an apple. There's a little hiding spot at which I sit down and smoke/text/Tweet that's out of sight to the security guards who like to come and bust you for smoking on the hospital property. That's my little sanctuary.
It never fails that when I'm eating the apple, walking back into my office, someone getting on the elevator with me comments about the apple I'm eating. Is it really that rude to eat in public? That's my lunch, yo, sorry. Today's commentary was "Is that a honey crisp apple?" and I said, my mouth half-full, "No, it's a Fuji." listened to a diatribe about apple picking season before bidding this couple farewell on the 2nd floor. Ok, what WAS tacky? I finished the apple in the bathroom stall while taking a wizz, and thew the core into the sanitary napkin garbage container. Hell, I was multitasking.
During break #1 today, I thought about the Flaming Lips' new song "I'm Working at NASA on Acid." They pose the question if insects feel pain when they die in the song. The sanctuary on which I sit and smoke, when it's warm enough out, is littered with giant red ants that freak me out. Today, I started smushing one of the ants with my shoe, watching him writhe in agony trying to revive his legs. At a certain point, I thought he blew away in the breeze, but alas, the little motherfucker survived and was walking again. So I stepped on him again, finally killing him. Then I felt guilty and thought about his pain. "That had to hurt," I thought to myself. In hindsight, that wasn't cool of me to do, I suppose.
My son, the ultimate pacifist, never kills insects. He takes a plastic cup and a piece of paper, catches the insect,and sets it free outside. He believed, when I asked him, that insects do feel pain when they're killed and that we shouldn't kill them. I have to admit I sort of admire that trait in him. If Craig is right, apparently Luke has no problem killing people but ants are King.
But I digress.
ADDENDUM, 6:49 am, THE NEXT MORNING: NO MORE WRITING AFTER 10pm. THAT BLOG SUCKED. --AM