Tag Archives: workiness

Back to the grind


So tomorrow I have to go back to work.  Which kinda sucks.  I do love my job but I still feel pretty crappy a lot of the time, and when I look at the things I want to get done today I feel like I have to ration my energy.  I went to the store yesterday — actually to three stores, two for just a few minutes each and one fairly short grocery run — and it wiped me out.  So I know that working tomorrow will wipe me out.

I have had pneumonia only once since I was a child and that was more the “walking pneumonia” kind, so this has taken me by surprise.  I talk a good game while I’m sitting here in front of my computer expending very little energy but the truth of the matter is that I get tired out just by folding a load of laundry.  Yesterday was the first day I felt like leaving the house — for me this is significant, because I don’t stay home.  Even when Delia was a screamy horrible baby who screamed a lot, and I was a bewildered and exhausted new mom, I left the house at least once a day nearly every day because I couldn’t stand to stay home.  And since she hated both the stroller and the car seat with every fiber of her being, I carried her in a front pack even though it made my spinal column feel like it would snap in two.  I carried her around and I went places because I. Do. Not. Stay. Home.

Also?  I don’t nap.  But right now I tip over if I sit on the couch in front of even an interesting show.

So yeah.  Feeling crappy.  Tired out.  Still coughing and congested.

But!  Not contagious!  And rapidly running out of paid time off!  And can’t afford unpaid time off!

See you guys at work tomorrow!


Hey how about those __________


So I don’t post anything specific about work, and I’m not going to start now, because a girl could way get fired that way and then who’s going to pay for all the debauchery around here?

But I’m just going to say: gosh darn it some people are difficult to work with.  And I’m not even talking about the people we serve.  Or my coworkers, who are almost without exception a pretty exceptional bunch.  (See what I did there?)  I’d narrow it down more but that might give something away, and like I said, I enjoy being employed.

But if everyone around you has to watch their back and you have a certain reputation for being difficult, well, chances are good at least some of the blame (*cough cough or maybe just about all of it cough cough*) lies on your own shoulders.  Just sayin’.

There are some days, thankfully quite few and far between, where I come home nearly giddy from relief at just not being at work anymore.  I had one of those recently.  And I was glad that I could go home and leave the stress at work where it belongs.  The rest of my evening was such pure absence of the difficult person that it was like being in heaven, if heaven looks like sitting on my living room couch watching sitcoms and playing stupid games on my phone.

Please let me never be someone’s difficult person.

1’s and 0’s


So The Lovely Rhonda is off for another exciting day of union negotiations, and I’m set for a training committee meeting followed by a billing meeting.

Urgh, that sounds fun, says TLR.

Oh yes, I say.  See, it’s like this:  imagine that everyone USED to play World of Warcraft.  But it’s been like three years.  And everyone else is playing Star Wars now, but you don’t play Star Wars, you never have, but now you have to sit through meetings where everyone talks in endless detail about Star Wars.

Ew, she says, why don’t you play Star Wars?

It’s not available where I live, I say.  But it’s coming.  So, it’s like I know what they’re talking about, I mean it’s still an RPG, but I never got to play MMO.  No, see it was more like I was playing like Dungeons and Dragons?  With the dice and the pencils and the papers and the books, like old school?  Because we only used a computer to like PRINT OUT the billing.  Then you had to turn it in to be entered by somebody somewhere else.

HOW PRIMITIVE, she shudders.

Yes, I say.  We were like cavemen.  And my tiny pterodactyl inside the chunky computer case made of rock?  The one that etches the documents onto stone tablets with its beak?  My tiny pterodactyl is dead.

Sex Trg


So today I attended a training that I signed up for a few weeks ago.  Good thing they send out email reminders about this kind of thing, because all I wrote in my calendar was “SEX TRG 9AM.”  It turned out it was a training about how to talk to our clients about risky sexual behaviors they may be engaging in and how to perhaps gently steer them toward safer practices.

I know, I was disappointed too.

Now, anyone who knows me very well (all both of you) were probably surprised to hear that I had signed up for this.  In fact, I myself was surprised to hear it.  I sat in the training, flop sweat pooling around me, and thought, “What was I thinking?!”  It was as though I was waking up in a terrible nightmare in which I had voluntarily signed up for a training in which the topic of sex might come up.  You know, by chance.  Occasionally.


Because it turns out that I’m kind of … what’s the word?  Well, I’m accepting of the fact that people Do Things.  They may even do Things That I Would Never IN A MILLION BAJILLION YEARS Do, Or Even Think About.  But hey, that’s their business.  I can accept this, and possibly even joke about it furtively after several bracing shots of anything alcoholic.  Oh, and a complete personality change.

But please don’t make me talk about it.  My larynx goes on strike and every red corpuscle in my body heads for my face, so that I might glow and broadcast my general I WISH I WAS ANYWHERE BUT HERE AND THAT INCLUDES THE ORAL SURGEON’S OFFICE discomfort more adequately to one and all.

You’d think as a nurse I’d get over this but it turns out that there has been a scarcity of occasions to ask total strangers whether they bareback or engage in the act of rimming.   I’m sure over time, particularly after my soul has finished dying completely, I’ll be casually insouciant about it and perhaps then the nightmares will stop.

At one point the instructor, a fearless, affable, slightly scruffy gent with a wallet on a chain and the beginnings of what will no doubt be an impressive bay window given time and enough chili dogs, whipped  out a pad of Post-Its that he had written various Practices on.  We were to go over to a wall where there were signs: NO RISK, LOW RISK, MODERATE RISK, HIGH RISK.  We would choose a category and place our sticky beneath the appropriate sign.

My neighbor’s sticky: HUGGING.



I decisively chose my category (LOW RISK,  but in case you’re curious, it’s actually NO RISK; it turned out we were a “pretty conservative bunch” per the instructor) and as I then had a few idle moments to myself, I wondered about the sticky pad.  I’ve seen people make little flip-books out of them.  If I were the instructor, I would totally while away the time I spent waiting around for people to unclench enough to talk coherently about sex making a flipbook out of my sticky note pad.

Noooo I certainly would not make the flipbooks about stick figures engaging in risky behaviors, because I’m too repressed.

Okay, I might, but I would never admit to it if anyone caught me and I’d totally blame it on the intern or something.

It was actually a pretty decent training, full of interesting statistics, so it’s a shame I’ll never be able to communicate anything about it to anyone.  Good thing he’s going to send us all the powerpoint, so I can just fire up the presentation and scurry from the room on a pretense!

If anyone asks, it’s a reasonable accommodation to prevent me from bursting directly into flame.

Full Circle


So today I got to call some reference checks in on a guy I’m trying to hire for one of the facilities.

He went to the same nursing school as I did and so two of his references are instructors that I also had classes with.

One of those classes was mental health.

Now, I’ve worked in mental health forever, and when I took that quarter I thought, “Oh, this will be a cakewalk, I can just practically phone this one in.”  I mean seriously.  I’ve worked in residential mental health forever.  How hard could it be?

Then I went to clinicals, and something unexpected happened.  Being in an acute care environment, which I chose because I had so much experience in the outpatient world, pushed my buttons like nobody’s business.  I wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there from the minute I walked onto the unit every day.  I half-assed my assignments and skated through the whole thing like a bad dream, which it kind of was.

Out of respect for the involved party I won’t go into why it was so difficult for me.  At the time I was so mired in it that I couldn’t see what was happening, but afterward when I had got some distance from it, it became apparent just how hard it had been.  I was ashamed and wanted to contact the instructor, apologize to her, explain why I hadn’t been a very good student.

Then I thought that maybe that would look even more pathetic, so I just left it where it was.

So guess who I got to call today.


That instructor.

Over the course of the reference check it came out that I had attended that college, been in her class.  She remembered me.  She remembered thinking that I was not performing up to my potential.  I told her why, and that I had regretted it and had wanted to tell her so ever since.

Leave it behind you, she said.  You’re where you are for a reason.  I’m glad to know you’re doing well.