Wine, wine, wine.

Most of my days end with a sigh and a glass of wine. Yesterday was entire bottle. 

Oh, yes, self medicating is bad, but doctors also say a glass of red wine with dinner is good for you. 

If a little is good, more must be better!

Today, though, was good. I didn't get much done, but I feel good about what it did do. 

I have a girl who has been through a hell most people couldn't imagine. She lives in constant fear of returning to a similar hell, and tomorrow, she has a very real chance of actually doing so. I don't think that would happen, but it is a possible outcome. Worst case scenario. 

I talked with her until I couldn't speak any longer. She cried and she yelled and everyone was a bitch and everyone was out to get her. It took every ounce of strength I had not to cry, too. 

So why, was today a good day?

I left her with dry eyes and hope. If I can just do that, then every bad day is worth it. 

Today, today was magical. Today ended with pumpkin spice m&ms. Also, a glass of wine. 

The calm

Tomorrow, a new girl moves in to one of my houses. She's young and shy and even tempered. For the first time in months, I feel the good sort of anxious. A weight has been lifted and calm has settled in it's place. The storm is over and the weather is finally changing. I spent all day yesterday painting her room; painting over the last remnants of the old inhabitant. The storm. 

She was schizophrenic, although sometimes I think there was more to it than that. She'd be sweet and playing air guitar one minute, and throwing a chair through a window or breaking a staff's arm the next. More than once, I put my life on hold to stop the destruction. Zoo trip with my visiting aunt, wedding reception, and, multiple nights, my dinner.  All skipped. All spent dodging flying rocks and 'fuck you's. She was the human embodiment of chaos. 

She was the only one whose med list I knew by heart. I'd read it often enough to admitting nurses, psych hospital staff, and pharmacists that I'd be shocked if I didn't. I'd spent more time in hospitals and had more interactions with police officers in four months with her than I had my whole life before. 

She went to church every week. Sometimes twice a week. That never did any good. The pastors said she had demons in her, a theory I'd normally only except in a horror film. Standing in that room, newly painted like the sky on a cloudless afternoon, I felt it. It could have just been the color of the walls, but I could feel the lack of darkness. 

She wasn't all bad, hence the chaos. At the end of what was one of the most emotionally and physically taxing days of my life, she brought a smile to my face. I finished a phone call and felt tears filling my eyes when she walked up. She bounced her head off my shoulder three times, each time accompanied by a 'boop,' and then she simply walked away. Without one word, she moved toward the door. I yelled after her, asking what it meant. She turned back and smiled a pure, genuine, smile and said, "you know, honey." Moments like that are the reason I do what I do. They're also the reason her bad days hurt so much. 

One bad day, after talking with her for over an hour, her guardian gave the okay to phone the police and have her taken to the hospital. The arrival of the police only upset her more. I was on the phone with her mother, my staff was clinging to my dress and cowering behind me. I was already fighting tears when she did it. She was yelling at someone named Joe (there was no Joe present, nor did she ever know anyone named Joe), and when an officer stepped toward her, she landed a punch. They both had tasers aimed at her before I remembered to breathe. She got a few more hits in before being thrown against the car and handcuffed. I spent the next five hours bonding with her mom while she was admitted. 

I've seen her pick up broken glass and slice her wrist. I've seen her try to carry out a death threat on her roommate. I've seen her shot up with sedatives by badass psych nurses. I've also seen her give what little she has to make someone else smile. I've seen her stop what she was doing and give a friend a reassuring back rub. I've heard her give a peer the same pep talk I've given her so many times. 

She didn't leave of her own volition. We had no choice but to give her notice. She was a threat to the safety of her roommates and staff. She was the reason I couldn't sleep at night. What is she going to do next? 

I was the one who took her to her new house. Movers came and packed up her things, and I drove her over. The house is in a part of town I only hear about on the news. I can only imagine what could happen once the honeymoon stage is over. I left her in a neighborhood where, when she's outside throwing her rocks and yelling her 'fuck you's, the neighbors won't stay inside and shake their heads. I gave her one last hug and finally let the tears I held for her flow, but only once I'd started driving away. She couldn't see them. 

I was conflicted up until the moment the paint dried. I took a deep breath, and felt peace for the first time in that room. Although, it could have been the fumes. We'll see tomorrow.  

not my day.

The best way to start your morning: phone rings as soon as you step into the shower. 

No, I will not answer that. 

When it rings a second time, however, I can no longer avoid it. 

Work starts as soon as I wake up. 

It's not even eight am and I've already solved my first crisis of the day.  I haven't even had coffee, yet! That's an accomplishment. I am going to be positive today. 

Three emails, six phone calls, and 28 text messages later...

Apparently, I am not the only one who thinks I need a clone. Apparently, some people believe I already have one. Receiving a phone call from a client's guardian asking why I'm not at the house to meet her is bad enough, but not knowing that I was supposed to be there is even worse, especially when I have a doctor visit for someone else in half an hour. 

No, the bedroom is not painted. I am waiting to get the supplies from the other office. They said they'd bring them today.  

Oh, it's being delivered today? Of course, I knew that. 

Yes, yes, I have someone on their way to meet you. 

Lies! Am I allowed to be pessimistic and whiny, yet?

No, one of the handicap parking spots is actually open at the clinic! There are two, and they are always taken. Every time we come here, I have to park around back and wheel her up the hill to the door. Today can still be a good day after all. It's only 930.. It can still be a good day...

"We don't have you on the schedule, Laura." 

It is taking every ounce of whatever I actually have left (I forgot to take my allergy medicine this morning, too) in me to not slap this girl across the face as I as her, "Are you sure?"

"What time are you supposed to see the doctor?" Her voice told me I'm not hiding my emotions very well. People aren't used to seeing me angry. 

She runs back to talk to the doctor and apologizes for the mistake. Of course, since we weren't marked down, they're double booked. 

11:20 and I'm still sitting in the exam room. A creepy exam room. It's not our usual. There's so much I could be doing! I fixed my face after the encounter with the receptionist, but I don't think I can hold it much longer. It's been a long time since I've angry cried, but this whole week has been like today, and I know it's coming. 

I have another appointment at 1. I have to paint that bedroom. I have get a check in the mail and I still don't know where it needs to go. I have a staff with a case of missing vacation hours. I'll have to trek to the pharmacy and wait around while they fill her prescription. I have two ridiculously important emails to answer. I know my voicemail light is blinking away on my work phone. I can feel it. 

2:37 pm and sitting in the pharmacy is the only moment of peace I have had today. I hate the pharmacy, but this is the most relaxed I've been all day. I hate that the douchey one is the only person I can talk to because everyone else is new and looks at me like I'm not speaking English.

Breathe deep. Close my eyes. Smile.  

I have a bottle of wine at home. 

paradise

It may be 830 in the morning, and I may not have had any coffee yet, but I am in doctor's office paradise. 

The receptionist wasn't headache causing cheery. She didn't hand me paperwork I wouldn't possibly know how to fill out for myself, let alone another person. I got the easy ones today. 

The coffee is fantastic. I did something I haven't done since college (which usually means something ridiculously awful) and put hot coca powder in my coffee instead of creamer. Oh, I forgot how good this tasted. 

I don't even care how the rest of the day goes. I am sitting in a zen garden waiting room, watching nick jr, and drinking a great cup of coffee. 

This is doctor's office paradise and this is my reward. At least for the next few minutes...

death.

Today is the day that I die. I knew it was coming...I've felt it for some time now. My head is spinning, my eyes are blurred, my breath is trying, and my heart is screaming. 

Allergy season is upon us. 

Every year, it builds up. Every year, each morning gets worse. Each morning, the number of sneezes increases. As that number increases, so does the time my eyes spend in waterfall mode. All of my energy is depleted to such an extent, even the smell of my coffee automatically brewing as trouble coaxing me from the embrace of my satin comforter. Slowly, even doubling up on Claritin has no power of the symptoms. 

I must face the day (the meetings, the pharmacy trips, and the doctor visits) without the comfort of makeup. The constant nose blowing and streaming tears get rid of that in 20 minutes, anyway.  It's not giving up, it's acceptance. Anyway, I'd rather not have any makeup on than dreadful mascara tears. 

I've mastered the art of dying over the years. I've grown accustomed to it. While  people around me show concern for my gradual decreased spirit, I know better. I know I will die. 

I will die, and then, as if the past few weeks were nothing but a dream, I will be reborn. I will awake to various cartoon voices scolding me and coffee dripping. I will be sneeze free and my vision will only be hindered by close objects and alcohol. My mind will be sturdy, my breath will be unhindered, and my heart beat clear and equal. 

I have known suffering equal to passing through Shelob's lair and the desert between Tashbaan and Archenland in the year 1984, but I know, as they knew, a better day is on the horizon. 

So today, I die, but tomorrow, tomorrow will be as glorious as spring at Walden Pond. 

overnight

The best part of being a supervisor? When someone calls in sick and neither of us can find a sub staff, I get the pleasure of unpaid overtime. It's my luck that my Labor Day was spent doing just that. 

I worked from two in the afternoon Monday until eight am Tuesday morning. And that's not counting my regular scheduled programming. It's not that big of a deal. It's not like I was doing anything important. Except that it was Labor Day and I was enjoying my day off with nonstop BBC on Netflix. 

It was an easy night. The only things I actually had to do was daily paperwork (easy), pass meds (easy), and cook lasagna (not so easy).  I lucked out on the cooking...there was plenty of leftovers and they all wanted that instead. They were even on their best behaviors for me (besides a few snarky comments about my running shorts and T-shirt).  Oh, they were even all in bed at 930. I couldn't have asked for a better unpaid shift on Labor Day. 

I did a little more paperwork and laid down on the couch to call asleep, too, but figured 'hey, it's Labor Day, why not watch one more episode of Sherlock and pretend I'm home.' So there I was, laying on the couch with my laptop burning on my chest, when her door opened. My little hypochondriac was awake. 

"I took my temperature and it's 99.3. I need soup and orange juice."

"99.3 is perfectly fine. What you need is sleep."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I know everything, remember?"

"Alright. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, girl."

My episode was just about over as I took my laptop to the kitchen to get my sleepy time glass of water. It was almost midnight. Definitely should have skipped Sherlock, but I'm a fan of delusion and I wanted to be home. I turned around to head back to the couch and there she was again. 

"I'm hungry." 

"Why are you still awake? You have school in the morning, young lady. And I have a meeting." 

"You know how I said I'd have one Dr. Pepper with dinner and that's it?"

"Oh, you sneaky..." The last time she had more than one pop that late, she was up until four am. 

"Yeah! So I can't sleep. What are you watching?" She is 20 years old and has the smile of a 14 year old girl who just learned how to sneak out of the house. 

"Sherlock."

"Like Sherlock Holmes? I love Sherlock Holmes."

And with that sentence, I waved a decent nights sleep goodbye. 

She only watched about an hour of it with me before she finally went to bed. I sent her off with the title of the 'movie' she had hopes of renting. 

It was after one in the morning when I finally got to close my eyes. I felt guilty giving her false hope. At first. When I opened my eyes twenty minutes later, my alarm was sounding. Did I even sleep? 

What an unfortunate way to start the day.  The day I have a meeting with the director of operations. The day I had my new dress packed, but not my concealer. 

She was all bubbles and sunshine when she awoke. She even helped with the other girls morning routines. She could not, however, help the circles under my eyes or the eight hours of meetings and appointments ahead of me. 

If my sleep schedule wasn't jacked enough already...

Goodnight moon. 

nonsense.

I had such high hopes for the day. I was going to get so much paperwork done! One appointment. One little physical and the day would be mine. 

How silly of me to be optimistic. 

I've learned the pattern and yet, each time I have a day like today, it surprises me.  

How in the hell is it already 315 in the afternoon? And what do I have to show for it?

I not only should have known based on the pattern, but also by the fact that the doctor's office I visited was an office I've visited often. An office with which I was familiar. An office with fantastic coffee. An office that had fantastic coffee.

As soon as I walked in the door, my eyes went straight to the corner table. The table where the coffee sat. It was empty. I stood, with my travel mug, and my heart, empty. 

First sign of a bad day! I'm not usually dramatic over coffee...except I am.  Especially when I then have to sit in a 32 degree exam room for an hour and a half, in a short dress, with no coffee.  And there went my day. I have to take her back to work now, then to my office, then scan the 27 documents the state is asking for, then print off 27 different documents for the houses, take said documents to the house, and it's five pm. 

Nothing is finished. 

Nothing ever gets finished. 

Oh, drama drama, stress stress. 

Time for a glass of wine. 

Rinse, and repeat tomorrow.