June bug funeral

     As the light from the moon gave the wisps of a cloud slowly passing over a macabre glow, a girl stepped into a forest clearing the land below. The clearing itself took the girl by surprise. She had been walking for ages in that forest. Tree after tree, gradually growing closer the further she walked.  The girl had almost let herself become worried she had lost her way before stumbling into the open.  With every step, her heart had fallen further. 

     Now, in the open air, a smile crept to her face as her eyes turned skyward. She watched the moon, not quite full, reveal himself to her from behind his hiding place.  As the young girl's smile grew, so did the moon. 

     To the casual observing glance, the moon would have appeared no different. To the girl in the field, it grew.  

     That silver light shone brighter than it's golden counterpart in that moment. It encompassed the clearing as the only pair of eyes for miles slowly grew accustomed.   The girl and the moon stood transfixed with one another. 

     Minutes slipped past. The glow still focused on the clearing. Focused on the deep brown oblivion in the girl's eyes. Neither one flinched. Neither one wavered. Neither one stopped grinning. 

     As the minutes grew to hours, the girl suddenly felt tired. She had been so determined to continue her journey until sunrise, but this unexpected encounter struck her somewhere she hadn't been sure she still had.  The next moment, with her satchel underneath her head, she was on the ground. 

     The amount of time that passed between her lying down and succumbing to sleep is a mystery, but once she slept, the moon continued to grow. The larger it's size, the more focused it's ray.  Sometime during her slumber, a spotlight shown on the lost girl. A glimmer of moon light remained even as the sun rose to take it's place. 

     The girl awoke at first light, threw the strap of her satchel over her head, and began her trek. When she reached the edge of the clearing, she turned her face once more to the sky. She smiled at the sun, and the sun back at her. Her eyes traveled the outter rim of the clearing. She closed her eys and etched this place into her mind. The place of her last restful sleep in 382 days. 

     She inhaled the warmth of the sun as she turned, eyes still closed, toward the forest. The girl exhaled slowly, as if she knew she what she was leaving behind.  She stepped into the shadows of the trees and opened her eyes.  Light gray irises shone through the branches, challenging the dark with each step. 

     

Damsel in distress

Once upon a time, in a strange settlement in the middle of a city, in the middle of a country known as the United States, there were various kingdoms. 

Our story today follows a girl. A girl who may not have been born with flawless princess beauty, but if she had figured out how to properly apply makeup, she could have almost been there.  This girl grew up with a dream: to be a princess. Unfortunately, her real obstacle on that road was not skin deep. 

You see, the girl in this story was not a very nice girl. She saw everything in the world only in terms of how beneficial it could be to her. If she could find no such value in an object, or person, she'd crinkle her nose, roll her eyes, and sigh a sigh so full of contempt it could curdle milk.  She had grown up with the dream of becoming a princess, and that included treating others as her subjects. 

There is one lesson she, eventually, learned. This lesson, however, did not point the girl on the right path, as lessons in stories so typically do. This lesson she learned, helped her to deceive. 

She discovered she was able to seduce potential princes with a spell to honey coat her malice and a gentle helplessness concealing her evil plan. 

Oh, how this trick worked for her.  She worked her magic on man after man; perfecting her craft for the perfect one. She had gone through her fair share of decent men and nice guys and men playing the same game as she (all of them having discovered her for the snake she truly was), before she found him.  

She saw the potential in the poor, unsuspecting prince from the moment they met. He was soft spoken, with kind eyes.   His smile, when he was feeling confident, was contagious. He was sweet, caring, and wanted to be strong. That was his downfall. 

This girl was cunning. She set up a long game for this one; she had aged quite a bit before her claws finally took their grip. She lured her prince in with a smile and clumsy 'trip' into his arms. 

His presence at court became a rarity. Those who once called him a friend, began to forget his smile and quick wit. When he did turn up, she sat glued to his side. Her sly smirk and condescending glances lingered on everyone in the room. The pair seldom spoke, and always retired early. 

The prince fell into darkness. 

After three years of whispered trickery and witchcraft, the court had a glimmer of hope. The girl, who everyone feared would get her wish and become princess, stopped showing up on the prince's arm. 

The prince would dance and laugh again, if only for a short while, before retreating to her. It was small, but there was hope for the people of the settlement. 

That hope was soon extinguished.  The prince married that girl, and her darkness spread through his kingdom. 

It was once a beautiful land; green and full of promise. It now sits in shadow. 

There is legend whispered in the streets by those brave enough to cling to hope. A legend of one who will cut the snake's tongue and end the troubled times. 

None so far have risen. 

So the subjects live their lives; smiling unto their prince and his spell-bound happiness, averting their eyes from his damsel's malicious gaze. They wait. 

They wait in the darkness for one who will bring the light. 

RBF

I have five stages of exhaustion. 

The first stage is sleepy. It's a mild stage, easily cured with a cup of coffee or three. Lately, this has been the main stage of existence. It's not a hard one to handle, so I've gotten used to it. 

The second stage is resting bitch face. My attitude is still the same. I'm still happy and sarcastic, but I've lost the ability to control my face. While I might be saying, "No, no, don't worry about it.  I'll take care of it.  Easy." My face will be saying, 'Really? I have to do this now, too? Great.'  To fix this, I have to constantly remind myself to 'fix my face' and drink more coffee. Coffee saves the world. 

I know I'm entering into the third stage when I'm failing at fixing my face. I know that because people start asking if I'm okay. They tend to stop asking when I officially reach stage three: resting bitch attitude. I don't usually get this this far into the cycle. It's the point of no return. Im so exhausted and just plain grumpy, but I can't sleep. My body won't let me. I just lay there, eyes closed, trying to will myself into sleep. But I can't. I have to finish the cycle. So, for anyone who encounters me during stage, go the other way. 

This morning, I entered stage four. I was up at four fifteen to coffee automatically brewing. That is seriously the best way to wake up, especially at this stage. Bounce out of bed, spill creamer on the counter, grab a cup and get ready in record time. This is the listen to musicals and 90s music and sing at the top of my lungs between fits of self-administered giggles stage. This is the most fun I've had in weeks. It's the elevator drop right before it stops. 

...and then it stops. Then I enter the final stage. Where I fall asleep as soon as I run out of fuel. In my car outside my apartment. In the tub. At my desk. On the floor...right next to my bed. In the closet, finding pajamas. I just run out and stop. This stage doesn't even have a name. It's just the end. I will finally get rest. I will sleep for 15 hours straight and I will be me again. 

I hope I can put that stage off for a while today... As comfortable as this room is becoming, I have to work until about 7pm. 

typical

Once again, I had such high, high hopes for the day. Last night, after a glance at my calendar, I curled up and set my alarm for 20 minutes later than usual.  

That never happens. 

-

That was last week. I haven't even had time to finish a post! No events scheduled for three days lead to down to staff and about to be down three. That means my brain is a skip's scramble. My body is running on empty. Caffeine isn't enough. I wonder if this is how some people start doing drugs...like Liv Tyler's character in Empire Records. 

Calm. Deep breaths. I'll be home three and a half hours. I won't have a 12 or 14 hour day today. It'll only be ten. 

My stomach is screaming at me. This is the only time I've slowed down enough to be able to hear it for days. In ten minutes, when I have to start running around again, it'll be silent again. Well, not silent, just unheard. 

Emails are going ignored. I'm not ignoring them, I just haven't been in my office long enough to have an answer. I wish I could just say that, but I can't. I can't promise I'll have the information tomorrow, or Friday, or even by Monday. 

My desk is, once again, a hot mess. Not that I get much time to sit there to be bothered by it. 

I can't even be coherent anymore. I'm easily distracted as it is, but I would always be able to hop back into my sentence right where I left off. Now, I just stare. Stare and forget I was even speaking in the first place. 

I've been blonde for a year now. I think. My timeline has been muddled lately, too. This weekend, with this mess, I dyed my hair the darkest red. I chopped it off. Four inches: gone. I gave myself bangs. I switched from brown to black eyeliner. None of these things I noticed until this moment. This one moment of calm. None of these things will I remember once I grab my keys and run out the door again. 

Five minutes. 

My eyes are drooping. My skin is pale. My skin is always pale, but blush and a little bronzer used to bring me to life, now they make me look like I'm on display at the mortuary. 

Three minutes. 

If I just had time for a nap. Just one nap, short and sweet, I'd be good to go. Maybet circles would lighten. 

Two minutes. 

My feet barely had time to relax. Time to shove them back into my heels. Where are my keys? Oh, under that stack of paper. 

One minute. 

Collapse.  

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. 

heart

"It could be all that smoking, you know.  Smoking two cigarettes in less than ten minutes can make you dizzy."

She stares at me from the tall, cold, awkward-paper-covered exam bed. She knows I'm right, but she doesn't want to admit it. 

"You have pretty blue eyes like me, Laura. I just noticed that." 

All I have time for is a smile before the doctor walks in and immediately starts asking questions. 

"Is it worse when you turn your head?"

"No, just when I'm walking." Then, the most Oscar-worthy moment I've seen from a client. She turns her head as far to the right as possible and jerks it back to the front, hands on her ears with her mouth open. Home Alone style. "Oh! I lied. It does get worse when I turn my head."

And just like that, we got sent to HyVee for Gatorade while the nurse got a heart monitor ready.  Don't get me wrong, I love the better safe than sorry approach when it comes to someone's life, but oh, the drama this girl will create with one of those. 

I am always right. We got the monitor on a Friday and by Monday, she had called the monitoring center 14 times. 

No, they had not seen any irregularities. 

Yes, the monitor is functioning fine. 

No, there's nothing else you need to do. 

I can handle two and a half more weeks of this, right?

watch.

I love when pharmaceutical reps walk into the doctors office. Really. They're probably some of the most interesting people I've had the pleasure to people watch. They're probably taking a few samples themselves. 

They are always dressed fabulously. Right down to their designer shoes. Male or female, it doesn't matter. There isn't a hair out of place. Not a single crease in their suit. This counteracts the luggage overflowing with samples and pens and pamphlets that they cart around and stumble over. 

The luggage is what makes them interesting. You can tell who they really are just by their bag. You can see the person behind the primped and pressed exterior by the condition of that bag. 

The new ones always have that brand spanking new bag; the fabric is stiff with confidence and naivety, the zippers sparkle with zest and anticipation, and the pamphlets stacked neatly and at the ready. 

As they spend more time in their position, their bag starts to show it.  They might keep a neat exterior, but they can't hide the wear and tear of that luggage: broken zippers, dirt and coffee stains, pens and pamphlets shoved together willy-nilly where they don't belong... it's a hodgepodge of a broken soul. 

I have to give them credit, though. They don't show their broken spirit. They show up each week with a smile and polite small talk. They cart that bag to each office over and over again. They dress like Ralph Lauren models and they hold their head high. But, if you look close enough, as they turn to walk out the door, you can catch a glimpse. Just a fraction of a second! You'll miss it if you blink, but it's there. In their eyes you can see the worn down and tired soul, yearning for a change. 

But then, as quick as their guard fell, it's up again as they stroll to their car with that trusty, loyal, tired luggage. 

Attention Deficit Dis..

My brain travels at a speed unmeasurable by man. I think of so many brilliant things...so many...but then, oh! next thought. Previous brilliant idea gone. Then it sits, just beyond my reach, like a vivid dream slips away moments after waking. 

It makes me sad, almost. All the beautiful stories, thoughts, idea, that could have been. Should have been. 

I could be great, if only I could keep up with my thoughts. Even now, I can't keep up. They're always racing. Faster, faster, faster.  It's as if they don't want to be remembered. They want to stay secret. Locked away. 

We know you're genius, but the rest of the world can't know. 

It's not fair. It drives me crazy. I can think three, four steps ahead...but then, where'd step one go? I can't slow down. Stop and smell the roses? Please. I can barely stop for my next cup of coffee.  Oh, that could be the problem. 

Coffee. The root of all insanity. 

The problem is, when I go without it, my brain doesn't move. It stalls. No thoughts, no brilliance, just throbbing nothing. 

There is no happy medium. There is no well-controlled, non-socially awkward (side effect of skipping step one often), brilliant girl. There is me. A very, very weird and awkward, wibbly-wobbly girl with a notebook. 

I don't think I'd have it any other way. 

I think a confident, put-together, version of myself would scare the living daylights out of me. After all, we're all just stories in the end. Might as well make it an interesting one, eh? And what is more interesting than a girl who messes everything up because she can't control her mind?

no touching.

"Heeeey there, pretty lady.  I need to schedule a follow up."

"What days of the week work best? I have an 8 o'clock next Wednesday."

"8 o'clock in the morning? Oh, lady, I can't do that." 

"Hey, hey, hey...no reaching over my counter. No touching, no touching or I'm going to make you go over to Carla over there." 

"Okay, no touching. Have you had a stroke? I have. You forget things after you have one of those."

This man's awkward attempt at flirting with the receptionist continued with feigned ignorance when she explained the rules of fasting before his next appointment. 

"Why would I drink coffee after 10pm? Unless I have something to stay awake for..."

"No, I'm saying after 10pm and in the morning, before you're appointment, you can't have anything to eat or drink except water or black coffee."

"No sugar?"

"No. No sugar."

This is becoming a painful conversation to eavesdrop on.  I'm actually wishing I was in the freezing exam room at this point. I'll just tune that out and focus on another conversation. 

"Mom, I'm fine."

"You are not fine, and even if you are, I still wish you'd make yourself an appointment, too. It never hurts just to get a check up.  Your sister goes to the doctor all the time. She looks healthier than you."

"She's pregnant." 

Next. 

"Get your hands off those dirty, germ covered toys right now. You don't know how often those get cleaned. If they even do get cleaned."

That from the mom who walked in with on her cell phone and let the door slam on the toddler behind her without even a glance or a sliver of concern. 

We have been listening to these conversations for the past half hour. Our appointment was 20 minutes ago. I know we'll end up sitting in the exam room for another 20 before the doctor even sees her. That part will be five minutes. 

-

I'm right. I'm always right. 

Although, the mother from the second conversation walked by while we were waiting:

"Is he coming back to take you home?"

"No, my daughter will pick me up."

spinster

"You're too old to have kids now, Laura. You're 23 and you're not even married!" 

"I'm only three years older than you!"

"Yeah, but I'm cute."

I know she's being funny, but I also know her well enough to know when she truly believes what she's saying. 

"Zip that cute face before I leave it on the side of the road." 

She laughs and makes the motion of a zipper across her lips. 

I love my job. I do. Even when they tease me. Even when a police officer ruins my favorite shoes trying to get me out of harms way. Although, I actually would have traded my ruined shoes for getting ran into (her hands were cuffed behind her back, there's not a lot she could have done!) that day.  Even when they embarrass me in front of the cute nurse, on purpose, and laugh about it as soon as we leave.  They're the reason I get up in the morning.

"Oh I really like that house!" I pointed to one with a wrap around, enclosed, porch.  "But maybe I should just stop looking since I'm never going to need any more space than a studio apartment because I'm going to be alone and childless my whole life."
"Yep."
An exaggerated frown crossed my face and she immediately took to groveling.  
"Okay, no, being serious now.  You will be a great mom.  You'll be old, but you'll be great.  You have to bring them to our house so I can play with them.  They'll call me 'Auntie.'  They'll all have beautiful hair, like you, too."
"I feel better now.  Thanks, girl."  I wasn't really feeling bad in the first place.  You can't do this job if you take everything they say to heart.  If I got upset every time I get called a 'fucking bitch,' I'd go crazy, myself.  Not to mention, 9 times out of 10, half an hour after 'fucking bitch,' comes 'I love you, honey.'  1 out of 10 times it's still 'fucking bitch.'
"You're welcome.  Now, just because you're going to have all these beautiful babies and live in a big house, that does not mean you can leave us.  I'll let you have the babies, but you have to stay our supervisor."
"I can't make any promises...what if the man I marry has to move for his job?  What if he makes sooo much money that I don't need a job?"
"Leave him.  We'll need you more."
I love my job.

excuse me.

I like to walk. After really stressful days, I like to run as far away as I can and walk back. I walk to the Walgreens down the street once or twice a week for the little things I always forget. It's therapeutic. 

Running at night is my favorite.  It's so much more peaceful. Also, stranger danger is half the fun. Keep running, I saw a weird shadow. Keep going so they don't get you. 

I don't live in a bad part of town. I actually live in a great part of town. Nights like tonight make me consider moving to daytime, though. 

Three things. I needed three things from Walgreens, so I got my ass up and walked. The walk there was perfect: summer breeze, no one else on the sidewalk, and no random honks from cars driving by.  The walk back was not so great. 

I wasn't listening to music (I was enjoying the night), so I heard a car slow down.  It struck me as odd as I wasn't near a stoplight. 

"Excuse me, do you need a ride? I work at the Marriott." 

Really? Okay, creepy old man with the BMW, I was totally not going to accept a ride from you, but since you work at the Marriott...that changes everything! I laced my fingers through my keys as I told him I was walking on purpose and did not, in fact, need a ride.

He drove off without another word. 

I was on edge the rest of the way home. Every car that passed gave my heart a little jolt. Perhaps I should brave the heat and go during the day from now on...maybe even sleep with my pepper spray on my nightstand.  Stranger danger isn't such an appealing motivational tool anymore. 

solitaire

I have a solitaire app on my phone that has the capability to turn 7:30 pm into 10:30 pm in the blink of an eye. I don't even want to look at the stats to see how many games I've actually played.  I'm single and live alone, so solitaire is a more than perfect way to pass the time. 

The undo button is my favorite feature. I go so fast, I often click past a card I could have used. I don't even see the opportunity staring me in the face. I even end up pulling a new card down when I could have uncovered one on the bottom (notice my complete lack of knowledge of card terminology). Taking that card from the bottom could have revealed an ace! or something equally as beneficial. Still, I go too fast and the cards blur as I skip over them. 

Life needs an undo button. A wait, I went too fast, let's go back and actually analyze the situation before I make my move button. 

I don't know how many times I've gone somewhere this week (or my whole life to date...stats are high either way) only to have left what I needed sitting on my desk. I don't know how many times I've looked back once the situation has calmed down and I think, "it would have all been much easier if I had done that instead."  My favorite is, "if I had stopped talking at that sentence, I wouldn't be in this mess." 

Undo, undo, undo...

I am addicted to the stupid game. I try to keep as many cards in the pile as I can so I can hit auto complete and the all swish into order. I do, however, have a nasty habit of starting a new game before I've made sure I'm out of moves. Ehh, start over, would be another nice life feature. 

Clean slate, new deck. 

My worst habit is quitting before I even try. Getting dealt every card in the same color just isn't worth the time. Chances are, it'll be a waste. Why bother if it's fairly clear it won't work out? It's daunting. Who wants to deal with daunting, card game or otherwise?  New game. It's so simple to move on and maybe have an opportunity to win. 

Most importantly, in solitaire, there's no other player to screw it all up. I'm tired of people screwing everything up and messing up all the hard work I put into what I do.  

Life needs to be more like solitaire.  

frustrating.

I feel like I have gotten nothing done today. Absolutely nothing. Truth: that's accurate. 

This is running through my head as I sit in the pharmacy, drinking my fifth cup of coffee of the day. I know I have a list of everything that needs to be done before I can go home tonight. It just seems to get longer and longer. 

Today was a bad day to wear a dress. I thought I'd have one stop today. One stop turned into two, which multiplied to four. In the rain. In a dress that barely touches my knees. 

My spirits were lifted for a few moments when the nurse who came to walk me through the discharge was incredibly attractive. They fell again when he opened the door for me, displaying a wedding band. I felt better about that after five minutes of talking to him. He had a "Midwestern accent" (let's face it, that means no accent, people), that had laces of British and Bostonian every few words. It really started getting on my nerves. Was he fucking with me or is this a legit problem for him? Either way, my poor ears were not processing this mixture very well. 

I again felt my overworked heart fall when I pulled up to the pharmacy and saw the douchey, bright blue Hyundai in the lot. The last person I wanted to see after a day like today is a short, 'stylish' man with his hair done the way my brothers did theirs in the 90's (half a bottle of hair gel so the front sticks straight up). Oh, and the goatee. 

I prayed he would be helping someone else when I walked in.  He wasn't, but he was on the computer.  He looked up when I approached the counter and walked down to meet me. 

Damn. 

I'm going to take my own advice and look at the positives. Everywhere I went today, I got compliments on my dress. Even if it was soaked from the rain. 

week from hell.

I am being punished for something. That's got to be it. I did something to piss karma off and now I'm paying for it. 

Last week I spent a total of 10 hours in two separate hospitals. It would have only been five in one...if they had listened to me. After the third hour, when the behavioral specialist finally showed up, she had plenty of flirt time with the nurse (he was very cute) and was in such a good mood that she smiled and said, "I feel great and I want to go home. I won't hurt myself or anyone else." More smiles and a hug for the nurse and we were out the door. 

Not even 12 hours later, we were at a speciality center. Police escort and all. The first question one of the officers asked me after I filled him in:

"Why was she even released last night?" 

While they argued over wether I was pessimistic or realistic, they agreed that if they had my job, they wouldn't be able to handle it. 

"How do you still have hair on your head? I would have pulled all mine out by now." 

That should be a sign. I should probably listen to the police officer telling me that my job is too much stress. Instead, I stood in front of him, trying to convince her to calm down so they can take the handcuffs off. She stood up and screamed and in that second the officers were in front of me and my toes were smashed. My baby toe looks like a blueberry. 

Her roommates knew where she was as soon as they realized she wasn't going home that night. They took turns calling their parents, who then took turns calling my boss and the state; complaining that I didn't call them and let them know. 

This is the point where I want to be rude, too. Really? Do you want me to call her guardian when your daughter does something at work? Just because she messed up and needs help that we can't really give her, does not mean she doesn't have a right to privacy. Really. 

All of this, plus the paperwork that goes with it, plus another girl constantly going AWOL, plus staff that leave the country with almost no notice, plus my own ridiculous personal life with my increasingly worse boy problems...

I am being punished. 

Now, instead of catching up, I'm sitting in another waiting room.  

I'm surprised I have any sanity left...although I've noticed a significant decrease in that. I can't keep days straight. I can't remember where I'm going once I start the car. I can barely eat with my stomach constantly turning. 

Maybe I should follow the police officer's indirect advice. I don't like this view being a regular part of my day: