This post may venture into the realm of TMI (as in "Too Much Information"), so read at your own risk, keeping in mind the limits of whining you're able to tolerate in one sitting.
Today sucked, rather royally....and there are so many aspects of it that I should be grateful for, yet I'm bitchin' nonetheless (which makes me feel worse, actually).
So I agreed to work for a co-worker today in GI, which is great, but in order to do so, I screwed up my one and only prime opportunity to learn how to do Neuro. Picking up the shift meant that I would receive call in bonus $, and I would receive a substantial amount more than my base rate of pay.... which should make me happyhappyhappy ($4o some odd bucks an hour, yippieyahooey!) but, ungrateful whiner that I am, I'm just mopey.
Pay now or pay later has always been my motto... and I now have a deep feeling of dread that I may have gotten paid more now, only to be in great pain later when I am dying in Neuro all by my clueless self in a couple weeks. Shit!
My payback of the day, however, was that we were short staffed in GI, so my day was a tragedy of errors, starting early this am with a desperate, crabby mom and a horribly sluggish boy who didn't want to go to daycare. Mom was crabby with the poor daycare lady, skipped breakfast and coffee due to a lack of time (and I forgot a snack!), and hit the floor running on empty and ready to go back home and crawl back into bed.
I was sent home after the crazy morning rush at 1300, ready to get some house work done, only to find that Molly had shit neatly in a corner of her cage. She was shit-free for a brief, shining moment, but when she saw me she immediately started doing the happy dance in the poo, covering herself with it, and spraying it in every direction: all over my uniform, the cage, the carpet...Fuck. I managed to tie her outside to un-smear herself in the grass while I tried to extract the mess from the kennel.
That done, and after breaking my espresso carafe, I was near catatonic and ready to call it a day.
After an unsuccessful attempt to sleep my troubles away (a nasty sinus headache, a noisy, stinky puppy, and a couple mosquitoes made sure of that), I tried my best to drown my sorrows in chocolate. Sadly, no deal (I made chocolate chip cookie cupcakes... not bad, but ineffective as a mood elevator. Now I just feel like a fatty).
I finally broke down and tried my last resort: a bath to drown my sorrows in, which almost always makes me feel better. And wonder of all wonders, my husband, whom I have been crabbing about all week, came and surprised me with a glass of wine and an offer of help.
So, with his assistance, I am now scrubby clean and feeling a million times better, and even though I am moving into a hell week to surpass all hellish weeks, things are looking rosier. Or at least, less suicidal. Well, slightly less.
Sex. The fantastic cure-all. I highly recommend it.