Wednesday, November 14, 2007


I'm bored and I'm tired and a wee bit sick 'o's 8:30, and I'm still waiting for the coffee to kick in (as I usually am). I was granted a reprieve this morning on the hell schedule, as I was cancelled from my new job that requires me to be present and functional in the workplace at 6:30 am (egads!)... it went well last Friday on my first day, but working 12 hours *and* having to be there sooooooo early is far from ideal.
I worked yesterday at one of my old standby positions, one that I love and was hoping to call my permanent home-- but since I'm not part of the union and not eligible to post for jobs until the union ladies cast it off as undesirable, I never had a chance.
At this point, I envision myself wandering aimlessly thru the hospital halls, in eternal search of a job to call my very own. But realistically, I should look at my homelessness as a gift-- one that frees me from bullshit politics and the inevitable cattiness of the woman dominated workplace.
Right now, all I have to do is go to work: I drift in as an outsider, do my thing, stay out of trouble, and then I go home. Where else can you enjoy this type of wage and this kind of freedom? Nowhere.

But part of me longs for the misery of attachment, lamenting my fate of having to beg and barter for days off, showing up for and participating in awful unit meetings, negotiating the personalities I've heard about but never had to seriously deal with... sigh!

I'm a self destructive idiot.

I think part of the problem is the threat of living hand to mouth, never having any guarantee of set hours per week, where I'll be working, etc. But truth be told, I've never had a problem finding hours, and since I'm trained to work almost 10 different departments (with more training to come), I can't imagine having more than a few dry days-- and not being completely grateful for the days off I *do* get, as I am now (slacker that I am...).

Funny, tho-- for all the places I *do* work, I had my annual competency check-offs last night, and I was really horrified at how little I knew about the meat and potatoes of my profession: I had no clue about the creepy hoyer lifts and restraints... I felt bad about that until I realized that so few of the other staff knew how to use them either (even the instructor). I my mind, tho, I was doing a happy little dance that I didn't have to use those things. Somehow, I got wrangled into getting strapped into one that sits you up so you can get your feeble ass onto the toilet. The CNA who strapped me in said jokingly: "when you're done, call me so I can wipe your butt", and I had the awful premonition of what it must be like to be old and sickly. EEEEEEKKKKK!!!!!

Just another plug for taking up skydiving, smoking, and illicit sex and drug use in my 80's. That George Bush (Sr) really has the right idea jumping out of airplanes-- Rock On, old dude!

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