8:57 a.m. - 2013-09-09
two weeks in
I've spent the last two weeks working, going to school, and learning how to juggle preschool, full-day school elementary school, nursing school, microbiology, three people's homework, city traffic, and cohabitating with two kids, one girlfriend and 11 animals (if you count the chickens, which actually live in the back yard).
I really have no idea where I stand school-wise. I have no worries about passing my classes -- but maintain a 4.0, who knows.
I'm skipping my microbiology class and lab next week to go to Mar's first grade open house. Her dad will be in Denver and A has class. This means I have no one to cover for me and no excuse -- which is actually fine with me. Fuck micro; for one night I get my daughter, and her open house, to myself.
A is taking some sort of infernal math and intro to criminal justice this semester. She thinks she wants to be a cop, which is a) not easy in Connecticut and b) something she would be very good at. Plus she would look incredibly, incredibly hot in cop uniform. Not that she doesn't look incredibly hot in scrubs, but a few weapons at the waist would ... add Something ... maybe ... you know ...
(You know, I even have a thing for men in uniform. And I can assure you, I don't have a thing for men.)
Anyway. I just got off a long night at the nursing home. It was one of those nights when I give myself The Talk, which goes something like this:
(Complaint to self: "I could be interviewing the Governor right now. I could be on the 11 o'clock news, instead instead of clocking in at 11 o'clock to wipe people's asses. WTF am I THINKING???!!")
(Talk To Self: "M, you wanted a life filled with experiences. Well, this is an experience.
"You wanted to LIVE an interesting life and write about it, instead of just writing about other people's interesting lives. Well, Here's Your Interesting Life!
Yep, Suppository Working in Room 108, two naked old ladies fighting over the john in room 109, four other call bells going off and no one but you on this floor for the next eight hours, yep, you sure got your Interesting! It's 11:05 p.m. on a Saturday -- time to live it and LOVE IT!!")
OK, so maybe the enthusiasm stems mainly from the fact that I SURVIVED, it is 10 am on Sunday, and I'm not due back for 11 hours ... but anyway, I do love it sometimes. I am pretty good at handling patients; the combative ones aren't combative, the nasty ones calm down for me, and the supposedly non-verbal ones (at least three so far) have started talking to me. (Granted, they don't say much, but I consider "yes" and "no" pretty dynamite when they're coming from a previously non-responsive person.)
All in all, ca va. I think. I am not complaining.
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