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The longest post in the WORLD. Seriously.
May. 1st, 2004 12:15 amI am so angry today and I thank Dar Williams for stopping me from taking all sorts of people out. The woman deserves a special peace prize, because I've been all kinds of motivated as of late.
For the record, I'm 33 days into my cycle (it always runs long) and I'm consumed with a vitriol that can only be fueled by hormones. I'll bet you a cup of Gevalia that I start my period on Sunday.
Anyways, I digress.
I've been having night sweats all week. Night sweats suck. Last night was the worst as I soaked through my sheets and my comforter. Some background info: I sleep buck nekkid with the AC cranked and the ceiling fan on under a light down comforter--my apartment isn't warm, nor is my bed. The thing that sucks the worst about night sweats is having to change your sheets and towel off in the middle of the night, oh and the freak the fuck out over why you're having them. So after three consecutive nights of waking up drenched, I finally called the advice nurse to ask why. She didn't know. She called the OBGYN nurse who didn't know. She called my primary physician who didn't know. While they spent a day researching it, I was convinced that I was facing obscenely early menopause. I was also convinced that I had destroyed my single chance to have a baby.
I called my mother, the public health nurse, who told me not to worry, night sweats could be the result of a number of things, like Tuberculosis. (Thanks Mom.) She also said that thinking of this as a punishment was absurd. "There's no punishment. It doesn't work like that. You made a choice and you're dealing with that choice. That's where it ends. It ends with you." My mother is quite wise. I appreciated her wisdom, even if it was appended with threats of TB.
The doctor's nurse finally called back and linked my night sweats to withdrawal symptoms. I haven't been taking my Celexa (anti-depressant) on a regular basis and I guess that this is one of the possible side-effects of letting the drug drop below a certain level in your system. So, no consumption or early life change for me...I just need to remember to take my meds.
Regardless, the whole thing had me stressed out all day.
I started the day by letting people into Boss #1's house to assemble his new furniture. What was supposed to have taken only an hour took two and a half and I was 45 minutes late to Job #2 as a result. It doesn't go very far when you tell one boss that your late because you've been doing personal favors for your other boss. While I was at Boss #1's house, I managed to knock into an end table with my giant ass and rattled the knick-knacks on top of it. One knick knack hit the other knick knack and broke a piece off it. It wouldn't be such a huge deal if the knick knack in question wasn't a piece of Venetian hand-blown glass given to my boss by his recently deceased mother. D'oh. I felt like shit, my boss was understanding yet upset, and the repair (if it's possible) will cost somewhere around $40.
Work was insanely busy. There's a Ceramics Festival in town this weekend and the downtown was packed. I wound up calling the cops on some idiot teenagers. Dr. Sleaze stopped by and sleazed all over me. He gave me the super sleazy hug and told me that he had two weeks of vacation coming up and he'd like to hang out with me...as in he'd like to stop by my apartment before I went to work and spend some time with me there...in bed. Sleaze. The answer to that is a emphatic NO.
Went from work to a Slater's Court Art Show.
Background: Slater's Court is one of the last examples of a motel mobile home court that typified the ones commonly found along Route 66. It's considered architecturally significant. More importantly, it's one of the last low-income places to live left in Davis. It's got a history and a sense of community (it's often where a lot of the starving artists wind up living) and it's most likely going to be razed for (cheaply built) expensive apartments--like the ones that were put up across the street. It represents a trend that many Davis residents find disturbing. Artists were invited to take photographs/create artwork based on Slater's Court as a way to bring attention the area and the cause. Torreya had an exhibit at this show.
Torreya's exhibit was absolutely fabulous, save for the shithead kids who kept running behind her slide screen, poking it, and putting things in front the projector. What offended me the most is that the children's mother was in the room while they were doing it and refused to control the little shits. After ten minutes of watching them molest her exhibit and waiting for their dumbass mother to actually supervise her brood, I finally snapped and told the damned kids to quit touching the screen, to stop putting things in front of the projector, and to sit the hell down--I came to see the exhibit not to babysitt. The mother didn't comment, she just left WITHOUT HER DAMNED CHILDREN. Argh! Despite the irritating kids, Torreya's photos were fantastic. She's really growing as an artist and I'm so impressed with her work.
When I went outside to the wine-n-cheese-meet-n-greet the kids FOLLOWED me. Joy. I tried to convince the youngest that the cherry tomatoes were cherries. And when he started throwing things up in the air and catching them in his mouth, I encouraged him to try to catch the big, wet, uber ripe strawberries instead. It would have made a better show had he missed. I stopped short of throwing him tortilla chips (didn't want the little bastard to choke, I just wanted to have a little fun). I left the showing feeling definitively anti-child and super anti-indulgent-Davis-parent.
Anyways, the whole damned day pissed me off. I'm PMSing, I'm tired, and I'm irrationally enraged. It's a shitty day in the neighborhood.
A funny post-script: Matt called to let me know that the marquee at the Esquire Grill said "Happiness is Laura and S&M." Heh, I had my Sacramento co-worker take a picture of it for me. Hot. :)
For the record, I'm 33 days into my cycle (it always runs long) and I'm consumed with a vitriol that can only be fueled by hormones. I'll bet you a cup of Gevalia that I start my period on Sunday.
Anyways, I digress.
I've been having night sweats all week. Night sweats suck. Last night was the worst as I soaked through my sheets and my comforter. Some background info: I sleep buck nekkid with the AC cranked and the ceiling fan on under a light down comforter--my apartment isn't warm, nor is my bed. The thing that sucks the worst about night sweats is having to change your sheets and towel off in the middle of the night, oh and the freak the fuck out over why you're having them. So after three consecutive nights of waking up drenched, I finally called the advice nurse to ask why. She didn't know. She called the OBGYN nurse who didn't know. She called my primary physician who didn't know. While they spent a day researching it, I was convinced that I was facing obscenely early menopause. I was also convinced that I had destroyed my single chance to have a baby.
I called my mother, the public health nurse, who told me not to worry, night sweats could be the result of a number of things, like Tuberculosis. (Thanks Mom.) She also said that thinking of this as a punishment was absurd. "There's no punishment. It doesn't work like that. You made a choice and you're dealing with that choice. That's where it ends. It ends with you." My mother is quite wise. I appreciated her wisdom, even if it was appended with threats of TB.
The doctor's nurse finally called back and linked my night sweats to withdrawal symptoms. I haven't been taking my Celexa (anti-depressant) on a regular basis and I guess that this is one of the possible side-effects of letting the drug drop below a certain level in your system. So, no consumption or early life change for me...I just need to remember to take my meds.
Regardless, the whole thing had me stressed out all day.
I started the day by letting people into Boss #1's house to assemble his new furniture. What was supposed to have taken only an hour took two and a half and I was 45 minutes late to Job #2 as a result. It doesn't go very far when you tell one boss that your late because you've been doing personal favors for your other boss. While I was at Boss #1's house, I managed to knock into an end table with my giant ass and rattled the knick-knacks on top of it. One knick knack hit the other knick knack and broke a piece off it. It wouldn't be such a huge deal if the knick knack in question wasn't a piece of Venetian hand-blown glass given to my boss by his recently deceased mother. D'oh. I felt like shit, my boss was understanding yet upset, and the repair (if it's possible) will cost somewhere around $40.
Work was insanely busy. There's a Ceramics Festival in town this weekend and the downtown was packed. I wound up calling the cops on some idiot teenagers. Dr. Sleaze stopped by and sleazed all over me. He gave me the super sleazy hug and told me that he had two weeks of vacation coming up and he'd like to hang out with me...as in he'd like to stop by my apartment before I went to work and spend some time with me there...in bed. Sleaze. The answer to that is a emphatic NO.
Went from work to a Slater's Court Art Show.
Background: Slater's Court is one of the last examples of a motel mobile home court that typified the ones commonly found along Route 66. It's considered architecturally significant. More importantly, it's one of the last low-income places to live left in Davis. It's got a history and a sense of community (it's often where a lot of the starving artists wind up living) and it's most likely going to be razed for (cheaply built) expensive apartments--like the ones that were put up across the street. It represents a trend that many Davis residents find disturbing. Artists were invited to take photographs/create artwork based on Slater's Court as a way to bring attention the area and the cause. Torreya had an exhibit at this show.
Torreya's exhibit was absolutely fabulous, save for the shithead kids who kept running behind her slide screen, poking it, and putting things in front the projector. What offended me the most is that the children's mother was in the room while they were doing it and refused to control the little shits. After ten minutes of watching them molest her exhibit and waiting for their dumbass mother to actually supervise her brood, I finally snapped and told the damned kids to quit touching the screen, to stop putting things in front of the projector, and to sit the hell down--I came to see the exhibit not to babysitt. The mother didn't comment, she just left WITHOUT HER DAMNED CHILDREN. Argh! Despite the irritating kids, Torreya's photos were fantastic. She's really growing as an artist and I'm so impressed with her work.
When I went outside to the wine-n-cheese-meet-n-greet the kids FOLLOWED me. Joy. I tried to convince the youngest that the cherry tomatoes were cherries. And when he started throwing things up in the air and catching them in his mouth, I encouraged him to try to catch the big, wet, uber ripe strawberries instead. It would have made a better show had he missed. I stopped short of throwing him tortilla chips (didn't want the little bastard to choke, I just wanted to have a little fun). I left the showing feeling definitively anti-child and super anti-indulgent-Davis-parent.
Anyways, the whole damned day pissed me off. I'm PMSing, I'm tired, and I'm irrationally enraged. It's a shitty day in the neighborhood.
A funny post-script: Matt called to let me know that the marquee at the Esquire Grill said "Happiness is Laura and S&M." Heh, I had my Sacramento co-worker take a picture of it for me. Hot. :)
