Friday, June 20, 2003

I meant to go to the pub last night. I really did. The Better Half, being from Mars, decided he needed time in his cave in order to continue functioning on this planet, so I had planned to just chill out and hang with my buds. This was at 3PM, or 15:00, as I am now used to writing on my progress notes. (LaDonn is retired military). By 16:00 I was back in the office, talking to my new director Brenda about working this weekend, when we both noticed I was leaning against the doorway yawning. I was tired. I got back to my apartment around 17:45, made one final jaunt out to Krispy Kreme for the first time in months, and was snuggled in bed watching reruns of Will and Grace on cable. By 21:30, I was sound asleep. The Better Half called around 00:45 to tell me he had a nightmare and that he missed me.

It's just so darn nice walking into a mall and buying a scented candle without having to worry about breaking my budget. My apartment now smells of caramel pecan. God bless Yankee Candle Company. Also, I picked up the latest issue of Vogue and a copy of Hillary Clinton's autobio. Impulse buy. I've never really given a rat's arse about Hillary Clinton. It was either that, or the Carnie Wilson autobio. Picked up dinner, ate, went to shoot the shite with my parents.

I am on-call this weekend, meaning I sit around with a beeper. I think I bought the Clinton book just to have something to do while waiting for calls to come in. When the beeper beeps, I try to talk whoever is on the other side of the message through whatever they are trying to fix. If I have to, I go out. Also, I have two visits planned on Saturday, and possibly two visits on Sunday. My director Brenda is a bit worried about me this weekend, since last weekend she was on call and had the weekend from hell. So far, so good, I've only received pages from coworkers and our pharmacy. And that was a good four hours ago. The downside: can't drink alcohol. Otherwise, it's bomb diggity.

The Better Half came home the other night telling me he just visited Patient First. The scab on his knee, approximately 4 inches by 1 inch, came off, and he said blood was running down his leg, soaking his sock. The people at Patient First put two band-aids on it. And not two speciality band-aids that only an acute primary care facility like Patient First can provide, but two band-aids like the kind you buy at Target or probably get for free as part of the First-Aid awareness booth at the fair. This man is engaged to a nurse. I feel I have failed in some way.

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