I Have A Blog? When Did That Happen?

I was walking around in the tragicomedy that has become my life, minding my own business when I suddenly remembered that, "Oh, hey, there's a place for all of these random thoughts and emotions and feelings.I think it's called a blog, you should check it out."

And then I forgot my password. And got locked out.

And then someone needed to help the Supergirl find a shoe.

And then Hubs needed someone to find his phone or his keys or maybe it was his shoe that was missing.

Because in the grand scheme of my life, all I am useful for is to find things that other people have lost or remember the things that their brain has purged.*

*(Quick note, I just, for the sixth time today chose the incorrect iteration of the word 'their' for that sentence. This twitch in the mundanity of Tuesday, being one of my all-time BIGGEST pet peeves, leads me to believe that I am having some kind of stroke and should most likely seek immediate medical attention.)

And then I started watching The West Wing on Netflix and then it was Tuesday and I was all, "Whoa, Tuesday, what the Hell? I was supposed to blog like 8 days ago." I checked but it didn't seem like Tuesday had done any of the blogging and now I am incredibly behind and if the 3 of you come back to actually read, you may find me sitting in the yard, rocking slowly, and trying not to wake up.

I am so sorry that I have forgotten about the 3 of you that actually read my blog and will try to do better in the future. I have quite an awesome post that I am brewing up for tomorrow so I am certain that none of you will be able to sleep tonight because you will instead be patiently awaiting my next piece of internet gold to be pulled from the nether regions of my soul.

You should probably sleep though.

People are dangerous when they don't sleep.

I have some experience with that - not sure if I mentioned it.

Here is the obligatory picture of the kid:

You are welcome.

The Post I Was Gonna Post Is Not Gonna Get Posted

I wrote a blog post last night.

It will not be posted today.

In a nutshell, it was all about how horrible, awful, and no good my life has been lately, about the fact that I was certain, certain, that I was going to come in and lose my job today, about the fact that I want to sue the drug companies that made the anti-depressant that made me manic that made me lose my job (but I don't know why she swallowed the fly, perhaps she'll die). I likened the stress and animosity that I have had in my life lately to tumors and bullies slowly stealing away all joy from my awesomeness.

But I am not posting that blog post today.

I am not posting it because it was all a manifestation of a brain working overtime.  My review went well, the say I am doing a pretty good job, they want to see me do more of a good job.

I am pretty sure that we have been through all of this before.

Instead, I will tell you that the Supergirl had an encounter with a bully yesterday. She had scratched the girl because she would not stop teasing her. When I got there to pick her up, the mocking, the teasing continued. I could see that it was eating away at the Supergirl. The relentless nature of this girl's constant barrage of insults began to wear at me as well.

She said that the Supergirl could not dance, that she could not sing, that she was ugly.

Beauty, singing and dancing - she's a triple threat. 

I instructed the Supergirl to apologize although I am not certain that that is the correct response. I know that physical violence is never the answer to dealing with these people and will only cause the bullying behavior to escalate, my mind knows that. But what I wanted to do? I wanted to put that little heifer over my knee and show her what a real bully could do. I wanted to show my child that I would protect her from the little smart asses that try to steal her joy. I wanted to do something, anything other than make my child apologize to someone that had done nothing to deserve her respect or sympathy.

On the drive home, I told the Supergirl that when you allow those bullies in your life to tell you that you cannot dance, when you stop dancing because you are afraid - they win. I told her that if you let them steal your song, if you stop singing because of their words - they win.

And we are not losers.

Hell Will Be An ER Waiting Room

On Friday I had to go to the emergency room. Before I made the decision to go there, I called my doctor's office and pleaded for a last minute Friday morning appointment. I asked if they thought that it could just wait until Monday...

No.

So, I got dressed - very slowly - in my emergency room best (re: comfortable) and let the Hubs know that it was time that he drove me to town.

I really did not want to go there, but figured that it wouldn't be that bad since it was early in the morning (around 8) on a Friday. People have jobs. Children have school. I would be out in time for lunch.

No.

I sat in the waiting room for 6 hours. 6 hours.

Aint' nobody got time for that.

Please note: Someday, I would like to go into emergency medicine. It's actually been a goal of mine to pursue that path for many years, however, looking at this mess of people through a patient's eyes, through a pane of glass covered in pain and anxiety?

I hated them. I hated every single last one of them. I am not ashamed to say it, even now, even speaking as someone who is supposed to be a Christian. I hated those idiotic people. They stood between the soulless void of waiting room Hell and the Promised Land of doctors, nurses, and people with good drugs that could help me not feel like I was dying. And that, friends? That is the way you should feel everyday - like you are not dying.

Unless you are in the emergency room. Then you should see the grip of the friggin' reaper on your shoulder because I swear to God, it is not an emergency otherwise.

A few notes:

Dear New Mom,

Your baby has a rash. Most likely from the detergent that you are using. I know that you have taken her to your doctor 2 times in 3 days (because you were kind of loud on your phone). He said that it would go away on it's own. Your baby does not have a fever, a cough, or even a sniffle. She's pretty darn cute with her giggles and smiles. Take her home, enjoy her, buy a different laundry detergent. You do not need the emergency room.

Dear 90 Year Old Lady,

A. Get a better hearing aide or turn yours on. The shouting coming from your daughter/helper person is irritating me. 
B. You are 90. You are probably dying. It's been a full life. Go home. 

Dear Sorority,

You all irritate me. Mandy probably has mono (BTW, I was totally right on this diagnosis, I will take that medical degree, thankyouverymuch). She is not going to the beach with you this weekend, and she is probably not feeling all that "down for shots later." Give her fluids and space to sleep for the next week or two. Take notes for her in class. Take her to the student health center to see if she needs medication. Most importantly, take her home. 

Dear Mexican Man,

You have been here all day. They have repeatedly called your name. Is your English so bad that you cannot understand when they call it? I give up on you.You can continue to sit there because you, apparently, do not want to go to the promised land. 

Dear Lady with the Broken Toe,

I have had broken toes before. They hurt. I have never been to the emergency room for a broken toe. Wanna know why? Because you are not dying. They are going to give you a prescription for Aleve (if that). They will tell you to take it easy for a few days.They will not set it or put a cast on it. You know who else could have done that? The Urgent Care clinic conveniently located directly across the street. 

Dear Anyone Having Intensely Personal Conversations on Their Cell Phones,

You are not dying. Bitching about the wait? Not dying. Threatening to beat your kid? Not dying. Also, I heard what you said about the discharge and burning. Please sit somewhere else...

Thank you to WebMD for freaking me out even further. You are always the most awesome diagnostician.