I Am Entirely Normal

(I work too much. For all of you NOT reading this, pardon my absense.)

In case anyone was wondering, YES, it is entirely normal to:

• Tell your friend you have misplaced a sex toy (or three)...
• And to text said friend a picture of them when you find them in a shoebox
• Collect a giant slug in a pickle jar in order to give it to a (different) friend...
• And to have a friend who is excited to receive a giant slug in a pickle jar
• Eat an entire pound of baby carrots in the space of half an hour
• And to wait until you shit orange in order to time your digestive system
• Have multiple unopened cans of "Pussy" energy drink in your room
• And to consider these cans decorative objects worthy of display

In conclusion, I am entirely normal.  

Suck it.

Calling in Sick

So, for the second time in nearly four years, I have called in sick to work.

I did so at 4:17am this morning.

Because I woke up at 3:58am in the worst pain I have ever been in.  Ever.  (And it's tied for first place - this has happened to me once before.)

Now, before you go thinking I'm a giant pussy, let me tell you that I have a fairly high pain tolerance.  I regularly smash my feet into things and don't notice I've done it until I notice bloody footprints on the floor.

My mother was helping me re-pierce an ear the other day with an old, thick safety pin, and she was going SO slowly because she was scared of doing it... And she stopped every two seconds to say, "Am I hurting you?  You have to TELL me because you don't react!"

And those are just the daily things.

I once broke my ankle.  When I was 10 years old.  And I walked on it.  For three days.  

*rocks*

So.  Yes.  I have a high pain tolerance.

And this pain?  It's the most intense, exquisite, mind-searing, fully-paralyzing pain I have ever felt. Abdominal pain.  Lower right quadrant.  Not appendicitis.  Most likely an ovarian cyst rupturing.  Most likely I REALLY need this checked out.  But, I hate doctors and I'm afraid to go because I am too fat, so I just wait to die.

In fact, the first time it happened, since I was alone and unable to move, I lay there wondering what people would think when they found my body.  I was absolutely positive I was going to die.

And it happened again this morning.

My poor roommate heard me, as I was on the phone at 4:17am (it took me nearly 20 minutes to be able to get out of bed and get to my phone), telling the on-call administrator that I wasn't going to be at work today and that I may need to go to the hospital.

So my roommate got up, and tried to take me to the E.R.  I scolded her.  She pointed out that I was breathing like I was in labor and there were tears trickling down my face, but I wasn't crying.

I continued scolding.  And refused to go.

(She told me later I was whispering to her the whole time.  I don't remember this, I swear I was talking normally.)

Two hours later, the pain was gone, and I was completely drained and almost dead.

Speaking of dead, I caved to my roommate's intense threats and actually called my doctor.  Who, it turns out, up and fucking died nine months ago. 

Whoopsie!

I won't be going to see a doctor.  At least not now.  Maybe if I lose some more weight.

Speaking of which, I got my first, "You're losing weight" statement in a while.  I have previously gotten a few of the "Are you losing weight?" questions... But a couple days ago was the first time I was simply told I WAS losing weight.

I don't like that.  I don't like people noticing.  I don't like them saying anything.  It just makes me feel fat. 

DieDieDIE

I have worked EVERY day for the past idontknowhowlong.

I slept for about ten seconds last night, because one of my clients (or whatever you want to call 'em) was in various hospitals from about 3:15 Saturday afternoon until 6:15 this evening... Why was she there?  Because she ate a spoon, naturally.

It took them eight hours to decide she wasn't going to be able to pass the metal spoon and needed an upper endoscopy.  Listen, I realize I don't have a medical degree (yet... I really should get on that), but that shit took me eight SECONDS to decide.  

And that's only because I spent the first seven seconds laughing.

Of course she wouldn't have been able to pass it.  IT'S A METAL SPOON OH MY FUCKING GOD ARE YOU ALL HIGH?

Sweet Jesus Christ.  

Also, I swear, the next time  her gastroenterologist attempts to tell me she REALLY does have dysphagia, fer serious yo, I'm going to punch him in his fucking throat.  As far as I know, dysphagia is not clinically diagnosed in people who can EAT ENTIRE SPOONS.  Fucksake.  If you can eat a spoon, I fail to believe you would have any trouble eating the food you could put on a spoon.

I ate like shit today, too, because fuck everything.

And I have to be back at work in 9 hours.  So I suppose I should try to sleep now, seeing as I spent all fucking night on the phone last night.

Oh, and today I was on the phone all day too, and even AFTER the girl was home I was on the phone for ages.  Mostly because the hospital decided they were waaaaaay too cool to tell us which of her various psychotropic meds they had randomly dosed her with at 1:30pm and 2:30pm today so I had NO idea what meds to instruct staff to give her tonight.  (She gets 8am and 8pm meds, so it was really anyone's guess WTF they gave her in the early afternoon, and it turned out it was a charmingly random combination of whatever-the-fuck-they-felt-like.)

OH AND...

Just because the universe hates me, as I'm struggling through my own 9a-9p shift today, at the main house I manage, WHILE trying to deal with the fallout from Spoon Eater from the other house I manage, one of the girls I support decided to lose her goddamn  mind for 7 hours straight.  She broke, among other things, her curtains, her blinds, a lamp, a picture frame, twenty-seven hair elastics, an end table, a standing fan, four toy cars, and my will to live.  

My shit-for-brains assistant manger decided to yell at her, in anger and frustration, and say things like, "Stop it!  Just stop it!  You're driving me crazy! Ahhhh!"  

I'm sure you can all guess how helpful that is while attempting to calm down a severely behavioral severely autistic woman with a history of violent self-injury.  I mean, you bet your ass I got loud too.  I got directly in her face so she HAD to look at me and knew I wasn't scared of her. I raised my voice to shock her into listening, but I actually said things she WANTED to listen to.  My assistant yelled at her, and she broke more shit.  I yelled at her and she stopped in her tracks and sat her ass down and allowed me to hold her in a basket-hold restraint until she was calm and felt safe.

It's not like I have some magic fucking knowledge straight from Jesus or Allah or the fucking dinosaurs.  We have multiple, mandatory, weeks-long trainings to learn to deal with this. 

STUPID PEOPLE MAKE ME ANGRY OMFG.

I'm going to sleep.  I have an 8am shift tomorrow during which I have to mind TWO behavioral girls (who, hahahaha!, happen to hate each other so badly the state agency I answer to mandated they not be allowed to live with one another) BY MYSELF because one of my staff needs to recertify in CPR.

OH AND OH AND OH AND...  

As my crappy day was winding down?  I got my period.

Hey, universe?  

Fuck you.