The fucking YARN FAIRY! (mac_arthur_park) wrote,
The fucking YARN FAIRY!
mac_arthur_park

Well, THAT was fun

Did a 2 person assisted lift on a 362 pound, uncooperative resident today.

My partner in the assist is about 98 pounds soaking wet and clueless as fuck.

Wanna guess how much I hurt right now?

None.  Because I wisely saved a pain pill from my abscessed tooth for just this occasion.    Tomorrow, however, is gonna suck.

Kent called on his break to ask me how my day was, and that is one pissed off little Dane.  I had to remind him that I can't just up and quit until I have another job.  We've survived on one paycheck before, but it's the slow season in the restaurant biz around here.  And I've gotten used to having some breathing room financially.

Okay, and I'll be honest:  I've gotten used to buying what I want at the grocery store, and a bottle of wine after a rough day at work, and magazine subscriptions, and hearing the rain pounding outside and saying "Fuck it--I'm taking a cab to work."  I'm getting spoiled.

Of course, I'm spoiling myself, I guess.  Does that count?

Speaking of spoiled, thank you again vincentursus!  I must now go buy all the citrus in the world to zest!  (Can you freeze that?)  And Kent doesn't get to play with them.  They're MINE MINE MINE!

[True story:  he won't let me touch his microplane.  But when an ex of mine was visiting, he was all chef-y and flirty and let her use it.  I've never quite forgiven him for that.  'Sokay, I am building up my own group of kitchen tools that he is not allowed to touch.  Gods, there is no way to make that sound normal, is there?]

In other birthday news, I have to work.  But one of my favorite residents has the same birthday.  Her daughter came by to pick her up for lunch today, and I mentioned that.  The daughter looked sad and said "Oh....so I guess you won't be working?"

I laughed.  "Are you kidding?  It's a weekend, and Bevvy-bev and I are going to party.  I'm looking at a disco ball, open bar, a band, maybe hiring a couple of strippers...."

Bev gave me that infectious laugh, wrapped her arm around my shoulders, and nodded VERY enthusiatically.

Apparently, according to her daughter, I was speaking mama's language.  She used to be a VA nurse in Virginia Beach and was a bit wild.  I knew I liked her for a reason.

I wonder if there is a way to do a small version of that that wouldn't get me fired?  Of course, I'm still not sure what it takes to get fired around there.

I should talk to the activities director.  ;)

Oh, AND I got an interesting proposition from my boss today (minds out of the gutter, pervs!):  3-4 12 hour shifts a week.  That would still give me my hours, but it would also give me extra days off AND make up for the fact that 2nd shift SUCKS at coming in on time.  That also means full days to devote to the job search (she doesn't know that) and maybe having a bit of a life again.

When I started at Happy Acres, I was hired for 2 12 hour shifts on weekends, and I couldn't hack it.  But I wasn't trained.  I mean, literally, I was thrown into memory care with NOTHING.  And I melted down, so the former manager put me on 7-3s, kept me on weekends, and slowly added....well, as many shifts as they needed coverage for.

Now I can handle the job, and do it solo while I wait for my slackass coworkers most days.  Me and 36 memory care patients.  Talk about being outgunned.

One of the hospice nurses took me aside the other day and expressed her concern.  She says I'm losing weight (although that's just the annual walking everywhere/sweating like hell that is late spring in NC.  I think) and some of the other nurses have noticed I am always there.  One said she feels I'm being abused because I am devoted to the residents, and the staff is using me.  They might not be wrong.

Oh, this is a clusterfuck.

Quit talking about work, Alicia.

On my Absolutely Amazing Thrift Store Extravaganza (tm), I picked up a handful of cds that Kent took one look at and declared "Banished!"  So, not going into the Rock and Roll Dice collection.  Which means for some weird reason, I am listening to Trans-Siberian Orchestra's Christmas Eve and Other Stories.  In May.  When it was 90+F out today.

I guess....I don't know.  There is a family story that Granma left the tree up after my first Christmas until my birthday.  We were in California then, and she would crank up the AC, put on carols, and lay down with me under the tree.  Light the fireplace, even.  Granma swore my first word was "tinsel."

I would have bet on "fuck," but Granma always knew best.  ;)

Okay, while I was writing this, Liv knocked on my back door (does anyone else classify how well you know/trust people depending if they knock on the front door or back door?  Is that just an old school southern thing?).  She was carrying a bowl with roosters painted around the rim, filled with garlic bacon mashed potatoes.

"I found this bowl at a porch sale and thought of you.  Also...I cannot eat all of these.  I made a three pound bag.  Would you take this in exchange for some margarine?"

Margarine, hell.  She got butter.  The good stuff we're getting from the Amish dairy.  Because we're neighbors.

Hard to believe how things have changed since she first moved in.

I finished season one of Glee.  I'd seen about half of them, but it was nice to watch them in order.  I'm kind of loving PTA Thrift selling complete seasons of shows for $6.  I can buy them, watch them at my leisure, and re-donate them.  Cheaper than library fines.  And if I feel like I reallyreallyreally need to own them and rewatch forever (Julia Child, I'm lookin' at you), I'm out less than a ten spot.

And this is why I am not quitting until I have another job:  Glee and Julia Child.
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