I was feeling pretty discouraged this morning considering the fact that nothing has changed with my derriere, so when my girlfriend asked if I wanted to meet her at the butterfly exhibit at the zoo I gladly skipped my workout and joined her. We had a great time watching with the kids in the humid butterfly aviary, checking out the animals, and enjoyed a little picnic and splash pad time. On the upside, my kids were super careful and didn’t murder any butterflies which is more than some other parents can say.
I was happy to come home and lay my two sleepy heads down for their nap because… my stripper competitor shoes arrived!!! I ended up ordering a super cheap pair on a resale site a size smaller than normal. I read this particular brand runs wide (I have super narrow giant feet) and they say when your feet are jacked up on a five-inch heel, your feet push forward so much that you might as well order a half size smaller so as to not have that unsightly gap in the back. Yes, definitely, it’s waaaaay cuter to have your long, finger-like toes literally exploding out of the front of your shoes practically curling over the edges of your clear plastic, skank shoes than to have a gap at the heel. They are, however, surprisingly, comfortable though and I feel like I walk much more naturally in them so it’s time to get serious about practice poses.
There are just 29 days left in this project and I think my hubby will be happiest when it’s over. We can start to eat out again occasionally like a normal couple, we can stop talking about macros and nutrients and calories and reps, and the house won’t smell of broccoli farts. If the smell isn’t actually from me farting, then it’s from me cooking broccoli which is almost as bad- it’s a lose-lose situation for all. The other night I complained that the wifi kept dropping from my iPhone and asked if his did as well, he suggested it was maybe it was the fart cloud around me that was blocking the signal. Ooooooo buuuuuuurn.
I’m not sure if it’s the 1500 calories per day diet or if I am truly and literally turning into my mother, but I have been so absent-minded lately. Like pregnancy brain level bullshit- and, no, I’m not pregnant. Twice now I’ve put 8 or 9 chicken breasts on the grill and then gone on to read a book to my daughter, or change my son’s poopy diaper, or have a snack or… OH SHIT THE CHICKEN!!!! One time the chicken had completely burnt to a blackened crisp, it’s a wonder the house didn’t start on fire the grill had been going for so long. Today, I did it again, the chicken was cooked all the way through, but I had never remembered to flip it at all, so probably a good 10-15 minutes on the grill. Not ruined but crispier than usual for sure to the point that I had to trim some blackened bits off.
This morning despite having slept well, I was frazzled getting the kids out the door and realized 2/3 into our freeway drive that my car was about out of gas. I pulled over, making myself even later, and proceeded to fill up at a gas station. I remember sitting in the front seat talking to my daughter about her latest obsession, DEATH, and not ever hearing the “click” of the pump indicating it was complete, but when I looked at the pump it said it had pumped 10.6 gallons and that was spot on for my car. I continued down the road and realized my gas gauge never budged. I called my bank and they assured me a charge at the gas station was currently pending, but for $75 (my car takes 11 gallons max and that’s about 35 bucks) so I then began to worry that someone else had filled up after me somehow using my card?? But I feel like this has happened once before where the gauge got stuck briefly and maybe I just needed to pull the fuse or restart the vehicle, whatever, I’ll deal with it later and made note of the mileage.
After our day, we got back in the car and continued on only to find the gauge was now even lower, so I decided to pull over and attempt to fill up (again). This time I stayed at the pump, watching and listening. Watching and listening to the pump completely fill up my tank with 10.4 gallons of gas at $34 dollars. OH MY GOD…I never even filled up that first time. I just sat there zoning out listening to my three year old ask me about when she would be a grown up and if I’d be sad when she died and when will I die and did I remember the snowman decoration that Grandma GG sent at Christmas time and where exactly was that snowman now and does the Easter bunny sleep at night and will he bring chocolate eggs or other candy and… and… and… I never even filled up. When I texted all this to my brother he simply replied, “Who is this? Mom, why do you have Nicki’s phone?” Jesus, what’s happening to me?
In addition to being frazzled at home, work has been sucking extra balls lately. It’s the second time in a month where I’ve had to tell a patient that “my toddler has better manners than you are showing me right now”. Yikes. The most recent encounter was with a Department of Corrections patient who clearly was mad at the world and was a “lifer” according to his armed guard. It isn’t the first time I’ve taken care of prisoners, my old hospital back in Alaska had the Department of Corrections contract as well and prisoners are generally some of the most appreciative, happy, pleasant patients you’ll ever care for. They are so stoked to have control of the TV, a more comfortable bed, a private room with a nurse waiting on them and giving them narcotics. They also report that the hospital food is better than the jails as well. But this guy, this guy was angry and had been refusing care all night. When I turned on the light to introduce myself he put a pillow over his face and shouted at me to, “Turn off that light! And open those curtains!” I snapped. I’ve been a nurse for 8 years now and I no longer take bullshit. I quickly informed him that this is my job, I am doing my job, for you, to keep you healthy and safe and alive. You don’t have to be happy to be here but I plan on treating you with respect and common courtesy so I suggest you do the same. And then I walked right out past the shocked guards and gave the patient some time to think and cool off. An hour later I circled back to his room and found a very apologetic murderer thanking me for my humanity and care. Phew!!! My tough love was going to go one of two ways and lucky for me it sunk in and he used his manners because damn that was going to be one long ass day taking care of some asshole in handcuffs I just told off. It’s moments like that where I think I could do quite well as a prison infirmary RN but after seeing that Sons of Anarchy episode where Otto shanks that nurse I think I’ll just stick with my hospital gig.