Simply a Girl - Life & Times of the Ordinary

Disclaimer: I know that other people have way worse lives than do I and that I should just be really grateful for all that I have. And I am, thank you very much. I am the first one to point out that I have a pretty damn good life and that I am very lucky. So go fuck yourself instead of linking me to sites with burned Iraqi children, OK?

Nice little disclaimer that was, huh? Moving on.

This week turned ugly on Wednesday, as you can see here. I'd had a physical in late June and gotten a renewed prescription for all of my medications ('all' sounds like I take 17; I don't, I only take 3) as well as a hand-out about proper nutrition because I weigh too much and admitted that I eat like a ten year-old. One of the prescriptions somehow got lost. I swear I dropped it off at the pharmacy with the others but they do not seem to have a record of it. I had a few refills left on the old one so I didn't realize this until I called last Sunday to refill the script. The robot man on the phone said that my script was expired and offered me the option of having the pharmacy call my physician.

And they did. But guess what? My fucking physician had not called back for the authorization by Wednesfuckingday and that meant I'd been off that particular medication for 5 days. The best part? The medication in question is an anti-anxiety drug that I've been taking for something like 6 years and as anyone who has taken even one generic psychopathology class can tell you, the rebound effects involved with withdrawal from anti-anxiety medications are sucky indeed. Fortunately, I work with 2 super-nice physicians and was able to get the general surgeon to call in a script for me.

The rest of my work day was kind of a wash with some minor irritations and frustrations that were magnified due to the above. So by the time I was leaving work and got to the pharmacy where I was told my script would be $50, I'd reached my limit. It has been a long time since I paid that much and I was shocked, especially because my bank account is LOW at the moment. I paid, of course, and as I pulled away from the drive through window, I promptly burst into tears. I wept for the entirety of my 30-minute drive home. When I got into the apartment and J saw me, he had the look of fear that would adorn the face of anyone who was met by a spouse with a red, blotchy face actively engaged in weeping. I knew he'd worry so when he asked what happened, I said what anyone would "nothing...gasp...I'm fine."

I just didn't want him to think I'd gotten fired or crashed my car or anything. That was Wednesday. I know this post has the potential to be epic, but don't worry, Thursday and Friday aren't as involved.

So, Thursday. I'd taken my beloved drug and the placebo effect was already making me feel better. Work was what it was and I was taking it all in stride until a physician called about payment and it was uncovered that I've sent contracts out to numerous physicians with an incorrect payment schedule. This cost the department over a grand thus far and my first thought was "this is all my fault, I fucking fucked up bad and oh my god I'm worthless and they are going to fire me for sure and look at how incompetent I am. I. Am. A. Failure."

Within 30 minutes I discovered that I was not the only person at fault as the language in the contract was taken from past contracts going back to 2007 and it had been approved by someone high up on the chain of command. But, as I told my boss, that didn't make me feel any better. I was still frustrated and upset and just sick about not having caught the mistake. I must have looked pretty rough indeed as a friend in another department, who came over to talk to me about something, rubbed my back and told me not to worry too much when I just told her that I had fucked up. She also brought me a gift of mini-fruit roll-ups and a lean pocket the next day (she comforts with food and I love me some fruit roll-ups).

At the end of the day my boss came to my desk and said "I'm not here tomorrow so have a Starbucks on me" and gave me a $5 gift card*. I said "is this what I get for fucking up and feeling bad?" to which she responded "it's because I don't want you to feel bad." She, too, rubbed my back in a maternal fashion and told me that she knew how I felt but that all we could do was damage control.

That was Thursday. See, like Wednesday, it ended pretty well.

Friday was pretty good for the most part. I got to work early to help the general surgeon set up the training room for a presentation he was giving and sat through the first hour of it to run the projector. I worked and caught up on mind-numbing boring stuff and looked forward to the weekend.

Then I started my car and was reminded of something I'd meant to e-mail J about in the morning. My low coolant light was on. Again. A few weeks or a month ago, this scary light came on and J came to my work to fill my coolant dealy and everything seemed fine. I closely monitored the heat gauge on my ride home and during my commute to a meeting the next day. Things were fine up until yesterday and, since I forgot in the morning to tell J, I had to pull over into a park and J to direct me what to do. I put what coolant I had left into the dealy and then drove home gripping the steering wheel and muttering "please, please, please, please" over and over. I about lost it when I got stuck at a railroad crossing.

But I made it to the repair shop where I dropped off the car and walked home.

So my week was trying but each day ended fairly well all things considered. And even when the crummy things were happening, there were moments when I stepped out of myself and just thought "wow, this is so shitty that it seems pretty absurd." As the week progressed, I would continue to think "wow, really? More? Well, OK I guess." I appreciated, in a weird way, the level of shittyness that was my week. But that doesn't mean that I'm not super thrilled that it is finally Saturday.

*My boss and I love each other and we both really like Starbucks. At least twice a month, I'll stop on my way to work on Friday and pick her up her favorite when I get myself a grande non-fat latte. Her daughter, who does not like Starbucks, gets gift cards all the time from people and gives them to her mom. Thus, my $5 bonus on Thursday.