Conclusion:

Exhaustion is not very conducive to writing. At all. Let alone writing articulately or with Style....

Did I spell that right? Is that how you spell style? Because it looks so wrong right there. On the line above. In case you didn't know what I was talking about.

And that's pretty much how my thought processes have gone for the past two days. Frenetic. But, as busy as things are, I think I'm glad to be back at work. I actually, believe it or not, get much more done in the way of creativity when I have to work at something that requires no creativity. I guess I should keep that in mind for someday when I actually have to decide what I want to do with my life. Eight hours a day. Five days a week. Until Eternity.

For the past two days I've felt like water. The water, to be precise. The only water I see at all during my days, unless you count bathwater or bottled water, and those have been so purified that they really ought to be called something besides water. Some scientific, un-germified sounding name. The water being, technically I guess, the Tennessee river. Or Wheeler Lake. I can never keep them straight. But I think it's the Tennessee river. I drive over it on my way to and from class at Calhoun. On Tuesday it was gorgeous - a deep deep ... well, frankly, I don't know what color. It defied description. It was grey, then green, then blue, with these fantastic bits of color in the furrows that disappeared or changed within fifteen seconds. Anyway, it was gorgeous. Yesterday the water was just a sullen gray, which also fit my mood quite well.

I took a 200 question test. Full and ominous stop. I did miserably. This is one of those times in my life when I'm just hoping and praying I didn't get a C.... Because if I did, I'm going to break down crying right in class. Then I went to work, which was a madhouse. Three sick people called in on top of the nine patients we already had scheduled, and I was dealing with annoyed druggie people and sick patients who showed up for their appointments an hour early and expected to be worked in earlier and annoyed pharmacist people and annoyed nurses and a stressed out doctor and two receptionists who wanted to go home but one of which stayed after hours with me because Paxton was definitely in full blown cranky/teething/sick/knocked-his-head-on-the-table-freaking-hard/
desperately-wanting-his-mommy mode. I was there until seven o'clock. Altogether, I was gone for twelve straight hours, none of them easy.

Whew. And if that paragraph sounds like it should be read all in one breath, well, it should. Because that's about how fast things kept flying at me. I went to bed at nine last night. Nine. What self-respecting college student goes to bed at nine? Apparently the really really exhausted ones do....

And tonight I'm just hoping Paxton isn't cranky. Because it's Jackie's turn to stay after with me, and she won't stay till 7 like Barb did, and we have about the same number of patients as we did yesterday. At least it's Mom working tonight. She'll help me with Paxton if she gets a couple free minutes, and she deals with cranky/druggie/whining patients quite firmly... if I do say so myself. Me? I just try to be as courteous as I can in order to calm them down and let them know we're working on whatever the crap their imagined problem is and then let someone who has actual medical knowledge shoot them down. Hopefully intercepting enough of these crazy-imagined-problem calls to actually give said medical-knowledge-people enough time to actually do something about all the imagined problems.

Ha. Who says a Dr.'s office is boring?!

Probably the same sort of person this comic refers to:
Irregular Webcomic 892.