Tired

I haven't written in two weeks. 

I am bone-tired, washed out, wrung, done in.  "It's the new job," I tell myself.  A lovely job but so consuming.  So many things I want to do.  So many problems I want to fix.  And there was the hurricane that displaced our operations to the two top floors of the building so I've been sharing a room with three other people for the past six weeks.  My workspace has been reduced to the necessities: a small table and two chairs I borrowed from the training room, a telephone, a computer and an industrial shelf that used to store computer equipment. 

Everytime the compressor from the big lunch room refrigerator fires up on the other side of the wall, my table vibrates for a good twenty minutes. 

I try not to listen to the conversations from the other three people in the room.  When my doctor's nurse calls to discuss the results of a routine blood test, I find myself speaking in code.

"I don't seem to be adapting very well to the new dosage of my medication," I tell her.

"What do you mean?"

"There are side effects I don't like"

"Like what?"

A pause.   My mind sifts through the list: sleeplessness, rapid heartbeat, unmentionable digestive issues, unmentionable other bodily issues.  I could request a call-back on my cell phone in the privacy of my car but there's no guarantee she would actually call back at a time when I can talk to her.

"My heart races once in a while," I finally pick.  (Did anybody hear that?  Did they worry that I'd keel over and konk out during a staff meeting?  Should I issue a public disclaimer?)

"Yeah, that happens sometimes with this medicine.  I'll mention it to Dr. B."

She hungs up.  I wished I had asked her if Dr. B could prescribe some kind of magic pill that would put me into a benign coma for the next two weeks.  Nothing drastic.  Just a long slumber from which I could awake when all the repairs are done and it's time to slide back into my office and daily routine.  Skip the mayhem.

But no.  I have to do this the harder way: count the days, map the progress of repairs, whine, schedule a massage and a couple of days off, whine, drink the occasional shot of bourbon, sleep, take hot baths, whine, eat muffins, whine some more.  And write about it so you'll know and send me comforting messages about hanging on because it can't be much longer now...

Comments

[papinet]

nous avons lu hier soir toute la vie de mémé et aujourd'hui tous tes problèmes.Une seule tactique! Tiens bon,tout Fort Mardyck est derrière toi et te soutiens.