I believe there is a plot afoot in my crazy life to deprive me of sleep. On the days I do not work I could, if I so chose, luxuriate in bed until some obscene hour of the morning. But do I? Noooooooo. Instead, I find my eyes are wide awake and fixed on the ceiling fan by 3 a.m. Then, on days such as today, when I have to be up, showered, dressed, and have my lunch in tow by 6:30 in order to arrive at work on time, I oversleep my 5:00 alarm by forty minutes. Go figure? Boo, to tell tales out of school, is usually the reason behind the 3:00 wake-up call. The cat has her schedule to adhere to after all. In her world, treat time seems to feel to pretty comfortable coming at like around 2:30, 2:45 a.m. ish. Sigh. If no treats are forthcoming at that time, she initiates Plan A. Plan A is to climb up on my chest and annoyingly knead at my pajamas and the blanket for twenty minutes. Should Plan A end up in the basket with no treats in the dish, Plan B then goes into play. Plan B involves generous amounts of obnoxious nose licking, which continues without paws (couldn't resist, sorry) until the lickee, that would be me, is finally awake and fully functional. Once I have capitulated and get out of bed to distribute the treats, my spoiled old feline climbs back up into her plushly appointed accommodations, and drifts happily off to dreamland, leaving me to ponder the fate of the universe until the sun comes up for the day. Thank you Boo.
This morning, I was functioning in total full throttle mode before my first cup of coffee, because I had turned off my alarm and drifted off back to sleep. I was endeavoring to rush while also being quiet, because Richard had fairly extensive oral surgery the beginning of the week, and I was doing my best not to disturb him. Have you ever noticed at exactly the time you are attempting to be the most quiet, coordinates precisely with the time you succeed in making the most noise? First, I dropped a coffee cup on the kitchen floor, shattering it loudly into a million tiny pieces. Next, I dropped my blow dryer with a resounding bang on the bathroom floor. Then I went out to my car to retrieve a bag I'd left there. When pushing the button on the key fob to relock my doors, I accidentally pushed the locate vehicle button setting off the alarm. As if that wasn't enough to wake the dead, and surely a few irate neighbors, at one point I went so far as to trip over the bag of cat litter I had just taken out to replenish the cat's box, falling flat on my face on the hallway floor. The fall was all the more amazing, in that I had just placed the cat litter in that very spot five minutes prior to taking a dive over it. Thankfully, all my working parts are still working and good order. The other good news is, Richard is undergoing hyperbolic oxygen treatments which have diminished his hearing considerably. That in itself is not good news, of course, but this morning I do have to say it did work to my advantage.
I drove him to his appointment the day of the surgery. He was inside the operating room for two and a half hours. While waiting, I read War and Peace, sewed a quilt for my bedroom, and wrote a screenplay. Why do they design waiting room chairs implicit in the name people most likely will be sitting in for awhile, to be so incredibly uncomfortable? I got in more positions than I achieve in yoga class before he was done, trying to locate one comfy spot for my behind. When he finally emerged, his lip was already showing significant signs of swelling. By the time we arrived home, the lip had ballooned up to twice the size, and he was beginning to look like he'd definitely been on the losing side of the fight. Getting him settled in his chair, he asked, "how do I look"? "Uhhhhhh"? A loaded question at best. I simply answered, "like you recently had surgery on your mouth". This seemed to satisfy him. I remember when my mother had mohs surgery on her nose to remove a malignant a skin cancer. She was in the office seven hours. They called me in towards the end, telling me not to be surprised by the depth of the hole in the tip of her nose. This seriously was not enough preparatory information in the slightest for me to not react when I walked in and saw my mother's nose. Whew. She also said, "how do I look". Again, "uhhhhhh"? I teased her, which is my MO for most uncomfortable situations. The surgeon assured me they would do plastic surgery to fill in the gaping hole as soon as the nose had time to heal. In the meantime, my mother would need to keep the bandage secured. Amen to that. In the end, they worked their magic and you could hardly tell she had had any work done at all.
Richard will be good to go as well in a short time knowing him. The worst of it is over now. Though, most likely he will not be able to eat properly for a week or two, as there were multiple extractions involved. This isn't my first go round with dental issues. Knowing in advance soft foods would be in order, I whipped up some mashed potatoes, baked a couple of yams, and got in a supply of pudding and applesauce as well as ice cream, and fruit for smoothies. I used to be a dental assistant, as well as trying on most every other career hat that might pop into your head. As with most of my career paths, dental assisting turned out not to be my chosen profession. At this stage, I'm not sure I even have a chosen profession, to be honest with you. Perhaps I am a Jill of all trades, and a master of none, as the saying goes (well, almost with a bit of gender tweaking). As I have said in earlier blogs on the subject, whatever prompted me to embark on a career involving dentistry escapes all explanation. But, embark on it I did, with great purpose. As with every poor career choice I've made over my lifetime, though the dental field didn't turn out to be my calling, I gleaned a lot of useful information during the experience helpful later on down the road. Dentistry really was a wide arc for me, I have to say. Particularly since, truth be known, I loathe going to the dentist. All the smells, and sounds, not to mention the dreaded novocaine injections. I'd rather shoot myself in the foot than open wide for those. I can remember before they developed such wonderful inventions as the water cooled drill, I considered the dental office simply a torture chamber where you paid for the privilege of being abused. Not that it is much better now, mind you, with all the whirring, numbing, and grinding, but the pain level seems to be slightly reduced. If you really want to have some fun, sign up for a root canal. The true test of your mettle. The dreaded rubber dam is stretched tight across your open mouth for what seems like an eternity while they drill, and drill, and yup drill. It feels like your jaw will never open and close properly again, or your lips return to their original shape, after the procedure. They employ the dam because pieces of tooth and debris are flying about and they don't want to worry about the patient swallowing any foreign objects. Personally, I think there should be a quick shot to put you out for a bit, and slam, bam, thank you ma'am she's done. There is such a thing of course, but a) it's expensive, and b) it's more dangerous for the patient. Drat the luck.
At any rate, that's my week in capsule form. I came back to work yesterday to find my immediate supervisor has a health issue which will require her taking a medical leave. She truly is the best of bosses, and I am saddened to think of her both being ill, and being away from the office. Hopefully, the two owners of the business don't plan on filling in her absence. My boss always feels like Cinderella to me, working herself to death. While the two owners, fit more the characters of the evil stepsisters. I cannot work for either of them. Well, cannot is not the correct word, because I can, naturally. Will not, would be more the correct verbiage. Both women are micromanagers to the extreme, giving helicopter parents a run for their money. They will hover over a project introducing change after change requiring tons of tweaking and extra work, and then revert back to the first version you produced and pick that one to run with. It's exhausting. It is the general feeling of the employees in the office that they would prefer not to be directly under either lady's thumb for very long. It may be time to look for a job in Richard's area. The universe has a way of pointing you in the direction you need to go. I have been dragging my feet on making this decision because I love my job and have been treated well by my supervisor. It won't be the same without her here. Hmmmmm. Another thing I have to add to my list of things to ponder when watching the ceiling fan go around at 3:00 a.m. with Boo.
Have a fabulous weekend. Hot hot hot again here in the Sacramento area with fire crews working overtime to keep the fires burning in the area from getting away from them. Bless these men and women. I can only imagine how hot it must be in all that gear in these extreme temperatures. Can't imagine what we would do without their dedication to keeping us safe.
Later gators.
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