Wow, it would appear that MORE THAN ONE PERSON is reading my blog.
I'm shocked. I assume it is blogger's way of making me feel better about myself.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
My thumb
Really glad that I'm actually going in to see what the hell is up with my thumb today.
So a while ago (a month maybe? Maybe more like two weeks?) my thumb started hurting. I thought maybe I'd hyper extended it doing the various things that I do. Well after the initial kind of swelling went down, it still hurt. I couldn't pick things up for two days. Then I could. Super confusing.
Oh! And then it stopped hurting all together, but randomly started the day after. Now it's in my wrist and sometimes my fingers and sort of in the other hand. But the thumb hurts like HELL. I'm not supposed to type (said the advice nurse) but I'm really irresponsible and I am anyway. I really want to know what's going on.
IT'S OBVIOUSLY CANCER. (sorry people who actually suffer from cancer. I hope that didn't offend you)
I bet I have tendonitis or something. Hopefully it's something that goes away quickly.
So a while ago (a month maybe? Maybe more like two weeks?) my thumb started hurting. I thought maybe I'd hyper extended it doing the various things that I do. Well after the initial kind of swelling went down, it still hurt. I couldn't pick things up for two days. Then I could. Super confusing.
Oh! And then it stopped hurting all together, but randomly started the day after. Now it's in my wrist and sometimes my fingers and sort of in the other hand. But the thumb hurts like HELL. I'm not supposed to type (said the advice nurse) but I'm really irresponsible and I am anyway. I really want to know what's going on.
IT'S OBVIOUSLY CANCER. (sorry people who actually suffer from cancer. I hope that didn't offend you)
I bet I have tendonitis or something. Hopefully it's something that goes away quickly.
Zoloft and Shit
So today I'm like uber depressed and anxious, but it's kind of my fault. So a while ago (this adds up to maybe a week) I go to get my Zoloft from my doctor, because I'm almost out and it would be a really bad idea to not take it. Unless I really want to get horrible panic attacks and never get out of bed and be a complete psycho bitch to everyone I know.
Okay, so I go into the Pharmacy at my hospital (it's not actually a hospital. It's just a building with doctors and shit in it, but I always call it a hospital even though it has a real name like "Doctor's office" or something. Or I could just call it Kaiser) and ask for a refill on that, and my other various medications. I get the other medications, but she tells me that I cannot get my Zoloft because my doctor didn't refill it like he should've.
Instead of asking her to email my doctor, I did a walk of shame back to my train to go home. When my Zoloft ran out, I realized this was actually going to be a problem. I went back in, and got this sweet Russian dude named Sergery. (I think that's how it's spelled, because in my head I read his name off his tag like Surgery, but it's actually pronounced Sir-gay. Not Sir Gay though. Put it all together, folks) He went into the back room, and brought out three pills for me to tide me over, and emailed my doctor. I didn't even have to ask! Apparently he understands what Zoloft is for.
So he tells me to call back in a week, maybe sooner, to see if #1. My doc responded and #2 if the Pharmacy actually filled it. Well three pills=three days for me, so when I ran out of that the panic set in. As well as the depression. I go to college, by the way. In one of my classes I had a panic attack during a guest lecture, and I left class for a moment to take an ativan because I am paranoid about people seeing my ativan. So I came back and cowered in the corner nearest to the door, instead of going back to my seat. Apparently I was not as invisible as I assumed, because the TA came and asked what was up as well as another student who refers to me as Purple Hat instead of by my actual name. He gave me a candy cane, and repeatedly asked how I was doing. This was nice, but not helpful to me.
So then this morning, I got in trouble with my boyfriend for not texting fast enough, even though I promised I would work on it. Then I started panicking and crying and shit, but he was texting me, so he couldn't notice, and then I told him, and he freaked out that I hadn't bothered to tell him that I have been depressed. PRO TIP: Do not yell at someone who is in the middle of a panic attack. This makes it worse.
So that's my morning so far.
Okay, so I go into the Pharmacy at my hospital (it's not actually a hospital. It's just a building with doctors and shit in it, but I always call it a hospital even though it has a real name like "Doctor's office" or something. Or I could just call it Kaiser) and ask for a refill on that, and my other various medications. I get the other medications, but she tells me that I cannot get my Zoloft because my doctor didn't refill it like he should've.
Instead of asking her to email my doctor, I did a walk of shame back to my train to go home. When my Zoloft ran out, I realized this was actually going to be a problem. I went back in, and got this sweet Russian dude named Sergery. (I think that's how it's spelled, because in my head I read his name off his tag like Surgery, but it's actually pronounced Sir-gay. Not Sir Gay though. Put it all together, folks) He went into the back room, and brought out three pills for me to tide me over, and emailed my doctor. I didn't even have to ask! Apparently he understands what Zoloft is for.
So he tells me to call back in a week, maybe sooner, to see if #1. My doc responded and #2 if the Pharmacy actually filled it. Well three pills=three days for me, so when I ran out of that the panic set in. As well as the depression. I go to college, by the way. In one of my classes I had a panic attack during a guest lecture, and I left class for a moment to take an ativan because I am paranoid about people seeing my ativan. So I came back and cowered in the corner nearest to the door, instead of going back to my seat. Apparently I was not as invisible as I assumed, because the TA came and asked what was up as well as another student who refers to me as Purple Hat instead of by my actual name. He gave me a candy cane, and repeatedly asked how I was doing. This was nice, but not helpful to me.
So then this morning, I got in trouble with my boyfriend for not texting fast enough, even though I promised I would work on it. Then I started panicking and crying and shit, but he was texting me, so he couldn't notice, and then I told him, and he freaked out that I hadn't bothered to tell him that I have been depressed. PRO TIP: Do not yell at someone who is in the middle of a panic attack. This makes it worse.
So that's my morning so far.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
What's up world?
Hello! So I just made this blog, but I'm not really sure what it's for yet. I guess it'll be a little online journal. Like livejournal but without the awkward suicide attempts. So for my first entry, I'll talk a little about my superfly job at Ikea. I work with kids and it's pretty great. But there are things that I hate about it. Here they are:
#1. Before you ask me ANYTHING about how to get out of the store, please actually bother to look at any of the signs that are hung EVERYWHERE IN THE STORE. Or the multiple maps that have handy little takeaway maps with them. Maybe you could even, I dunno, follow the GIANT ARROWS on the ground? If you have done all these steps and are still hopelessly confused, then you may ask me. I have shit to do that's more important than dealing with people who ask questions before even bothering to figure it out themselves.
#2. Please don't awkwardly stare into Smaland. I work in Smaland, and you look like a fucking pedophile. If you want to know more about it, you can ask us, or read the signs at the front of Smaland. You can look into Smaland. I just don't like the weirdos who stare in Smaland for more than a minute. It's kind of creepy.
#3. If I am wearing jacket over my work shirt, but you can still tell that I'm a coworker, DON'T ASK ME QUESTIONS. I am on my break. My BREAK. On my break, I don't want to answer your questions. I want to relax and clear my mind.
#4. Don't stare at me when I am in line to get food at the restaurant. I am human, I need to eat too. It's honestly not that weird that I'm at the restaurant that Ikea has provided. YES there is a staff cafe, but it's kinda gross and closes absurdly early.
#5. Please don't put your 11 year old in Smaland. I don't care that they meet the height requirement. If your 11 year old is that hard to shop with, they are either mentally retarded, or you shouldn't have had kids in the first place.
#6. Seriously, DON'T LEAVE IKEA when you drop your kid off. We're not a daycare. We don't feed your child, and we will call the cops if we have to overhead you to pick up your damn kid and you don't show up.
#7. Stop trying to sneak kids who aren't potty trained into Smaland. When they pee everywhere, we'll call you and you'll have to take them with you, and we'll be super mad with you.
#8. If we can't take your kid for whatever reason, CHILL THE FUCK OUT. It's not the end of the world. Please stop screaming. Seriously, it won't change our minds. We'll just think you're mentally unstable.
#1. Before you ask me ANYTHING about how to get out of the store, please actually bother to look at any of the signs that are hung EVERYWHERE IN THE STORE. Or the multiple maps that have handy little takeaway maps with them. Maybe you could even, I dunno, follow the GIANT ARROWS on the ground? If you have done all these steps and are still hopelessly confused, then you may ask me. I have shit to do that's more important than dealing with people who ask questions before even bothering to figure it out themselves.
#2. Please don't awkwardly stare into Smaland. I work in Smaland, and you look like a fucking pedophile. If you want to know more about it, you can ask us, or read the signs at the front of Smaland. You can look into Smaland. I just don't like the weirdos who stare in Smaland for more than a minute. It's kind of creepy.
#3. If I am wearing jacket over my work shirt, but you can still tell that I'm a coworker, DON'T ASK ME QUESTIONS. I am on my break. My BREAK. On my break, I don't want to answer your questions. I want to relax and clear my mind.
#4. Don't stare at me when I am in line to get food at the restaurant. I am human, I need to eat too. It's honestly not that weird that I'm at the restaurant that Ikea has provided. YES there is a staff cafe, but it's kinda gross and closes absurdly early.
#5. Please don't put your 11 year old in Smaland. I don't care that they meet the height requirement. If your 11 year old is that hard to shop with, they are either mentally retarded, or you shouldn't have had kids in the first place.
#6. Seriously, DON'T LEAVE IKEA when you drop your kid off. We're not a daycare. We don't feed your child, and we will call the cops if we have to overhead you to pick up your damn kid and you don't show up.
#7. Stop trying to sneak kids who aren't potty trained into Smaland. When they pee everywhere, we'll call you and you'll have to take them with you, and we'll be super mad with you.
#8. If we can't take your kid for whatever reason, CHILL THE FUCK OUT. It's not the end of the world. Please stop screaming. Seriously, it won't change our minds. We'll just think you're mentally unstable.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)