Entries from February 2008 ↓

Twitter has recently become the topic of many conversations.  I’ve been using it for a few months; at first I enjoyed the novelty of the concept.   Now I enjoy it because once your flock is large enough, there is always someone out there whose brain I can pick.  Maybe it is akin to training wheels and I’ll outgrow the usefulness, but for now I enjoy having company whether I’m working at five in the morning or eleven at night.

Arriving exactly on time for my 2:45 appointment, I was presented with two sets of nearly identical doors.  One had hours posted on the glass and the other was plain.  I entered through the door with office hours, assuming the other was the staff entrance.

I entered a fairly standard medical foyer, with the receptionist slightly apart from the waiting area.  I approached the no nonsense lady behind the counter only to be told, without eye contact, “Have a seat.”

She was on the phone, with an insurance company so I sat down and flipped through a magazine while thoroughly enjoying her phone call.  I began to think that if I ever had problems with my insurance carrier I would love having her around to handle the details.  She didn’t take no for an answer, was firm, and persistent.  While she handled that she was also working on payment arrangements with a man I could not see from my position.  In between demands to speak with a supervisor I heard the man make a good natured, if half-hearted joke about the aggravation involved with something or other.

In a bossy, yet somewhat genteel Southern manner she snapped “It’s good for you” and the burly man left as though he had been chastised by his granny, fumbling with his paperwork, cell phone, and sunglasses.

Several minutes later I was summoned, “Miss Lewis.”

“I’m not Miss Lewis.”

“You’re in the wrong building.”

Having been on time, I was now more than ten minutes late; blushing furiously I entered the unmarked door.  The lady behind this counter greeted me and I  sheepishly mentioned that I had been on time.  Without glancing up she replied, “She told you to have a seat didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not the first.  How long were you waiting? We’ve had patients sit there for forty-five minutes before discovering they were in the wrong office.”

At least I wasn’t the first.

For what it’s worth that temperamental gall bladder is coming out.  I just have to set a date.

I enjoy my job reading and highlighting posts for the P & C.  There are times though where I just get burned out on topics: politics, religion bashing (including the reverse), abortion, and secular vs progressive all come to mind.  I’m working through it, developing the ability to scan without internalizing a lot of it

Perhaps what tires me the most are hyperbolic arguments, slippery slopes, even the word ‘strawman.’  I can’t help but notice, and I’m not only referring to the local blogosphere, that the ability to debate is becoming a lost art.  Looking back on my own highschool experience I can only recall one instance per year where persuasive writing was covered.  With the amount of data available to the average person perhaps more focus is needed on critical reading and analysis. Honestly though, would it help? My college courses spent far too much time focusing on remedial grammar.

So I know I’ve written far too much in the mommy department, but I couldn’t let this one go even if it is embarrassing.  Last warning guys, bodily fluids and hormones ahead.

Lately the boys have been sneaking into our bed at night and when Tim is away I appreciate the body heat.  What I don’t appreciate is being awoken at 3:40 in the morning by pee.  Not just a little pee, a whole lot of it; soaking my pajamas, me, the sheets, the mattress cover, of course the pee-er.  So let’s just set the scene.  I’m soaked, I have two crying boys, one covered in pee, the other just mad that he’s being sent back to his own room so I can strip my bed.  Not two minutes into this, the baby wakes up with a lovely case of the runs.     So, three kids crying, pee, a dirty diaper, and for icing on the cake the dog is whining because that’s what he does best. At the precise moment I pick up the screaming baby, my period starts.  No, not a trickle, it’s a post pregnancy nightmarish episode.

Sufficient to say I spent a moment telling God that I didn’t find this particularly funny and that I would appreciate some patience STAT.

Well, it’s a little funny now, but then again I’m not currently covered in pee.

It’s haircut time.

Yay or nay?