Well, We’re Still Alive

We started our vacation Friday afternoon, and, as last year, we decided to rent a house in the Outer Banks, NC. The seven-plus hour drive is entirely worth it, since New Jersey’s shore rental fees are simply ridiculous. We paid less for two weeks in North Carolina than we would have for one week in Sea Isle City.

So yeah, New Jersey, eat a bag of Fort Dix.

Our only problem was the hurricane. Apparently Hurricane Isaias was churning in the Caribbean during the weekend, and we were hearing rumblings that the Outer Banks would have to be evacuated. Kevin freaked out at that, but the rest of us decided to play the waiting game.

On Friday we were told we’re all going to die. On Sunday, we were hearing our house would float into the ocean. On Monday, we were told we should get some rain and high winds.

So three days of stress turned out to be a big nothing-burger. Go figure.

Anyway, that’s where we are. The beach is great, the sun is really hot, and I’m getting some jogging in… while eating like a fat, sweaty hog.

If nothing else, at least the views are nice…

I’m going to do my best to get posts out, but if they’re not as frequent, it means I’m beaching.

To Die, To Sleep…

Sorry to have to do this, but I’m taking rest of the day off. It’s been three straight days of rioting, looting, burning, and assaulting in this awful, garbage town, and today is my first day off. I already went food shopping, and soon I’ll be taking a nice, long jog, then I plan on doing nothing at all.

Yep, today I am going to be a professional bum. It certainly works for Democrats.

Everything will be back to normal tomorrow, but today I am too exhausted and pissed off.

DISREGARD. I found a fabulous Darwin-esque riot post I’m releasing at 4pm. Trust me, it’s worth your time.

Sleepy (And) Hollow

This week has been a bear. My sergeant’s funeral, the drive to and from Texas, and yesterday’s non-stop cleaning and laundry – I washed all of Kyle’s clothes, washed his car, and spent the day with the kids – have taken its toll. My eye is getting better, but I’m still really tired, but I’ve been too busy to sleep.

So… I’m taking the rest of the weekend off. The department has ordered us to work 12-hour shifts from Monday going forward, so I’m resting up before the madness begins.

Twelve-hour shifts are essentially 14-hour shifts, when you consider travel time, showering, changing, etc. I should have a couple hours to spend with the family before I get to bed again. Shifts like these, with little advance notice, are terrible for your health. The overtime should be nice, but the shifts will wreak its havoc.

Posting will be back to normal Monday.

I Cannot Stress This Enough

This will likely be the most stressful weekend of my life.

Today I am scheduled for an interview – again – with Internal Affairs. I have a vague idea of what it is about, and although I am not a primary target, the notice said I “may” be a target. It is also likely I may see some form of disciplinary action, if for no other reason than the department gives out disciplinary action often anymore.

In twenty-five years, I have been to IA less than ten times. I have been the target four times previously, and I have never received any disciplinary measures. That’s a rare thing for someone with so much time on the job.

I think today will be different, however. I think the city is finally going to hit me with a suspension, and while I can handle anything but a dismissal, watching a perfect record go down in flames is frustrating.

I talked to the missus, and I think whatever the outcome of this case, I am going to look into the early retirement program. Soon. I would sign my papers, work four more years, and then retire for good. The department has changed, and not for the better. I’d leave with just under thirty years, and that would be just fine by me.

On Monday I receive my biopsy results. I know the doctor has been hedging his bets, but I just have a bad feeling about that, too. If it’s cancer, then I’ll spend all my time at the gym, so I’ll be strong enough to beat it. Of course, if that’s the diagnosis, I won’t be my usual charming self for a while.

I’ve given this city twenty-five-plus years of my life, worked extremely hard, never abused sick/vacation time, and never asked for an easy assignment. I’m pretty sure I’ve given them enough.

The Stress Never Ends

So, yesterday was terrible.

Princess P was sick from school, and was vomiting much of the morning. We think she had the same virus Kevin was battling. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I had my urologist appointment early in the morning, and was hoping for good news.

After sitting for what seemed like forever in the office, I was finally called back. The crazy cute Russian nurse took my vitals, and had me give a urine sample. In the urologist’s office, you pee into what looks like a spittoon, and it analyzes the urine and reads the numbers. Afterward, the nurse took a quick ultrasound of my bladder to make sure it was empty. It was…

Continue reading “The Stress Never Ends”

Taking A Sick Day

For the third time since February, I’ve had an outbreak of cellulitis. After waking up at 4am with severe pain in the left hip, and around my waist, I knew it was coming. I spent yesterday lying around the house, fighting the high fever and managing the pain. I did go to our local ReadyCare, and to be brutally honest, they were awful.

It is nearly impossible to get an appointment with my primary doctor, so I went to ReadyCare hoping they could at least prescribe antibiotics to shorten the duration of the outbreak. A physician’s assistant came in, looked at the swollen red parts of my hip and back, then immediately told me to go to the hospital.

I tried to tell this wench I know my body, and amoxicillin would get me back on track in a day, but she wasn’t hearing it. She was worried about my “high fever” of 100.2 and my slightly high heart rate. I again tried to tell her I go through this many times a year, and en ER visit isn’t necessary. (Besides my job makes us see a city doctor if we go to an ER. The city doctors are those people who failed veterinarian school, so I wasn’t dealing with that noise.)

The PA gave me paperwork and ordered me to the hospital. I said thank you, walked out, and went straight home. No offense, but if a doctor – or physician’s assistant – refuses to listen to a patient, why would I take her advice? I won’t be going back there again.

I’ll make an appointment with my primary, and tell him he needs to put me back on the amoxicillin. Three occurrences in four months is ridiculous, and if I had amoxicillin at home, I would already be feeling better.

With that, I’m going to lie back down. I’ll try to have posts up tomorrow, but today I’m too tired.

Calm Blue Ocean, Calm Blue Ocean…

There are few people on this Earth more cynical and negative than I am. It’s not a trait I am proud of, but I am the eternal pessimist. A few days ago, I saw this article about changing your negativity at Ace of Spades, and truly enjoyed it.

One of the reasons we’re so affected by a singular negative event is that we start imagining all the ways it might impact our future, no matter how illogical those “what ifs” are.

“When you find yourself in a negative spiral filtering in the negative aspects of your day and racing down the rabbit hole of ‘what ifs’ and whether these negative things could lead to more negative things, stop,” says Dr. Jennifer Guttman, a clinical psychologist based in New York and Connecticut who specializes in cognitive behavior therapy. “Ask yourself what evidence you have that this negative thing will lead to more negative events. Remind yourself that you can’t cope with something in advance of there being anything to cope with.”

In other words, reframe the event and see it for what it is — a small, isolated, inconsequential setback that has no bearing on the rest of your day.

I get stressed out very easily, and it’s something about me I would like to change. I may try to take the article’s advice, and not let the small things wear me down.

Just Place The Pillow Over My Face

Well, the cellulitis is back with a raging vengeance.

It started Saturday night at work. My back started feeling awful – it always gives me pain right up the spine – and my sergeant told me to go home when she could hear my teeth chattering. Naturally, being a stubborn idiot, I refused, and said I’d suck it up for the last two hours. Big mistake.

When I walked out of the building, it was about twenty degrees outside. The chattering got worse, and my car’s heat usually kicks in when I pull onto my street. I slept in a long-sleeved shirt, a hooded sweatshirt, and three covers that night. The fever broke a few times, but the pain remained.

I drove to the Devils game and back, and thought I was past the worst of it. I ended up getting about five hours sleep Sunday night, and when I woke up, I couldn’t put weight on my left leg. The swelling was really bad. I tried to help a bit around the house, but walking up stairs made me sweat.

It’s puzzling because I haven’t had an outbreak since October of 2017, so I assumed I was good to go. Apparently, the little bitch is still in my system, making my life a living hell. I am due back to work tomorrow morning, but that’s not likely. Right now, my target date is Thursday. Until then, I’ll have posts ready, but if I’m scarce around here, it’s because I’m trying to rest.

Crazy Doesn’t Live Here Anymore

As many of you know, the past few months have been… trying. There was Kyle’s summer lacrosse tournaments and subsequent visits to college campuses, my heart palpitations, the hospital visit, and the ensuing heart monitor, and the prostate cancer scare.

The bacon bits sprinkled onto this crap salad has been the stress of Christmas, and the fact we are moving my mother into a residence this weekend because her memory is fading fast.

As a result, I have a few bad days interspersed between the good ones. By that I mean, there are some days where I feel the depression creeping back in. I am not at that threshold yet, but since I share pretty much everything here, I wanted to make a note of it.

While shopping Saturday, I stopped in the parking lot and cried for five minutes. I have no idea why, but I think it was the stress of the day. It was the only time in the last six months where I thought to reach for the Zoloft. I truly believe this is the culmination of my health problems, and I was never able to stop and take in all the bad news. That’s my m.o. – I hold things inside until the kettle boils, and when it does, I kinda lose it, emotionally.

I got past it, and for the most part I’m having many more good days than bad. I also know if it gets to be too much, I’m headed to the psychiatrist again.

The fact I haven’t been able to walk/jog for nearly two weeks because of the weather doesn’t help, either.

The reason I mention this is because I have been more or less scarce on the blog. I’ve been trying to respond to comments and such, but honestly, it hasn’t been a priority. Today is my last day before my two-week Christmas vacation, so I should be back to normal very soon.

Again, this isn’t a cry for help or sympathy; it’s to let you know I understand what’s going on inside my head and I am addressing it.

Four On The Floor

Yesterday, much of the east coast suffered through Snowmageddon. The local weather douchebags predicted a coating to an inch, only to be washed away by rush hour.

Spoiler alert: they were wrong. Again.

Instead, Philly – like my high school girlfriends – caught between three to five inches. Normally that wouldn’t be an issue, but I guess since we were told we were getting nothing, the idiocy came out in droves. Thousands of people in my awful city fled work early, clogging the roads with teh stoopid.

Worse still, the local municipalities believed these plastic-haired bimbos and decided there was no need to salt or plow the roads. By time they realized, “Hey, all those mass transit buses are wiping out and sliding into ditches” it was too late. The damage had been done.

I left work at 2:45pm. It usually takes me no more than thirty minutes to drive home. Remember that.

Continue reading “Four On The Floor”