I’ve realized I’ve begun to base my life around how many days until my next day off. I was just off a day. My next day off is in three days. I literally just had a day off.
The fact that I am at the phase, or point or stage or whatever of my life that I am basing my life around when I don’t have to work is disappointing. Starting the countdown over again after a day off.
I do not work the same schedule as typical Americans. The average schedule is 9-5 Monday through Friday. The good ol’ 9-5. You hear it in movies and tv shows, newspapers and books and magazines. But not me, no.
I’m a lowly retail worker. We don’t close at 5 or 6 on Friday and open back up at 8 or 9 on Monday. Hour current store hours are 6am to 11pm seven days a week. I’m lucky enough to have gotten, after almost fourteen long years, a stable schedule working the same time every day. But I don’t get weekend off unless I ask for it. And even then it has to be approved my management.
Now, I already know that this living “day off to day off” is a symptom of not loving my job. While there are aspects of my job I do enjoy, and several I have grown to love appreciate, I do not love my job, either parts of it or it’s entirety.
This is a fact of life for many Americans. The majority of which (which I am a part of) simply cannot afford a career change, for one reason or another. So they are stuck in the path they have made and cannot fathom divergence from it.
Personally, I made some decisions early on and over the course of multiple years that led me to not leaving this path.
Think of it like this: you’re young and walking along a road. For several miles it is one lane, one direction. And then suddenly the road widens. Then signs up ahead warn you adulthood is approaching. Once you reach, more signs. Signs telling you “this way for higher education” whether that be trade school or college.
But the path varies for each individual. After college my path divided. Warning signs stated, “try for texting jobs ahead” and “take time off”. Guess which path I chose?
Then there was the marriage path. And then, again, “try to teach” and “job. Now.” I didn’t want my new husband to have to keep paying my student loan payment.
And after that the rest doesn’t matter. Because I quickly passed the detours for teaching and never realized until too late that I’d run out of chances. Except that once, when I interviewed for a teaching position. But honestly at that point the road was out.
Now, the only exits I have will keep me on the same track in the same state. Sure, there is always the potential to attempt a new route to the same destination. And that’s frankly the only option I have to have nicer scenery.
The fact is, I know if I take another route I won’t be happier. I’ll still be on the same level of life that I am now. Aspects will improve but, as has been said, with great power comes great responsibility. The situation doesn’t change, it’s just a little shinier. There’s still rust underneath.
First off, The Kid decided to run and go and tripped and fell. She hit her elbow on her door frame. There’s a small cut that she took forever to let me clean and bandage, but she’s gonna be in more pain tomorrow from whacking it at high speeds on a door jam.
We left the house today to run some errands and came home to find my dog ACQUIRED A HAM BONE AND LEFT BITS AND PIECES THROUGHOUT THE HOUSE.
I have to go back to work tomorrow after two glorious days off, only to have to deal with my least favorite time of the week. It’s a time consuming task and basically takes all day.
The Hubs got me a diamond painting kit that includes ten small (3in x 3in) canvas based on space.
It took me too days but I finished the first one and I’m hooked. Now, if I can stop losing the little “diamonds”.
My sister said she didn’t know what to get me and ended up fueling my addiction to stationary getting me a nice leather journal and pens. I want to start writing in it but I don’t want to ruin it with my usual nonsense. I’ll think of something good.
My truck hasn’t been started in like five days and I’m sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it’ll be freezing in there. Honestly I’ll be surprised if she starts.
Yes it’s a she.
I’m gonna start working on the next drawing challenge soon, but I wanna do some research on the topic first. And plan for the video’s content. If I’m gonna keep doing it I need to at least improve.
These last few days of very little stress have been a beacon of joy for me. I have had slightly less tummy issues, and it’s nice to not have to worry about work. And knowing the holiday season is over (except, that is, for the clearance) just makes me happy.
Finally, a bookcover made with something other than Canva. This one was done with GIMP. Like, five years ago.
In honor of the most popular thing I’ll have ever written (and that’s not saying much) turning TEN FREAKING YEARS OLD, let’s celebrate with an embarrassing story from today, of all days Black Friday.
So, as you aught to know by now, I do, in fact, work retail as my primary job. I will never and shall never name the RETAIL ESTABLISHMENT where I earn my bread. There are things you will never know about me, and that’s not one because it’s not hard to figure out. ANYWAY…
Of course today is what used to be known as the biggest shopping day of the year. To be honest, it was absolutely, ridiculously, insane, three years ago. But the panini press happened and we all know how that went.
So, at RETAIL ESTABLISHMENT Black Friday is a dulled down event spread out over multiple days throughout the month of November. They first started changing aspects of it because people started getting hurt fighting over cheap and cheaply made towels and washcloths. But then the world was hit by, it was struck by The ‘Rona.
Today, the actual Friday in question was a very VERY mild shadow of what it used to be. The Store was busy, but not insanely so, there were not wall to wall people, and honestly the deals weren’t that amazing.
I was myself at one point working on some merchandise maintenance, and had to take a secure item to the registers. As I was doing so, I decided I needed to leave my portable printing device in a secure location so as to protect it from being picked up by co-worker thieves who don’t like to hunt for their own equipment.
So I did something I assumed was going to be a great idea.
Some need to know information: as one often sees in all retail locations, we have many large cardboard displays called “PDQs”. My research tells me those letters stand for “pretty darn quick” or “product displayed quickly” which are both kind of hilarious and accurate.
I have often thought that the people who design these doodads absolutely earn every dime they get because I’ve seen some seriously clever PDQs.
Back to the story, I looked around and saw a perfume giftset PDQ and thought, that’s a PERFECT a place to hide my printer. It had a little top on it that the printer could sit right down in.
So, moving right along, a customer’s perfume in hand, I gently tossed my printer into its tiny hiding place.
Have you ever done something and expected the sound of it happening to occur and it took a split second longer to make the sound? Well, I didn’t immediately hear the printer thump onto what I assumed was a sturdy cardboard platform. I did, however, hear, a split second later, a thump like the sound of a printer that had traveled the length of essentially a cardboard rectangle prism only to thunk onto a hard plastic pallet.
The full height of this PDQ display is roughly four feet. I’m not good with measurements. But it would be entirely too difficult to reach by hand. So, without missing a beat, I continued to the register area of the store, took (what I now remember was) Guess Men’s Body Spray up and placed it behind the register.
Between the happening of the incident, walking up to the front, and back, I contemplated how I would manage to retrieve the printer. Despite knowing at least two very tall co-workers who would help, I knew I’d rather risk death than embarrassment and a friendly joshing from either of them.
Of course the only solution was absolutely fantastic and honestly I’m proud of myself for thinking of it. i kneeled in the floor. And removed items out of my way, a few perfume gift sets (I think it was “Lucky You” ironically). I whipped out my technically “illegal” in the store box cutter, and then proceeded to poorly cut a trap door in what was, in fact, a hollow PDQ. My yeeted printer was sitting comfortably right there. I reached in and rescued it from us cardboard well of despair.
Unless some cheeky TURD happened by and decides to look back at the security cameras to see what the heck happened, I’m clear of any nonsense.
Now, I would have been significantly more embarrassing by my own sheer stupidity in the moment had I not been having stomach issues all day. I also didn’t let myself think of anything but a solution, and not how completely bonkers and probably hilarious it would have looked, had someone been recording me, and witnessed my momentary pause when I realized what had actually happened.
Of course this embarrassment is much healthier for me than the constant feeling of embarrassment that I have when I think I’ve said something that makes me sound dumb. Of course, that’s because I think everyone already thinks I’m dumb anyway.
No one is gonna know if I don’t make a post every single day. They’re just not. I mean, besides me. And at this point I don’t know if I’d care either. I’m not here to prove anyone else wrong about whether I can or can not. I’m not even out to prove myself wrong.
As far as I know everyone on earth is absolutely rooting for me to succeed and, despite my own self doubt I can pretend to pretend to believe that. Pretending, for me, is not hard, so long as I don’t have to show proof of my work.
Pretending, however, to be a good, consistent writer requires proof of work. Like an angry high school math teacher who hates their job but knows they’ve been doing it too long for a career change, readers require you to show your work. Evidence that supports your claim to be good at writing.
A scientist cannot be permitted to present a hypothesis as true to a board without providing evidence of such. I imagine they’d be carted out of the building like the movies: two ogres of men carrying him out by his armpits like a child, tossing his file box full of desk decor on top of him.
He’d grumble about this and that, picking up his Funko Pops (the modern day troll doll) and stapler that actually was company property and then shake his fist at the cold concrete building that cares not, while shouting, “You’ll rue the day!” Then he’d shuffle away, grumbling.
Wait. Is that how evil villains are born? Did I just write an evil scientist villain origin story?
What’s my evil villain origin story?
Well, it’d have to start with retail. That is after all, my day job. Honestly if you didn’t know that have you even been reading my posts? No, you haven’t no one has. Back to my Evil Origin Story.
Perhaps a customer finally makes me angry enough to do something terrible?
Yes, but. Someone makes me angry, and I go home and blog about it, doing my usual “save to drafts” thing. The next day, the customer is DEAD. Eerily similar to the way in which I wrote it. Even better, they don’t die, but everything happens almost exactly the way it does in the post. But if the post goes public, they die!
But in order to make sure it was my post, I post another, and it works. But does it only work to death? Or can it be used for good? But the problem lies in that, perhaps I only use it for evil… ON PURPOSE.
I seriously just wanted to write on PORPOISE. You know. For laughs.
Anyway, the point is, no one is gonna know if I don’t post every day. They just won’t, same with how I know they won’t know that I cheated on one post, expect that I told on myself. Twice.
No one will know because no one reads my posts. Reading is too much work these days, what with short form video providing hours of mind numbing entertainment to the masses. That includes me, I’m not judging, I’m projecting.
Believe me, if I could make people love me through my Tiktok I would. Would probably not, I don’t like a lot of attention. I want to succeed at all this nonsense, but I don’t want it like that.
Hello and welcome back to “Oops Crystal Is Doing It Again”. The show where I let the tiniest seed of an idea slip into my head that I might still be able to be a teacher.
Ah yes. All the factors are there. Talking about teaching. That’s it. That’s all it takes. oh and Back-To-School has begun in Retail Establishment. Actually probably at all retail establishments.
Backstory for those who might not know
Hi, I graduated from one of my states top teacher colleges in 2007. Approximately 15 years ago. I had wanted to be a teacher for most of my life (that and a writer). And I made amazing plans for myself.
But then I got stupid and have been working retail ever since.
I have made NUMEROUS half-hearted attempts to get back into it over the years. I substituted for a while, I even interviewed. Once, 1,000 years ago. I’ve started stuffing for the praxis (two separate tests I needed to take to renew a thing) about a million times.
Between exhaustion and depression, parenting and a full-time job, I pretty much only have the energy to stare at my phone all day (you should see my house. Better yet, please don’t you’d have me committed or something).
A few months back I made the mistake of looking at job openings, not to teach but anything to get my into a classroom. And, of course, I was let down. Because even if I could have gotten the job, I wouldn’t have been able to pay my bills.
And part of the reason I’m in this mess is because I didn’t want to burden my husband with bills.
You see, I graduated in December 2007. Student loan companies give you a six month grace period before your payment comes due. My student loan came due July 2008. I got married in October 2008. I did not want my new husband to have to pay my student loan anymore (my parents paid it before that). So ya girl got her first real big girl job. IN. RETAIL.
I told myself, “I’ll be here six months and I’ll get a teaching job.”
Well 13+ years later and I’m still there. I’ve jumped around a few times in where I worked in the building. But I never left, no matter how much I want to some days.
And because I have been there for more than a decade, I’m making more than what “entry level” pay would be for any “non-certified” position in my local districts school system. And because I’m making what I am, my expenses have increased to match.
Meaning… I make just enough to pay my bills but not have nice things. Which also means that if I drop in pay in any significant way, then I will not be able to pay said bills.
The only way I would let myself commit such a stupid act is if by some miracle I woke up to roughly $25,000 to pay off all my outstanding debt. That’s not including the services I pay for. That or my husband some how gets a really big raise.
See, I’m very very lucky in a lot of ways. First, my husband’s income provides a LOT for us. The only shared things I pay for are Netflix, Cellphone (which he contributes to) and daycare.
The remainder of my bills is literally my own stupid decisions, namely credit cards and a truck payment. Somehow this post turned into a very depressing financial post. And that’s not what this post is about.
This post is about teaching. And why I can never.
First off, since it has been 100 years, in education years, since I graduated, a lot has changed. State standards, requirements for being an educator, and even technology.
There also used to be alternative routes to becoming an teacher in my state.
But, Crystal, why would you need an alternate route?
*Knocks everything off the table in anger*
BECAUSE. Because it’s been 15 years since I’ve learned anything. And in that amount of time, I’ve forgotten things. There might even be different standards to getting certified in the state. That’s where I screwed my self over, again.
I made the terrible mistake of looking at these routes, and imagined the possibility of taking one of these paths, and becoming a teacher.
This is starting to feel like, like infertility. Like wanting a baby and getting so close to it that you take a test and it says positive, but you have to wait for the doctor to tell you, “you’re not pregnant.”
(Do not take it the wrong way I am not comparing it to a miscarriage, I’ve never had one but know how devastating it would be.)
And because I keep letting myself fall back into this vicious cycle
I haven’t given myself any real chance to accept it, mourn, go through the stages of grief, and get all the way to acceptance. And because of that, I keep telling myself teaching might have been the one thing I could have been great at. The one thing where I could have made a difference.
And it is all, every single aspect of the entire disappointing situation, is all my own stupid fault. It has all been my absolute terrible decision making skills that have lead me down this path. A path away from what could have been an amazing and I’m wonderful career but instead to a “Same thing every day never making a single step in a positive direction” job.
I am grateful for my job. There are people out there that would kill for my job with my pay, because I do make decent money. I am glad I can pay my bills and sometimes scrape together a few dollars to buy The Kid a thing.
But just like always, I had big dreams and poor follow through. My situation is my own and I need to accept it.
I’d like to apologize for this rant of a post. In the coming days there should be some more interesting posts. I hope you stick around.
Not because I’m sick or someone else is sick. Or because of some family obligation. But because I just needed some time off.
But I didn’t. As I’d told one of my bosses, I’m a glutton for punishment. You see, two days ago I was an hour and a half late getting off (OT paying my bills this week woo). This wasn’t because I was forced too. I just didn’t want to (a) leave something half finished and (b) didn’t want to leave it on my teammate. As I was leaving I told manager A and my teammate, “shoo I might not be here tomorrow.” I was being absolutely not serious and they knew it.
So the next day, when A told me, laughing, “Thanks for showing up!” We both laughed a little. Little did he know I had texted my husband a few hours earlier saying, “I might call in tomorrow.”
There are a few reasons why. These include but aren’t limited to the fact that I’m so exhausted that I napped on lunch (undisturbed), I’m burned out, and I could use some quality family time.
Also a factor in me wanting to call in: the fact that the two days afterward I was already off. So I’d have three days in a row.
So why didn’t you?
It was the fact that I am a glutton for punishment, and the inescapable guilt I always feel when calling in, regardless of the reason. Honestly the last time I remember not feeling even a small amount of guilt for calling in was when my mother was dying. To be honest, I couldn’t remember to even call in some of those days, much less have room for guilt related to it.
So, despite the fact that I’d already started to get excited about starting my tiny vacation a day early, when my husband asked me when I came home, “So are you going to call in?”
My response was, of course: “Probably not.”
I begrudgingly went in to work, despite the absolute desire not to, like a good little employee. And I did legit tell manager B that I wanted to but figured I better not.
The fact, too, that my child needs dental work and I want to be able to be there for her, well, I need my options open with time.
All The Regerts
However, it didn’t take long for me to regret showing up. It never does, sadly. Before the two hour mark, I was down in the floor, fixing a vendor mistake, as is often the case, on my knees. I made the terrible mistake of turning without moving my knees.
“Oh well, that’s not good.” Are the words i verbalized when I felt the telltale Twinge. I cannot explain why but the only thing I can think of when I get The Twinge is a salt grinder.
The Twinge usually happens with some bending or twisting motion. It’s a tingly, faintly painful, feeling. Sorta like when your foot was, like, dead asleep, and it’s coming back and there’s these pins and needles? But like, all at once. It lasts a few seconds and then it’s gone. But what’s left behind is pain with movement.
This time, as opposed to last, it’s more in the middle of my back, instead of the lower back. My absolute best guess is muscle related, because otherwise how the hell am I still walking?!
If after all these years and all these Twinges, if this is not a muscle but a spinal related issue (since it’s my back), how does my lower half still function?
Bad Luck, Bad Karma, or Fate?
Now, whose to say, had I called in, I’d not moved in a funny way, and not had the same or similar issue? I don’t know if I believe in fate, but I’m pretty sure I believe in bad karma for me.
Because of course I was thinking of taking a mental health day for myself, and end up with a sore back while at work. Luckily, though, it wasn’t much worse. I feel like my middle back has less movement. It’s more, stable? My lower back, I bend a lot. I was able to function today without altering my movements too drastically.
I’m gonna be 37 (again) in two days.
I’m not gonna let this put a damper on my two whole days off. I’m gonna sleep in (8:30? 9:00?! Scandalous! OUTRAGEOUS!). I’m going to spend quality time with The Hubs and The Kid.
But right now, my melatonin (which I don’t usually take if I’m not working the next day), and the Benadryl (which I took to combat this bug bite) are currently fighting to see who gets to punch me in the brain. Time for sleeps.
The day started out like every other. Woke up twenty minutes before my alarm, and barely dozed back off before the alarm finally buzzed. Got up, contemplating life choices for a moment before getting ready for work. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
I had zero customers ask me for help, which isn’t unusual on a Sunday morning. We don’t get many in before church.
I was able to get a lot more done on my ever growing list. This was in spite of all the cleaning up after other people I’d had to do. This too was not unusual.
Now, normally, when I have a lot to do, which isn’t unusual, I keep my nose in my own business and stay focused on what needs to be done. I don’t go looking for conversation when I need to be working.
I do, however, get distracted with tasks better left to a less busy day.
But I soon began to realize that none of my coworkers had spoken to me. I often saw them in passing, even if we are short handed on Sunday mornings. But not a one spoke to me. I quickly chalked it up (side note: I had to Google that to make sure I used it correctly) to either me being my grumpy self, or my running theory that no one really likes me. It was that or everyone was just as busy as I was.
When I used the radio to ask a question and no one answered, well, the radio has been wonky for a while. At least I can hear on it. Oh well.
When lunch time rolled around, I finished up some business and walked around to try and find someone to cover me. After a few minutes I saw someone from neighboring department. His keys worked on the locks in my area, so he was my usual coverage. I waved at him, signaling an L with my thumb and forefinger, and I thought he nodded.
I sat at lunch with my phone and earbuds, watching silly short-form videos. “I really need to quit this,” I thought to myself, for the hundredth time. But I continued watching, while the break room had people come and go, once again ignoring me.
When I went back out to the floor, the church crowded had begun to make their way in. This always made my job infinitely harder. Between helping customers and getting around them, it meant that my efficiency went downhill.
But no one asked me for help. I saw plenty of them ask my coworkers for help. They would struggle around my department a bit, even though I’d overheard what they’d been looking for and told them the exact location. When something was needed from a case, someone else got it. Phone calls were picked up before I got to them.
What was happening?
I stood for a moment, staring at my company provided device, not really seeing what was in my had but trying to work out in my mind what was really happening.
My paranoid brain thought it was a twisted torture intended to make me insane. Logic told me I was ridiculous.
Then this woman walked by. I didn’t notice her initially, she saw me first. She was older, maybe early to mid 50s. Dark gray hair, wild and curly and long. Clear blue eyes, eyes that belied her age. Gold wire framed glasses with big round lenses. And she wore a spectacularly shabby yet brightly colored dress.
She’d stopped right in front of me and did a double take. The most attention to have been paid me all day. “Well hello!” She said brightly.
“Oh, uh,” I stuttered. “Hello. Can I help you?”
“Nope.” She said, matter-of-factly. “But I can help you.”
After a moment’s confusion I replied. “Uh what now?”
“My dear, you don’t know?” She seemed sad. “Well, this can happen. It does quite often. I honestly think I’m the only one in this small town who has left their mind open.” She sighed. “It’s a shame really.”
“I’m confused.” I said finally.
“My dear,” she said, “what happened this morning? I feel like it was this morning. Still kind of fresh.”
“Nothing, the usual. I broke a jar of pimientos. Who puts glass jars on the top shelf?!” I said, exasperated. “Wait, why am I telling you this, I don’t know you.”
“I have that affect on the soul. You close yourself off a lot, don’t you? Don’t let your self open. Just go with the flow. So much negativity on you.” She scolded, then shrugged. “Oh well, too late now.”
“What are you talking about?!”
“Sweetheart, something happened this morning. But, I think you’re so used to a pattern, a routine, that you’re soul just went on about it’s day.”
“My soul? What do you know about my soul?”
“For one it’s tired. Had been for a while I think. But that’s not important. It needs to think about what happened this morning.”
“I—”
This morning? I woke up? Got ready for work. Drove here, there was a squirrel. But there’s always squirrels. I live in Tree City USA. There are small animals and birds everywhere. Stupid squirrel. Couldn’t decide which way to get out the road. It was too late to break so I swerved. “Oh.”
“There it is.”
“I, I swerved.” I mumbled. “I shoulda swerved right but I swerved left.” At least there weren’t other cars. “The River.” I said. “I knew those guardrails weren’t strong enough.” I said to myself. I looked up at her. “I’ve always been afraid of that River.”
“Yeah, it’s a scary river. Lotta people in there.”
“WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING HERE?!” I shouted.
“Muscle memory.” She said, nonchalantly.
“Mus-what?”
“You know,” she said. “When your muscles and your brain are so used to something that they do it without you having to think about it?”
I rolled my eyes. “I know what it is.”
“Yeah, well your body had done this,” she gestured around. “That your soul just went ahead and did it. Despite the fact that it doesn’t have to anymore.”
“So,” I swallowed hard. “I’m dead?”
“You’re body, yes.” She said. “Yeah it’s probably still in the River in your vehicle.” She said, nodding. “What do you drive?” She asked.
“Did, drove.” I said, correcting her. “Uh, a truck.”
“Nice, those gas prices though.”
“Heh, yeah.” I agreed half-heartedly. “So, what now?”
“I don’t know, dear.” She answered. “That’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to do anything now.” She said, smiling. “But, I don’t recommend dropping in to see loved ones. At least not until you’re ready. Have some fun first.” With that she winked at me and walked away.
And that’s how I spent the first few months of my death making my favorite coworkers feel like they were slowly going insane.
Today’s Blog was going to be a “Draft Day” post, but to be honest, my head wasn’t in the game. So I thought I’d share a story from today.
But first some Backstory
I used to work with a woman named Patty. I can share her name here, cause reasons. Patty was, well, you know how people say, “Older people are set in their ways”? Well, Patty knew what she would tolerate and what she wouldn’t. Patty had good and bad qualities, as we all do.
Patty, once she learned that I had a degree in education, wanted me to get back into teaching. This was when I wasn’t so far removed from the profession that it would be like teaching a caveman how to twitter. She even provided a reference for me, for the single solitary time I interviewed for a teaching position (we all know how that worked out). Also, Patty was a teacher before she worked in retail.
Whatever Patty may or may not have been, she had a big heart when she opened it up to people. If she liked you, you knew it. Sometimes.
Anywho
I was doing some price changesretail related tasks when I heard a voice. “There she is.” I turned my head to see not one but two former coworkers. Lets call them Mildred Lane and Opal. If you know who I’m talking about that could be hilarious. Anyway, apparently these two were out and about running errands. If this is what retired former retail coworkers do then sign me up.
Anyway, Mildred Lane was talking about me when she’d said, “There she is.” Mildred Lane, who is Patty’s twin sister, had retired about a year ago because an injury that wouldn’t quite heal, I think. Opal, I think, had just had enough of Retail Establishment’s nonsense, and had retired about the same time.
Mildred Lane had something for me. She had found it when going through Patty’s things. You see, Patty, had always been kind of quiet about anything she was really struggling with, health wise. I think she was just raised to not talk about things like that. But after retiring (she retired a few years before these two had) her health went downhill quickly. I don’t know the details, but she passed last year.
While I wasn’t super close with Patty, and some of my memories of her weren’t always positive, there is one thing I will absolutely never forget about Patty. She LOVED my baby. She was so happy for me when I found out I was pregnant, she got us baby shower gifts, and she even got The Kid gifts for Christmas. One of her favorite books, “The Night Before Christmas” is from Patty.
One Christmas, during my first polymer clay phase, I made Patty this cat, modeled after what I thought her beloved cat looked like. He looks a little like a child made him but by golly I thought it looked good. And Patty seemed to like it.
But I knew what this thing was that Mildred Lane had for me. She’d been in the store just a short while after Patty passed. She told me she found this thing she had for me and needed to bring it to me.
And here she was, handing me a blue grocery bag with what I knew was a picture of my baby. Literally, a picture of baby The Kid. In a frame.
Baby The Kid, circa 1,000 years ago. In a Snow White dress. I still have that somewhere.
I remember the day the picture was taken, vaguely. I remember Patty asked me if she could take her picture, and she then proceeded to take it to the photo center and have a copy printed off. She’d told me she was going to frame it.
Now, I realize to an outsider this might sound kinda creepy. But at this stage I had known and worked closely with Patty for the better part of five years or more. She went from being someone I was a bit intimidated by (literally everyone for me for a long time) to someone “you just need to know how to handle”.
But the fact that Patty had a picture of my kid, framed, in her home, well, I think it would make anyone feel good to know that someone you know loves your child.
I told The Kid about someone bringing me something, and I showed her that it was the picture. She got a little emotional, I think. Even though she probably doesn’t remember Patty much, I have told her about her before. She said exactly what I knew she’d say. “I’m going to keep it in my room!” And she did. It is by her bed as she sleeps right now. HOLY CRAP ITS ALMOST MIDNIGHT.
Turned things around, a little.
I had been having a bad day. I had a bad day yesterday, and today had been shaping up to be about the same. This is both all my fault and not at all my fault. But when someone brought me a framed picture of my own child, a picture that someone chose to display and possibly look upon daily, well then, that pushed my day gently in the opposite direction.
Ok that came out weird. Three days ago my back went out. Well, not completely, just enough for me to be in constant pain if I’m not in precisely the right position, but not enough for me to take time off to recuperate.
Honestly you can just add it to the growing list of aches and pains I deal with on a daily basis. Things like what I think is plantar fasciitis in my left foot, or how sometimes when I take a step with either foot I get a pain in my ankle joint and for a split second I cannot put weight on it. How about the fact that MY ARMS HURT. I am a side sleeper and I cannot sleep on my arms anymore without pain.
My hips hurt from compensating with my feet. My knees hurt because walking and bending and crawling in the floor.
The back pain right now is currently top of my list of “Why If Sucks To Be Me.”
Honestly if I had a pill I could take that would make all my aches abs pains disappear long enough for me to be a functioning adult, I’d probably develop a dependency. Honestly having a moment where I have absolutely no pain would be absolute freaking bliss. A high I will never achieve.
So at what point can I stop the “grin and bear it” thing I’ve been doing for, honestly, years now? Because I’m tired. I am not just physically but emotionally and mentally exhausted.
I’ve gone to work every day I’ve worked since my back went out. I spend the entire rest of the day when it happened at work. I went in the next day because “my brother’s getting married, if I can attend a wedding I can work.” When it should have been “if I can finish out my day after hurting my back, I can work another and attend a wedding.
Actually it should have been neither.
But because I am stubborn I didn’t want to miss work. Because
Last time I hurt my back I had to take a leave. And it was deemed “not medically necessary” by the company that controls leave of absences for my Employer. Those missed days weren’t approved and I nearly lost my job because of it.
I don’t like to think I’m letting someone else down or leaving more work for them to do.
I’m a stubborn ass.
At some point I will break, in some form. I get home from work and can’t walk anyway, and now I’ve got this back pain to deal with.
Hopefully in a week or so it’ll let up. Probably would quicker if I had some time. But I don’t.
First off, I woke up with a headache. That shouldn’t even be a thing.
Second, I forgot pants. No, I didn’t leave the house without them, I’m pretty sure my Day Job wouldn’t let me get into the building without them. These are unattractive legs. They’re mine, but unattractive.
I realized I forgot to ensure I had clean pants for work. So I sat on the throne (🚽) and “read the news” (but also read the news because smartphones exhaust), just… pantless.
Then, I got up because it was time for The Hubby to “read the news” and I proceeded to drop things. My deodorant into the sink, the box of cotton swabs on to the floor, my shoes. my thought aloud to my spouse were, “is this how my day is gonna go? The universe is telling me it is.”
Honestly it was lucky I took my morning dose of ibuprofen. I’ve taken it every morning for the last few days hoping to minimize foot pain. Aside from everything else on my feet hurting, I’ve be blessed (and I mean that sarcastically) what I believe is plantar fasciitis. Nothing I do helps it, except staying off my feet as much as possible. But guess what? That’s my whole job.
Anyway I make it to work on time-ish. I plan for a productive day, but lo the Remod crew has been hard at work to destroy that which we know so well. Leaving my team (of which I do not lead) to clean up.
Boss works on that while I do other time sensitive tasks. he later asks me ti help with his work, and I commence. Which requires a whole load of bending in picking.
And then it happens.
The Twinge.
A tingling, jarring, unnerving split second of pain. Now the first twinge is nothing. It’s a whisper of what could be. So, as always when I get The Twinge, I stand perfectly still. I think, “is this it? Am I down for the count? Is my life over? Will this be the one that paralyzes me for good?” You know, because anxiety.
So I test the water. There it is again but not quite as there. Subtle. Now is when I think, “this could go one of two ways. Either it goes away never to bother me again… until the next time.” There’s always a next time. They’re just not always close together.
Or. This is the end.
Well, the problem was that I still had a great deal of bending and picking to do. Like a lot. And I was barely two hours into my day. And because I am the type of person to not want to let anyone down because it makes me feel like I’m not doing what I should be doing, I know I will not leave.
Because the last time I injured my back (did I mention this was my back) I was out of work for four days, could not physically move without pain. But I did not get approved for leave from work and I nearly lost my job because my absences were not approved. Apparently leave was not medically necessary.
Horseradish.
So I was not leaving work so I could get in trouble for leaving work. Well I had PPTO so I would have been fine.
But as I told my much younger than me boss: I have been ignoring concerning aches and pains for decades. I’ll be fine.
I made it though my shift. Mostly whining, groaning, and banging non-fragile items on hard surfaces because sometimes you hurt and want to break thinks like you are broken.
I even managed to come home and make a crafty wedding gift.
And now my melatonin has slapped me in the face and is trying to pull down my eyelids. I’ll update tomorrow if I’m able to roll out if the bed tomorrow morning.
Crash Landing 