Drought

I have a great post in mind, but it needs a supporting document. This would require putting the USB cable from the printer into the side of the computer, putting a piece of paper in the scanny part, and clicking a few things on the screen. Due to recent events, this is apparently too much. I should mention a few? Here:

roommates moved in, baby getting four top teeth at roughly the same rate, job interviews, orientation for new job, food stamps, unemployment application, cold weather, baby increasingly more proficient with mobility...

not in that order.

On the bright side, I am employed, Quacky's teeth are almost through the gums, and the maintenance dudes have been working on the pool/hot tub the past few days. Also, we splurged and bought a bottle of Admiral Nelson's. More to come. Really.

Safety Goggles

So I feel like I need to blog. I have had a lot on my mind since my first entry. In fact there are several points I wish to cover. The problem is, getting them written down. I feel so discouraged. Not that writing things down is a waste of time because I know it will make me feel better to get it out but I am worried I might infect some of our soon to be loyal readers and take away what hope and drive they may have with life.

Drifting is a good way to describe my mind set because I feel like my brain is hopelessly drifting aimlessly around in my skull. Some days I do not even feel attached to my body, as I have to negotiate with it to do what I tell it to do. I guess detached is another way to describe how I feel. I know I am a part of society. I interact with people, go shopping, kept an Ice Rink running, meet people, listen, and do my best to feel a part of this experiment we call life but when it comes down to it, I feel detached. I cannot seem to be happy and content with life like most folks. I am jealous of those people who can just go to their repetitive mindless jobs and after work crack open a beer and be happy with life. I cannot. I have tried my best not to care about the big picture of life but I always fail. I was hoping having a disgustingly cute daughter would fill that void I always feel but even she does not. No matter what I try, I can occupy my time and be temporally happy and proud of my life but in the back of my drifting mind, I still wonder what the point of this exercise is.

People always say “a means to an end” when they need to justify why they are doing what they are doing. Many cases it is making a short-term sacrifice to accelerate obtaining a long-term goal. I have no problem coming up with the ‘means’ but it is the ‘end’ that eludes me. I do not know what my ‘end’ is. I know several things I would like to do with my life but none of them would constitute an end. Even my wildest dreams of opening up an Alpaca Ranch or an Outdoor Adventure Camp are great to think about and would be great if I accomplished, but they would just be means of passing time. Even if I won the lotto and could do whatever I wanted to, I know I would still be searching for my end. Is life all about an end goal? Why is it so important? Is it what we are to do with our lives to feel like fulfilled humans? Is it to have a dream out there to shoot for to tell yourself ‘someday things will be better’ while you slave along day to day?

This next part might infuriate some out there. Please keep an open mind:

Other than the group of people who can have a beer at the end of the day and be happy there is one other group of individuals I am jealous of. They are the Religious. I do not care what you believe or to what extent of your faith you believe, I am jealous. I know many strongly religious folks and many strongly atheist folks. I have tried to get into organized religion but I cannot. I have discussed this with many of my atheist friends and several agree with me. I have talked to many of my religious friends and they have tried to help me. I wish I could believe in organized religion. If I did I bet it would bring that sense purpose I lack and fill that void in my life. I want to believe. I even tried to fake it for a while to see if it started to come on its own. It did not.

I think we are all born with goggles over our eyes. These safety goggles are there to protect our minds. They filter out all those bad things in the world we all wish would just not be. They allow us to filter out what we do not want to see or admit and allow us to only see what is easy and healthy for the mind to digest. These safety goggles are there to allow us to accept things as they are told to us and not question them in. They allow us to believe and see the world through a different filter. They are kind of like beer goggles. When you have beer goggles on, you see the world in a new way. Ugly becomes pretty, stupid things become fun, things seem easier and the world seems better. The same goes for the safety goggles issued at birth. They help you to see the good in everything, trust people, and feel like a valuable, integrated member of society. They focus on puppies and rainbows but filter out things like what is in dog food and the fact that you are causing the pollution that obscures rainbows these days. They allow you to accept things on faith, be okay with answers that are given to you buy those with authority no matter how far-fetched it may seem and be content with everyday life. 

My problem is must have lost my set on safety goggles at some point in my childhood. I remember being happy as a child. I remember being hopeful and ambitious about life. I also remember thinking this religious thing seeming like it was a crock of shit (I went to a Catholic grade school for 8 years). I remember even as a kid watching the other children seem to get pleasure and happiness out of religion bit I never did. I kind of felt like I was the last kid waiting on the bench to get picked for the religious team. I guess they had enough players because I never got in. Early on I realized I was different from everyone else, so I decided to play along and observe to see if I could figure out why. I never did. What I did realize is how sheltered many people are about so many things and how they will do anything to stay that way. I think they must still have on their safety goggles on. Part of me wants to tear them of to show the world I see to others but the other part of me wants to let them stay blissfully ignorant to the real world and let them enjoy life.

I keep hoping I am wrong about life and it has meaning. I keep hoping someday I will find an extra pair of safety glasses to cover my mind with. I keep hoping that I will discover my ‘end’ which makes the ‘means’ worth it. I have even thought about becoming and alcoholic to keep a pair of beer goggles on fulltime but I know that would not solve anything. Would a fresh new pair of safety goggles even solve anything?

From Trauma Shears to Bandage Scissors

I am about to start the second week of my new job. I have renamed the yellow handled shears that have “PMMC ER” engraved on the side. I am officially no longer a trauma nurse. I do nothing but pass out drugs (mostly crushed in applesauce) and change dressings on month-old wounds that will never heal.

 Six months ago, I would never have considered a job which is only that. Not a career-building, educational occupation. A job. I hate that the cliché “Having a baby changes everything” holds true, even for me. I only have to work eight-hour shifts, and can disappear to my car or the bathroom to pump milk without having to answer to anyone. By taking an Emergency Department job fresh out of school, I sort of skipped over the basic entry-level job that every nurse needs on their resume. The only good thing about this new position is that it fills this requirement.

 I may not be learning something new daily, but I do get to have mindless conversations with the residents while I’m working, which actually keeps me quite entertained. I can often be found crushing an MS Contin, calcium pill, and dose of Neurontin together and stirring the powder into a protein shake with thickener. I spend 80% of my time at work standing in front of the med cart. The residents, no matter how confused, have discovered that the nurses are a captive audience, so they roll right up to the cart, park, and stay until a CNA rolls them to their room.

 

Typical conversation:

 

Demented Resident: I need to go upstairs and go to bed right now.

RN (me): If we went upstairs, we’d be on the roof. There’s only one story.

DR: That’s fine. I could look for my car from the roof. It’s been missing for a long time.

RN: What kind of car do you have? I could help you look.

DR: It’s a ’69 Plymouth.

RN: Okay, I’ll keep an eye out. (Begins crushing an Ativan into applesauce)

 

CNA: (heard in background, talking to a visitor) Head down this hall and make a left at the fish tank.

DR: I’d like to go fishing. Can you take me to the ship?

RN: It hasn’t docked yet.

DR: Okay. Will you put my books in my stateroom when it does?

RN: Sure. I have a bite of applesauce for you.

 I really can’t complain. I’m making an obscene amount of money for less than half of the responsibility I had in the ER. As long as I keep my sanity, maybe some day I’ll go back to being a contributing member of society.