Skip to main content

I'm Trying Hard Not to Resist the Joy


Started: 21 March 2012 at 1411.

Today has been too slow of a day. It needs to go by faster. It is only just after two and we have to go until 1745 this evening. We're stuck down on fifteen. And it's our Friday! Almost makes a girl want to say the “Q” word. Don't say the “Q” word, dude!
I'm almost that desperate to be done with this day, but maybe not quite.
The partner situation of the last two weeks is almost completely sorted. It all kind of came to an ugly head on Monday morning—a stupid but ugly head. Since then, they haven't put me back on that truck.

And then I got a call. I shouldn't have even come close to saying the "Q" word.
(What's the "Q" word, you ask. QUIET. I can say it now, because I am off until Saturday. And, guess what? Other than potential thunder storms--awesome--I intend to have a quiet night. A nice, quiet night. Heh.)

So, anyway, I pick up now...and this is what I was going to say:
I've had a good couple of days. They switched some people around--sorry people--and put me on a truck with one of my favorite paras to work with. So, I was pretty much guaranteed a good time. Especially since this medic is pretty hell bent on having a good time. I like to work with people who have a philosophy similar to this: you should be able to have fun at work, when you can, everyday, because misery sucks. It's a philosophy, or something like it.
I am not sure what is going to happen permanently, I guess the big-wigs are still working it out. I hope that this current situation doesn't become the norm, because I don't want to screw up anyone else's shift and happiness. I figure the supervisors are going to work it out well enough, and I figure I should have faith. And, for the most part, I do; but, I am ever the pessimist. So, there is a bit of doubt. I am working to squelch the doubt. Right now it remains unsquelched. 
As for anything else that might be interesting:
Going to--finally!--sign my lease tomorrow. Then I am going to see Nancy.
Friday I am having lunch with Emily and doing nothing else but probably packing, watching new Fringe, and going to bed as soon as possible.
I have an 0430 shift Saturday morning. And Sunday morning. And then after that I guess I will find out the solution to this problem. In the meantime, I am not going to worry. Good people are handling it and I have two days in which I can revel in unconcerned content in regards to work. And instead I can worry about moving and friends with cancer and money and that weird pain in my back that I think is there because I am overweight or sit down all day or lift people wrong or I'm cursed.
Yeah, that's a much better way to spend my time.
Let the worry rumpus begin.

 I Might Try Hard, But It's Too Hard to Avoid

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I-5

On a chilly Sunday evening in mid-January, two young women rolled up to the TransAmerica Title Building on the outskirts of Salem, Oregon, just off Interstate 5, to clean the office. It was their usual Sunday job, though today they had gotten a bit of a late start, having to shower and stop for gas, so they didn't arrive to the business complex until after nine p.m. The office had wide, welcoming windows on every wall and, with the bright florescent lights flipped on, the effect was to create a fishbowl-like scene, the women bustling around in their duties like two busy, little fish. They'd left the door unlocked and entertained themselves by chatting to each other, the two of them best friends. They were Shari Hull, twenty-years-old and the daughter of the owner of the housekeeping company with which they were both employed, and Beth Wilmot, also twenty and a fairly recent transplant to Salem from Spokane, Washington. She'd come for work, and along with steady pay, she

By the Barrel of a Silver Gun (I-5 Part Two)

In early February of 1981, authorities from Salem flew down the Interstate 5 corridor and assembled with detectives and law officials from northern California and southern Oregon. Each detective had a crime, or two, in their jurisdiction matching a particular modus operandi , and the list of incidents just kept growing. When they gathered, they had no idea the scope of the mystery they were unraveling or just far it was going to reach. It started with a robbery. On December 9, 1980, in Vancouver, Washington, a gas station was held up at gun point, the female attendant left alone in the store. A man entered wearing a brown coat and a fake beard. He demanded cash and brandished a small, silver gun to prove he was serious. The cashier obliged.  A few days later, in Eugene, Oregon, on December thirteenth, a Baskin-Robbins was robbed by a man holding a silver gun and wearing a fake beard and a band aid across his nose.  In Albany, Oregon, a drive-in was hit on December fou

Wah Mee Massacre

On a chilly February night, five days after the start of the Chinese New Year, 1983, three young men walked into one of the most renowned, high-stakes gambling dens in the heart of Seattle's Chinatown International District and walked away with thousands of dollars of cash in their pockets and fourteen lives hanging in the balance in their wake.  The club was the Wah Mee, a sixty-year-old casino and bar that catered exclusively to Chinese clientele and hosted the highest-stakes illegal gambling in the Pacific Northwest. The men were 22-year-old Kwan Fai "Willie" Mak, 20-year-old Benjamin Ng, and 25-year-old Wai Chiu "Tony" Ng.  Willie Mak was born in Kwangtung Province in mainland China and immigrated to the US with his family in 1975 when he was fifteen. By 22, Willie was a high school drop out, working various jobs in and around Seattle, and had a penchant for gambling. He was well-known in the International District gambling clubs, including the Wah Me