Posts Tagged ‘calling in sick’

Dear Bunny

April 1, 2019

I miss you.

I have come so close to reaching out to you, I cannot even tell you how close I have come.

So.

Fucking.

Close.

So I made myself reach out to others.

That was hard.

When the one person I really wanted to connect with was you.

You to hold me.

You to help me through the pain.

Wow.

The pain.

Excruciating.

I haven’t experienced physical pain like this for sometime, if ever.

Not this long, not this bad.

It seems sometimes worse at night, when I’m tired and I know it’s time to sleep and I find myself lying in bed just after having said my prayers and hoping you’re being taken care of and praying for relief from the pain and from the sadness of not being connected to you and I go to bed crying.

Tears for the loss of you in my life.

Tears for the pain I am in physically.

Tears for not being able to ask the one person I’d like to most in the word to comfort me, to please, please, please, comfort me.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?

I’m going to be super powerful, let me tell you.

But mostly I am just writing because I have this moment when I feel like I can.

I have wanted to blog the last few nights but all I have to see is that I’m in pain and it sucks and I’m probably going to have to call in sick tomorrow to work, at least my person is telling me I should and, well, if you saw what the shingles look like and you knew how much pain I was in, you’d want me to as well.

And I will.

Just not quite yet.

But soon.

They haven’t gotten much better.

Although I think I’m getting “used to” the pain.

Ugh.

Anyway.

I felt compelled to write and I have been thinking about you so much, so, so, so much.

I had a dream about you last night.

I didn’t actually have dreams about you until recently and I was wondering when I would and then this last week, dreams galore.

I dreamt you came back early from Hawaii sick and showed up at the Wednesday night spot we used to frequent.

I dreamt that you came back as Robin Williams, but I knew it was you, while I was at the Castro Theater watching the Princess Bride and you told me you’d be back for me in a year.

And this morning I dreamt you where in my kitchen, leaning against the sink watching me sleep.

I was so mad I woke up.

You looked so handsome in a navy suit, with the top button of your crisp white shirt unbuttoned, and the look in your eyes as you smiled at me.

I woke up because I was in pain.

The shingles are spread all over my right side hip, right side of my back and on the right side of my tummy.

I wake up a lot from the pain, I haven’t gotten solid sleep for the last few nights, although I’m certainly “resting” quite a bit, propped up on my bed, in my bunny slippers, with the soft pink velvet throw over my lap and the JellyCat pink bunny you gave me for Christmas two years ago tucked under my arm.

I spend a lot of time on that bed.

I wanted to fall back asleep and see what happened in the dream.

Would you come over and hold me?

Would you make it all better?

I recall with distinct detail how you told me if I ever needed you, you’d be there.

And I have felt that so much these last few days.

I need you.

And.

I can’t have you the way that I need you.

So I haven’t reached out.

Suffice to say that’s been painful too.

Loving and needing you and there’s just not enough to go around.

I miss you bunny.

I miss you so.

And like that awful, good, sad, stupid, country song of Willie Nelson’s, I don’t really think I will get over losing you, but I will get through.

It’s been five weeks now since we saw each other.

And it’s been terribly hard.

And I’m getting through.

With shingles now, thanks God, that was just un-fucking-expected.

But I am getting through.

A friend came over yesterday with his slow cooker and made me a pot of black-eyed peas and suggested that I needed to get laid and get over you.

But I don’t actually think that will work.

And frankly, with the shingles I don’t think such a great idea.

My heart would break more from it not being with you.

Maybe one day, just not today, or in the foreseeable future.

I guess why I’m writing all of this is that there was something about dreaming you up in my kitchen, seeing you there this morning as if you were really there, that has softened me and I felt forgiveness slide over me warm and soft and comforting.

Oh, I’m still sad.

But I don’t feel so angry anymore.

Maybe that’s the shingles, all that anger and hurt flashed out on my body, blistering and tender and raw and shear pain.

I told my girlfriend who came over today that it was like someone has taken the little torch they use in kitchens to make creme brulee to my skin.

The anger and hurt are there and I think that I’m completely ready to let it all go.

You did the best you could.

You love me and I know you still do.

I love you.

And if it was meant to be I can’t fuck it up.

I can’t.

If we are supposed to be together the Universe will conspire to make it happen.

And if not.

There’s not a damn thing I can do to manipulate it into happening.

Which, in the end, is really why I haven’t called you.

I didn’t want to use the physical pain I’m in to wrangle you back into my life.

If I’m to have you.

I want you fully.

All of you.

And if I can’t, no amount of manipulation will make it work.

So best to leave you alone.

If you’re supposed to come back to me, well, you will.

And in the mean time.

I really, really, really need to heal from these shingles.

I love you bunny.

I hope you’re doing ok wherever you are.

I hope you are finding your way to happiness.

I really do.

xoxo

Always, your baby girl.

On The Upswing

January 13, 2017

I still called in sick today.

But.

I am feeling better.

Better and better and better.

I am listening to music.

Always a good sign.

I took a hot shower, really good sign, I couldn’t fathom getting in the shower yesterday, the fact that I managed to brush my teeth yesterday felt like a hero move.

Today I brushed them and flossed them and hey, I might do that one more time before I go to bed.

I am feeling a bit sassier.

A bit sexier.

Doesn’t hurt that a lady took care of her lady needs.

I mean.

I had a window.

I took it.

Ahem.

I went grocery shopping.

Although, it was the biggest challenge of my day and I did have a few minutes in the store when I found myself just standing in an aisle wondering what the fuck I was there for and whether once I remembered it was going to be worth it to be in the aisle at all.

I missed a few things.

But I got most of what I needed to get and really it was enough.

It was enough.

I was scared to call in sick this morning, but I knew I was going to.

Especially as last night I lay in my pillows, propped three high so that I could breathe, and cried because the pain in my face-my cheeks were so sore from the sinus pain-was too much for me to go to sleep.

I was tired and I couldn’t sleep.

I finally fell asleep almost two hours after I had gone to bed.

No good.

I woke up feeling tentatively better, but in no way ready or prepared to get up and go to work.

I sent a message to the mom and the dad and said hey, I am calling in, I’m still too symptomatic, I am so very sorry.

They were very sweet.

The mom said no worries, rest and get better soon.

I turned off my phone, closed my eyes and slept for four hours.

Four hours.

And when I woke up I felt like I might actually be able to face the world.

Granted, it was 11:30 a.m.

The world had already been doing much its own thing for hours.

I stripped my bed and re-made it with fresh sheets and threw some laundry in the wash.

I made some coffee and oatmeal and returned a few messages.

I did my morning prayer and routine.

I sent out some gratitude lists to some folks and I did some writing.

Four pages.

And I knew I had it in me to get out to the grocery store.

Maybe not much further than that.

But that I could do.

I am grateful I did.

I am now set and stocked for the school weekend.

Yeah.

That.

Starts tomorrow.

Second semester of my second year of the three-year program.

Gett’er done.

I made a nice lunch.

I sat and did some reading.

And I got it all done.

All that I could get done.

I am still shy a couple of books for my Trauma class.

But I finished all the readings for my Couples Therapy Class and for my Community Mental Health class.

I am a little astounded that I got through all that reading.

Slow and steady and two days home sick.

I didn’t gel out in front of my laptop and watch a bunch of videos.

And because I got so much sleep today I didn’t feel the need to nap.

I mean.

I lay low.

I didn’t go out again after I went grocery shopping and the extent of my exercise was folding my laundry and making my bed and taking out the recycling.

I took the homeopath cold remedy medicine and sucked on a few zinc lozenges.

I read.

I chatted with a friend who later Facetimed me.

You know you’re friends when you accept a Facetime call in no make up and your hair in braids.

I mean at least my socks matched my pajama top and my pajama pants were right side in the entire day, so I suppose I was in a great position to take a call.

But it was super sweet to see her face and I’m excited to reconnect with all my school friends tomorrow.

I showed her the dozen roses I bought myself today at the store.

Buy your own damn flowers.

They are pretty soft pink roses tipped darker pink, long-stemmed and an apt dozen.

Because when you got twelve years (t-minus two hours and twenty-two minutes, unless I decided to run over to the 7-11 and score some crap.) you get yourself a dozen roses.

I wanted to wake up tomorrow on my anniversary with a pretty reminder of how far I have come and to acknowledge to myself that I am capable of giving myself everything I need.

I will gladly accept and take in your love but first I have to love myself enough to know that I am worthy.

I am worthy of your love.

As I am worthy of loving myself.

Such a fucking simple concept.

So hard to get.

“We’ll love you until you learn to love yourself,” he said to me, gripping my shoulders and looking at me with his sweet piercing blue eyes.

I believed him then.

I believe him now.

He has long passed, but his words remain with me, deeply entrenched into my being.

An affirmation of my basic humanity that I had so long stifled I didn’t even realize I had buried it.

There.

Right there.

And shoved it down and denied it and let it fester and rankle in the recesses of my heart where there should be light and not canker sores and sorrow.

The balm of that love settled upon me and care took me until I could take care of myself.

Until I could happily buy myself a dozen roses, cook myself a damn fine dinner (roasted chicken, hello and thank you) to take care of my sexual needs myself, to do my laundry, to comfort and soothe myself, to wear nice warm socks and drink tea that I like.

To listen to music I like.

Her good teeth smile was winding down.

Engines sputter ghosts out of gasoline fumes.

You had it but you sold it.

I am literally in tears of gratitude and joy.

The first time I heard this song.

True dreams.

True dreams.

True dreams.

Of Wichita.

Dancing in the living room at the house on Franklin Street.

My boyfriend had put the cassette in the boom box and when it came on I was floored I was sideways plastered with the glory of the words and how they resonated.

Listening to an updated version of it on the eve of this anniversary.

So many days and years and drunks and drugs later.

So many hang overs and calling in sick when I wasn’t really sick.

The bushes I threw up in before going into my lunch shift at Hawthorne Lane.

The demoralization of listening to what the line cooks side about what I was up to last night.

All the girls who were in relationships and said, “hey girl, take one for the team,” and then tell us all about it, in gory, glorious detail.

All those humiliations and stumbles.

And then the ultimate bottom and the climb up.

The long, slow, stupid, terrifying climb out.

Into the sunshine.

Blinding and overwhelming.

Held and taken care of and carried.

To this moment.

Full of light and love and music and joy.

My musical hero singing to me on the stereo.

A man I met in person and got to talk to and hang out with in someone’s kitchen this past September.

No biggie.

Because that’s my life now.

Full of surprises and insights and gifts.

Dozens of gifts.

Too many to list or count.

But I hold them all here.

In my heart.

Which is so much bigger than I ever knew.

Full of love for you.

For of love for me.

Seriously.

I let you love me until I learned to love myself.

I did it.

I really.

Really.

Did.

 

 

Welcome To The

January 12, 2017

Sick in the head blog.

Anything and everything goes.

Yes.

I have a head cold.

Yes.

It sucks ass.

Hard.

The sneezing is not as bad as it was last night though and the clear, super runny, unexpected out of nowhere nasal drip has passed, at least for the moment.

I got caught with my pants down once today in regards to that, but a run to the store helped out a bit.

Not with my pants so much so.

I realized at some point today that my pajama pants were inside out.

Have I fixed that?

No.

Do I give a fuck.

No.

Have I been in pajamas all day.

Yes.

Did it take me a great deal of mental effort to put on socks?

Yes.

Fuck it took a great deal, or so it seemed, effort to do anything today and I tell you, I didn’t do much.

I did some.

I won’t lie.

I wasn’t flat on my back the whole day.

But after calling in to the advice nurse at Kaiser and then double checking that my new employers got my text and e-mails last night, I went back to bed.

I was on the phone for about twenty minutes until 8:30 a.m. or so and then I closed my eyes and when I work up it was 12:30 p.m.

Holy fuck.

Granted.

I had a horrible time falling asleep last night.

Not being able to breathe through my nose was horrendous.

Open mouth breathing is not my gig.

I did sleep and pretty solid, but to then sleep another four hours, unmoving, like I don’t think I rolled over, was quite indicative of how the cold had laid hold of me.

Getting up.

Making my bed.

Eating breakfast.

Took a lot of energy.

I probably spent two hours sitting at my little table in my kitchen nook of the in-law studio I live in sipping coffee, I know, not the best idea when you’re sick, but I actually think it was helpful in getting me out of the house, chatting on Facebook and slowly eating my oatmeal.

I was contemplating placing an order on SafeWay’s site to have food delivered but couldn’t figure it out.

So I decided I would just go to the market, the little co-op I’m a member of, Other Avenues, and pick up some tissues and some zinc.

The advice nurse for my doctor had also suggested Sudafed.

But.

Um.

No.

It’s got too much crap in, there’s a reason why you aren’t allowed to legally buy a bunch of Sudafed, pseudoephedrine is used to make methamphetamine.

I didn’t much speed, but I did some, and sneaking up on my anniversary and having a head cold I didn’t see that wanted to even take that risk.

I don’t take anything for colds or flu.

Think I’m a little too cautious?

Google Sudafed addiction and see how many hits pop up.

Oh.

Something like 343,000.

So no thanks advice nurse, I’ll skip it.

However, in my haze at the co-op looking for zinc, I came across a homeopathic cold relief from France called Cold Calm, which in nice big bold print at the bottom of the box said, “no drug interactions.”

Sweet.

A little browsing the ingredients, and yes, it looks like something I can take.

Relief from sneezing, runny nose, nasal congestion, and minor sore throat.

And.

It seems to be doing the trick.

Not cured.

I still have it, whatever it is, but it seems not so severe with having the cold relief, I am still sick, I’m probably going to call out tomorrow as well, although it makes it me super nervous, I’ve got to take care of this, and just let it go.

My expectations around my health and work have changed a lot since I’ve been sober and I still have an excruciating time calling in sick, but when I’m sick, I really am.

I can acknowledge it better.

Like.

Oh.

I don’t know.

How hard it was to put on socks to go out to the grocery store.

I mean.

Seriously.

In fact, I said it out loud, “why is this so hard?”

I was standing there, no make up on, in pajamas, in pajama pants I later realized were inside out, haven’t given two fucks about that all day, they’re still on inside out, contemplating what socks to put on, which ones matched my pajamas and were cute.

Really brain?

And I couldn’t figure it out.

I mean.

I did eventually.

And yes, my socks may indeed match my pajama top, but only I will know this, no one else could see my socks, no one.

I made it to the store.

I got some zinc lozenges and the Cold Calm.

But the store was out of tissue.

I had to go to the 7-11 on the corner.

I never go to the 7-11, it’s like a petri dish for some bizarro outlier world.

They had Sudafed in spades.

I just bought a box of over priced tissue paper and went home.

I got back to see one of my text books from school had arrived.

I curled up in bed and did some reading.

I read a lot.

I blew my nose a lot.

I contemplated calling in sick.

I haven’t yet.

I’m going to.

I’m too fuzzy headed and muddled to go into work, it sucks, I feel bad, maybe I fuck up my job, but I am not going to worry about that, I don’t think they’re going to fire me for being unexpectedly sick my first two weeks at work, and despite the horror show my brain would like to play me I just don’t have it in me to watch.

So shut up brain, go back to figuring out matching socks and let me have some more tea.

I think things will work out a little better that way.

Thanks.

And pass the tissues before you go stand in front of the sock drawer.

Maybe turn your pants right side in.

Maybe.

Ha.

 

 


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