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Tuesday, 11/14/2006 - 11:30 p.m.

No, I haven't died. I've been wishing for it, though. We've had ORs running up until the 10 pm shift change for oh, 6 days or so now. The evening crew all look and move like zombies when we leave at 10. Tonight was no exception and I could cry over being so tired. I really do feel like what I do is important and that I make a difference on the evening shift, so it's a good kind of tired, too.

I've been too tired to write, too, but really until Friday nothing happened. The meeting on Tuesday went well and we got the ball rolling to be seen and noticed in the community. Wednesday and Thursday I came home and crashed. Friday I went to the Boy's for a well-deserved weekend. No one attended the GLBT Munch, as usual, but that was OK. We went out with the Hornsby Lesbians on Sat night (YAY!) to the bar and had a good time.

And then...Black Sunday. DC left a *hysterical* voice mail on my cell about the White Booger, and how he found a lump on her and he's scared and we have to call the vet ASAP. Between the time he left the message and I received the message about 4 hours had passed so he'd had time to calm down. I, however, got worked up and called him even before the voice mail finished. So now I'm upset and yeah, once I found out the whole deal was over *nothing* I got pissed. You can't just leave a hysterical message leading me to believe the cat is in the process of dying and then blow me off when I return your call. So he's pissed that I'm pissed and we're fighting. Surprise. We hung up on each other and I finished getting dressed. Then I couldn't stand it that we'd hung up mad so I called back to apologize. He says I still sounded mad when I apologized so that made him mad all over again, even though I called in good faith to say I was sorry. Feh. Dealing with an insane person just makes you insane, too. Come to find out (after another fight Monday morning and yet another Monday night when I got home from work) that the reason he's so bent out of shape and so hysterical is that he found a lump on the cat and it *has* to be a tumor and since it's a tumor she's going to die. I shit you not even a little bit. The lump can't be anything other than a tumor (and a cancerous one at that) and she's going to die. Nothing I said last night, from the fact the vet hasn't examined her yet to the lump isn't painful since she lets us poke on it to not all tumors are cancerous and deadly, made one bit of difference. He was absolutely convinced last night that she's going to die from whatever that lump is. Today he's not said anything about it and all I've said is a reminder that we're going to the vet at 6:45 am for drop off. I'm married to Chicken Little and some days it makes me pull-my-own-hair-out-bat-shit crazy.

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