My boy is EIGHT today!

He was pretty surprised at his cake.



This morning I made him chocolate chip pancakes with hearts cut into them for breakfast, as per his request. Supper tonight will be sweet n sour meatballs & french fries (also his request. A weird combo but it is tradition that the birthday boy or girl gets to request their meal).



So the short term income people were fucking me over stating I had to start work today for 4 hours. My regular shift is only 5 hours. Huh? How does that equal half a shift, like my fucking doctor wrote on the forms? I talked to the medisys people on Friday and the woman was totally uncool about it - said there was no way that my company would allow for 2.5 hrs and it would HAVE to be four.

So of course I'm upset - I can barely do groceries without needing a nap afterward, whiskey tango foxtrot over.

I called my boss on Friday and he said there was "no way in hell I will allow you to come back in those conditions" and "sit tight, I will handle this" and "the medical insurance company is probably pissed that we are taking the business away from them and giving it to another company" and "DO NOT COME BACK UNTIL I CALL YOU".

I called today and left a message to see what was going on - he called back and said that he was looking into it, that HR agreed with him and said there was no way I should come back all at once, that they could even set it up that I only come back 1 hour and then work my way up slowly at my own pace. And that the medical ins co could suck it. Ha and HA. So he said even if I don't get a call back in enough time today, he would *winkwinknudgenudge* give me hours as if I had (knowing full well that I've on more than one occasion stayed an extra hour and never put it on my time sheet - this is strictly a quid pro quo move on his part).

The only reason he is being so cool about this is because he knows what I am usually like - I'm that person that comes in even though I'm dying, I'm the person that is cool about staying extra time when it's needed, and I'm the person that gets a METRIC FUCKTON of accolades from fellow employees, brokers, and lawyers that call in.

He said he would rather eat glass than see me come in before I am truly ready.

So yeah, basically, health wise, I'm better than I was say 2 months ago, but still not fabulous. I am more or less biting through the pain and trying to get my life back in order. The amitriptyline isn't doing shit for my sleeping, the doctor wants me to go up to 30mg by next week to see if that will work. And during the day I get to suck back the gravol for the dizziness and extra strength advil for the pain and just pray my vision/hearing doesn't go off on me. It isn't much of a solution but what can you do, right?

I've also been set up with "telephone counselling" that may/could eventually turn into "counselling in an actual counsellor's office", depending on my needs. The first call from them was kind of weird, it was this whole "please tell me your life story and the principal characters in it" and the lady on the other side was ok but also went into tangents about herself (which I totally expected to happen - next time you talk to me, ask me what I really think about counselling). It was ok in that I got to complain to a semi-neutral ear, but bad in that, here we go again, I do more listening than talking and feel like I've wasted my time because they aren't really listening, they are pausing until there is a gap and then talking talking talking. Ugh.

Ok, time to go pick out a movie to watch with the kids (read: fall asleep to).

Almost done the Poitier memoir. It's brilliant and makes me feel like I'm having a conversation with him. Or maybe even my Dad. The parallels between their lives is almost spooky in some ways.

Do you know what chore I hate more than any other? The number one thing I wish I could never do again? Dishes. That's right. I'd rather scrub at a dirty bathtub for a month of Sundays than scrub at dishes.

So needless to say it drives me batty when my family seem to have started a silent war against my sanity by using every god damned dish in the house to make a peanut butter sandwich. Sweet baby Jesus that drives me nuts. You can tell how nuts it drives me by the number of blasphemies I utter.

Also needless to say, but I'm saying it damnit, I really really hate it when S brings home dishes from work and doesn't rinse them out or anything - just leaves it on the counter, lid on, or sometimes leaves it in his lunchbag for a day or two so that the mold has time to set in. Uggggh. God I hate that.

I'm really looking forward to the trip this weekend but now I'm worried about the weather. I don't want to be stuck in that city if I can help it - I also don't want to be stuck on a train if I can help it. Hmmm.

Ok I'm tired and cranky and guess what? There's dishes to be done.