May 2, 2008 :: That kind of day.
First: After waking up, an hour late and with a fun little UTI, I catch a ride to work with Blake, where I check email and find that the project several of us busted ass to finish yesterday was unilaterally despised by the client and must be redone immediately, as the deadline was fairly "tight" to begin with, and now has reached designation that might be better characterized by a non-sensical scream word, like...AAARRRRGGGH!!! or AWEWOANNNNUUUH!! or the like. I then leave a voicemail for my doctor's "phone nurse" (the closest one gets to human contact at my physician's office without being ten seconds from death or keeping a 6-month advance appointment), who, tells me, three hours later, that the doctor does not like prescribing antibiotics over the phone, and could I come in and pee in a cup for them? No, I cannot, I say, because I have no vehicle today, nor the luxury to wait 45 minutes past my appointment time to never even see a doctor and then unceremoniously unseal a specimen cup. Could I courier my little yellow gift to them? No? Damn. Also, I question the nurse, is this somehow not the same doctor who prescribed me much stronger antibiotics over the phone two months ago when even I was sure I just had a bad cold? The nurse says yes, this is the same woman, so she'll consider it and call me back. She doesn't. I wait, and afraid to waste a trip down the street to Kroger when I could be picking up both soggy boxed sushi and life-affirming antibiotics, I miss lunch. I eat stale pretzels and red licorice and call all of it a loss--most of all my bladder. Blake does call, however. He's done only 1/3 of the things he must complete before this afternoon, and has wasted an hour in traffic attempting to get the emissions checked on our van. He will waste another hour returning, as his location is within Atlanta's famed 7th-circle of commuter hell, and apparently the afternoon rush hour begins at 11 AM these days. He then calls back from home, to tell me that Jane has been throwing up, and hasn't eaten her breakfast. She's been throwing up all night...and we have to leave very shortly. Great.
Next: In an hour and a half I will step out of this building, ride a mid afternoon train toward Inman Park and then cram myself into a black dress I haven't worn since my metabolism apparently conked out and I can eat nothing but air and fairy dust to maintain my current, not so fabulous anyway, weight. I will then get into a car and go to a funeral. And then I will spend the night at my future in-laws' home, where pre-marital bed-sharing is not condoned.