So Elizabeth got sick the week before Christmas and Dalia got like, two days before Christmas. Liz got better, but Dali's fever kept going up and down as did her mood. It was almost a replay of last Christmas. I presumed that the sickness would spread throughout the house until after New Year's until I finally got it (I have a weird immune system), which I did, but her parents and sister didn't seem to get it as bad and really neither have I.
More on that later -- one night we were trying to get Dahlia to take her medicine, and though she was willing, she wasn't exactly able. She gagged and threw up twice. In an effort to calm down, she tried, of her own accord, do the Shen Lung Kung Fu breathing exercises I've taught her. Seeing her do this made me swell with pride almost to the point of tears.
So, the fact that I have a kid, a THREE YEAR OLD, that is willing to do what she has to in order to do what she NEEDS to... it makes me feel really small and shitty when I'm being lazy and selfish and how I just want to be angry and hate everyone and curl into a ball and avoid my problems, whether it's the fact that I'm sick or something went wrong at work or I have school shit to deal with. It's a real Crosby Stills & Nash moment.
So I got sick. I came in to work sick, on my day off, even. I didn't bitch about it to my co-workers, but I made sure that Facebook knew I was pulling a Dante and that I'm not even supposed to BE here today!!! I blew my nose and my right ear filled up with fluid and I almost fell over I was so dizzy. It's still kinda infected. More on that later.
I have no problem working, least ways, not if I enjoy the job. I like this job. Yes, I have to deal with some shitty families from time to time, but when you make someone feel better? That's worth it, not to mention as of yet, I don't mind any of the things that have had to do with dead people.
But part of my problem with depression is that if I run out of stuff to occupy my mind with sometimes, I just sink into that hole, man. So if I run out of stuff to do at work, immediately, I wanna go home or go to sleep or jack off or do anything else to fill the void. I dunno, maybe it's some type of anxiety. I'd rather be at work and be busy than sitting there getting paid to play on Facebook.
What I DON'T like though is when someone... a coworker, perhaps... treats me like I'm a fuckin' kid. I know I'm an apprentice, I know I'm the new guy, but I'm 34 years old. I know I've only been here since October 4th, but I've done and learned an assload since then. I don't want to go into specifics, but when I'm in the middle of doing something, it's obvious when I'm drowning and when I'm not. When I'm not, I don't need fogeys and farts coming in and taking over for me like I'm a little kid who can barely wipe his ass.
Plus he calls me "Shane." I hate that. The only thing I hate more is when people spell Shaun with a "W." Or, maybe "hate" is too strong a word because it's happened for 34 years and I react to it with annoyance yet indifference... like Garfield does to Mondays or something.
Old people coming through the front doors are what keeps the funeral business alive, old people coming through the office doors are what's gonna kill it.
I was PO'ed, so I figured, they obviously can handle this themselves, don't need me, I packed and left. Went home, self medicated, and got some well needed rest.
Got up this morning, went to the doctor, she says I have an upper respiratory infection and an ear infection. I got a shot and a prescription for some antibiotics. While I was there, I set up an appointment for ANOTHER doctor's appointment to go and see someone for my sleep apnea... or whatever it is I have.
Liz and Dahlia can't sleep at night. They can't sleep at night because I can't sleep at night. More to the point, I sleep fine... if I sleep for ten or twelve hours. I feel incredible after that. But on my 6-8 hour sleep schedule now, I don't feel rested and I snore and choke and I know I have restless legs and arms and fuckall knows how I breathe between my mouth and nose.
Liz snores, too. She probably needs a sleep study, too. Not nearly as bad, though. I was supposed to have two studies done in Tuscaloosa and the first one I never fell asleep and they cancelled it, which seemed like bullshit to me. The second one was cancelled because I couldn't breathe through my nose. I backed out of the next one scheduled in Birmingham because of those shitty experiences. But, I suppose if it's what's best, then I had better do it.
And finally, I have that psychiatrist appointment next week. I actually don't know what day or what time... I think it's on the 12th, which is the Monday before school starts, and despite not being as black as I was when I set it up, I'm still gonna go.
I told Liz that I care about them enough that I want to care of myself. My motto had always been "Live Obtuse, Die Eventually, and Leave a Mediocre at Best Corpse."
I suppose I've got to be better than that, now. It's weird that I actually want to, though.