sepuku sunday

yes, i know it's monday and i'm posting 'sepuku sunday,' but as it stands, i'm a little behind in my blogging. i've spent the last few days working, and sleeping. literally. i've come home and slept ten, twelve, fourteen hours at a stretch and it's been the most beautiful experience of my life. i finally hit a point where i just couldn't handle trying to run normally (since i was far from normal, and shaddup with the jokes i *know* are coming...) and between messing up at work as badly as i have been lately, and *cc* blowing up at me, i know i've been running on Empty for far too long.

those of you out there who have experienced total physical exhaustion will understand. for those of you pampered individuals who only think you know what it's like, it's beyond your worst nightmares. of course, after my intensive training living in the House of Oppression, i have a great poker face and can appear pretty much unruffled no matter what's going on around me or being done to me. . . unless you know what signs you're looking for.

my bio-mother remains the only person who can take one look at me and Know.

luckily, if it wasn't for the fact the manager lady knows she's worked me to the bone and understands, i'd probably have lost my job over some of the mistakes i've made recently. i've just been so exhausted my mind was pretty much fried. and since *cc* has a very low tolerance for small shit, apparently forgetting i had my laundry basket in the laundry room for a couple days was enough to send her over the edge. oh, and i forgot she was making ghee and put all two pounds of butter in the freezer in a random act of consideration.

stress at home's one thing. stress at work is another. i can handle both. i canNOT handle both together. home is supposed to be haven, damn it all. of course that's when exhaustion, stress, and being emotionally raw hit me all at once at work on saturday, and for a minute i actually just shut down. i hadn't felt such bleak despair in a very long time, but then my pronoiac mind asked, "what is the universe trying to tell you, delena? you're being given exactly what you need exactly when you need it. so why do you need this?"

that's when i realized: i needed something to push me over the edge to finally say, "ya 'ueno. estoy lindo, chingaso!" in other words, I'M FUCKING DONE.

people around me usually get frustrated at my situations long before i begin to feel impatient. i suppose i just have a higher tolerance for shit. you'd have to, living twenty years in the House of Oppression and another three being married to big *c*. i'm sorry, but it's true. i learned a greater sense of inevitability, and vast patience. i also like to be absolutely certain there's shit in a situation to really get worked up over before i respond to it. i'd much rather test it out, and work through my own feelings and perceptions, before making a judgement call now.

however, *cc* plus what a wreck my body's in now? yeah, i suppose that can finally equal Shit. i drew the line and told off one of the floor managers later that saturday. you paged us on the intercom telling us there was a call for the grooming salon holding on line 21. you don't need to drag your fat ass into the back room just to tell me again. shut up, let me do my job, and have a little patience. i will get to the phone as soon as it's safe to do so. oh yeah, the manager lady heard about that one, but all i got was a great, big hug and, "poor delena, she needs a vacation."

i was like, "DUDE! gimme days. i'll take my happy ass to idaho."

i wrote *cc* an email basically telling her i didn't appreciate the egoism, and she needs to fucking talk to me before exploding on me. when she responded, i held my ground. she didn't respond.

and yesterday? HA! oh my fucking god. so i get slammed first thing in the morning with three heavy duty deshedding projects and haul ass getting the first two done in an hour. that's pretty sweet. i'm overbooked already, but i open up one more slot at 11:00 because i knew i could. we have certain money goals we need to hit every month, and last week we were only a hundred dollars shy. so why not?

the third dog of the early-morning trio decided to struggle when i was working with him. he bit one of the other groomers who was helping me try to calm him down. so i go for a muzzle and handle him while someone else tries to put it on. the dog twisted in my grip and clamped down on my finger. i had to pry his jaws open to get my digit back. well, of course i put on bite gloves and jump right back into it, because a biter has to be muzzled at this point. however, when we finish, the girl helping me saw my hand covered in blood and immediately ran for the manager lady.

well shit.

so i spend an hour on the phone with a workman's comp nurse filling out paperwork and being interviewed, and all i can think is, "dammit, i'm an hour behind now." she says i have to go to the hospital. my response?


with no guarantee i'd be back in time to finish my shift, let alone go to the parents' house for dinner (which is my priority, thanksverymuch), i said i'd go in the morning. i had 24 hour clearance anyway. so i'm typing this with my carpally gimpy finger, but apparently it's not too bad. swollen, like any injury would be, and oozing plasma because i accidentally broke the scab this morning washing my hands, but otherwise i'm great. my mom and idaho boy got all hen-peckish and fuss-budgety on me about it (and i found it quite cute *m* being all fussy and threatening to drag me to the dr's in handcuffs kicking and screaming if i try to pull that shit with him around. made me wonder what else i could do to get the handcuffs...), but oi vey! 'tis a flesh wound! i've gotten worse in the kitchen cooking! like when i sliced my knuckle off. yeah, that was fun. reattach the flap of skin, butterfly stitch the fuck out of it, and immoblize it with a tongue depressor and lots of gauze. after cleaning it with rubbing alcohol because that's all we had.

yeah, whoever said the phrase "blinding pain" is a metaphor was lying through their teeth.

but hey, i can barely see the scar now. no harm, no foul. it's JUST a bite! wash it with soap, keep it flushed. that's all they'll do at the medical center anyway, jeez.

so yeah, that was my sunday. dog bite, dog fight (another vicious sonofabitch went for my face half a dozen times), slammed up the ass, and i was behind on all my dogs. but i STILL got out of work on time.

goddamn, i rock...


eric313 said...

Sunday sepuku on a monday morning. Nice work! Of course, you did desrcibe a pretty harrowing, if not everday experience.

Good read. Just a new blogger/poet/ loser type. Don't mind me!

Anonymous said...

omg...flinching with sympathy pain for you.
Your experience with "Cujo" would be enough to send me over to the "bad place".
I'm glad you got time to crawl into dreamland and recoup...sounds like you needed it.
Idaho boy sounds like a chivalrous rock star!!

Anonymous said...

I've been thinking a lot about your thoughts on dreams and how I've let a lot of mine go recently and wonder if the new ones I have are worth considering. I even found myself slapped on the wrist by you at work today. I made a very negative comment about dreams being a crock of shit and immediately thought of you and regretted it.
I just hope the dreams can turn to reality before I get too cynical again.