A rundown of the week I’ve had….
Listen while you read to “A Shitty Day”. Apologies for the repeat, but this is the most appropriate track for this post.
Ok, I’m sure most people reading this have absolutely no clue as to the meaning of that obtuse title….It’s an oft-used hashtag by Andrew Dubber (@Dubber), a music pundit I like to follow on Twitter, that expresses dismay or disgust, and that epithet aptly describes much of what goes on in my day-to-day life.
As you must have guessed, friends and neighbors, I’ve had a rather f**ked up week.
Mondays practically always suck for me, invariably incurring the jet lag effect from keeping ridiculous hours through the weekend, typically preceded by a bout of depression that sets in by about 4:00 PM Sunday since since by that point there is no realistic possibility of being able to accomplish all that I needed to on any given weekend, inevitably culminating in being late to work on Monday morning, which my boss understandably hates. Hell, he probably hates Mondays as much as I do. Sundays are typically the only day that I have both energy and available time to do anything that requires either. This Monday especially sucked since Chi’s agenda hijacked most of the preceding weekend (and the one before that), leaving me with no time to get anything done, so the house still reeks to the rafters of cat piss, and is still a horrific, pestilential mess, and now it’s hot as fuck and I’ll be stuck with having to do that wretched work this weekend. (There’s great lyric potential here, were I a songwriter #fail) WHY IN THE HELL do I always get stuck with having to do the absolute shittiest, most miserable household drudge labour when it’s eight frigging trillion degrees?!!!! (And for that matter, why in the hell do I always have to do it all anyway??) Oh, and this Monday I got subjected to a somewhat more extreme version of an ongoing hassle with motorcycle parking at the new garage employees at the organization I work for have been shunted off to due to a long-running construction project that just got started. Making matters inconceivably worse, I missed the submission deadline for a Taxi.com listing that should have been a slam-dunk for our Japanese-themed pieces. #BALLS!
I was feeling acutely fatigued and depressed and discouraged all week, and Wednesday learned that a wedding gig for later this month had fallen through, accompanied by more motorcycle garage harassment and other demeaning BS, so I found it particularly difficult to force myself to slog through a load of menial labour at the day job that I have to get done and have been blowing off forever. Also on Wednesday Laxmi got stung on the tongue by a wasp she tried to catch. #Balls
(Thankfully ‘Xmi didn’t have to be rushed to the kitty emergency room!)
Chi’s Trip to the ER
Today as I had just finished making lunch plans with a friend, Chi called me up asking if I could go with him to the emergency room. He’d had a bad stomachache since Monday afternoon, and his Japanese doctor told him to go to the ER to get it fixed. I practically always have to to along to translate whenever Chi’s regular Dr. refers him to another practitioner since they never speak Japanese. I don’t speak Medical-ese in Japanese, so that’s always quite an ordeal. Anyway, since I had to get back to work for a meeting that afternoon, I led the way there on my scooter while he followed in the truck. As usual, we waited, then filled out some papers. Then waited some more, and filled out more papers. Eventually we were escorted into a consultation alcove where we were asked about his condition and for a rundown of his medical history (always a pain in the ass since it is extensive, all the records are in Japan and in Japanese, and he keeps shifting from one main doctor to another since we’ve been here.) We were directed back to the waiting room to wait some more. Finally we were led into an examining room (well, it wasn’t a room. I was just a curtained off section of a large room with sick and injured people being rolled in and doctors and techs milling about taking care of everyone. We waited and waited, Chi lying on the gurney writhing in pain.
Just as it was almost time for me to leave to go back to work, a doctor finally came in, apologizing profusely, saying that they had put Chi in the wrong place in the computer, and she had been searching all over the whole ward for him. She asked most of the same questions that we had been asked earlier in the consultation and then gave me a brief rundown of the diagnostic procedures that would be performed. I had to leave, so didn’t know what was going to happen after that, or how long it would take.
I still hadn’t heard anything by the end of the day, so after I got home from work I called the hospital to find out what was going on. Between the heavy accent of the person I spoke to and the crappy, static-y phone line we are paying the king’s ransom for, I couldn’t understand too much of what was said, but did understand that she couldn’t give me information about his condition over the phone, but I could go there and ask the doctor. I also understood that they were waiting on some sort of information from our medical insurance company. By that point I assumed they were going to keep him there for the night, so gave my cell number for them to call and let me know what was happening in the morning.
As I got up to go give the Panache Cats their dinner the phone rang. It was the hospital, and then Chi got on the line. He didn’t even say “hello”. He just started bitching at me about a variety of things, like all the pain he was in (as if I could actually do something about it) and his phone not working (more about that later), and demanding that I drive back over there right now and bring him three bottles of water, and then hung up on me. WTF?! So instead of feeling all lovey and concerned for him, all I could think was “You douchebag!”, and be annoyed as shit that he was hijacking what I’d thought would be a tranquil evening home alone in which I could finally get stuff done. NB: If he’s in the hospital, I can feel reasonably assured that the situation is under control and there is a competent person in charge, so I don’t have to worry about what ridiculous situation he’s getting himself into that he will call me at some stupid time to get him out of. This is part of the joy of curating an exotic pet husband!
I was so irked by his attitude that I took my sweet time changing back into bike-ready attire, assembled the three bottles of water, told the kitties what was happening, and rode off into the sunset with the setting sun glaring directly in my eyes all the way there. Well, I got there, gave him his water and listened to more bitching and whining, only to have him smile affably and say the pain was subsiding when the tech came in to check on him and take his temperature again. Gradually his demeanor toward me improved and the conversation grew more congenial, and the doctor came back in so I could finally find out what was going on. Chi had no idea since he didn’t understand anything that was said to him while I was gone.
The word was that they weren’t completely sure, and it was up to the insurance company to assign a doctor to perform the next procedure(s). That was when things got seriously f***ed up. According to the doctor I was speaking to, the authorization finally came through after several hours, but the doctor the insurance company originally assigned was no longer working at that hospital. Go Fish. The second doc the insurance company assigned was currently suspended over a minor administrative oversight. Go Fish. They were still waiting for a third one to be assigned, so the whole thing is currently hung up in some sort of bureaucratic cock-up with the insurance company (Epic Fail#). I wonder how many people have died from shit like that? Anyhoo, I ended up having to ride all the way home in the dark with mascara-smudged, yellow-tinted riding goggles so I couldn’t see jack. My survival on that tiny two-wheeled horse is directly dependent on my ability to get out of the path of anything likely to run me over, and it’s rather difficult to avoid what you can’t see. #Balls
The Phone SNAFU
I had paid our cell phone bill just in the nick of time before the service was to get shut off (or so I thought), so I was nonplussed when the service cut out after the payment had been processed. That was on Tuesday, and caused an extra hassle I had to wade through, but it was quickly restored. After working for the next couple days, it was cut off again in the early evening when Chi was in the emergency room and I had no idea what was going on. My phone had been working perfectly fine that day, so I didn’t know what he was going on about bitching me out for not paying the bill so his phone wouldn’t work at an exceptionally inconvenient time. After arriving at the hospital and giving him his water (I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t even give him any water – WTF?!) and tried to call Credo Mobile on my own phone to get that sorted out, I found to my utter irritation that my phone wouldn’t work either! WTF??!!! I was however put through to their customer service, and it was determined that it was some sort of administrative f-up on their side (Hey, just like the insurance bullshit at the hospital!), and was immediately and apologetically restored. Nonetheless, it was annoying as hell. #Balls
Kicking a Girl when she’s Down
Worst of all, the pigeon died. (Separate blog coming soon, but I’ve already ruined the ending!) I found him (or her) lying dead on the ground when I went under the house to get a new case of food to give the kitties their dinner before I went back to the hospital to bring Chi his water and find out what was going to happen next. That was a shock, because s/he had been doing so well, and looked for all the world like it was going to make it through, and even if it wouldn’t be able to fly well enough to be released, would still make a fine pet that we could keep. Saying “#Balls” is too disrespectful in this case, so what do you say instead when you’re just grief-stricken?
To top it off, since it’s been so stinking hot for the past couple days, my home office now smells like a kick-boxing match had taken place in it. I don’t fully understand the reason for this. Just more aggravation during a seriously annoying week. #Balls
WOW – that was cathartic! Thanks for listening 😉