I narrowly escaped the house this morning: I first awoke at 8:02, squinted at the clock, still felt drowsy. My next glance at the clock revealed it was 9:56. Two hours later. It's been a difficult week with a lot of work stress; I believe I'm working hard but cannot manage to meet expectations in the 50 hrs I'm allotting. Matters were not helped by a late phone call from an insurance company inquiring about my credentials: "we haven't been able to contact anyone from your internship site" (circa 1990). "Of course," I respond. "It was 20 years ago. They're all dead." [For best effects, roll your eyes as you read that line.]
Additionally, I needed to dig through 11 months of charts--shoved into my desk drawer in a perfectly random order--to find notes from a patient I saw back in, um, July? In some ways I was grateful to be the only one in the office, blasting Beethoven at full volume, kneeling unshod on the dusty rug and tossing papers into piles while stapling madly. Better my co-workers not know what a holy disaster my office became. It didn't help that hubby was out, #1 son was at a friend's house, and kids #2 & #3 were ignoring the phone. When I finally got through they were starving...but of course no one had the presence of mind to call Mom and say, 'Where are you?" (Or to listen to the message I left on the machine.)
I reheated some coffee this morning and plotted my getaway--I had a coupon for a treat at a local coffee shop--alas, I heard the thump of teenaged feet and had to (partially) admit that I was going to go out. To the dry cleaner and library and farm market...do they really need to know about treats when a half-dozen of their fav bagels are sitting on the counter?
Ugh. A pile of work papers is waiting for me at home. But first, can I buy a new shirt, drop off the used books and the empty egg cartons, talk to Mrs. Yong about the crud on THE BACK (!?) of my son's suitjacket and how she might be able to remove it?
I think I need another Saturday this week. But at least: I wrote today.