Last night was my last shift at IKEA (formally known around here as the Big Blue Box).
I am now working only one job at Major Hospital, with regular hours and weekends off. I will get to experience this nifty thing people keep telling me about, ‘free time’. I’m also looking forward to another neat thing people have told me about, ‘sleep’.
I will really miss working there. The people are fun, the job wasn’t too awful, and stress levels were definately less (no one will die if you don’t get them a LACK table OMG right now).
But it came just in time. On Wednesday, I got back my lab results from the
vampires bloodwork taken on Monday and my hematocrit and ferretin levels were sufficiently low for them to discuss transfusion. Which I talked them out of because 1) the US is in the middle of a blood shortage and b) transfusions suck.
Iron resistant anemia is full of fail (and flavor, but that’s another story).
It takes 6-8 weeks for red blood cells to repopulate. That puts us to the end of May. I’m going to do my best to keep my arse on the couch (aided by the bone-deep exhaustion and shortness of breath which are hallmarks of iron-resistant anemia), which is 100,000% contrary to my Rural American Protestant Work Ethic.
In other news, it’s so wonderful to be seeing Bp. Lamb’s wee pudding face on all the blogs today. I adore that man, from the days he was my bish down in Dio.NorCal. LOVE!
Filed under easter, my life
Looking at the calendar, this July will mark three years since I moved to Portland.
Which does a lot to explain my antsy feet.
It’s something that’s defined my adult (ha!) life so far– every three years, I pack up and move Somewhere Else.
Chico to Sacramento.
Sacramento to Portland.
And here I am again, three years later, with very little tying me down. I live in a city I love that doesn’t seem to love me back.
(Except for my church)
No permanent job, few local friends, and even they are looking eastward.
Choices swirl around me, agendas proposed by people with my ‘best interests’ in mind. They all start with ‘MOVE’.
I’m tempted to get a coin and start flipping.
Or just flat out flip out, start my own religion, and wander the United States in a nun’s habit, my veil slightly askew, chain smoking and following around the hellfire street preachers, laughing hysterically.
Today is a Psalm Day. Actually, maybe it’s a Psalm Week.
You know, one of those psalms that cycles between weeping and elation, and then back again, all too fast for anything really to sink in until you find a quiet spot to rest.
There’s a quiet spot on the road ahead, I can just barely see it there near the horizon.
First thing, though, I have to get through the next 12 days.
Lessee, what have I done in the last seven days?
1) Turned in notice at the Big Blue Box (Job#2). My last day will be March 30th (which means that’s also my last day of health coverage). I cited concerns for my health, which has tanked since I began working 50-60 hours a week. They may be called ‘angel kisses’, but spontaneous bruising caused by low iron levels in your blood is NOT. FUN.
2) Was informed by Job#1 that they hired someone else for the position they asked me to come back and temp in, you know, the job I’ve been doing for three months now. They want me to stick around, though, benefits-free, “until at least July”.
3) Contracted viral strep throat. Yeah. That’s the kind of fun that’s not.
4) Learned that my dear friend has finally
got off his ass and purchased plane tickets. He’ll be flying to NYC on Easter Sunday and leaving a few weeks later for Africa.
So, you know, I’ve got nothing going on, except my entire world being flipped upside down and I now have to make decisions about what career path to follow and whether or not I should remain in Portland.
If anyone recognizes this freakout, it’s ’cause I am in the exact same place as I was last year.
Dear Mister (yes, MISTER) Pro-Life Blogger:
Not that it’s any of your feklaptin’ business, but I take birth control pills. Yes, me, the celibate one over here. I take them to better regulate the hormones in my body, and without them I will bleed for about two weeks out of every three and have to go to the hospital for blood transfusions. Funny thing, it’s entirely possible that I have the exact same condition as the woman you’ve probably read about in Matthew 9:20-22, Mark 5:25-34, and Luke 8:43-47.
If you don’t have insurance (like I won’t after March 30th), these pills cost $145 a month. I wouldn’t even try to convince a Catholic clinic to write me a script. Planned Parenthood, the only women’s health clinic with no income restrictions? $39 a month. And the added bonus of having to look at dead babies and be called a whore by my coreligionists as I go in to pick up my script!
Would you shut your trap, please? You’re making all us Christians look like jackasses.
In Christian Love,
…It’s been replaced by the sniffly head sore throat aching body feeling.
Blogfeed Amnesty continues. Don’t write anything interesting until I get back.
I’d type up what I’m listening to on the iPod right now, however it’s rap. In Portuguese. Which I don’t speak. But there’s a lot of clapping. So…
*clap clap clap clap clap*
Most weeks, the only physical contact I have with other human beings is during the Peace.