FOREWARNING: this post was written two weeks ago. I have just now finished it. The following story may or may not actually be in chronological order. It also may or may not contain facts and or real people. Mostly me. I apologize in advance for the way it is written but I was still reeling. I work seven days a week and try to fit a life in there. Sometimes it ends up like this particular weekend where I forget that there is such a thing as TOO MUCH. I will stand by my final conclusion though.
I have woken up from my 48 hour life-coma. (thanks for being worried, but I am totally okay, life-comas are like a little gap in the time space continuum when everything blurs together and someone tells me that I was awake and alive during all of it. I have no evidence to back this up but go with it.)
I spent most of the last 48 hours working.
And I don't think I can tell you what day it is. It doesn't really matter, I am just going to grogily stumble into JobOne and hope that I am scheduled. Well, wouldn't it be nice to walk in and not be scheduled. Then I could get back to my favorite place in the world.
Under the covers.
I think it's my own fault. Chalk it up to poor planning. (Look at me! I'm growing up, all taking responsibility and stuff. So what if I started it with "I think" instead of a more declarative statement...I'm working on it okay!)
Somewhere in the middle of the week I realized my weekend was shaping up to be a complete and utter disaster. Not until friday came around did I really know what I was in for.
I had to jet out of jobone early to get to my other obligation that I had made months earlier. God forbid I put things like this on a calendar of some sort. Come to think of it, maybe I did. But I am still working on the whole, looking at the calendar thing.
I just write stuff in it. Close it. Walk away. Never to read it again. Not sure it's helping.
Anyway. After volunteering for race packet pick up the evening before I realize that I have a way early morning that is shaping up to be fah reezing.
It was. 6 am never felt so terrible. I was at the race site for 3 hours. The bitter blistering cold wind was determined to make sure it felt like an eternity. I wasn't sure if I felt better being a volunteer and not signing my ass up to run, or realizing that the runners had some blood flow going and could have maybe felt their fingers and toes.
Either way it was cold. And I, well, I hate the cold.
I immediately packed my things and went right to JobOne. Left there to go home just in time to change for JobTwo. I worked there all night (Saturday nights bring out the Cougars, and they are hungry. For our food and any young men they can get their claws into... So we stay busy, Good for business I suppose)
I didn't leave until 11pm. Which meant that I had been working a total of 17 hours. In one day. Somehow I had also gotten sucked into working for someone Sunday evening. Which meant Sunday turned into a double.
Great. Someone clearly took advantage of my weakened state and pounced on it. The delirium had set in and I went home to sleep.
Text messengers be damned. Too many people trying to get into my head and convince me to start partying immediately after my 17 hour shift. I passed out 8 seconds after I stumbled into my room. I woke up Sunday morning to a s-u-p-e-r-s-l-o-w day.
This is where the time space continuum was broken. I was pretty sure, all of Sunday was still just a continuation of Saturday. I am also sure that none of my sleep went into the revitalizing of my body or mind. I think I just closed my eyes and my body was too tired to do anything else.
And that could be my reasoning behind why I convinced myself that only on this Sunday was I supposed to show up an hour later than all my other Sunday in times.Maybe also why I felt the need to get my button up shirt all starched ironed and ready, and then leave it inside my house.
I had however thought ahead enough on Saturday that I purchased a sugar free Red Bull (bread bowl to Morgan) Luckily OldLadyMoves saved me with a couple extra wrinkle free button ups in her trunk. And I was back in business. Worked a double and proceeded to be a mere shell of a human.
In the middle of my double I got off. Started to go home to sleep until my next shift. Until Cutie McOldPants.(Which incidentally is what I could call half of the men I attract and or date... shrug...) texted me and told me he was watching the game at the local hole.
I met him up there and (shh, don't tell my boss) had an RBV (short for Red Bull Vodka, and I promise to never use that abbrev again.)
I watched my Ravens take it to the freaking house. Anyone see Ed Reed run back the longest interception in NFL history. He surpassed the previous record. Oh wait he held that one too.God I love my team. Anyway, I was so jazzed from our (yes I have now started saying we, as in, me and the rest of my team. I just don't suit up and get on that field, but I am totally one of them! ) victory that I went home only to change my shirt and headed back to work.
Worked the evening shift and went home. I don't recall these events because by now I was out of my funk. Or maybe just so exhausted I couldn't think about being exhausted any more. All I wanted was sleep. So despite getting heckled by everyone who suddenly thought Sunday nights were the "it" night to go out. I went home to sleep.
At least thats what my brain said. My heart decided to try to fight the Red Bull in my system. I was fast away in dreamland when I lost my breath. I literally woke up gasping for air. I quickly fell back asleep only to writhe in agony for hours upon hours because I could not get my heart to pick a rhythm.
Mind you, I have been diagnosed with a heart murmur. When I was like 6. My parents were in the middle of a custody battle and I was a desperate middle child vying for attention. That's what everyone chalked this diagnosis up to be.
Years later I still suffer from bouts of tachycardia or bradycardia. It takes me just a few moments to gather myself and I am fine.
Not this night. My heart was have a full out battle. Maybe it was playing DDR and I didn't know it. Either way.
I am swearing off Red Bulls from this point on.
So now, Red Bull doesn't give you wings. It gives you freaking arrhythmia.
Yes I know that was an extremely long story just to tell you that I am never drinking an energy drink again but to put into words those god forsaken hours that were my weekend seems much harder after knowing I survived it. I was convinced the entire time that my life was ending.
And yes being a hypochondriac with no health insurance is a tough life to live!