Some weeks just suck. Let’s take a look at why.
My job isn’t particularly stressful deadline-wise, or co-worker-wise or any sort of -wise, really. Parts of it can be difficult sure; helping scared and angry and anxious cancer patients and all, but mostly it’s pretty even keeled. This week though, has been kind of a stressful one. I think flying solo is really starting to get to me. I’m alone in the ‘brary 3 days out of 5 – my co-worker works part-time, 2 days a week. We get along really well, which is great because we share a super-small office. This month she has taken some extended vacation, so I haven’t actually seen her since the 7th of September. She’s back on Monday and I cannot freaking wait. Is it that I adore her that much? Well, she’s pretty rad, but mostly? She helps buffer the crazy.
When you work in public service, no matter how much you love it, how much you love people and helping them find information and listening to their stories and setting their minds at ease? You need a fucking break from it every so often. Or at least I do. I love my job, and right now I can’t imagine doing anything else, but when for three solid weeks I have to do all the listening and reassuring and tissue-handing and everything…well. I’m just really, really tired. Emotionally, I have nothing left. And that’s not good. Now I’m not about to start flipping off patients or anything like that – I have some standards, after all. I am just putting it out there that I am exhausted, and I am done.
And you know what else makes for a week that sucks?
When your mother calls at 9:30pm to tell you that a family friend, who you’ve known your whole life, who has actually known you since before you were born, because he has been friends with your parents for like 55 years, has had a heart attack. And he died on the way to the hospital.
And, about an hour after learning this sad, sad news, your elderly cat starts having massive breathing problems – he’s done this before, but somehow this is different, scarier – so you stay up and watch him for awhile, and then you go to bed and your husband stays up and watches him until he seems much better, and in the morning, your husband takes him to the vet, and they think it’s one thing and they want to keep him for the day to monitor him, and then they call your husband part way through the day and tell him that kitty isn’t responding to anything, that there’s a lot more going on than they’d thought and that he’d better come and see him if he can, and be there while they put him down, because there’s nothing they can do for him.
Those kind of weeks? Just suck.