rage

Daily Post 010: Holiday Rage

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There is a lot of emotion in this post.
A lot of cursing and raw, unadulterated typing.
I’m not sorry because fuck holidays.

Dearest Universe,

Once again I am here; fucking lost and frustrated internally. I feel like there’s sandpaper on the inside of my skin trying to rub its way out, but it can’t get out because it’s not real, not physical and so I’m left with irritation, borderline rage that I have this sensation with no way to release it.

I’m hoping writing helps. I’m hoping by letting my fingers move over the keyboard, dancing the feelings away that I might find some measure of peace for the restlessness that has been my life for the past month or so; ever building, seldom ceasing. 

I quit my job. I think I wrote about that. I finally chose myself over bleeding out for a company that continuously disregarded my struggles and cries, pleas, for help. 

“Increase your anti-depressant.”

“Fake it until you make it.”

Fuck you guys. I have survived too much in my life to be told “fake it until you make it” when I come to you in tears. When I say I have anxiety and panic attacks when I feel hollow and empty when I have nothing left to give when I feel unsupported when I see my teammates and patients suffering… DO NOT tell me to increase my anti-depressant. 

I didn’t need anti-depressants when my mom died. I shouldn’t be told to take them to cope with work and a lack of life balance. 

Instead of taking their advice, I changed my life, because fuck being miserable. 

And yes, this post is most likely going to have a lot of cursing in it as tears run down my face. Tears of anger and hurt, of lostness and grief, sadness and frustration.

I DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE MY JOB! I DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE MY PATIENTS! I DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE MY TEAMMATES AND “MY” CLINIC!

I DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE!

That’s what I scream inside of my head, but when given the choice between my life and a fucking paycheck, the paycheck isn’t going to win. There is too much else I am capable of doing. Too many other skills that I already have and can learn; be taught. 

Fuck being miserable, and fuck your advice that I need medication to cope.

What I need is an employer that values me as a human rather than as a cog that’s only useful and valued when it’s performing. As soon as it needs any sort of maintenance then all of a sudden it’s an inconvenience. As if working 12-hour shifts five days in a row is realistically maintainable. As if constantly coping with death is doable without time to mourn or even vaguely process the loss of people you have known for years. 

It is been a little over a month since I left. 

I am still in training with my new job but the reduction in stress is ridiculous. I didn’t realize how dead inside I had been until about a week ago. Each day gets a little better. I have ups and downs still. Especially with it being the holidays, but workwise I do not regret leaving. I’m angry that I had to make that choice. I’m angry that I enabled such an atrocious business model for so long but I do not regret honoring myself. I do not regret being loyal to myself and taking care of my own wellbeing when for so long it was clear that the company wasn’t going to help me live or be ok. 

I have formed close connections with my trainers and fellow classmates. I’m doing well in training. I’m already looking at cross-training for other areas. Work is easy. Learning and retaining information is easy. I took a pretty steep pay cut, but I don’t care about it. A pay cut gave me my life back. A pay cut gave me better benefits. A pay cut wasn’t really a pay cut because had I not tried to quit once before, I still would have been making less than my brother as a new hire. 

Fuck your company. Fuck its disregard for human limitations and lack of empathy or compassion or even trying to understand what it was like working the floor. 

Anyway, I don’t really want to write about work anymore. I like my new job. I “graduated” phase one of training this past Thursday. I cried. It was silly and cheesy and mom would have been proud. She would have been happy for me and it helped me realize that I can be and will be ok in my choice. 

All of the thoughts of “did I make the right choice?” “Am I a failure at life?” “Would mom be proud of me?” All of those thoughts eating way at me could finally rest; stop. The worry and fear could finally stop eating away at me because of this one act of kindness from my trainers, and I wrote them an email explaining why such a silly seemingly trivial thing meant so much to me. 

Teachers, trainers, touch lives in amazing and unknown ways and I wanted them to know how they touched mine so I told them. They both were appreciative of my words and I’m grateful they were. They deserve to know they are valued and seen. 

The holidays have sucked. No surprise there. They haven’t sucked as much as in previous years. Maybe that’s part of the sandpaper feeling. I don’t know. 

I didn’t do anything for my birthday. I worked. No one remembered in my class which I was ok with. I stayed at the apartment and ate a pizza I cooked in the oven. I responded to messages until I couldn’t anymore and then I gave myself permission to stop looking at my phone; to stop poking at a wound that was already bleeding invisible blood. 

I let myself go to sleep. I lay with my pain and grief and in the morning I woke up more ok. I didn’t have to push myself to endure a birthday party. I didn’t have to smile when all I wanted was to break down and cry. I gave myself the gift of space and acceptance and that seemed to help this year. I did birthday stuff later; on “not my birthday” and that made it more ok. 

Maybe that’s how I will handle my birthdays from now on. The day before or after is ok, but my actual birthday is MY day to do what I want rather than people-pleasing or feeling pressured to be something other than what I am. 

Maybe in the future, it will change. Maybe I’ll look forward to parties and celebrations and whatnot in the years to come, but for now, reclaiming that one day as “my” day, helped get rid of all of the pressure and guilt, and shame that I have felt in the past years since mom died, and since I felt better, coped better, I feel like it’s something to keep in mind.

Life is different than what it was, what I thought it would be. I’m allowed to do things differently than I have in the past. I’m allowed to create new traditions and to try new or different things until I find what works; what I’m ok with. 

I was ok with this year for the most part. Ox was ok with it. My brothers and dad were ok with it. I survived and in the morning, after sleeping I was actually better than I thought I would be. I didn’t have depression lingering over me. Life didn’t feel pointless. I didn’t dread the thought of training. I worked out. I ate breakfast. I did all of these things I was fearful of not being able to do because “birthday blues” usually last more than one day. 

But they didn’t this year and I’m grateful for that. I feel like that’s improvement and I would rather focus on the positives I gained rather than having hyper-focus on the singular thought of “but you were still sad”. 

Yeah, I was fucking sad. My mom is dead. I’m always to some degree sad. But I’m especially sad when the one thing I knew I could look forward to, the one day I knew no matter what that she would call, is silent now. I won’t get my one phone call. 

The only thing I want, deeper than anything else in life, I can’t have, so yeah. I’m fucking sad and it’s my party and I will cry even if I don’t want to because that is what I need to do to be ok. 

I want to go out to a field and just scream FUCK right now. FUCK! FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!

My older brother and sister-in-law tested positive for covid. Because, you know, it’s not enough to contend with the loss of the most important person in my life. I have to also deal with the fear of losing the one person who was my rock while mom was in the hospital.

“Do you need anything?”

I can remember that question so clearly. It was the first night at the house. I had been in Vegas for less than 12 hours. The bank had canceled both my debit and credit card because I didn’t list them as “traveling” when I booked my flight. Funny how stupid shit like that slips your mind when your parent is dying. 

I was standing at the kitchen counter. Jason was across from me. 

“Do you need anything?”

“Please don’t die.”

That was most likely the most selfish and unrealistic thing to ask for, but it was the only thing I wanted, needed, in that moment. I could handle mom being in the hospital as long as he was there to help me get through it. As long as he was ok and I didn’t have to worry about losing anyone else I could hold my shit together. 

And then I find out he has covid. 

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! FUCK YOU UNIVERSE AND EVERYTHING THAT YOU CONSIST OF YOU MOTHER FUCKING SON OF A WHORE!

It’s no different than when I found out I had cancer before Thanksgiving. No different than fucking up a holiday with Life’s bullshit. 

I survived my birthday only to prepare for the onslaught of Christmas a mear four days later and I find out that my brother isn’t ok.

WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! WHEN WILL IT BE ENOUGH? WHEN WILL YOU STOP TESTING ME, PUSHING ME? WHEN AM I ALLOWED TO NOT BE STRONG? WHEN AM I ALLOWED TO BE TIRED AND SCARED? WHEN AM I ALLOWED TO BE SAFE? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! THERE AREN’T ENOUGH FUCKS TO FUCKING FUCK THIS FUCKING SITUATION! FUCK!

And I write all of that knowing that my sister-in-law didn’t really hit my radar. It would have sucked, and I would have been sad, but it wouldn’t have been the devastating, earth-shattering, disaster when compared to my brother and I know that most likely makes me a terrible human on some level, but fuck it. It’s the truth. If I had to pick someone to die and someone to live, it would be my brother and I’ll carry that truth with me like all the other scars I wear. 

It’s been a few days since I found out about their diagnosis. They’re both doing ok, which helps ease the fear and uncertainty. It helps something inside me, the four-year-old who cries for mom. I can’t have mom but at least I can have my brother. I know at some point the universe will take him away from me, but for now, it hasn’t and I cling to that with every ounce of my unstable mental and emotional strength because fuck holidays. 

I made it through yesterday. I’ve been coloring a lot more recently. It helps. It gives my eyes and hands something to do with I try to trace thoughts and feelings through my head, trying to make sense of them, trying to hear my inner self and understand what I need. 

It’s how I made it through most of yesterday. Watching gorey anime, cuddling with the cats, and coloring. 

Today we get the kids and will be opening presents and doing all of the actual Christmas stuff. I keep swinging back and forth between being ok and not ok today and I’m so fucking tired of it. 

I’M TRIED! I’M SO FUCKING TIRED YOU SON OF A BITCH AND YET YOU KEEP FUCKING WITH ME! GODDAMIT UNIVERSE! WHY CAN’T YOU LEAVE ME BE! WHY CAN’T I BE NORMAL FOR ONE FUCKING DAY? WHY CAN’T I HAVE A CHRISTMAS WITH THE KIDS AND NOT BE AN EMOTIONAL WRECK? WHY DO I HAVE TO DRAG OX THROUGH THIS, OR JOHN? WHY DO I ALWAYS HAVE TO CRY? WHAT’S SO UNREALISTIC ABOUT BEING ABLE TO BE HAPPY?

Typing out the frustration helps. I know they’re irrational, emotional thoughts. Typing them gets them out of my head. Gives them their time. Makes the sandpaper less abrasive as if screaming through my fingers wears the paper down, grinding away the coarseness. 

There’s been a lot of death that I haven’t written about. My sister-in-laws-dad died. One of my mentors from Full Sail died. Several patients I deeply cared about have died. I haven’t written to them like I normally do to express my grief and now it’s been so long that part of me feels like my words won’t reach them even though I know that’s not true.

There’s so much that I haven’t written though, expressed, just kept inside.

I started a cessation program with work and have cut back significantly on smoking. 

There’s all of this stuff going on in my life and none of it is inherently bad. It’s just… stuff… with emotions, but there are so many of them all at once that internally I’m getting overwhelmed, drowning in the onslaught of waves with refuse to give me reprieve. 

The kids will be here soon. They, too, were exposed to covid. I’m going to have Christmas with them even though I’m unvaccinated. I know people are going to read that and think I’m dumb. Dumb for not distancing myself. Dumb for not getting a vaccine. Dumb for being dumb. 

I’M GOING TO FUCKING DIE AT SOME POINT. LET ME HAVE ONE CHRISTMAS!

Just one Christmas… one where I see lil’ ox open up a palette of makeup for the first time and do something girly with her. One Christmas where I can be fully present emotionally with Ox’s family. Just one where I can appreciate being part of a family that has taken me in as their own daughter, flaws and fucked up emotional issues and all. A family where I have never been judged and always loved. 

I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired of hurting. If I’m going to eventually die then I want to have lived first. 

This isn’t a suicide letter. This isn’t goodbye. I’m done fucking being afraid. I’m done walking on eggshells. I’m done fucking crying. 

Fuck you Universe. I’ve given you more tears than you deserve. I’ve given you more than I ever wanted to. I’ve been stronger and survived more than I ever had a right to. So yes. Fuck you. 

Happy fucking holidays you insensitive, unfeeling bastard. I hate you so much right now. I hate you for everything you have taken from me and everything you keep fucking with. I HATE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH RIGHT NOW AND I DON’T CARE HOW INSIGNIFICANT MY RAGE IS. I DON’T CARE THAT I SOUND LIKE A CHILD. I’M HUMAN! I’M EMOTIONAL AND IRRATIONAL AND ILLOGICAL AND I DON’T FUCKING CARE BECAUSE THIS IS WHERE YOU PUSHED ME TO THIS YEAR. 

So yeah, happy fucking holidays you son of a whore.

Sincerely from a rage-filled dragon who doesn’t give a fuck. 

Daily Post 154: Writing Through the Frustration

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I’m writing at the advice of Mother Earth, not that she specifically said to write. She said to give myself 30 minutes. 30 minutes to rage and cry and cruse and throw all of it at the Universe, because the Universe can take it. At the end of my 30 minutes, I can ask myself if I need 30 more…

So here I am. Sitting in front of my computer in the dark with the only light coming from my computer screen and Beady’s heat lamp. I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that Ox has a ball python, but there you go. He does and his heat lamp is on. A faint red glow to clash with the bright white of the computer screen.

I’m frustrated. I’m burnt out. I don’t want to do anything and yet I have all of these things that only I can do and figure out and so spending the morning struggling to find motivation has me more frustrated until I find myself here. It’s 10 am. Ox is almost off work. He’s been outside working in the snow all morning and I have nothing to show for myself.

No. Instead I’m sitting here wanting to cry, wanting to be angry, wanting to throw in the towel and say, “I’ve figured out enough shit, I’m done. Not for forever. But for right now. I’m done until I’m not done anymore and leave me alone until I say it’s ok to tap me back in. Figure it out for yourself for a while.”

Yesterday sucked. Ridiculously sucked. Hardcore sucked. Sucked on a level of suckage that I haven’t had to deal with for a while and I wonder if that’s part of the issue. I’m out of practice with suckage. Things have been going well for the most part, so long, hard, fucked up days full of other people’s shit just aren’t my forte anymore.

I don’t know, but I feel like all of the tar and gunk and shittiness of yesterday is still clinging to me and I can’t get it to go away and it’s messing up my today, my present, the only moment I know for sure I have because we never know what’s going to happen in the future, and instead of doing something with it, about it, I’m continuing to let it spin my wheels.

So, here it is. All the thoughts and things I wanted to tell you yesterday. Yell at you. Scream at you. Rage and cry. This is what I have felt for almost 24 hours now.

I AM NOT THE NURSE!

I AM NOT THE CHARGE NURSE!

I AM NOT THE LEADER OR THE DECISION MAKER. I AM NOT THE FA. I AM NOT THE BOSS. I AM NOT THE ONLY WORKER ON THE FLOOR. I AM NOT THE ONE WHO IS SUPPOSED TO MAKE SURE THAT EVERYTHING RUNS SMOOTHLY AND ON TIME.

I AM A PCT. I AM THE LOWEST RUNG ON THE TOTEM POLE.

I AM NOT YOUR COACH OR YOUR MENTOR. I AM NOT YOUR CHEERLEADER.

GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER AND HELP ME GET THROUGH TODAY INSTEAD OF SHUTTING DOWN AND CLOSING OFF AND SPIRALING DOWN IN A BLAZE OF SELF-DESTRUCTIVE THOUGHTS!

How hard is it to do that? To do your job? There was no reason for us to run an hour behind. There was no reason for it to take you 30 minutes to initiate one treatment. ONE!

In the time it took you to do that one treatment I taped up four people, cleaned and restrung two maybe three machines. I got two additional patients onto the floor for their treatments.

Why did it feel like I was by myself, alone, trying to take care of everything? Literally, everything. I made sure the labs were spun and packed. I made sure the printer worked and that treatments were generated for the next day. I made sure we had the bare essentials for supplies on the floor because I didn’t have time for a full lunch, let alone restocking everything we needed.

Why couldn’t it have felt like you were a member of my team helping me instead of accepting our fate to drown in despair? Why did I have to swim for both of us while you did nothing except try to let us drown?

Yesterday didn’t have to be the day it was. It didn’t have to suck nearly as bad as it did.

I’m frustrated with you. Not with myself. Maybe with myself… with how much I am letting all this bother me, but mostly I’m frustrated with you and with the Universe which constantly reminds me that though I’m smart and capable and able, that I’m still not good enough to do your job. I’m frustrated that you have a degree in this and I don’t yet that piece of paper doesn’t seem to mean or do much of anything. It doesn’t make you a better worker than me. It doesn’t make you better at strategy or stress management or self-awareness.

I’m angry.

I’m angry that I CAN’T do more. I’m angry that I’m not allowed to do more even though I know, KNOW, I could do it better because I already am.

You need to work on you. Just like I know I need to work on myself. The difference is that I actually am working on myself. Those self-destructive thoughts, those shadow beliefs, I confront them. I know they’re not true even though they’re really good at feeling true. They’re not. They’re lies and I refused to be lied to, even by myself.

Right Brain: Fuck you, Brain. I’m not going to deal with your bullshit.

I work through those thoughts and seek help and I don’t give up when it gets hard. I don’t throw my hands up and leave my teammates to pick up the slack.

And while all of this is going on, I’m having our new RN, the one still in training, shadowing ME. ME. NOT YOU!

I’m the one showing her the machines and how to string them and watching her cannulate and explaining processes and what I do as a tech and all of these things. Not only am I having to run the day, but I’m also having to do that under the scrutiny of someone I’ve never really interacted with before. Does she think I’m a bitch? Am I overbearing? Am I explaining this well enough? Am I throwing her to the wolves by having to constantly run around to keep things going, moving, progressing? Does she feel ignored?

Right now I just want to scream, scream over and over again in frustration because I’m just so done with yesterday and thinking and figuring out and problem-solving. I just want to cry until all of that frustration is out and no longer eating away at me. It’s not a cry of despair. It’s a cry of rage and anger and heat and frustration and wrath. A cry which will burn away everything that was yesterday and leave the ground scorched and bare so something new can come from the soggy mud that was once ash.

It was one day. It’s over, it shouldn’t matter anymore. No one died. We made it to the end of the day. Just let it go. How hard is that to do, Brain? Why can’t you just let all of that negativity go? What good is it doing me right now? What am I not learning from this moment? What more is there to figure out from the experience of yesterday that I haven’t found to make you cling so strongly to those emotions?

Just. Let. It. Go.

We need to shower. We need to start the brisket which means we need to find the recipe again. We need to figure out the shopping list. We need to listen to the rest of our leadership chapter. We need to do the reflection section.

We NEED to do things.

Why won’t you let me do them? What more do you want from me?

I figured out school. I took care of so many things last week. I’ve been delving so far into myself with this stupid leadership thing. I’ve reconnected with several people. I’ve found out one of them is dead.

I’ve handled all of your shit up until this point. What more do you want? What more can I do?

And this is where I’m going to stop my rage, anger, frustration filled rant and focus on all the good shit that happened yesterday. Because, fuck you, Brain. There was good shit and I’m going to make you remember it. Acknowledge it. I’m going to force you to type everything out, word for word, as if they were weapons to slash through all of the anger you want to wrap yourself in as if it were armor.

No. You will face me and you will do what you’re told and I will not let you keep me here in the dark, wasting away one of the few days off I have.

My FA corrected my time card for me because I forgot to clock in Wednesday last week. She’s working with me to come up with really awesome ideas for our Wall of Fame. Mother Earth and I got to talk for a little bit yesterday while I drove home. The roads weren’t complete shit while I was driving. Not awesome, but not nearly as bad as I thought they would be. The patient I thought would be in the hospital wasn’t. The new nurse actually jumped in and helped during change over so I can only imagine how far behind we would have been if she hadn’t. She seems really sharp and caught on to things quickly and I seem to get along with her really well. We were actually able to talk. I have a better read on her as a person and I think she’ll fit in well. Mama Ox cooked dinner last night. It was already done and on the table when I got home. I didn’t even have to take my plate into the kitchen. It was mind-blowingly amazing and kind and even though I know it’s not true, I feel like I didn’t deserve that kindness. I could have at least taken care of the dishes. We sat down as a family and figured out what meals we wanted for the coming week. Everyone got to put something on the list. It was awesome. I loved it. I get to make green curry at some point. I had a cup of hot chocolate with peppermint Smirnoff and I slept the whole night. I slept curled up in Ox’s arms and he stroked my shoulder as he fell asleep. We make jokes about “teeth hugs” since I’m “not allowed” to bite him. Our relationship is going really well and I’m a wife and I’m ok with that.

Yesterday wasn’t all awful, so screw you Brain.

I AM going to go shower. I AM going to listen to my book while I cross stitch and pull the curtains back because even if it is below freezing still, at least there’s sunlight. I don’t need to sit in a dark room with only the glow of the computer screen illuminating my world. My world is better than that. My world is more than that. My world is more than yesterday and I won’t let you take today away from me, so there.

Screw you, Brain. I’m off to be amazing.

Musing Moment 115: Making Work Work For Me

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I’m sort of beyond furious right now.

I had just spent the past like… three hours figuring out EVERYTHING in regards to my discontent with work. And then the internet fucked up and copied over what I wrote with something else and since I write in Grammarly and didn’t realize it had messed up my writing, when I closed the window it saved the incorrect writing and there’s no way for me to get back what I originally wrote.

So much rage. If I could break the Internet right now I would. Without remorse even because it deserves to die a horrible stabbity death.

INFJ righteous rage at its finest.

So this is going to be a much more condensed version of what I wrote before, with more curse words, because I’m not going to rewrite everything as it was and cursing makes me feel better.

Firstly… Fuck you, Universe.

Moving on. My original writing started with me talking about how I’ve been low energy since my race and identifying a multitude of factors which could have or currently are contributing to the prolonged lull.

First big event with a bunch of people
Dehydration
Eating carbs and having to get back into ketosis

I think I did a lot of help myself as best I could

Sleeping
Prepping everything beforehand so Sunday was a light day
Actually letting Sunday be a light day instead of doing a bunch of shit
Writing and whining to mom because it gave me stuff to think about

I’m going to take a moment here to say that I do appreciate the relationship I have with Ox. While sex is important to me, by writing I realized that there are a lot of aspects about our relationship that I value, and that no, sex isn’t everything and though we do have our own self-imposed difficulties, we have a lot of really positive things going for us.

Ok. Sappy emotional moment over. Moving on since I’m still rage-filled because fuck you, Internet.

I think the conversation I had with my FA on Monday is the biggest factor to my continued low energy. I was told after my vacation I would have to start covering shifts at Cap City so other techs could be more familiar with how our clinic is run, since Friday was a cluster fuck of disaster with both me and my FA going out of town at the same time.

Right Brain: Great. Just when I’ve found my dojo and am about to drop $130 for a monthly membership, you’re going to take it away from me. Thanks. I feel like everything I love is being taken away from me again. You do realize the last time I felt this way I moved halfway across the country, right?

bucket

To be fair, I’ve been thinking about new work for a bit. Upon thinking deeper on it I’ve realized there are a lot of downsides.

New boss
New team
New environment
New schedule which may or may not work with what I want
Most likely less pay when I already have issues with making less than what I was making at Full Sail

Not a lot of positives other than not having to work at Cap City. In reality, a new job would most likely fix none of the issues I’m trying to solve.

There’s also the facts of:

I don’t want to leave my clinic
The clinic would be fucked without me
I don’t want to leave my patients
I like my boss
The schedule could work as long as they’re willing to work with me
I secretly want my retention bonus even though, push come to shove, it’s not enough to make me stay

I want to sit down with my FA and talk to her about it because I don’t think essentially saying, “Your schedule’s about to change but I can’t tell you what it’s changing to because I don’t know. K. Thanks. Bye,” is very fair. It left me feeling like my entire personal life is about to get screwed over. I can’t plan or problem solve with information like that, but I also can’t really go to her yet and help come up with solutions when I don’t know what would or would not work for myself.

So even though I knew she was at the clinic when I got done with personal training today, I decided to come home instead because I needed to have a meeting with myself first to figure out my side of the equation.

That’s what all of the previous writing, which I no longer have, was. It was amazing. It was perfect. It was done. And then it got messed up so here I am, still rage filled that I’m repeating it.

Basically, I identified a few things.

Monday: Dojo days. I can get up to four hours at the dojo in the evenings. Not so if I have to close at Cap City because I wouldn’t get out until around 9. That puts me home at 10ish which would also mean I get no time with Ox. Essentially working late on Mondays sucks and has no compensation for what would be my personal loss. Boooo late Mondays. Early out Mondays are negotiable, though.

Tuesday: It’s ok to work at Cap City because even if I close I would be out around 4 or 5, which would still leave me able to get to SCA combat practice, which I’m not going to today because it’s a rainy and icky day. Working Tuesdays would fuck over personal training which rescheduling is “doable,” but would be harder the more inconsistent my schedule is because I’m essentially at the mercy of my trainer’s schedule at that point and he may or may not be able to work with what I’m able to do.

Wednesday: Normally an off day as far as personal training and the dojo go. At the moment these are gym days after work. If I worked Cap City I could do something either before or after, depending on the shift I’m scheduled for. If I work in Beatrice I could move my personal training to happen after work, assuming my trainer is available. Basically, Wednesdays have options.

Thursday: Another heavy dojo day with up to three hours worth of classes I could do. Another personal training day as well. Working Cap City wouldn’t interfere with the dojo, but it, again, makes personal training an issue that would have to be figured out. Not the best case scenario, but not the worst either.

Friday: An off day from personal training and the dojo. Set to be a gym day at the moment. Normally scheduled to work at Beatrice. Could potentially do Cap City without fucking shit up.

Saturday: Would be a Cap City day. Out by around 4 or 5 if I close. Earlier if I open. Could let me do the grocery shopping and any errands I might have since I’ll already be in town. I’ve been thinking about offering up my Saturdays anyway since it gets me out of the house. Could still hit the gym if I wanted / needed to.

Sunday: Always an off day from work. Would be left open for my bike rides while the weather is still nice, which those days are numbered since winter is a thing in Nebraska. Also would have to start investing into sacrificial chickens to ensure the gods are pleased so it doesn’t rain on the one day I can get out on my bike.

So there… everything in a condensed nutshell since my first writing was so unsatisfactory.

/wtb sacrificial chickens

I like the idea of having Mondays off completely. I could move personal training to Monday. I could have it as a buffer day to finish anything that didn’t get done Saturday evening / Sunday.

Preferably I could keep Thursdays off as well. That would let personal training on those days stay the same along with ensuring I have both my dojo days.

Everything else is sort of whatever. I “like” having set days in Beatrice, but as long as I can have my two dojo days and my two personal training sessions, that I’ve already paid for, then I think I’m fine. Combat isn’t an issue and would let Ox and I still have our mini date night after practice where we get dinner before going home.

If I can’t have Thursday as an off day, then I want at least one day set for Beatrice where I can switch my personal training to the evening after work.

I think that’s fair. I think that gives everyone options.

I’m done. I’m going to go smoke now because I’m still angry. Grr.