Stress. I haven’t had quite enough, apparently.
With the new schedule, I had to cancel the doctor’s appointment I had scheduled in the comfort of the evening, with the comfort of my wife being there to make sure I wasn’t missing or forgetting something I needed to address. I don’t have a list, ffs, but she might think of something I wouldn’t, and she might have observed something I wouldn’t observe in my behavior or emotional trend.
My dear wife rescheduled my appointment for this morning and texted me the doctor’s name and time, 8:30. So I drove there after finding my phone which only made me 4 minutes late. Except the receptionist informed me the appointment was for 8. Fuck. As if the stress of going to the doctor in the first place wasn’t enough, here comes the added anxiety of being there at the wrong time. I showed the receptionist the text, she literally wanted to show it to the doctor. I handed her the damned phone. He offered 10.
My dear boss rescheduled my whole fucking LIFE, FFS, and crammed the shit at me and told me I couldn’t give it back (implicit was that of course I could always quit and be fucking unemployed if I wanted to do that and make NO money instead of just making SHIT money). The reschedule means I have to be at work at 11. Hmm. Doctor at 10, work at 11, can I make it? Add stress to stress, but I wanted to find out if the meds might actually make a difference since I’ve been out of them for a month. Which is why I wanted her to come along, as she might give a more insightful description.
I have been more depressed since not taking the meds for a month. But yeah, my whole life is stressful, I don’t feel successful or valued at work. I get the shit shift and no cash for the differential. My daughter is home “sick” today, but the fact is she’s home because she’s depressed and didn’t feel up to taking a test she didn’t have time to properly prepare for, or be properly prepped by the teacher, who sucks, but does offer minimal assistance with learning the material prior to the tests. When I told Mrs M I thought the depression might be hereditary, she went off, and told me NOT to inform little Miss M of my suspicion. But I already told my son that the shit comes in waves and when he feels down he needs to let us know so we can encourage him and help him get through. So is it just another wave of depressing circumstances, or is it depression, or is it both? Who the fuck knows, but Mrs M wants me to do something about it, at least try something. So I am.
So I took the damned doctor’s appointment. Sure, why not, bring on some more stress and anxiety. As much as I hate change, which is like a long term anxiety attack, I hate doctors, which is “just” a phobia. I got to go this morning, and I get to go again later this morning, and then I have to try to get back in time to clock in at 11. Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I hate this shit. But LOOK!! Two posts in as many days. Stress appears to be motivational. Which can’t be bad, right? Fuck. I’m only motivated because I want to get the stress the fuck over with. I want to be done with stress. But I’m afraid life induces stress. I don’t really want to be done with life just yet.
On the plus side for my poor readers, I haven’t written much in all of January. You’re welcome. And I’m sorry for today’s twice torture. Sorry to myself too. Going to the doctor once in a day ought to be enough. But yay, I get to go twice. (snarkasm, anyone?)
fuck. sigh of resignation. and I didn’t resign from work stress either. fuck.