When I get up for work I feel woozy. I just feel so off. My stomach has been hurting again. Every time I eat something it seems to hit my stomach like a lead ball so I haven't been eating much the past couple of days. I won't be eating any more of the sandwiches they have for us at work. When I use the flat iron on my hair to straighten out the kinks that somehow show up in the night, I drop it and go to catch it and as I feel the heat on my hand I let go and it hits the floor. That's never happened to me before. My equilibrium is definitely off.
When I get to work, I discover that I have no energy at all. Everything I do takes extra concentration and effort. By the end of the shift, I am completely wiped out and I find it hard to stay awake on the drive home. I recall feeling this way only a couple of times in my life; where I am so exhausted I feel like I will completely break down and lose it if I can't get into bed right away. I pray that Denise's dad isn't at the house doing repairs so that I can sleep. As I pull up to the house, I see his car in the drive. I go in and tell him I am exhausted and will be going to bed. I peel off my work clothes and get into my pajamas and literally fall into bed. Denise's dad is working at the other end of the house and I don't hear a thing as I immediately fall to sleep. I wake four hours later to an empty house and darkness outside. I make myself a bowl of soup and as soon as I eat it I go back to bed and sleep right through to the alarm at 2:30 a.m.
When the alarm goes off, I don't want to get up at all. It's freezing out, I know, due to the clear weather we're having right now. I nearly froze yesterday and I don't want to feel like that again today. But I force myself up and, although I still feel off, I dress for work and push myself out the door by 3:15.
One of the guys at work is a doctor from Nigeria and he asks me how I am doing. He basically gives me an hours free consult about not only my food poisoning but also the arthritis in my spine and how my doctor should be doing a follow up x-ray to the one done a couple of years ago to see if it's progressed. I will be making an appointment.
Honestly, if I want to be married again, I need to move to Quebec. The bus drivers we have from there are so into me. I can't get over it. I never, and I mean NEVER, get this sort of attention from any men around here. But the French! Ooo-la-la! They are so complimentary; they tell me I am beautiful; they can't believe I haven't been snatched up; and more than a few of them want to snatch me up. Too bad that a couple of those few are married or have girlfriends, or are way too old or too short for me. And too bad George Cloony's twin isn't one of the ones showing an interest!! (One of the guys told me he's married, so it's just as well.) But I seriously think that if I moved to Quebec, I could be married in a year. Something to think about.
I find that, tomorrow, we have an overlap with WOP and so will have their buses and ours coming into our lot at the same time. Oh joy. Not. AND, I only have two crew scheduled to work with me instead of five, and it may as well be one for all the use one of them is. He doesn't understand anything I say and so never follows through with a direction. When dealing with moving buses and trying to place them, that's not a good thing. I am not happy at all that more help has not been found for tomorrow. The loading people have nine scheduled, so I work it out with Olga to take two or three of her people for my crew. I sit down and figure out what positions everyone is the most capable of filling so that I can just give them their posts tomorrow when they arrive. I also work out everyone's break times and how they will be replaced while gone. I then figure out how we will place the buses so that we don't run into the issues we've had on other days when both centers schedules have overlapped. I am feeling like I have a handle on it all. Let's hope that bears out tomorrow.
I am so glad it's only 6 more days of work. If this was my new career I'd have to kill myself.
