Saturday, November 12, 2005

StarFucked Up

Well, the doctor has ordered me not to work at least through next Tuesday. Yeah. So yesterday I went to work (it was payday AND a bank holiday - lovely) an hour before I was supposed to so I could call people to work for me this weekend.

Well, that didn't work. No one could work for me Friday. No one could work for me tonight. Special thanks to Vince for picking up my Sunday. You deserve the overtime, my friend.

So last night I said that my doctor told me not to work (I had a note) and that I was on narcotics. You'd think that would be enough to send my drugged-up ass home, but nope. I had to work. I got to leave at 10:30, but I still had to work.

Now I feel even worse. The pain is worse. I have all these weird neurological/central nervous system symptoms that have developed recently, too, although we're hoping they're just drug side effects. A girl can dream, right?

So now I don't know what to do about tonight. I'm supposed to train someone (on narcotics, of course, if I do go in), but I'm also ordered not to work. Also, you're not supposed to work under the influence of anything, including prescription narcotics. Of course I know this, which is why I made sure to tell them I was on the strong pills.

The sorority is all gung-ho about me staying in bed doing nothing. They've gone a little overboard by insisting that I'll die if I go to work, because I'm fairly certain that I'd be in the hospital if there were any risk of death. You know, hospitals are like the elephant graveyards.

I just don't want my last words to be something lame like, "I have a tall extra extra caramel caramel Frappuccino for Brittany!"


J. R. said...

Did you say "bank holiday"? Are you British?

Wendy said...

Is that a British thing? Cool! No, I'm not British, although I really want my future kids to have British accents. Is that weird?