I've been slack as hell and haven't been at all faithful in my blogging, but, as is the norm, the collective world around me seems to have lost their flippin' minds.
It's just so damn typical and I can't help but ask when it gets to be MY turn!
I was supposed to be working mostly from home so I could concentrate on this whole cancer-thing I've got going on. Great idea right? Yea, in theory maybe but have I mentioned that I am constantly surrounded by drama?
Just before Christmas I find out the ad rep is going out for knee replacement surgery...before the end of January.
On Christmas Eve the reporter's husband gives into his crack addiction (again) and tried to kill himself, landing in the ICU...coming home eight days later, despite his wife's attempts to get him into a residential treatment place. He's flipping out, she's missing work...yada yada...same song and dance as it's been since he got out of jail a year ago. (Did I mention he was on probation stemming from a malicious wounding charge, had since wrestled a group of cops to the ground after flaking out during a routine medical procedure and attempted to kill one of the family dogs with his bare hands.)
The breaking point came on Monday. No sooner than she manages to drag herself into the office, she gets a call that he's flaking out and races off to his rescue. Three hours later, as they drive away from the mental health clinic with a new set of meds, he's badgering her to stop for some booze. She refuses and drives him straight home where he promptly grabs the rubbing alcohol. She leaves him (and the rubbing alcohol) at the house and returns to the office long enough to tell me she can't take anymore and is going to the doctor.
I get a call a bit later. My reporter needs someone to come pick her up from the doctor's office because she is completely flaking out, her blood pressure is through the roof and they don't want her to drive or be left alone. Add to all this the fact that she herself is a recovering alcoholic and had apparently crawled into the safety of a bottle after the Christmas Eve fiasco and stayed there for a few weeks.
Involuntary committal papers are taken out on him and she is handed over to a family member to transport her to the ER for the help she needs. Five hours later, he has been sent home and she is still waiting in the ER.
As of tonight, she's still in the hospital, still accepting calls from him and still spending the majority of her day trying to keep him from doing anything stupid.
Meanwhile, back in the world of newsprint. Carnival Cow (otherwise known as the new shitty publisher with the fake degree and shitty reputation who doesn't have a clue what she's doing) sets her sights on my husband. I'm the one who exposed her as a fraud, but am not nearly as easy to touch and not nearly as much of a threat to her as my husband, who serves as general manager at a different location and really DOES know what he's doing and really DOES have a strong educational background.
Oh and have I mentioned the company my husband and I both work for is about to be sold?
Anyway, she pissed him off today and he snapped back pretty strong and found himself suspended for a week without pay.
"You're kidding me right," I laugh and shake my head. "Oh well, it doesn't really matter anyway."
"Why," my mom starts, "oh right, because we're all going to die anyway?"
That got me tickled, partly because I was touched she remembered my thoughts on such shit and partially because it rings so true despite how crazy it may sound.
"You know momma, it's pretty fucked up when the one thought that gets me through the day is that none of this shit really matters because we're all going to die anyway."
But I guess I'm not too far off.