Ho ho hum.

So it's Chistmas Eve, and it's the first time in about two months that I've actually dressed up, as in black stockings and a dress and chunky heeled mary janes (because Jamie does not wear high heels if Jamie doesn't have to, and believe me, Jamie finds reasons to never wear same.)

It's a bad sign when half a year into your chosen career you're already considering quitting and living a quiet , exponentially more respectable life in a cardboard box under highway somewhere. I need to figure a way of not letting the stress eat me alive, which it's doing on an alarmingly increasing basis (I started having mild left sided chest pressure on the way home, and I'm always tachycardic and stressed out these days, whether at work or not. I find I'm snapping at people right and left for no oher reason than that I spend all day being snapped at myself and hounded continually.) Example:

IBRAHIM:
Hi, honey. How're you doing, sweetie?

JAMIE:
What do you mean 'How am I doing, sweetie'? What kind of a question is that?! Why are you asking me something like that? Don't you know how I am? I'm cranky! CRANKY, hear me?!

You see what I mean. It's not pretty. Not pretty at all. I'm miserable today and the only thing that could put me in a right mood is vast quantities of mind altering substances, namely, a big fat glass of wine. (Not that that's "vast quantities" but it is for someone who weighs 98 lbs soaking wet).

Really, I can think of only one other time in my life I was so chronically stressed out, and it pretty much pales in comparison with what I"m going through now. (I actually found myself in bed the other night, in a contracted fetal ball, my legs, arms, hands, shoulders and jaw clenched and rigid, and I consciously had to tell myself, "Relax, Jamie. Breathe, and go to sleep.") Very sad.

In basic principle, I love the heart and soul of nursing, I really truly love it, but the politics of power is enough to make anyone consider stocking feminine hygiene products at the local dime store for a living, especially when you're brand spanking new, and just learning the ropes of you job as is. You want guidance and rational answers from medical staff, not moronic tantrums and people responding to your questions as if you're a mentally challenged guinea pig, for god's sake.

Ibrahim's Christmas present never came in the mail on time, which is just one moe thing that sucks about Christmas. Even worse, he has four nicely wrapped presents out there for me, next to our poor plastic Christmas tree (because we're classy like that!)

Good thing, though, Piper is with us today. And uh, I'm not in the hospital until Monday.