…was, without doubt, the worst of my life. My normally quiet ward – which closes two bays overnight and can cope with only three staff on the 13 hour shift – was full to bursting and loaded with crazies. At one point, the on-call doctor asked, in all seriousness, if our specialty had been changed to dementia. Between the pervert who tried to buy me flowers and attempted escape when I said I was married, and the woman who screamed, “AH, she’s hurting me,” as soon as I walked past her bed, I had a very rough night indeed. I’m hoping tonight will be slightly more… well, more as I’m accustomed to. Luckily, this is my last one for a while.
Unluckily, all my kitchen fuses have blown, and despite messing around with the fuse box in a random ‘turn-it-off-and-on-again’ sort of way, I have been unable to stir any life out of my appliances. This leaves me no choice but to go to work early and purchase food in the staff canteen. Don’t get me wrong, not having to cook will be something of a pleasant change, but last time I ate from there, I ended up tasting the same bland-yet-repetitive pasta for about a week, every time I breathed. I don’t know if it’s because I inhaled some in my rush to be done with it, but the experience was very unpleasant, regardless.
Aand, I realise that my writing this is just me stalling. Time to de-ice the car, remove the cat from where she’s gone to sleep in the arm of my abandoned floor coat and face my inevitable dinner. Wish me luck. I’ll surely need it.