Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.


"Can't Panic!"

Honestly, I have reached the point where my motto (to take a riff from RT) is not "Don't Panic" it's "Can't Panic." I've reached the saturation point of freaked-outed-ness, and the freak-o-meeter won't go any further into the red. (A side note: The bitchmeter is still working just fine.)

The days are just taking their toll, I'm starting to get sick/burned out, and I got a decent enough grade on my first exam. My clinical group is sweet, but there are a couple people who are driving me up the wall, because they are so very intensively needy. Every fifteen seconds they have to ask something, that I don't know the answer to. I don't know if it's because I'm older, or because I've worked at the hospital, but I. Am not. The instructor. I don't know kids, and I don't know Pediatrics, and I don't know what they want us to do up here. This is my second day here too. Why am I not running around like henny penny? Because I can't panic anymore. I'll figure it out, ask a nurse, or ask. The instructor. When I see her.

Seriously. It was a sweet, sweet relief to be in a room with a non-stop crying infant pretty much my entire rotation the other night, because it meant nobody was asking me freaky questions every 3 seconds.

Anyway. Happy valentines day to those who celebrate. To those that aren't, happy "go get drunk, be bitter, and bitch about the rest of us who are gonna get some day."


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