It's only procrastinating if there's something else you're *supposed* to be doing

The nature of my job is that I fix things when they break. The beauty of my job is that things don't always break. There may be a phone call here and there asking how to print in color, questioning the accessibility of the network, and wondering if I can declare a computer unusable to facilitate an early weekend. For the record, I'm generally happy to oblige. All of my tickets are currently in an 'Awaiting (something)' status, so I'm left to my own devices.

Which brings us to this post. I was talking to my brother this morning and he put my soon-to-be four year old nephew, Yisroel, on the phone. Yisroel is starting cheder sometime in the near future and is excited about it. Let's be honest, though. Four year olds are not known for articulation and enunciation, so there was some question as to what he actually said. I came into work to discover nothing much was required of me, so I promptly Googled 'Cheder' and followed the Wikipedia link. As I read through this article, I learned a number of fascinating things, and clicked on various links throughout. I'm pretty sure I spent the better part of an hour researching Hebrew education, the origins of Haredi Judaism, and the political climate of Israel. The next chunk of time was spent attempting to find an electronic version of the Jewish Book of Why and I somehow managed to buy the new Jen Lancaster book, I Wish You Were Here, from the iBook store. In case you're curious, there is absolutely no link between the two. And yet, I came upon it simply by clicking on links related to other searches this morning.

I contend that this is not procrastinating. One needs a required/expected task to avoid in order to procrastinate. Mind you, when I go home and continue this search and/or read any of the books I downloaded or e-borrowed, I will, in fact, be procrastinating. This is because my apartment is an unmitigated disaster. It is complete and utter chaos and I am generally too overwhelmed and/or tired to do anything about it. As such, I am rapidly improving my scores in Word Flurry and Know or Go. I'd also be willing to bet I will completely discard my random fascination with Jewish tradition in favor of the House Season 1 DVD by the weekend. Maybe I'm mistaken. Maybe I'll actually clean my apartment and take out the trash. Maybe I'll - dude - did you see this video on YouTube . . .

Ten bucks says you'll be watching the associated videos for the next two hours. You're welcome.

Back off Murphy

So it's been a few weeks since I've updated this blog because, really, I wasn't sure how I could bring a sense of humor to the events in the month of April. As it's May, these events are now in the past and I can laugh at them (or at least that's what I tell people). I will say that I've almost always been a real life example of Murphy's Law, to the extent that people stare at me with their mouths agape when I tell them about any part of my life. So - let's take a look at the last 30 days or so . . .

April 4 - Though I wake up relatively early regardless, I'm none too thrilled when there's a knock on my door at 8:00 AM of the plumber coming to do work on my apartment. Though I knew they were coming that day, I thought they wouldn't be there until 9:00, and thus my kitchen and bathroom were not cleaned out for their arrival. They gave me an extra 30 minutes or so, which I appreciated, though still wasn't thrilled with the fact that I had to lock up my cats and wasn't allowed to be in my apartment while the work was being done. I walked out to the parking lot outside my apartment and approached my car. I saw a little glass on the ground and laughed to myself about the beer bottle that had likely been smashed. I stopped laughing when I looked through the window of my car to see that there was no window. Instead, I was greeted with this:

Nope, that's not a slushee, that's the shattered remnants of the driver-side window. I noticed that my GPS had been taken, but they thankfully left my $10 sunglasses (pictured above). Muttering to myself, I went to the leasing office to see if they could send someone out to help me clean up the mess inside and outside of my car. They asked if I had filed a police report, and I replied, no, I hadn't thought that far ahead. I looked up the non-emergency number and was told to call 911. Awesome, glad I spent the time trying to find the other number. I explained the situation and tried to tell the kind police responder my address. Funny thing: when you're in shock, it can sometimes be hard to pull out seemingly automatic information. I stumbled for a bit, completely blank as to the number of my apartment. I gave them some conglomeration of my last several addresses, until I finally managed to walk up to the post outside of my apartment and blurt - oh yeah, 2165. This was after quite a bit of thought, some prodding on the part of the responding officer, and some confusion as to where on my street I lived. It was significantly easier, however, once I came up with the right number.

Alas, the police came, told me that what happened was pretty common and that it's unfortunate I live so close to a highway, as it's easy for a thief to drive in, grab my stuff, and drive out. Why yes, I'm sure it is. Before I called the police (or maybe after?) I called Gerber to see if I could bring my car to them so they could replace the now-defunct window. There were a number of calls back and forth, an amazing maintenance guy at my complex came and helped me vacuum both the inside and outside of my car, and I finally decided to just drive to work minus the window, as it didn't seem like Gerber would be able to get to me all that quickly. I at least had the presence of mind to avoid the highway, as it seemed errant shards of glass would not stay put at 65 mph. I had taken the alternative route to work previously (oddly enough before my spiffy new GPS came up with a faster way), and proceeded to drive bitterly along the (still large) streets. Have I mentioned my complete lack of a sense of direction before? Like quite literally getting lost on my own street when I was 16? Though the route doesn't actually require any turns, I managed to take the wrong exit and get quite miserably lost on my way to the office. I called my boss and asked for guidance to my building. I told several co-workers about the trials of the last several hours, and had one tell me that I really shouldn't have left anything in my car - it's an invitation for a break-in. I made a mental note to turn off her anti-virus software and went about the rest of my day. The window got fixed, I was out about $200, but I remind myself that it could have been worse - the break-in could have occurred several hours earlier during the torrential downpour.

April 7-17: The plumbers came again (at the end of the week) and left me with a giant bleach stain on my carpet - I wasn't happy. A bit later into the following week, I realized that the work had yet to be finished and Passover would be quite soon. Much as I relished the idea of maintenance people rooting through my kitchen during Passover, I requested (strongly) that the work be finished prior to the holiday. Thankfully, my request was accommodated and I chose not to complain about the fact that they had been in my apartment on a day no one told me work was being done. 

April 18-24: Passover was relatively uneventful (aside from a few minor mishaps with plastic plates and an over-zealous microwave), so I thought I would be home free for the remainder of April. As it turns out, not so much. I took a new medication the last (well . . . only) Thursday of Passover and didn't think much of it, as I rarely have bad reactions to medication. I went to a friend's Seder on Friday (yep - Good Friday), and had a small itch on my back, but I assumed it was a bug bite. The red spot didn't go away on Saturday and seemed to get a little bigger on Sunday. By Saturday night, I figured I was allergic to the medication, so I stopped taking it. I called my doctor and said I thought I was allergic to this medicine, do I need to do anything other than discontinue? She recommended that I go to my Primary Care doctor, just to make sure nothing else was going on. She mentioned shingles and I promptly dismissed it - I only get chronic diseases, nothing serious and/or easily diagnosable. A few of my friends (who know who they are) were quite worried and wanted me to go to the ER, as a rash is a "severe and unexpected side-effect". I compromised and made the appointment with my PCP for later in the day. I figured I had an appointment to take care of my computer later that day and I would just move a few things around.

April 25: After a GPS mishap (did I mention my difficulty with geography earlier?) I made it to my doctor's office, albeit 15 minutes late. I showed her the offending rash, told her I was pretty sure I was allergic to the new medicine and expected her to agree. She didn't. She looked at my back, asked me a few questions, and told me she was pretty sure I had shingles. I believe my exact response was "that is so not funny". Mind you, at the time, I didn't really know much about shingles, so I wasn't sure what to expect. She said, well - you're not allergic to (medication x), told me a little bit about shingles, gave me a prescription for an anti-viral, congratulated me for being generally healthy (and thus, conspicuously absent), and sent me on my way. 

I made it to my (rescheduled) appointment at the store, and told the technician what was wrong with my computer. I gave him a quick history of the repairs it had, told him what was done and what I'd tried, and said (perhaps prematurely) 'let's just skip the middle-man and replace it'. The tech-in-question didn't think the issue warranted a replacement and told me he would like to check it in for a repair. I asked who the manager was (being intimately familiar with the staff), and he said he would see if he could find someone. The manager (who I'd worked with extensively) looked at the notes, said the situation was that it didn't qualify for a replacement, but they'd be happy to repair it. I made several arguments to the contrary, backing my opinion up with technical evidence, and the manager smiled and said there were other components that could be replaced. He mentioned one in particular that doesn't exist in a laptop, quickly corrected himself, and said it had been a long day. I said I would check with my boss, we made some idle chit-chat, and I left (silently fuming). Incidentally, I made an appointment at another location, walked in, explained the issue with my computer, and promptly got it replaced. The other store: Dead to me. 

On the ride over, I talked to a few other friends, many who said that shingles is incredibly serious, I really needed to tell my boss about it, he likely would just send me home anyway, and, by-the-way, shingles is really serious. I tried to call my boss, left a voicemail, and made several other phone calls - as that is my way. I waited to go into work as I didn't want to make the drive and be sent home (particularly with gas prices topping $4/gallon). I was given the go ahead (from both my doctor and my boss) and went to the office.  By 2:00, though, I was starting to feel it and suffered through the remaining hour and a half before collapsing into bed immediately upon getting home. I ended up staying home the next couple of days, just because I was in some degree of pain and really didn't want to prolong the illness. 

April 29: Friday morning, I saw my neurologist (for tremors - unrelated), and he prescribed Lyrica. I got home, took the Lyrica (along with my anti-viral) and settled into my recliner with my laptop. An hour later, I noticed I felt shaky. Really shaky. Like, wait, I can't seem to type a message or check email on my phone shaky. Already well-versed in adverse reactions, I called my neurologist's office and told them I was having uncontrollable tremors. Didn't hear back for a bit and things got worse, so I called a friend in my apartment complex and she took me to the ER.

As far as ER visits go, it wasn't too bad. I was there for three or four hours, but somehow the concept of Fibromyalgia + Shingles= PAIN!!!!! didn't translate well. "Does this hurt?" Why, yes, it does. If you do that again, I'll beat you with the litany of heavy cables attached to my left arm at the moment. They eventually decided everything looked ok (aka: I wasn't dying), and gave me some Ativan to theoretically calm my muscles (and me). The thing is, I was calm. Well, as calm as you can be when you're in an ER, the alarm on the medicine cabinet is going off, and you're in pain. Still - all things considered . . .  I'm sure you can guess that the next part did not go smoothly. Huh, medication for anxiety is giving me the symptoms I have when I get panic attacks. Symptoms I have not experienced IN THE PAST FOUR MONTHS. Wait for it . . . Another adverse reaction. Once they decided to discharge me, I mentioned that I came to the ER with pain and tremors, and was leaving the ER with pain and tremors. At least it wouldn't kill me, though!! A different friend picked me up, took me to Potbelly (after I sent her in the wrong direction quite a few times) and dropped me off at home, where I spent the remainder of the weekend in my pajamas, hoping to be safe from the outside world.

And here I am today, in a fair amount of pain, but at work - thereby proving that anything that can go wrong will happen to me. I'm laughing about it though, and that's got to count for something.