I remember once in seventh grade I wrote a poem- one of those 'I am' poems- and my heart's desire at the time was to be understood and to have a pair of shoes- actual shoes- I could wear without hurting myself.

Maybe it's because I found the shoes and a group of darling understanding friends that my priorities have changed. On the grand scheme of things my life is going great, but right now the clock is running away with me.

I have 14 hours of work to make up, due to a day of doctors' appointments and today waking up barely coherent and vomiting, I'm not sure how I'm going to do that between now and Sept. 7. I COULD work all my lunches between now and then, plus try to get in 1/2 hour early everyday and see where that gets me, but I also have to somehow find time during work hours to meet with my consultant at Canadian Paraplegic Association AND my social worker about the funding for my new wheelchair. Plus, lunch hours are occasionally nice things to have.

I guess my best option is to work my lunch as often as I can 'afford' to, see if I can do overtime at the Garden Party or bottle drive, keep track of the number of overtime hours I AM working through lunch and coming in early, then see where I am on the sixth of September, my last official day of work. If I can somehow work the remaining hours off in between my class schedule during the first couple of days, I should be fine...

Oh God, what have I gotten myself into? I HAD to take those days off- it couldn't be helped- and unfortunately the grant for this job came out so late that it's RIGHT on top of school...

I just want to do a good job...
I just want to stay sane while doing it...
I just want to curl up in the lap of someone stronger and wiser than I and cry until the stress goes away...
I just want my boss to be understanding...
I just want to turn back the clock....

Aside from this, though, there are some pretty neat things happening that will last MUCH longer than this summer job and 14 lost hours, so like I said, in the grand scheme of things, stuff is great. For example, I am the proud owner of a gorgeous new tattoo that hardly hurt at all and is healing beautifully...

Well, whoever reads this, thanks for doing so. I just really needed to get this out of my mind and somewhere where I wouldn't have to think about it anymore. I'm sure it will all come out in the wash in the end.
Most things do.
Except tattoo ink. That hangs around.