It's Saturday night and I'm at work. As always. I guess I always say it's Saturday night, but by the time I get a minute, it's Sunday morning. It's just after one a.m. Sunday morning. I just had part of my lunch--yogurt and frozen blueberries--because earlier I ate some chips and popcorn as a snack with the kids in the cottage. That was probably a mistake. We'll see.
Tonight it's quiet so far and I hope it stays that way. I shouldn't even say that out loud because the minute I do, I get a call telling me that a patient is on the way. I have one open bed on my unit--the other unit where a patient would go is full, so anyone coming in would come to me. (I should not have checked. Looks like there's a patient who may be headed my way. We'll see. It could be hours until I find out.)
So.
I worked Thursday night. I had last night off. I'm working tonight. Then I have tomorrow night off. Then, like a fool, I agreed to trade shifts with someone else so she could take Monday off. So I'm working three days out of five this week, which sucks because it's three work days spread very badly over five days. That's fine. It doesn't happen often and I agreed to it, so it's fine this week. Next week, no. But this week, fine.
Non-work
Other new panels:
Ceremony (last Monday):
A note I found on the floor of one of the admission rooms at the hospital:
How would they stop THE BIG FIRE
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