It's Sunday, you know, the day of rest. I was sound asleep at 7:00 am this morning, really sound asleep, when my cell phone started ringing. I answered it and it was the hospital calling about a procedure that Dr. S wanted to do at 9:00 am. The nursing supervisor asked if she should call anyone else. As I said, I was sound asleep, this was not a STEMI alert, the adrenalin did not kick in, so I couldn't think. I said, "Call Jeff, he's the other nurse on call".
Well, a little later it occurred to me that Jeff was not the other nurse on call. Whatever. I sent a text to the other nurse who was on call to make sure he knew. He sounded perturbed. As perturbed as one can 'sound' in a text message. Again, whatever.
I got up and went through my usual routines, still groggy and sleepy. I figured I'd leave at 8:15 am to arrive at MMH around 8:30 am. One thing led to another and I didn't leave until 8:30 am. So, as I was driving north on 301, the adrenalin kicked in, and sure enough, since it's Sunday, every single 'Sunday Driver' was out on the road in the left lane impeding my swift arrival to the hospital. You know, the 'creepers.' Where on earth do they come from? Why are they always in the left lane?
I'm sure you're thinking, "Carrie, why don't you allow yourself extra time because you know you live in Florida with the 'weavers' and the 'creepers' who notoriously hog the left lane? Unless you move to another state, this isn't going to change."
Because I can't. If it wasn't for the last minute, I would never get anything done. During the week, I'm distracted by the cats and birds. They are so cute that I start playing with them and typically always leave the house later than I plan. Today I got involved in restaurant work. OK, that's a lie. I was harvesting my plants on one of my farms on Farmville. It's one of the things I do to relax. Everyday I say I'm going to quit Farmville, and frankly, I am getting close to doing just that.
On Thursday, Meredith, at least I think that's her name, was filling in for John Scalzi on Channel 7. While looking at the map, she said, "There are no accidents and there is no rain in the forecast for this morning. You should have a smooth drive to work."
When does that happen, 'a smooth drive to work,' and where does she live? I share the road with raving lunatics hopped up on caffeine clutching their Starbucks in one hand and cell phones in the other hand. I can only assume their cars are set on auto pilot. Makes me wish I had auto pilot on my car. I see people still in the subdivison on their cell phones. Whom do they have to call as soon as they pull out of their driveways?
Remember when you were young, you'd meet a guy, and he'd say, "I'll call you." Or later when you were married, you'd ask your husband if he was coming home for dinner, and he'd say, "I'll call you."
You know as well as I do that those calls never came for weeks, if they ever came at all. I know my ex-husband (of the Doritos and Honeymooners fame) didn't call me for at least three weeks after we met. And after we married, I don't think he ever called me at all, and certainly not to tell me he wouldn't be home for dinner.
He's had a cell phone for years, and several years ago we were trying to see if there was still a spark. He'd mention about all the minutes he used on his cell phone. I don't know who he was calling, but it wasn't me. In fact, the last time I called him just before I realized there was no spark, he was on the line with someone else. (So really, he knows how to use the phone.) He hung up with that call to talk to me, but the music was blasting in the background, so I could barely hear him. This, obviously, was not a man in love.
I should have realized that when he sent me fresh flowers for Valentine's Day. Who sends fresh flowers on Valentine's Day to the woman they supposedly love? It's roses. Send ROSES! And to add insult to injury, one of those flowers fell to the carpet and my very favorite cat ate it and passed away. I could never get over that, so his days were numbered anyway.
I'm telling you, the roads are a dangerous place to be, no matter what time of the day. And if you send anything other than roses on Valentine's Day, prepare for the worst, because your butt is getting kicked to the curb!
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