Sunday, April 22, 2012

Watch as I rationalize buying more junk food

It's not a fat pad! It's just a cyst on the lining of my heart!  *whew*

That sounds like sarcasm, but I'm serious that it's a relief.  "Pericardial cyst" sounds scary, but it's not.  The cyst doesn't do anything but sit there being cyst-y.  Apparently, I was born with it.  I'm just defective.  No surprises there. When I told my mom about it, she of course said (only half joking), "Great, another way that I failed you as a mother."  My mom thinks it's her fault that I have all of the very minor but still annoying health problems that I do. Since many of them have a genetic component, I guess she's not wrong.  But it's not like she did it on purpose. 

And frankly, I'm just happy that I don't have a fat pad because I think that means I can feel free to continue  eating massive amounts of peanut butter.  And marshmallows.

You guys, seriously, crunchy peanut butter and melted marshmallows?  So good.  I know, you're thinking, 'Better than creamy peanut butter?'  Yes, trust me, much better.

Anyway, I found out about the cyst last Friday around 5 p.m., and then I woke up Saturday with the cold that had been going around my office. Naturally.  I dragged myself into work on Monday because we had a new person starting in our department and for some reason it was VERY IMPORTANT to me that I be there to show her where the parking garage was.  I mean, she was grateful because it's really confusing to find the garage, your spot in the garage, and how to get to our building from there (it involves going through a loading dock by the city jail) (well, one of the city jails).  But it's not like she couldn't find it on her own.  Probably.  She's an adult. 

But I just kept thinking about how nervous you get on your first day of a new job, and I pictured how I would feel if I were in her position.  And I remembered how glad I was to have someone with me the first time I tried to find my parking spot when they made us move to the super convenient garage we had been parking in to the good-luck-with-that employee parking garage we now have to use, and how long it took to find it in that garage, which RR refers to as "The Garage That Never Ends."  And I remembered that the first time I walked to our building from that garage, I had thought how glad I was that I wasn't having to navigate it myself because I'd have never figured it out and would have wound up sitting next to a homeless guy, crying my eyes out, in the nearby sketchy park.  And then *I* got nervous and couldn't relax. 

She thinks I'm really nice. I'm not. It's not kindness. It's anxiety. 

If I were really kind, I wouldn't have sat in her car while I had a cold and a fever. 

Anyway, I stayed home Tuesday, then poor RR came down with it (sorry!), and she was down for the count for a few days.

I had to go back to work on Wednesday because it was my boss's birthday lunch, and if you think she would have been fine with me missing that due to illness, you don't know her.

Plus, blerg coworker had ordered me to take care of our joint present to the boss, and I wimped out on arguing about it, so I had to go in to take the present.  We have to get our boss a present for her birthday.  I'm generally against that kind of thing. I don't think that you should have to get your boss a present--ever.  It should go the other way.  Anytime someone who works for me gets me a present, I'm very uncomfortable. How can you expect a present from someone who has to do what you tell them and who makes a lot less money than you do?  But I've noticed that most bosses don't seem to have any problem with it.

Come to think of it, I work with a lot of people who require sucking up and fawned over.  I didn't get a present from my boss for my birthday.  She did, however, sign the group card that everyone in the office signs for someone's birthday.  It said, "Take the day off, you deserve it."  My birthday was on a Saturday.

I know I sound like I'm complaining, but I'm really not. I'm just making observations.

So, anyway, I'm almost over the cold, but not completely, so I'm still feeling pretty sorry for myself, and using that self-pity as an excuse to eat a lot of this chocolate-marshmallow-fudgy thing I've been making lately.  Yes, I, too, am surprised that it wasn't a fat pad on the X-ray. 

Despite the massive amounts of junk intake lately, or perhaps because of it, I've been kinda cranky at work this past week.  My boss told blerg coworker that she (my boss) was worried that I was too stressed out and was going to burn out and quit.  Of course, then blerg coworker suggested that my boss could help my stress by relieving me of having to do a few of the tasks that I do for my boss that aren't really part of my job, and my boss said no.  So . . . I guess she's not really that worried about it.  Maybe that was my boss's passive-aggressive way of asking my blerg coworker to tell me to stop being cranky at work.  But as long as I have this cold, that's going to take a lot more marshmallows than I feel comfortable eating. 

But then again, in this economy, do I really want to make my boss unhappy.  And, hey, for a mere $30, you can have a case of marshmallows delivered right to your door.  And if my boss wants me to stop being cranky, I guess I don't really have a choice, right? 

2 comments:

flask said...

i am nearly at a failure to know what to say.

i'm glad it's "just" a cyst.

i'm sorry about crappy stuff.

but you write about it so well it makes me laugh, you know?

and it's like my friend crashco says: you're either having a good time or you're having a good story to tell later.

JLR said...

Thanks! And I totally agree with you and your friend. ". . . but this will make a good story" is pretty much my family's motto. :)