the underwear drawer

the sunday night countdown

The best time of the week is Friday evening after work, provided that I have the weekend off. The worst time of the week, aside from 4:45am Monday morning when the alarm goes off, is Sunday night. Kids, that didn't-finish-my-homework feeling never goes away. Not that I really have homework per se, but there's that sinking feeling of not accomplishing all I wanted to do with my time off, and looking ahead to another week just as busy as the last. Sunday nights are like that moment on the roller coaster just after the ride crests that first big hill, but before you start the drop. And, to clarify, I hate roller coasters.

This Sunday night phenomenon is the classic example of my downfall--instead of enjoying the good things I have now, I instead fixate on the moment that the good times will end. And it's like this: Joe offered to bring Cal up to [University Hospital] during my call next Saturday so that I could see him. A normal person might think, "Awesome. I'm going to miss the baby being away from him for so long, but at least I'll see him for a little bit during the day." But I'm a little hesitant, because as happy as I'd be to visit with Joe and Cal, I know all I'd be thinking about the second they showed up is the fact that they would have to leave at some point, and then I'd get all fixated on the fact of them leaving me with only my cold, cold medications and syringes to comfort me, and then it would become very maudlin and worse yet, I might CRY AT WORK. Not that it would be the first time, but I always do it secretly, or pretend that I'm just adjusting my mask or something like that. Don't tell anyone. The only thing worse than crying at work would be throwing up at work. One of the surgery residents confessed that he was ill earlier in the week and actually did just that--threw up in the OR even--and when the nurses asked him if he got sent home afterwards, he just laughed. "No way, I still had three more cases to do." Such is the life we lead. Still--ew.

But anyway, even though in global outlook I like to think of myself as a glass-half-full person, when it comes to things I dread, I'm definitely a glass-half-empty type. Which I guess isn't so terrible, because that way, things almost never work out to be quite as bad as I think they're going to be. I have quite a bit of anticipatory dread, though. Like right now, I know that I'm on short call tomorrow as well as long call on Saturday, so it's going to be a long week with less than 24 hours off before the next week begins. I'm hardly going to have any time with Joe and the baby and I'm going to be all tired and bleary-eyed for the little time that I am home, and I'm just dreading it all. But I know that, come Sunday morning, I'll be post-call and the week will be over, and when I get home, I'll just be like, "Oh. Well...that happened." And it won't have been all that terrible at all, and more importantly, it'll be over.

And then a couple of hours later it'll be Sunday night again.

Currently reading: "My Life." Since he's been watching me chip away at this cement block of a tome for weeks now, Joe asked me if the book was good or not. Well, it's certainly not a page turner, but it's interesting. And I miss having an intelligent president, so this is how I cope. (Bush devotees, we'll agree to disagree.)