2005-09-30 - 9:33 p.m.
Every day before I go into work I think about all the things I need to get done. There's the hours to enter on the daily sign in sheets for the nursing staff (and the obtaining of signatures of the nurses who didn't bother to sign, and the figuring of assignments of those who didn't sign if the charge nurse didn't bother to fill out the assignment sheet, and the figuring of the actual hours worked of the nurses who didn't punch the clock properly). The entering of telephone orders into an Excel log (a step up from the hand written log used when I hired on) so that when I mail them to the doctors and they don't come back for three* months I have a record of having done my job. Then there's the entering of orders which have been returned, and then the re-entering of the ones which were returned but not signed. There's the accounts payable filing which is backed up at least three months with another month waiting to be given to me to file. There's the creation of new employee files (one for personell filing, one for medical information and their I9) and the filing of any other subsequent documentation (warning notices, absence reports, pay increases or position changes, complaints written by non-supervisors, written praise, updated liscences and certifications, change of personal information). There's the answering of any computer related question anyone in the building might possably have, the directing of incoming calls, assisting visitors, assisting residents, assisting staff, dissuading the population of National City from attempting to use our bathroom or water fountain on the way to where ever, dissuading National City's drug dealers from dealing in our parking lot (well, not exactly in the job description, but how much of an ass would YOU feel like if you walked on by while some crackhead invited the neighborhood over to an old folks home?) and sometime around three o'clock my mind says "fuck it". Not even anything approaching useful, like asking what the point might be, or "I need a break." And recently I've realized that fuck it has been around in my life for a long time. Fuck it probably has had a hand in the death of every relationship I ever had a part in. At least, the dead ones. And the dying ones. It has tried to kill off this diary, it's succeeded in killing off many many entries. It stopped one of my favorite entries dead (That's right, I have favorites, you got a problem with that?). It's stopped every form of regular exersize I've ever taken up, and it's been trying to stop this rant since before it started.
(* - Spelling corrected 1-15-06)
