Updating On Insanity

Unfortunately, not the ha ha, The Stepford house is so funny kinda way.

Long story short: I'm back at work.

Yeah, I can hear you scream, 'WTF?' from here. Believe me when I say that its pretty much my reaction too.

I was discharged from the WCB program of PT, OT, ET after 4 wks. All goals were deemed, 'goal not met'...but somehow, I'm fit for work.

Yeah, I don't get it either.

So, I have major restrictions. Basically, not using my rt hand/arm. If I flat refuse to go, I lose benefits. So, in I go.

First day...lasted a grand total of 90 minutes. Was supposed to be there for 4 hrs. After an hour or so, the LPN came up to me, concerned, said I looked like I was in pain. Then an NA came by, said the same thing. Case manager came to find me to talk about my schedule, took one look at my face and recoiled. Asked if I was ok. Told her, 'I hurt. A lot.' She sent me home, told me not to come in the next day (Friday) but try again Monday. Went home in excruciating pain.

Monday. Went to the specialist for a nerve conduction test on the left arm. Nerves are ok, but he said that doesn't mean much. Agrees I'm having issues, figures its at LEAST something to do with over use. I pointed out that I'm back at work using the left exclusively. Asked, "In your professional opinion, should I be at work?" He said he'd be writing a letter with further suggestions as to my work capabilities. What that means, I dunno, but definately he's not agreeing with the situation as is. Don't know if he's actually telling them I can't work or what, I guess I'll find out later.

Trundle back into work. Last 2 hrs. Go home, turn around and go to the ER for pain meds, cause I truly could not deal. Get informed at the ER that they would treat me *this time* but that they couldn't be my pain management option. I explained that I've been resisting narcotics, but at this point I didn't care if they gave me a shot of Demerol, or just took me out back and shot me, just as long as the pain was tolerable. Got Demerol with a Gravol chaser.

Brings me to today. Saw my GP, he is still adamant that I cannot work. But, as he said, "I can't force WCB to keep paying you though." Talked to my union, same gig. Document everything, etc...but we can't promise that WCB won't cut you off.

At the advice of the union, I also sent in a letter to my case manager, detailing the last 2 attempts at work, and the results, asking for her assistance, esp considering that my pain doc is out of town, and the soonest appt I could get was for Mar 24.

So, now what? Good question. I'm supposed to work again tomorrow, according to WCB and my job. Not according to my GP. Union says, if Dr says no, you don't go...but it might mean no more $. Great choices there.

Pray that something positive happens ASAP. We can't afford to be without my income.

And The H Has It...

Courtesy of Jane, another blogger, 10 things of my favourite things that start with H...

1. Husband. I don't know if he counts as a 'thing' but close enough.
2. Hope. Need more of it, but its what allows me to dream.
3. Hormones. Horniness makes the Husband bearable on days when I'd like to bury him in the yard.
4. Humour. Thank God I still have a sense of Ha Ha, or I'd be buried in the yard.
5. Home. Place to love, yell, argue, make up.
6. Heathens, aka the kids. My reasons why, no matter the day.
7. Hercules. I can't be the only Canadian kid that remembers that cartoon. "Put on the ring, Herc! Put on the ring!"
8. Hippos. They're cute, and I always feel skinny standing next to one.
9. Heat. I live in Edmonton, its an essential life giving issue.
10. Harvey's. The home of the best burgers and onion rings, in all their charbroiled made to order goodness. Unfortunately, not as popular here in Edmonton as in Ontario, and my Harvey lust goes too often unsatisfied.

First Official Submission And Adversity

Ok, so its official.

I have now entered into a short story contest. Eeep.

Like most other things in my life, Murphy (or whatever name you wanna call it...The Advesary, Satan, Bad Luck) was a copassenger along the way.

My friend and editor, K went with me for moral support (and to fill out the p0stage label) to the post office at Shoppers. Knowing that we'd be going out to eat, I also printed off another story for editing on a whim.

So, everything's signed, sealed, and handed over.

Sitting at the restaraunt, I start looking over the other story...and realize that the first sentance off every page from page 2-14 is MISSING. I'm talking, gonzo. For whatever reason, putting a header into my copy made the top sentance vanish.

UH OH.

I've now submitted for publication an incomplete manuscript that has glaring omissions.

*insert curse words here*

Also, the post office is closed at this point. Naturally.

I call the drug store where the postal outlet is located, and have a mini meltdown, almost in tears, begging the guy to leave a note for the postal clerk to put this aside, I'll be in first thing in the am. Luckily, I opted for Express Post, so I had a receipt, tracking #, etc.

Spent the night up and down like a psychotic yo-yo, praying that they'd allow me to swap it out with the corrected version. Otherwise, not only am I gonna look like a complete donkey that doesn't have the common sense to proof before mailing, but its gonna cost me another $30, btwn the mailing and the money order for the submission fee.

I called my gf J in a panic. Was this a sign that I shouldn't be attempting this, I asked her, or is this someone (see Murphy comment above) screwing with me, trying to prevent me from taking this step. It was her sleepy (time difference, I woke her up) opinion that Satan was screwing with me, and that it was God's guidance that had me discover the error. (If I hadn't printed off the 2nd manuscript, I never would have known. I'd printed the dang thing off I dunno how many times without a problem).

Sooooo, feeling somewhat more hopeful, I trundle in at opening this am. First thing that greets me, as I walk into the store is music over the speakers. Specifically, Wolf and my wedding song. I pray its an omen (good, don't be sarcastic here :P) and head to the postal outlet.

Not only did I get to swap it out, but she voided the envelope and gave me a new one, filled out the mailing info, etc...for free. WOOOO HOOOOO!!!!

So, at least if I don't succeed at *this* particular contest, I know that I was given help and guidance to at least ensure that it got there properly!

Perverse Nature

Reread that, folks. I said PERVERSE, not PERVERTED.

Thought I'd better clear that one up right from the get go.

Anyways, on to the thought of the moment.

I've been missing from the online world for a bit. Consumed by other duties, mainly focusing on some writing. It waxes and wanes as it always does, but I find myself more confident that it will swing back around.

Problem is, as its always been, my perverse nature.

I *should* be writing right now. And this doesn't count. I'm hip deep in a short I've been working on, roughly halfway through. And I've so far enjoyed writing the story, but I find myself avoiding it. I have a vague idea of how to end it, but not quite sure how to get there from where I am...and a part of me just doesn't want to get there yet. Why, I have no idea. Its not like I don't have a few million other things to do, or that there isn't a deadline looming, because there is. But, here I sit, blogging online.

I think part of it is that I do like the story, and how its gone thus far, and I'm afraid of screwing it up. I'm afraid that the story might actually be...well...good. And its not typical of my writing. Not saying my writing is normally mule puke, but that its not typical of the genre I tend to cling to as being familiar. Unknown territory.

I've already had to change the name of one of the main charecters. Apparently, Oprah has taken to calling girlie bits 'GiGi'. Who knew? Sure as heck not I, but on the idea that there are people out there that watch Oprah, I figured it wise to change the name.

How is it that I avoid doing what I enjoy? Why do I struggle with the idea of potential success? Is it that a part of me is convinced that being published is little more than a child's fantasy? Is it that I don't do well with rejection? Is it that I'm more comfortable with negative in my life than positive?

I believe the answer is yes to all of the above.

And its time to shake that, and get on with it.