The DuckWalk™

Nothing lifts one out of depression like their boss shitting their pants. Seriously.

Today I was working with my boss. We walked into a hospital. I told him I needed to run to the ladies. He said he was going to go to the restroom too. I'm in there messing with my hair and makeup, taking my sweet old time. I realized I needed to get back out there. I look around. No boss. I sit on a bench outside the gift shop. I read texts and emails. 5  minutes go by. No boss. I look up and I see my boss duckwalking out of the gift shop. He is trying to conceal something that has a purple wrapper in his hand. I called out his name. He looked back in terror and he continued the DuckWalk™ towards the bathroom. He said, "I'll be right back." I think I saw the glint of sweat on his brow.

I sat there stunned. My boss had shit himself and he duckwalked to the gift shop to buy butt wipes. He came out a few minutes later and I had on my best IamactinglikeIdon'tknowyousharted face. He had on his best IknowyouknowIshartedbutI'mactinglikeIdidn't face. We went to our meeting and I did most of the talking.

6 days of meds and this story---I am giddy!

White Knuckling It

I have vacillated about writing this post. I've written about lots of personal things...I decided to let it all out since this may be helpful to others.

I've been kinda sad, really mad lately. It probably shows in my posts. I find that I can get really pissed off pretty fast. I used to be that way a few years ago, but I had really worked on it. My sister had commented how different I am now compared to 10 years ago (in a good way). I am not sure what the trigger is lately. Sure my job sucks ass, I'm bummed about not having a boy in my life, but I have a lot of good going on too. It has been getting where the "good" in my life doesn't register. This may sound weird, but Daisy jumped on my lap the other night and did her cute routine. It made no impact on me. The thoughts in my head were something like: "There's my dog. She is cute. I'm really tired. I need to eat dinner. I have no energy to get up." My sister and my niece noticed. They encouraged me to make an appointment with Lynn. I've even made joking remarks on here that I needed to see the shrink. I waited way too long...

I had an appointment on Friday. Lynn asked what was going on. I started with something like, "I don't feel depressed. I'm just really pissed off" and then I was spewing. I was all "fuck, fucking, fucker, fuck, shit, bullshit, hate, hate, fuck" I can't even tell you what I raged about. No stone was left unturned. Her office is in a converted old wooden house. I am convinced everyone heard my F Bomb Extravaganza™. I was crying. I told her I didn't want to be here again. By "here" I meant depressed. I didn't want to talk about this shit anymore. I'm 45. When is this shit going to end? I'm tired up the ups and downs. Then I laughed (in a kinda crazy way) and said, "well, I guess I am depressed."

Lynn observed that I was "white knuckling it" (i.e. no medication to treat the depression). Ugh. I'm a nurse. I TOTALLY get the whole concept that this is no different than a diabetic needing insulin. Lynn  said something that finally clicked. She is in her early 50's (I think). She is in great shape and beautiful. That is why I can't figure out her exact age. She had a heart attack several years ago. She said to me, "Penelope, I am thin and I take care of myself, but I will always have cholesterol issues.I have to take cholesterol medication." The light bulb finally went off. 

There is such a stigma with antidepressants and mental health. I hate the thought of having to take a pill to feel. I almost wrote to "feel happy," but I decided to leave it as just "feel". It is so weird, I rationally understand the need for medication, but I convince myself that I can beat it. I have been adamant that I don't want to take an antidepressant. On Friday I waved the white flag (in the form of a snot ridden kleenex). I have an appointment with the shrink tomorrow (Lynn is a Clinical Social Worker--this will be the psychiatrist) to talk about meds. 

I'm afraid. I'm afraid I won't be funny anymore. I don't want to be numb. I even have fucked up future thoughts that go like this...what if I meet a guy and I'm on an antidepressant and he sees the bottle in my medicine cabinet after we start having amazing sex and he decides to dump me? Fucked up, but totally possible in my mind right now.

I'm getting ready to hit the forever button (publish). I have gotten to know several of you through personal emails. Please don't worry about me. I'm doing something about it. I am not thinking about anything drastic. I'm just sad. And mad.  

When a man buys you clothes

You are basically fucked. I am not talking a little teddy or a fun bra and underwear set. I'm talking wardrobe. Tops, pants, skirts, shoes...purses are a kiss of death. I was talking with a friend yesterday and we were talking about old boyfriends that tried to control us via our clothes. Even worse, the guy I am reminiscing about had his MOTHER shop for the clothing gifts for me. Picture this--I'm in my late 20's and a 60ish year old woman is buying me Liz Claiborne shit. One time, I opened a Christmas gift from him. It was big gold earring hoops. She said, "Dear, they are NOT costume." I recently sold those mutha fuckers since gold has gone up and I only do silver or platinum.

As for purses as gifts from the one you do...true story: I worked with a nurse and her husband (also a nurse) used to buy her all kinds of Coach stuff. Purses, wallets and keychains. He would even treat them with the leather stuff they always shove down your throat. He came "out" about 8 years ago. End of story.

*Penelope disclaimer: It's okay in my book if you give the man the complete description of the purse or clothes you want and then they get it as a giftie. It's the control thing that freaks me out (and the possibility of being married to a man that has more fashion sense than me). 

Smelling Strawberries...

...When you are hungry for steak. What a great line--it's from Freedom by Jonathan Frazen.

It applies to so many things in my life right now. The main thing that comes to mind is sex. When I recently slept with my out of town friend, I was smelling strawberries when I knew he was not the steak I was looking for. Nothing against him personally. He just isn't it. 

Doesn't mean I regret it or I was wrong. Just an observation.

Chiquita

Tomorrow is the big breast cancer walk. This week is when everything has been getting down to the wire. We had a meeting on Tuesday and we were told that we still needed 1000 bananas as snacks for the walkers.  One of the corporate sponsors was backing out. I played the old boyfriend card. Years ago, in another Penelope dimension, I dated a regional director for Chili's. We lived together when I was a new nurse. We looked at rings. We spoke about getting married.  He wanted me to be the little corporate wife (I was 28). He would buy me clothes (just talked about this today--that's another blog). I don't know how we ended up together. He was very uptight and a workaholic. We broke up because he was in love with someone else (I didn't know this when he suggested that I move into my own place). Ahh...memories.

Back to the bananas. We needed 1000 bananas and I used to get the banana from a big cheese at Chili's. What to do? I called the regional office and asked for him. The admin told me he was out of town and asked if I would like to leave a message. I quickly explained I was an old "friend" and described the critical need for the breast cancer walk. She told me she would get the message to him. I then wrote an email and guessed on his email (I did 3 emails addresses) and 1 of them went through. Long story short he got a produce vendor to donate 750 bananas!

He was really nice in email and I will write a handwritten thank you just like Momma taught me. I'm proud that I can call or email most of my exes to say hi or to ask for help. My ex husband (the nice one, #1) called me yesterday and left a message. He was driving by the place where my Mom used to live and he said it made him smile and he just wanted to tell me he thought about her.

Whenever I think of a rotten banana (so rotten that you can't even use it for banana bread), I need to remember the good ones in the bunch!

It's Time...

To do another Fidiot List (fucking idiots):

• Brett Favre
• Christine O'Donnell
• Steve Jobs and his whole vendetta against Flash
• The person that has given all the "homeless" people in St. Pete orange reflective vests and then dropped them off in Tampa. (I know it is not a "person" but I need someone to project my anger towards...)

*Penelope disclaimer: I have nothing against homeless people that truly need help. I have issue with people presenting themselves as homeless and preying on naive folks that believe every sad story. It also makes driving in Tampa like an obstacle course...

The Serotonin Necklace Arrived!

The necklace arrived in a cool box with a temporary tattoo of the Serotonin Molecule with it. That website rocks! The woman that owns it is named Raven. She signs the note that goes out with her packages and sends a follow up email. I love that!

Check it out:

http://www.madewithmolecules.com/

I am not sure why I look like I have sunburn in the picture. I broke down and got a iphone today. I couldn't deal with the crappy HTC Incredible. It was incredibly annoying and I shall sell it on eBay or throw it into Tampa Bay. I think I had one of the effects on when I took the picture. I'm a Mac girl and I will never stray again.

I can already fill the serotonin coursing through my veins....

My Theme for the Day

Being Memorable

I have this belief that people don't remember. I am always amused when someone does recognize me after several years. I know, I know, Penelope, you may need to make that shrinkola appointment real soon...

I called a guy yesterday that had gone through a training class I conducted with my team a few years ago at an old job. He now works for the company that I just interviewed with (Yes--That would be Red Flag Lady). I started my call with "Hey Phil, it's Penelope Web, not sure if you remember me..." We started to talk about my prep for the interview and he gave me his thoughts. As we were winding down he said, "Tell me know name again?"  I busted out laughing and said, "Penelope Web, I was a sales training manager. He said, "Yeah, the brunette--about 5'10"?" I laughed and said I'm 5'7" but I do wear heels all the time. I said, "I was the funny one." and he replied, "oh yes, you were!"  So I'm really tall and funny to that guy.

A couple of months ago I was in a clothing store and a woman came up to me and said, "is your name Penelope?". I said yes and we realized she had bartended while I waited tables at a Bennigan's circa 1985. Her memory of me was that she would throw ice at me from the bar all the time. One time she hit me and I fell on the ground behind the wait station. She ran from the bar to check on me and I had taken ketchup (prepared ahead of time) and had it on my forehead like blood. I actually laid down in shorts on a stank ass Bennigan's nasty carpeted floor. She said the place was full and customers were dying laughing. She also said she remembered me working all the time (this was true) and that I was always kinda sad (that was during the creepy abusive boyfriend time). So I'm not afraid of skank on the floor and I'm funny, but sad to Julie from Bennigan's. 

There is a flip side to this--how about when you meet someone several times and they say "Great to meet you!" every time? I loathe that. Earlier this month I was introduced to a director from New York for the millionth time. He said, "Penelope, I've heard great things about you. Great to finally meet you." I was a bit edgy, I smiled, shook his hand and said, "Great, I think this is the third time we've met" and smiled like a wacko as I walked away.

Hand Job High Point

I was just publishing comments and I smiled when I read that Jane's son felt comfortable telling her about the changes in his body. It made me think of a story my friend E just told me about his 15 year old daughter. I have blogged about E before. I can remember if I gave him a nickname. I just did a quick search and I could find it. I try to make this easy for when the blog is made into a movie for the continuity folks...

E is a guy I work with. We also worked together at a previous job. He is one of the good guys. He is married to K and they have 2 daughters. K will laughingly say that P will often tell her too much. I remember saying to E "that's a good thing that P feels comfortable talking to you guys."

A couple of weeks ago P came home very upset and let her Mom know that a boy from school asked her to meet him a the park later to "give him a handjob." Yes people, a HANDJOB at 15! P told K and E the story. E was calm (but boiling inside) and let P know that he was going to call the little boy's (yes, a 15 year old is a little boy) father. P cried and begged them not to say anything. E and K let P know they had to intervene.

E talked with the Handjob Requester's™ father. He was calm as he recounted the details. Handjob Requester's™ Father (I just gave him a capital "F") was mortified and said that was his son's behavior was unacceptable and assured E that the appropriate action would be taken.

Word spread at school. E became known as a type of Super Hero. P came home from school saying that all her friends were saying things like, "your Dad is so cool." and  "I wish my Dad would stick up for me like that."

That story is a High Point!

Red Flags in an Interview

I had an interview this afternoon. I researched the company, called a couple of the reps know from past jobs that work there, suited up and had my resume and book full of achievements ready for action. The recruiter told me the hiring manager had just been promoted and this was her first time hiring. We met at a hotel in the lobby. As we sat down she reached for her bag and looked up at me and said, "do you have..."  I completed her sentence and said, "a copy of my resume?" as I handed it to her. Her forehead scrunched up as she read through it. She told me that this interview would be a get to know you, introductory interview that would last about 30-40 minutes. I sat quietly as she scanned my resume. I realized she was seeing it for the first time. She told me she had printer issues. She smiled as she saw a couple of companies she seemed to like and said I see you're a nurse...I asked, "would it be helpful if I briefly walked you through my resume?" She smiled gratefully and said, "yes!" I whipped through it with dazzling stories of how I went from nursing to sales and the various accomplishments over the years. I knew they were looking for someone clinical (check), a proven sales record (check) and who had relationships with the hospitals and surgeons (check). We reviewed my sales numbers from my present job and she commented on what I had done in less than a year in the territory. I noticed her glimpse at her watch. I said, "I know we are getting to the end of the interview, is there anything else I can share with you?". She said no. I then said, "do you feel like my skills match what you are looking for at _____ company?" She smiled and said, "I don't see an Red Flags."

People, what does that mean? She didn't think I had committed any felonies lately? I smiled as we stood up and thought to self, "Self, does the fact that she used the term red flag have secret celestial job interview meaning?" Self said in reply, "nah, she's new and she just used the wrong phrase."

I normally walk out of these things knowing I will get a call back. This one...I don't know. I would be as equally surprised with a call back or a call from the recruiter saying they decided to pass.

What's Your High Point?

I stopped at my niece's house on the way back from Fort Lauderdale today. Her husband and older son were out--it was just me, Jackie and her 3 year old Max. We were talking and laughing as we ate fish tacos. Max looked at me and said in his cute little voice, "What was your high point?" I looked at Jackie and she explained that they discuss their "high points" at dinner every night. I had a job interview today and I told Max how my high point was talking to a lady about a new job. He wanted to know if I did "indoor or outdoor work". There's a story there--the last time I saw Max I asked about school. He had just started preschool a couple of days a week. He exclaimed, "it is awesome!". I asked, "what do you do at school Max?" He replied, "I do indoor work and outdoor work." Apparently the teacher defines play as work and they do it inside or outside. I recall a child development concept we had engrained in our brains for pediatrics--"Play is the Work of the Child."

Max looked at me kind of confused when I tried to explain my job interview. I asked if I could change my high point. He said yes. I told him my high point was seeing him and getting his and his brother's new school pictures to take home.  He beamed.

So I ask you--What's your High Point?

Only Liking the Beginnings of Things

BEWARE-- stop if you watch Mad Men and haven't watched the final episode.

Don just told poor Dr. Faye that he met someone else. She cries and says, "And I hope she knows you only like the beginnings of things." What a great quote! 

I've been really stressed out about job security. I know I'm stressed when I have waitress dreams. Along with waitress dreams, I've been having flashbacks to being married to John. The King of Only Likes the Beginning of Things™.  Ugh. I need to make an appointment for the shrinkola this week...

Does Don ManGroom?

What Molecule Would You Get?

Today I had to spend 3 lovely hours at Sears getting my tire fixed. The girl that worked in the automotive area had this tattooed on her inner wrist:

It's the caffeine molecule. Pretty funny. That will look dead sexy when she's my age. As I sat there waiting, I wondered what molecule I would have tattooed on my inner wrist (if I was a tattoo on my inner wrist kind of girl). 

I think I would get Serotonin. The neurotransmitter that has to do with happiness and well being.

I started to look for pictures and I found a site called Made With Molecules. They have a Serotonin necklace. I ordered it!

http://www.madewithmolecules.com/ Super cool site!

Mark Twain was the first blogger

I watched a thing on Mark Twain this morning. His autobiography is coming out 100 years after his death (his wishes). He would dictate daily notes...thus the first blogger. One of the experts on Mark Twain said he had a soft heart and that he would say awful things about people, but would hate to see them when they heard what he said. He would censor his written work because he was afraid to offend his audience. Believe it or not, I do that too... I avoid politics (Christine O'Donnell is a fucking wackjob) and religion for just that reason. Interestingly enough, stories about cheating and ManGrooming™ brings people together!


Some of my favorite Mark Twin quotes that pertain to subjects I've blogged about: Chastity, Love, Youth, Manners and Temptation:

Chastity--you can carry it too far.
- Mark Twain in Eruption; also found in Simplified Alphabet speech

When you fish for love, bait with your heart, not your brain
- Notebook, 1898

The elastic heart of youth cannot be compressed into one constrained shape long at a time.
- The Adventures of Tom Sawyer


Good breeding consists in concealing how much we think of ourselves and how little we think of the other person.
- Notebook, 1898


It is easier to stay out than get out.
- Following the Equator, Pudd'nhead Wilson's New Calendar

Free Will

It is interesting what posts really strike a chord with folks. It can be funny references about bush management or something I typed in passing the other day-- "I can't imagine ever saying I love you to anyone ever again". That one stirred things up for peoples. I got quite a few private emails on that one. Lots of "I've felt that too" along with many "Don't worry it will happen again". I know both are true. 

Thanks to a little vino, I am going to type run on sentences with limited punctuation or care. I truly think I have avoided boys on purpose. I had a party last Christmas (an Amy Dalley house party that rocked. Yes, I had a concert in my living room and I am the COOLEST person on my block). My next door neighbor (a guy, friends with Dillhole) made a loud crack in front of everyone that my house used to be a revolving door of guys when I first moved in. It pissed me off. In my defense SOB had 2 different cars and another time he had a rental (so 1 penis = 3 penises to the casual observer). The Cat Whisperer also had 2 different cars and a Harley (again, 3 different types of transportation appeared to be 3 cocks, but in reality was 1 cock). So that math is 2 cars + 1 rental + 1 Harley + 1 Jeep + 1 truck= 2 meaningless cocks. It's the new math. Oops, forgot about Spencer, another meaningless cock (he drove a Rav 4). Embarrassing. I fucked a man that drove a Rav 4. I was depressed. I also wore Scrunchies™ in my hair circa 1986. We all have our demons.

But what was my point? I let 3 meaningless cocks in (I am talking literally). WTF? None of them were especially interesting or fun to be with...I lowered my standards. I ate at McDonald's when I should have bought some chicken and cooked it myself (I know you know what I'm sayin'). 

I think I needed to get that shit out of my system. John devastated me. My self esteem was so shattered that I had to aim low to start with. Fucked up, but makes sense (to me at least). 

I can totally get staying alone and not opening up. But it has gotten old. There are nights when I am blasting music and dazzling my animals with my knowledge of Led Zeppelin and current events and I will pause and say, "Self, I can't believe you are home alone." It becomes a habit. I've convinced myself it is easier to be alone. I used to work with a nurse that was the age that I am now when I was in my late 20's. She would always say, "Penelope, expect the worst, that way you will never be disappointed." It used to freak me out. Shit, have I become her? She drank White Zinfandel from a box. No, I have not become her. 

I have so many desirable traits in a woman that any boy would love: 

• I can sing the entire Beastie Boys Licensed to Ill album from beginning to end.
• I know a little bit about a lot.
• I won't ask you for money.
• I can find humor in everything. 
• I've probably seen more concerts than you.
• I don't want you to come along when I go clothes shopping.
• I hate terms like "honey and "baby". I like terms of endearment like "fucker".
• I keep my bush perfectly coiffed (and my head hair, nails and toes).

I am going to hit publish without proofing and hope I make sense. I'll probably read this in the morning and fix (or delete).

I shall end with a lyric I love "If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice".

Just Do It

Okay people...I did it.  IT. Over and over. 3 nights in a row. Penelope don't kiss and tell. I will just say it is a friend that lives out of town. Not boyfriend material. Someone I could "do it" with and not feel scared. ***No wife, no girlfriend, no babies. What a concept.

I don't always alert you, Dear Reader when I get jiggy. It had been a while. I think it was March or April when I last had sex. One of my greatest fears is going for a year (or more) without doing it. I don't mean that as a cut to anyone that chooses to be celibate. I just know it is not something I want for me. At 6 months I knew I needed to take action. So I did. 

I realized many things after doing it last week with my out of town friend.

• I still have it
• It was fun, but I was super relieved when he got up to go to his hotel and did not spend the night.
• When I really think about it, I can not imagine ever being with someone and ever saying "I love you" again. 
• I have some fucked up thinking...something like, if I just have sex with someone it will set me back. Kind of like an alcoholic binge drinking or eating a piece of cake while on a strict diet. I've actually had intermittent crazy thoughts that if I really want to be with someone in a relationship that stringless sex will screw that up. Fucked up, I know.
• I really know that I have not been trying, putting myself out there, making an effort (whatever phrase you want to use as a euphemism for building a wall and closing myself off from the world).
• I truly believe in the line from Pretty Woman about kissing...one moment while I Google the exact line:  "What do you want? What do you do? Everything. But I don't kiss on the mouth. Neither do l." The concept being that if she doesn't kiss him on the mouth it is not intimate and there is less chance of falling for him. We kissed, but I kept it to a minimum. 
  
  
  It has been eye opening. No wonder I don't meet a guy. I imagine I am putting off ultra sonic anti-man vibes™. 
  
  
  I think I'm all cured and shit from the John experience and then I see there is more work to do. I'm not sad, just more aware. 

I don't wanna

I got back late last night from my meeting. I've said it before and I'll say it again. The people I work with--not so much. My new boss drives me bonkers. Calls constantly with complete disregard for time of day--7 to 8 pm is his favorite time to call. It is my favorite time to hit "decline" on my phone. I am working a meeting next week that happens to be at the convention center here in Tampa. He asked me and 2 other guys on my team to go to his house for dinner on Wednesday night. This would be AFTER a reception that concludes at 8:30 PM MUTHA FUCKIN PM and he lives a good 40  minutes away from me. He smokes, loves curry and he has told me he has 5 cats and 3 of them piss all over the house. I would rather impale myself on an E.coli encrusted fork than go to his home. A couple of my co-workers told me to go. things like, "he does your expense reports, play nice..." Here are my thoughts:

• I think it is inappropriate to go to your director's house. It blurs lines.
• I hate Indian food. 
• I hate cat piss.
• I DON'T WANNA

Multitasking

I'm in Boston for a meeting. The Boston ladies multitask like no other. I was in a restaurant bathroom today and I noticed a "Clear Blue Easy" wrapper in the stall. Have a cup of chowder...do a pregnancy test!

Published with Blogger-droid v1.5.5.2

Hoarders

Have you watched it? I am drawn to it in a perverse way. How does it happen? How does one get to the point where it is okay to let your cats shit all over and you have to pave a path to get to your bed? I get twitchy if there is a glass or 2 in the sink. I am constantly purging (a metaphor for my life I am sure...)

There is this great guy...one moment while I google his name. Accessing, one  moment...Peter Walsh. He is all about getting rid of clutter. How clutter in your home equates to clutter in your head. I heard an interview with him one time where he said something to the effect that when you buy a bunch of shit, get rid of a bunch of shit (I out that in Penelope lingo, he is much more polite). I subscribe to that rule with everything but books and shoes. Books I go back to over and over and you never know when you need those black patent 4 inch heels with buckles on top (I used them for my Naughty Librarian costume one Halloween).

http://www.peterwalshdesign.com/

What If? Part 1

One of my favorite movies is Sliding Doors. If you haven't seen it, rent it. It beautifully illustrates how subtle changes in what you do on a typical day can change your life. Several posts ago I talked about "what ifs?" I have some really deep ones and some really shallow ones. Here's my first off the top of my head list:

What if...

• I did cardio?
• I never sold my red, 1974 convertible VW Bug?
• I had sex with the guy named Kevin in high school, that had a huge schlong, instead of telling him no? (forgot your last name Kevin but, I remember your schlong).
• I really read Moby Dick, instead of the Cliff Notes?
• My Dad wouldn't have died so young?
• I would have never opened the door when John showed up on my door step after I caught him in lie #1 of 5000+ lies?
• Apple came out with one great ipod that did it all without coming out with a new one every 6 months? (that I inevitably buy).
• I didn't give a second thought to mean people that I want to inflict The Punisher™ on?

The Dementors

I've never gotten into the Harry Potter books. I have started the first one no less than 3 times. I have numerous friends and family members that LOVE the books. I've wondered what is wrong with me? Why don't I get it? I just watched a fabulous interview with J. K. Rowling on Oprah. She was articulate and genuine and I really want to read her books. 

She spoke about characters in the books called "The Dementors" (fans of HP, please forgive me if I get the names or descriptions wrong). It sounds like they represent all that is evil. She made some parallels between The Dementors  and depression. She talked about being clinically depressed years ago when she was recently divorced. She said she knew she had to get help so she could be there for her daughter. Oprah asked her if she had any regrets. Jo (her real name) said no. She said that she would get married and do it all again because the end result was her daughter. It was a really great interview. 

In a previous post I talked about a "what if" list (I'm still going to start one). I don't want it to be full of regrets. Just "what if"? What if J.K. Rowling was never married to the jerk guy, and wasn't pushed into poverty and depression? Would the books have ever been written?

Still bitter about the volunteer thing...

Here I am at close to 0200 and I am preparing for a volunteer function in the morning. I've had a hell week with work, I have been preparing for a work meeting next week where I will be presenting to half my company, my hamper is overflowing, my desk is a mess, my right eye keeps doing that involuntary twitching thing  and I have a zit the size of Manhattan on my chin. Maybe I should go to Disney or just cancel at the last minute. 

One of my accounts is a cancer center in Tampa. As I was waiting for my manager to meet me today I watched people walk by with masks on, or the ones pushing the pump that is infusing chemo and saw 2 families crying in the hallway. I bet they wish they could just cancel. Maybe go to Disney. They would love to not follow through with the shitty diagnosis and treatment.  

Lazy people without commitment and follow through SUCK.