It took a while, but I have finally reached my max, which is why I haven’t posted in a couple of weeks. Apparently it’s not enough to have office person that might or might not be there or on time, or have a computer that needed repair for multiple days, or a phone/scheduler device that needed to be replaced TWICE. Let’s add in training two new people, and learning not one, but two GINORMOUS computer programs (and Will’s working on the third). Then a generous dollop of back-logged work, and late nights at the office, in my futile attempt to make life easier for said office person.

I’m talking a foot-tall stack of insurance filing. That’s pretty backlogged. Amongst other things.

Oh, and then after all that, said office person mentioned she had gotten another job.

Hmmm, let’s just say that it took a remarkable effort to walk the higher ground after that one.

Now, I sometimes suspect that SOMEONE up there is watching out for me, because the very next day, (and I hadn’t done anything but be upset for a day), someone called me for the position. Someone I knew, who is more-than-qualified for the position. I pretty much hired her on the spot.

Unfortunately, her training left a lot to be desired (I was out of the office — Mom was in town), and then she was sick for her first full day of work, but nonetheless, I am suspecting this could work out great.

Now all I have to do is prevent a nervous breakdown from overwork over here with us and then it’ll ALL be good ;-)

It’s even possible that we’ve turned a corner. Which would be nice — the last 3 and a half months have been a good example of what my friend Doug described as how his job as a VP for Bell Labs had been — standing on the bottom of a chute while someone(s) throw stuff down from the top.

Yup, ready to be done with that.

I would love to have an iPhone. I’ve only ever used Macs, Will has only ever owned Macs, and we have only Macs in the office. We’ve got the big ones for the desks, and we each have laptops. It would seem only natural to also have the iPhone.

But from the moment I saw one, the first thing I checked out was the calendar. Sure, it’s nice to have an app that tells you your flight is late, or you’re about to bounce a check, or that’ll get the coffee started in the morning. I think we’re missing the one that cleans the litter box for you, but I’m sure someone’s working on that. But the calendar — that’s something I use constantly, all day, for each patient. And my phone now? I can color everything to code it differently, I can scroll from week to week, I have day views, week views, list views, month views, views I don’t use — a zillion options to look at the calendar. And knowing Mac stuff, I couldn’t WAIT to get my hands on the iPhone.

See? Isn’t that pretty?

And when I disappointedly pointed out to people that it didn’t have a week view, UNANIMOUSLY, people said, “Sure it does!” and turned on their phones, only to see it didn’t. (Go ahead and check — everyone does. I’ll wait here ;-)  )

It’s the one and only reason I don’t have an iPhone.

Fast forward to a couple of months ago, when a new patient came in, who’s a manager at Apple. She was all thrilled that we’ve never used anything but Macs, but she did exactly the same thing, when I told her about the calendar — she pulled out her phone and then admitted “You’re right!”. I know, thanks. ;-)  It put a little bug in her ear, though, because she realized how often she used the week view on her desktop, and she started to wonder why it wasn’t on the phone.

So in a big meeting a few weeks ago, with all the big mucky-mucks, she asked how come the iPhone doesn’t have a week view. And sure enough, more than half the room said, “Sure it does!” and pulled out their iPhones, only to find out (surprise!) it didn’t.

Apparently, they’re going to get right on that. At which point I think they should GIVE me a phone, although I’m not holding my breath ;-)

How, exactly, did that get missed?

I’m not opposed to Valentine’s Day, unlike other people. I know people complain that it’s a Hallmark holiday, or that we should be telling people that we love them a whole lot more than on a prescribed day, but I don’t mind having one day that is a reminder, just in case your significant other gets too sucked into work and forgets about the romance.

That being said, maybe it’s not enough to have red hearts hanging in every store you go to, and reminders on Facebook, and email newsletters and the like. It’s definitely very iffy to leave it to chance, especially if your husband can run the gamut from giving AMAZING gifts like motorcycles to forgetting every family member’s birthday. Year after year, after year. So maybe you specifically have to SAY EXACTLY HOW YOU WANT IT TO GO.

Or, at least, how you DON’T want it to go.

Of course, I didn’t do that. So we woke up on Valentine’s Day morning, in the small town of Magnolia, Texas, in a $59/night hotel because we were visiting cousins of mine. And as my husband is shaving, he says,

“What should we do for Valentine’s?”

This, the morning of Valentine’s.

In a small town, hours from home. I have no illusions about anything.

I’m all impressed with myself that I didn’t raise my voice at all, didn’t get upset, didn’t even think something was wrong. All I did was point out to him that one should never, ever, EVER come to the woman on the morning of Valentine’s and drop a little comment like that. I literally put my hand up (after pointing out that he should never ever EVER do that) and sent him back to think of what to do. And I even gave him a card that I had lovingly carried the whole way in the car ;-)

Just because I didn’t want to stress him out any more than usual (we’re not done with our logistical and accounting nightmares yet) I gave him a grace period of a year in which to come up with other, better way of reminding me that I’m awesome.

And, just to cover the bases, I’ll remind him with a week to go, with maybe a few Post-it notes and an alarm on his phone — that should do it, huh?

I know that I’ve finally turned a page regarding actually wanting to get on my bike again (see my post a couple of weeks ago on that) and I’m not at all unfamiliar with the cyclical ritual (no pun intended) of dragging myself back into riding shape again (I’ve probably done it at least 10 times in my life. At least). But I think “hate” is not too strong of a word to use regarding my spin instructor.

Granted, he doesn’t personally know me, nor will I go to any lengths to stand out — I will not take a spin bike in the front row (who needs 3 rows of people behind me staring at my ass?), nor will I spin extra fast, wear anything that matches, or reply to any general question he throws out to us.

However, I know for a fact that he’s lying to us, since no human being on earth who rides a spin bike can turn the knob 3 turns and still think the pedals will go around. I’ve got some street cred in this field — I’m not some yoga pants-wearing novice in the class (my apologies to any yoga pant-wearing spin attendees). And yet, there’s some tacit agreement that the 45 people in the class will allow this lie to continue, since they’re all still pedaling at some speed and I know they could not possibly be doing that having turned that knob three turns.

Today, though, I thought I was going to have to kill him. We’re doing some nightmare sprints that don’t have any rest between them (”Keep your cadence the same — this is not a recovery!”) and we’re nearly through the last one, and I’m thinking I’m going to die, really, this can’t be healthy for me, I feel so bad I may never come back to class again, and he’s counting down to the end, “3… 2…” and I’m thanking God I made it, I don’t ever have to do this again if I don’t want to, and I hear him pause (Pause!) and say, “I didn’t say 1 yet!”

A variety of things sprang to my mind, and none of them involved my appreciation for his commitment to my fitness. No, they included giving him the finger, and calling him a MF’er, and really, people have been killed for less. But my heart was falling out of my chest, which was preventing me from doing anything but hate him with a vengeance.

While I suspect that my general lack of enthusiasm might have something to do with that “dragging back” I was referring to above, I (armchair quarterback here) would have to say that if I was leading a spin class, I’d be telling everyone how great they look, how much they’ve improved. I’d paint pictures of riding in France, riding the Rockies, riding some fun races. I’d make them LOVE coming to class.

And, I can tell you, I’d make my countdowns end on “2″.

It’s a weird thing, Facebook. Last night I got a call from an old friend, who asked how things were going and then said, “Oh, but I already know from your Facebook posts!”. Umm, not completely.

I’ve noticed that while I might make snarky comments about what’s going on, I’m sort of skimming over the surface of what happens, because who wants to hear too much bitching? I’ve also noticed that when things get kind of deep in poo in real life, that I stop posting. I told my mother that’s a good basic indication of my mood — see regular posts from me, everything is pretty good. Lots of silence = getting buried.

So what’s been up? Well, the short version is…

• The surprise deadline which SOMEONE forgot about (not me, obviously) that entailed spending the whole weekend writing class notes for a lecture — they were a week late at that point.
• The implosion of one of my key staff people due to health reasons, without much of an end in sight.
• WEEKS of getting a new accounting program up and running, which no one knows how to use well except Will.
• The TOTAL COLLAPSE (and subsequent hand-wringing and head-banging) of our office computer — the one with all the accounting info, patient records, office email, you name it — and <insert me kissing the back-up Time Capsule> the 48-hour re-boot, which is still going on, as I write this.
• Needing additional, $1000 programs to increase productivity at work (like for inventory and such) and the research to figure out the compatibility and such, but first we have to have a functioning computer, don’t we?

It’s kind of like a couple of days ago, when someone said to me how awesome my pictures were on Facebook and (I’m quoting here) “Man, I want your life!” I looked at her bemusedly for a moment before I replied, “Well, I’m not going to put the CRAPPY pictures up, am I?”

Kind of like that.

Although I DID do a spin class today, which reminded me that it IS possible to feel worse, at least for 45 minutes ;-)

Remember the kids from Team Marlene back in 2004? Those special-needs kids that pulled together and created their own charity ride, with some of them borrowing bikes, having never ridden even 5 miles before?

I just got friended on Facebook by one of the girls, who is in high school now. I had especially connected with her, and remember how tumultuous her family situation was. She had been un-athletic, and trying desperately to deal with no dad, mom’s boyfriends, and God knows what else.

She told me, in one of those Facebook emails, that, among other things, she’s on the local mountain-biking team now, riding and racing all the time.

I couldn’t be more proud.

I kind of flipped out yesterday and threw out all of my pens. Not actually ALL of them, but all of the ones that I hated — you know, the ones that don’t write immediately, and you’re sitting there scratching at the paper, and then you lick the tip in the hopes that that helps (OK, well I lick the tip). I went on a rampage at my office and chucked all of them. Specifically, I chucked all of one type because they were driving me crazy, and I was armed with 6 boxes of new, I-know-these-work-great-from-prior-experience pens from Office Max.

Naturally, I posted on Facebook some comment about my quality of life improving because of this and got a bunch of comments back, people laughing about it, saying they were going to do the same thing, and one person saying she does this periodically with her underwear.

Which I’ve also done, I might add. Everyone should.

Then a patient said it had sparked a conversation among all the teachers in her grade, with them all brainstorming what they’re putting up with that would be so easy to fix. They’d walk by each other in the halls and say, “Spice bottles!” or “My pots!”

I did this a few months ago when I came back from a trip. I woke up the next morning in my bed, got up and groaned — the hotel bed had been awesome and now I felt like crap in my own. The very next day, Will and I went out and got another mattress and gel-top and I’ve felt better ever since.

With all the parts of our lives that are out of control (because I don’t need to be reminded by a gargantuan earthquake in Haiti that I have a very tenuous hold on things in my life), what better way get a small grip on your life? Get rid of the crappy pens, throw out the hangers that let your clothes fall anyway, junk the underwear with holes and that gives you wedgies, get some of those over-the-door hooks so you can get some of your crap off the floor. How about the socks that always slip down? Or your dull knives?

Or the tooth floss that always frays and breaks? Your earrings and jewelry all jumbled together in some messy bowl on your bureau?

Never mind clothing - that’s a whole topic unto itself ;-)

What little annoyance or irritation are you putting up with that would be oh-so-easy to change?

It’s been a hell of a week. Actually, it’s been building for a while, but now we’re in the thick of things and that explains why I’m a little behind on posting.

It all started with the tiny little decision (don’t these things always start with just a small thought?) that we would upgrade our Macs (including the one  at work) to the newest operating system, Snow Leopard. Unfortunately, apparently Snow Leopard is not compatible with Quickbooks, our accounting software (I’m pretty sure I heard an “oops!” from the makers of Quickbooks, who are on our shitlist now). It corrupted our accounting program, causing us to immediately need to convert all our data over to something more stable. Words so casually spoken…

Will did a ton of research, found a great professional (read: complicated) program, and 4 weeks ago, started making noises that this was going to be a big project. I started paying a little more attention when he began spending 4 hours each day of the holiday vacation at the office dealing with putting in patient lists, and inventory, and whatever, all in the goal to get this done by January 1. Fat chance of THAT happening, even though I started coming in over the weekends as well, doing inventory.

Will kept sounding like the Voice Of Doom, saying again and again that if we didn’t get this done (and he was mainly talking to our office manager) we were going to really pay later. And yet… he seemed to be the only one worked up about it.

Right around this time, our office manager started to finally implode, from a couple of months of long commutes, a college class that was kicking her ass, night after night of 3 hours or less of sleep and surviving on Red Bull, cigarettes and little else. And now, 2 weeks into the year, we’re still wrestling with this nightmare program and she’s on sick leave for a week, minimum. While I love her like the daughter I never had, I also want to just scream, “You didn’t think the rules applied to you??!” You know those rules - the ones about eating and sleeping and stress? Yeah, those. NO ONE IS EXEMPTED. Let this be a warning.

She’ll be back, hopefully next week, but in the meantime, this hellish program is giving me chest pain. We finally got the patients info entered, the stock names entered, the actual inventory entered, the starting balances of things and God knows what else, but in the meantime, 2 weeks of work have piled up, so we’re entering that as well, but OF COURSE it’s not that simple. This patient bought a Cleanse? But you don’t technically have any in inventory to sell, even though I see 5 on the shelves, so it won’t let you go forward. All the charges had to be specific Mastercard OR Visa OR Debit card, so we had to pick through piles of receipts to match them to the transaction. We found stuff not entered (yet), lab tests not specified, just LAYERS UPON LAYERS on stuff we have to plow through to get this done. If you’re off by one cent, you can’t move forward. WE WILL, AFTER ALL THIS, HAVE THE BANK RECONCILIATION SKILLS OF WARREN BUFFET. If that’s a good thing ;-)

And when it’s all done, we finally get to do payday, ANOTHER large, time-consuming task. We’re already late on that, just for the record. But soon, we’ll have computer check-out up front, a DREAM for our office manager who wonders how we keep adding things up incorrectly, even with a calculator ;-)

All this, just because we wanted to upgrade our computers. Believe me, I’ll remember this next time.

On the other hand, I’ll be thankful I’m sitting in an office.

I’ll actually say this in public — I got on a bike today for the first time in over a year. Yes, that’s right, I haven’t sat on a bicycle seat since the summer before last and even then, it was a bit of an effort. And then a couple of months after that, I took my bike to get professionally fitted, brought it home, and haven’t touched it since. Except to vacuum around it.

It needs new tires now, it’s sat so long.

Admittedly, getting on a spin bike is not exactly the same as riding outside, but the fact that I wasn’t dreading  it is something I consider progress, so I’ll take what I can get. And the whole root of this total burn-out is this insane ride I trained for and did in France, back in 2007. A friend of mine had the same thing happen to her when she did PBP in 2003 (it’s only every 4 years) and she’s STILL not riding, 6 years later.

And then I thought had the insane idea that I might take up running, but that didn’t go quite so well — I haven’t yet gotten rid of the plantar fascitis that kept me from training for the Chicago marathon (no big loss, I thought, as the summer here had 68 days over 100 - the plantar fascitis was the PERFECT excuse to not run!). And really?  The truth is that I hate running; I can’t lie. OK, maybe not HATE, but definitely dislike intensely. That’s without question a result of my heart condition — riding is much more enjoyable. Usually.

One thing is, I never made myself feel badly about not riding. I didn’t beat myself up about it, I just waited. I waited until I finally missed it enough to consider trying it again. I have a suspicion that I might still have some waiting to go, and I might not ever go quite so full-bore again, but I’d like to think that I haven’t completely lost the thing I loved so much.

And considering we’re about to get some arctic cold front down here that’ll drop the temps into the teens (I had to FIGHT my way out of the soup and canned goods aisle today at the grocery store as people were panicking about what to eat when it’s so cold!) there’s probably no hurry about getting out on my road bike yet.

But I will take the step to buy some tires, just in case some nicely sunny, 60 degree temps show up at some point. Just, you know, in case it seems like a good idea.

So last week, some lunatic decided to make us all just a little more paranoid by trying to blow up a plane landing in Detroit. Just like the Shoe Bomber back in 2001, what we’re left with is the experience of more and more indignities, inconveniences and outright annoyances imposed on travelers so that we’ll be safer.

Not that I don’t appreciate it — I am grateful that someone is watching out for us. I suspect that they’ve prevented other incidents from occurring, ones we simply don’t know about. Still, I found it hard to not get annoyed that, for a long time, you couldn’t even bring an empty bottle past security, but had to fork out for expensive water in a bottle bigger than I wanted to carry. Amongst other things.

Like that obviously factory-sealed food would be confiscated. Or that an orange would be considered a “liquid” and seized (that was in the news a couple of days ago, in a complaint about how the TSA wasn’t consistent). Or that my hummus would be taken (liquid? gel? not sure? let’s take it!), brought only because they don’t serve food anymore on domestic flights (OK, not entirely true, but when they DO occasionally serve it, it’s soggy sandwiches and carbs. Thanks, but I’ll pass).

So now I own shoes to fly with — ones that slip on and off, that don’t require lacing. I consent to having everything dug through, and inspected, and organize myself in a manner so that I get the least of that experience, simply because I’d like to actually get on that plane. Here’s my problem, though:

When something like the Shoe Bomber occurs, or this last incident where the guy tried to light something as the plane was starting it’s descent, the resulting restrictions are always a direct reaction to that particular incident. We think the inflammatory substance was a liquid? Let’s make sure no, or nearly no liquids can get through security. Oh, he tried to light his shoes? Let’s check everyone’s shoes. Someone tried to store potentially explosive stuff in the seat pockets? No stuff allowed in seat pockets. Oh, he tried to light something less than an hour before landing? Let’s make everyone on international flights sit for the last hour with nothing in their laps. Explosives in his underwear? The flight originated in Amsterdam? Let’s do full-body scans, but (so far) only on flights from Amsterdam to the U.S. Obviously, I could go on.

Do you see how crazy this is? What if they next guy disguises his illegal whatever in a baseball cap? Poof, no hats allowed. Or in his down jacket? No overcoats or jackets permitted (although they better turn up the heat on those planes, or give us our blankets back if they do that!). Or it’s in someone’s purse, or their computer, or their electronic device like an iPod or Kindle. The possibilities are endless, unfortunately.

The second frustration comes from realizing that if the TSA was able to do its job completely (like it had sensitive enough equipment, for example) they would be catching whatever illegal explosives people were attempting to bring aboard BEFORE people got on the plane. So you could have all your stuff with you and without these damn restrictions. Although that might be a while…

The next time we look, we might be walking to the plane in our socks, checking our computers at the gate, eating airline food because they won’t allow ours, and listening to airline radio and TV and reading their magazines, because we won’t be allowed our electronic devices. (I’m actually stunned they allow us any electronic devices at all, but I’d guess there’d be a complete revolt if the airlines banned them). Shit, if the airlines were having trouble before, this’ll be the death knell of them — we’ll just return back to the 1960’s, where plane flight was rare and we all wrote more letters.

Although now we have Skype and email, which’ll help our self-imposed exile.

(photo courtesy of Mike Licht)