I was asked, among other people, if I could--instead of working the regular shift--come in at 8 AM and work until 5 PM. I agreed to; and thought everything would be fine. It would mean getting up at 6 AM for a couple of days, but I've done that, and it would mean more time with Mrs. Fungus over the weekend (since her schedule is similar on weekends).
Low call volume all night--I expect folks were watching the news from Paris rather than worrying about their cell phones--but ten minutes before it was time to go, I get a call from a miggim, someone who had a problem I could have solved in about five minutes if she'd been willing to go to her computer...but she absolutely would not do anything other than what she wanted to, and I could not help her that way.
Left there half an hour late, busted and disgusted.
The drive home was fine but for the last four miles. I got stuck in a traffic jam where construction workers are resurfacing Illinois 394 and putting in a fancy intersection, because people are idiots and incapable of realizing what it means when there's a big flashing arrow sign in the lane. (The construction workers are also idiots, though, for not putting a second flashing arrow farther from the actual pinch, to let people know that yes we're actually doing this on a Friday night.) Sat in traffic, barely moving, for fifteen, twenty minutes.
Jeep's low fuel light was on and I needed to pick up grub for dinner because both Mrs. Fungus and I had to go to bed ASAP after dinner; I didn't get home until it was almost midnight, and when I did finally get in I was fit to be tied. My fettle was so fine it was nanotextured. I started my commute mad at the miggim, and my mood was not improved by the traffic jam. I was immensely pissed off.
We didn't get to bed until after 1 AM, and I didn't fall asleep until after 2 because I was still amazingly pissed off at just about everything and it took me some time to simmer down.
I woke up at 3:30 AM.
I woke up at 3:30 AM and was unable to get back to sleep, because every time I started to drift off the damned cat decided he wanted to sleep with us and would walk on me to get to his preferred spot between our pillows. Can he just go there and quietly go to sleep? Nooo! He has to get up on the bed and lay in one spot, then move to another, and then to a third, before flopping between the pillows, in the process placing either his butt or his claws right in my face.
After being ejected from the bed the third or fourth time he got the hint and curled up elsewhere on the bed.
Besides the cat? Gut malf, of course! I didn't realize it at first but there was growing discomfort in the lower left quadrant of my abdomen. Add to that the remnants of my pissed-off-ness and you have a perfect storm of no fucking sleep whatsoever.
Now, if I'd had to be up at 11 AM today, this wouldn't have been a problem. Getting to sleep by 5 or 6 AM--well, I can go to work on four or five hours of sleep. That had been my expectation for today anyway, ASSUMING I had been able to get to sleep by at least 2 AM and STAY asleep until 6-ish.
But of course I'd agreed to be at work by 8--and the schedule had actually said 8:30--which means that my period checks of the clock showed an ever-decreasing window of opportunity for rest. 3.5 hours dwindled--with astonishing speed--to thirty minutes before my alarm was set.
At 5:30 AM I gave up, resigning myself to going to work on less than two hours of sleep...and that's when the gut malf hit in full force.
I can do one or the other. No sleep, one day in a row, sure. Gut malf, just take some imodium and power through it. But when I've had no sleep and I'm sick to boot?
Even so, I waffled. I thought it over from about 6:30 until 8...and finally I made the call and sent my boss a text message. I felt like crap, but for crying out loud I felt like crap. God knows what would happen if a miggim called me while I was manning the phone, literally sick and tired.
I have come a long way from my adolescent (and post-adolescent) years when I had a hair trigger. Getting treatment for the anxiety disorder has helped enormously. I am a lot better at containing myself; and in fact, things that used to infuriate me now scarcely warrant a raised eyebrow or a pursed lip. Maybe a snort of derision; that's about the height of the pile. People can yell at me over the phone now and I don't even react; I just continue to be polite and try to help them, despite their best efforts.
But self-restraint and willpower have their limits, and those limits are lowered by fatigue and illness.
TL;DR: Ed rationalizes calling off work. *sigh*
So I eventually got back to sleep--around 10 AM--and slept another whopping three hours. I have a headache but the gut malf symptoms have subsided and I feel like I might be able to function tomorrow.
* * *
I predicted this, but let's face it: this was about as hard to predict as forecasting tomorrow's sunrise. Yep: at least one of the savages that perpetrated yesterday's attack was a Syrian "refugee", one of the "migrants" Europe is falling all over itself to allow in.
This particular extrusion registered in Greece last month.
ISIS has taken responsibility for the attack. Meanwhile, President Footmouth says that "ISIS is contained."
This must be a new definition of "contained" with which I was previously not familiar.
* * *
When I got up to hit the can this morning I saw that the entirety of the back yard was covered in frost. It went from "nice" to "cold" pretty quickly this year.
* * *
That's all I've got. I feel incredibly shitty.