~~~ From Wed Sep 23, 2009 ~~~
Vicious, loud thunderstorm last night. I opened the garage door this morning and Charquil didn't run out to meet me. It was pouring down rain, maybe he just didn't want to get wet? I walked in and looked for him. He wasn't on the couch in the garage, wasn't on the couch in his pen, wasn't in his doghouse, wasn't under anything I looked under. I thought maybe if I started the car he'd come running. He loves to ride anywhere. I got to the car and Charquil was in it! LOL! I'd left my window down last night and he must've jumped in to hide from the storm. Or he was gonna steal the car.
This week I'm only scheduled 4 days at work instead of 6. Still gonna get about 30 hours. I worked 7 hours each Mon & Tue. Tips have been shi&&ier that usual lately. I've started adding up my total deliveries and figuring up the percentage I'm making in tips. It's rarely over 9%. Often it's 5% or less. The IRS has determined that drivers make 15% on credit card orders and 10% on cash. This is how they decide how much in tips we SHOULD make and tax us accordingly.
Last week I had my 1st panic attack in 4 years. And I knew that it was coming on, tried to talk myself down, still full-blown heart racing, dripping sweat, tunnel vision, shakes, shortness of breath. I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It's a fun mixture of paralyzing irrational fears and odd repetitive rituals. My biggest irrational fear is of dying in my car underwater. My 2nd biggest fear is of feeble old ladies. Not old people in general, not spry, active, feisty old women, just feeble old women.
I had a delivery to Woodland Terrace nursing home. I tried to swap deliveries with the other driver, but she wanted the one she had. No big deal. I've delivered to nursing homes lots of times. (But I will ALWAYS trade in order NOT to if I can!! LOL!) I got to the nursing home and walked inside. The hallway was dark. I peeked into the office door and a nurse told me they were having the generator switched. That's when the heart rate went up and I started to sweat. I had to go the full stretch of the main hall and then take the turn and go to the end of that hall as well. In the dark. With old ladies shuffling around on walkers and canes beside me. In the dark. Possibly reaching out with those cold, bony, talon-tipped fingers to touch me. By the time I got to the nurses station with the delivery my shirt was soaked down the back and sides. (Then I delivered the $9.99 pasta bowl and the bi&&h gave me a $10 bill and actually said "keep the change" grrrrrr)
The second the food was outta my hands I turned and RAN. My heart was roaring in my ears. I couldn't get enough air into my lungs. My vision had diminished to narrow slits. I was leaping over wheelchairs, knocking old ladies outta my way, I had tears dripping off my chin. I got to the door, could see the outside. Hit the bar, BZZZZZZZZZZZ alarm, doesn't open. I hit it again. Now, in the logical part of my brain, "I know that there is a keypad just to my left. I even know the code to get out." Deep down in recesses of the mind that I can't access, that number remained out of reach. But I kept hitting the door like an old lady had me by the heels. A nurse came out "You need help?" and I hear this high pitched shaky voice saying "I need out. I need out. I'm having a panic attack and I want to have it outside" as she keyed in the number and my next swing at the door led to it popping open.
I ran to my car, jumped in and locked all the doors. It took me a few minutes to quit shaking, but I survived! (Thank you Zolft and talk therapy!)
Okay, housework is calling my name. Gonna lay down and hum until it gives up! HUGS and have a great day!