Clinical depression

I was really hoping that it wouldn't come to me having to write more about how unhappy I am at the clinic I work at, but unfortunately, things have not gotten any better. Sure, the place doesn't look nearly as crappy as it did the first day I returned following the renovations. There is paint on the walls, and it is slightly tidier. Well, really, that is about all the good I can say about it. We still can't find anything, and we are still tripping over workmen and tools and detritus.

Last Wednesday nearly put me over the edge. I arrived at work to discover that we couldn't access the staff charting area where we write in our files, store our things and wait for clients to arrive. The owner and several workmen were in that room, painting and putting up shelves. I was NOT impressed. Four of us had to cram into the one empty treatment room (one of the smallest ones, of course) and attempt to use the massage table as a collective desk, and a fifth therapist was arriving in the afternoon to use our makeshift office for treatments. At about 10:30 AM Rackel and I made plans to go for drinks that evening. It gets better/worse...

My room happens to share a wall with the charting room under renovations, so while I was giving massage treatments to clients, saws, electric drills, an air compressor and nail gun were all being used just beyond the wall. Not all massage therapy treatments are especially relaxing due to the discomfort that is sometimes involved, but no one wants a fucking nail gun pounding into the wall next to them. I had to spend the entire day apologising to clients for the noise. At about 2:30 we were able to get into the "new" charting area. There was so much crap piled up on the floor we could barely sit down. Luckily, the paint fumes got us high enough not to care too much within 10 minutes. Mr. Smug seemed a little surprised that no one spoke 2 words to him all day.

Friday came and went with not too much in the way of disasters. There was much fresh paint all over the clinic, so we got to breathe in fumes again. I know latex paint isn't supposed to have many fumes, but you are still supposed to paint in well ventilated areas and not 2 hours before it will be full of people.

Saturday was another joyful day where Mr. Smug did reception duties because our Saturday receptionist is away. The tension in the air is palpable when he is around all day. He said, "Hey, Kate" in a really chipper voice when I walked in the door, and it was all I could do not to rip his face right off. I think I managed an "um, hi" before heading straight to my room, which I discovered had fresh paint on the door and no door handle. I took a deep breath and decided that all I expected of myself was to get through the day. Then I would have 3 days off to recover. One of the other therapists brought in some chocolate - I was thinking more along the lines of tequila - to improve morale but I am still on my "no chocolate" kick, so I was slightly tortured all day, but got to feel all righteous when I didn't succumb. I had a frappuccino which helped my mood significantly. I don't know how I survived summer before frappuccinos. "They give you the cool, core temperature of a trout, without the inconvenience of being a trout."

So, other than hating where I work and who I work for (although I really don't work for him, I just rent space from him), I am perfectly happy in my profession.

PS. My MD did a throat swab when I went to see her (see rant #1), and as it turned out, I had strep-c. Strep-a is the really nasty throat infection that people associate with Strep, which I have had enough times in my life to know that I didn't have it. I figure the "c" stands for "cough" which I am still doing after 3 weeks. Joy. I felt vindicated for my visit though, and just finished 10 days of antibiotics.