Poor baby

So, still have this headache. I'm not a headache person, wouldn't do well with migraines. Vasillating between Advil, Acetaminophen, 12 ounce glasses of water, coffee. And still it radiates down the neck, a pulsating vise around my head. But without nausea and vomiting doesn't look like an aneurism. So on this beautiful day, should step outside and enjoy the day. Only I have a headache!!!

I try and keep my part-time pharmacy job, only two days a week, far, far at bay the other days, so it doesn't bleed into these glorious days off. But like at Acme, it's getting harder to do this. Each month that goes by, each month I'm closer to finishing the internship, it gets more painful to walk in there. And here's the kicker: I actually don't mind the job, I'm not so bad at it either. It's the people. Moody, cold as the frigid temperature there, and like every girl I met at pharmacy school, so fucking conservative.

antibiotic antipathy

A pharmaceutical week from hell. My son had poison ivy with a touch of impetigo and after sampling way too many antibiotics- Keflex, Bactrim, Augmentin- all did nothing (except scare the hell out of me about Stevens Johnson Syndrome, apparently the de rigueur prescription fear of moms, the ER doctor lamented). Wound up at the hospital at 1 AM on a Saturday night, worried sick, nothing working.

Then a few days later, a bad mammography, a call from the doctor's office with an annoyingly nervous secretary telling me something assymetrical showed up on my film. More scans, my heart pounding, visions of never making it to my son's Bar Mitzvah, unless you count on a stretcher.

And now, all is well, his rash is getting better thanks to prednisone. Duh! A mere blood vessel was the assymetry on my breast. The only problem now is this confounding headache that won't go away. Serious pain!!! A brain tumor?

A five minute tirade

Apparently 17% of online viewers have their own blog. In other words, everyone is so busy writing about their own small, solipsistic life, that no one is bothering to read anyone else's. And why should they, it's mostly crap anyway. And if that's not enough stupidity, they then open themselves up to the sadistic comments posted thereafter.

Isn't there laundry to be done? Or maybe read a book, time well spent?

This is the career of bored housewives I'm sure. My hunch is the husbands and kids are looking askance at these self-centered activities. Just think, the dinners would be so much better if ...

Pharmacy still is in the dumps. A bit better last week, slower, thanks to some obscure Jewish holiday, one where the dutiful daughters attend services in the rafters while their husbands get the good seats. I see it all as just more of the same, following the herd. One cow, one sheep at a time.

But not a mistake all day from me in what is now, this fucked-up state of pharmacy. So much better in the 70's when there was a profit margin. When two pharmacists could actually work side by side. Talk. Laugh. Later.

I think I may get fired. Once again, Sisyphus, sliding down the hill. This profession is turning into an unrequited love affair. I mean really, dating was never this hard. I just can't seem to get this goddamn internship moving forward. It does bring out the worst in me, the insecurity, the nervousness. I'm a mess.

And yet, I'm determined to finish it, to finally get that degree. But I keep finding a preceptor who is either moody (now), or an asshole ( Sally). Later.

Tracy

It's been a long time I know. Basically felt it was a waste of time to write in a vacuum, with nary a reader to be found, unless you count my Chinese readers, but seriously, folks, who are these people? But still the need is there, just to write about things, to try and share this experience of, yes, still interning as a pharmacist. Mostly to hold onto some sanity in this god forsaken profession. We'll see how it goes, no promises.

As some of you know the Walblues (Acme pseudonym) internship was a wash. The Board of Pharmacy never counted one lousy hour of the 1000 spent there. 1000 hours of sadistic imprisonment, of total pep talking myself through those sliding glass doors, into that frozen, air conditioned hell hole.

Well, things did get better, for a while. I found a new internship in a smaller independent pharmacy, but as time went on it got, well, sort of claustrophobic in that mom and pop way.

And believe it or not in this teensy store, I still managed to work under a Sally type commandante. Younger than Sally (if you remember, Sally was the amazonian woman from Nigeria), 26, white, a tiny girl, but still a pharmacy manager bitch. So here we are almost 800 hours in, and this Sisyphus intern is still heading to yet another hateful place, under the thumb of yet another autocrat. What's with all these pharmacy managers that don't say hello in the morning. "Hi Tracy." I say. No eye contact, not even a grunt. God help me.

ambivalence is my word

la di da . . . just spent four luxurious days in Gloucester, Mass., with my long lost buddy L, her two beautiful blonde-haired daughters, and my patient travel companion, Rob. I hadn't seen L in over twenty years, we were best friends in our Tufts University days, in our twenties, and it was as though no time had passed. It just felt that comfortable. We both are having financial struggles so we were frugal, bought live lobster, cooked at home, lots of salad from her garden, sweet juicy tomatoes and bright green basil. Took long walks along the ocean with her new puppy, certainly nothing extravagant, just taking in the gorgeous scenery of the North Shore, the huge glacial rocks tossed about like pebbles, offering up a cozy seat for a quiet read. Speaking of reading, has anyone read The Kite Runner (I know it's been around for a while), or Eat, Pray, Love? Both are a nice easy read without grabbing a dictionary every other word.

And now we're home. Back to reality. Ugh, reality. But L was such an inspiration, to keep up the job search, without complaint, to be disciplined. All amidst a demanding family. So I'm calling for pharmacy jobs (oh, now I can speak of the mystery pharmacy job, it's as a medical communication specialist . . . and the Board of Pharmacy actually okayed it! Finally, throwing me a bone, after what, a year and a half of denying everything and anything).

And one last thing, after fretting back and forth for most of this year, and actually the last three, on and on about what to do with these Clara Schumann performances, whether to just let it go, chalk it up to frayed nerves and performance anxiety, I got a call from a library looking to book me. I called a woman I know who performs at schools as an electric violinist and we talked for over an hour, about my fears, my ambivalence (which by the way, I decided is my Eat, Pray,Love word --that word which best describes oneself, in a nutshell). Awful isnt' it? Who would want ambivalence to be their word, but there it is, the truth. So I think I may continue with the Clara shows. This woman reminded me that even though she does over 140 shows a year, each time she steps on the stage, she's has fear. Her recomendation? You guessed it, yoga.

So after three years of juggling pharmacy, writing, and Clara, I'm still not even close to working out any sense of balance. I'm just not willing to give up any of the trilogy. Hey, maybe my word should be obstinate. Or ADHD. How could anyone focus with three careers constantly buzzing inside one's head?

Wuthering Heights right here in New Jersey

Feeling tired, spent, rather out of sorts. Ben went to camp for a solid month, so now it's just me and Rob and our five-month-long unemployment woes. It truly is beginning to feel like Wuthering Heights around here, you know, the part from the last half of the book, with morose Heathcliff shuffling down the hallways looking haggard and scruffy as all getup. I try and put an upbeat spin to it, that it's an opportunity for us to be together midday, a buddy to go food shopping with (my most hated chore), a helpful sport to come with me as I water my community vegetable plot, but this togetherness thing can only go so far. Soon I swear, my front door will burst open and I'll just go screaming down the street. Where I'd go is the question. I know it would be to a girlfriend, I just miss talking to a friend, one on one, laughing, drinking.

Rob says I need a job. "It is what most people do all day," he says, actually sweetly, "it really is what fills most people's days." Well, pharmacy was the plan, and that certainly didn't make my days any better. As you recall, I hated every working hour there. Speaking of which, which I really shouldn't, I may have stumbled upon an actual pharmacy career that may not be so onerous. But I can't spill the beans just yet. Sorry, more on that in the coming weeks.

Anyway, being in a pissy mood is sort of going with the flow these days, no? With temperatures hitting the 90's and everyone looking like a fallen sprig, I fit right in. The problem is, when I run into anyone I know, like a neighbor, or a school mom, who simply asks, "how are you?" in some food market aisle, that's when I trip all over myself.