Where does the time go?

I can't believe it's late November. What the hell happened? Oh yeah, I came back from a cross Canada tour - exhausted - and then got thrown into non-stop work for every minute since then. Oh, and then I developed a horrible sinus infection about three weeks ago that I am still suffering for. Must go and get some antibiotics. I don't trust doctors. Not the ones I get, anyway. The ones that we train at the hospital are often great, but who knows where they end up?

No, no me, I try to get a family doc and I wind up with "Dr. Burnaby" just shuttled out from the coast, who is - yay! - taking new patients but is - boo! - not very interested in them. I book an appointment and he's 35 minutes late, then tries to shuttle me out as fast as humanly possible without taking an actual history or making any sort of real connection with me at all. He just keeps telling me, "Yeah yeah, just book another appointment and we'll talk about that. You want a prescription?" He hasn't examined me or really asked me any questions but he's ready to push a prescription on me. Great. That's ethical. He hasn't even noticed that I'm SICK. Or given me time to TELL him that I am. Sigh.

As if that isn't enough, here is a sample of a typical four days in the life of Me: It's a Thursday and I get up early, even though I'm sick and should sleep in, so that I can buy a desk because People are coming to pick up my old desk that day and I have to write a murder mystery* (henceforth these are simply referred to as "murders") that night, that we are doing the next day. I buy one, I come home and start to put it together, I get metal splinters and then I am off to the hospital where I will work for three hours letting student doctors put their hands up me for money.* (*note: I am paid to let the doctors do this, the money isn't what they're looking for up there) After that I head home, finish putting the desk together in time for the People to take my old desk away. About 8 people call me while I am trying to deal with the People in my house. When they leave I go off to join some folks for a meeting about a gig that weekend. I come home from that and start writing a murder. I go to bed late and get up earlly to finish it, send it off, and then it's a quick shower and back to the hospital for some more invasive probing by student doctors who have never done this before. Ouch. *** Remember this: this will be the last opportunity I have to shower over the next two days *** Then I drive directly to the restaurant where we perform the murder mystery. I get home late and get up early, don't even have time to shower, I have to drive down to Hal and Kathi's place* (henceforth referred to as Mom and Dad - not to be confused with my parents, who are "Mum" and "my dad..." I roll into the van with a muffin. We are off to do a murder in Killam (ha ha - the irony) and I have no idea how far this place is. We drive for two hours and stop for a quick pee break. I ask Hal if we are going to stop for lunch. I ask like this, "Hal? Hal? Are we stopping for lunch somewhere? How far is this place? Are we almost there? Are we stopping for lunch? Or is this it? Hal?" I get stoney silence in response. I figure we must be almost there, and since nothing at the gas station is really appealing to my sensitive sick-bed stomach, I settle for a few Doritos. We drive for another TWO HOURS. We get to the hotel and I have 15 minutes to put on my makeup and get ready cause then there's a frantic phone call from Hal in the lobby... "Where are you?!!! We're in the lobby WAITING..." So I rush out and we go to the venue - a community centre - where a local fellow the shape and consistency of a large potato is dumbfounded when I take a moment to stretch and - gasp! - touch my toes! In public! "No one EVER does that out these parts! That must be some big-city thing. Didja see that? She just folded herself in half..." Wow. Apparently that was some excitement. For me it was the only thing that would keep me upright after four hours cramped into the back of the New Van. And not in the nice comfy middle seats either. No, no. This was in the back back of the van on the vertical bench seat with no headrest. For FOUR HOURS. And with me COUGHING and tired the whole way. Anyway, we perform the murder to much applause and head back to the hotel. Stay up for a much needed drink*** and then to bed, only to get up early the next morning and drive the four hours back to Calgary where I LITERALLY roll out of the Shadow Van and into Tony's van, where I lie across the backseat in a paralytic stupor as we head out to Banff for another gig. That's another hour and a half in another van there - and another hour and a half back later that night. That's 11 hours of Van Time in 2 days.

This is what my life has become. As soon as my schedule lightens up a bit, I'm struck with an intense sinus infection that leaves me paralyzed with pain for four days. Not that I didn't have to work during that time. I did. Oh God. I did. At the museum, at another murder, and let's not forget the hospital and the the Well Woman session that I had where I had to do TWO gyne sessions because the other trainer I was working with was Riding the Red Rail - and between the speculum and bi-manual I had a horrific coughing fit where I couldn't breathe for three minutes - tears streaming down my face - and the three other people in the room went white simultaneously and ran out of the room, ostensibly fetching me a "glass of water." There I was, gowned and splayed on the table, choking on my own lungs thinking, "this better not be how I die..." Eventually the others did come back. With a glass of water. After I was done coughing. I half think they were listening at the door, and when I fell silent they figured either I was better, or dead, and either way it was safe to come in. However I have survived, thus far. Much thanks to my temporary roommate, Trevor, who is down in Calgary doing a show and staying at my place. Every once in a while when I pass out on the floor and I stop snoring he checks to see if I am still breathing. And when I started have horrible dizzy spells he did humour me by driving around with me looking for a 24 hour drug store. Which we never found.

Ah well, tomorrow, TOMORROW I have promised to go to the walk in clinic and get some antibiotics. I'm hoping the Nice South African Doctor will be there... He removed a mole of mine last year. And showed me the scar where he'd just had one removed himself... I'm not sure if that's ethical... but heck who cares. There we go. Something to look forward to.

N

***As a side note - even though I am sick, sometimes at these gigs I still really really need a drink. I'm comforted in that I'm not the only one. But somehow I think that might be a bad sign. Also bad signs - when you're about to do a kids' show and keep thinking, "it's okay, I'm actually floating above my body - just for an hour and then it will all be over... that's right...it's not really me - it's like it's happening to someone else..." Time to cut back, perhaps... on the kids' shows, that is. Not the booze.

N.