Two Down, Seven To Go

Working nine days in a row is never fun, no matter how much you love your job. Working twelve-hour days is also less than delightful.

It wouldn't be quite so bad, honestly, if I at least had something to do. Doing nothing can be entertaining enough under the proper circumstances - at home, for example, with my sweetie and my cross-stitch project and the Classic Movies channel's Musicals Marathon. It would be a challenge for my frenetic self to spend twelve hours in that state, admittedly, but it would be survivable. Spending twelve hours at work crammed into an office the size of my desk, staring at the walls and the schedule and my lack of appointments, pretending to be busy, is beyond arduous. There are only so many journal articles I can read in one sitting, leaving my mind free to fret over the latest crisis, and wonder whether I've called the florist enough times and what if the world explodes before they serve the cake.

Seven days to go, and then I have two weeks off. Seven days until my first vacation since finishing vet school. I can survive anything.