I have eight minutes to write. Not really enough time. I’m working till ten pm.

I will probably finish this at home yeah, I don’t have time to articulate what I’m thinking and feeling.

It’s 10:14 pm. I just got to my car and am in agony. I can’t wait to have that D&C!

10:51 pm. Still in my car. Oh boy, “Girls, Girls, Girls.” Some chick broke Vince Neil’s heart. Good. He probably deserved it. Time to go inside. Toodles, Motley Crue.

Usually I take a shower before I eat but, I think I’m going to have a snack. I have to go to Quest Diagnostics tomorrow for a blood test. It’s one of the fasting kind and my appointment isn’t until 1:15 pm. I called Dr. Lauridsen’s office and found out I have to fast for eight hours only. That’s a relief cause I would be flat out on the pavement if I had to stop eating at midnight and then wait until 1:15.

I seriously cannot wait to achieve maintenance status on the issues I have going on. During my drive home from work I decided that as soon as I can, after my D&C, I’m heading back into the gym. I’ve been paying ten bucks a month to Planet Fitness since last June!! I haven’t used it yet. Money flushed down the toilet. This damn Coronavirus has been one royal pain in the ass.

I’m lucky, though, millions of people have died. So, I shouldn’t complain. The loss of loved ones is heartbreaking. I lost both of my parents before I was 32. I have no siblings. I have no family. I know the deep voids those who have lost loved ones are experiencing.

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

I was closing cashier tonight. That really does not entail anything difficult. I just had to do extra cleaning. We have COVID Cleaning nights on Mondays and Fridays. Pretty much that means that everything that gets touched gets extra sterilized. It’s not difficult. Time management is the key.

There’s no way it compares to restaurant server sidework. Closing down the Publix deli-that is comparable hard work. It might even be a bigger pain than server sidework.

It’s 12:43 am-Tuesday 4/27. Ok, so I lied. I took a shower before snacking. My polyp pain needed hot water on it. It helps so much.

So, I am going into the kitchen for some grub.

1:12 am. I just finished eating. I had the remainder of my lunch break sandwich and some leftovers that were in the fridge.

I’m watching, “Alfred Hitchcock Presnts,” on MeTV. I love Hitchcock movies. “Psycho,” was released the year I was born. It’s one of the delightful nicknames my father gave me when I was a kid. But, for the first two years of my life, I swear, I thought my name was Alemap. Later, when I was six, or so, I think I was in second grade, I got chicken pox. Then he called me, Polka Dotted Pammy. Yeah, my friends died laughing when a group of them arrived to visit after I became non-contagious. Gee, Dad, thanks. It took forever for that moniker to get old. Psycho was another nickname he gave both me and my mother. Excuse me, we got our last name from you and your crazy math genius relatives.

It really is a miracle my psyche at all resembles normalcy. My mom’s family tree is full of bi-polar artists and, I swear, Gypsies. That would make me part Indian. That would explain my fascination with that country, their religions and their food. Plus, I love elephants and cows.

Sorry, I drove this truck down the wrong road. I will blame Hitchcock, even if he’s long dead.

I was going to write a little about work and how things have been going. The manager who interviewed and hired me, I will call her, Wanda, doesn’t really like many of her subordinates. I’m definitely not a favorite of hers. I really don’t care. From comparing notes with several of my co-workers, I’ve learned they had similar experiences. She was sweet as pie during the interviews and after starting work, she turned into the bitchy, micromanaging Ice Queen. Another of my co-workers who, I believe, now works in grocery, helped open the store in Fall of 2018. Then, he was a cashier and Wanda was a head cashier. This male co-worker said to me, one day when we were chatting after our shifts in the breakroom, “She was an awful head cashier.” Hmm, interesting. She’s now, one of the Blue Polo Crew. All the Sprouts managers wear navy blue polo shirts.

She’s a hypocrite. I had a bumpy start at Sprouts. After my interview, which happened the day I picked Cammie’s ashes up from the crematorium, I experienced about three or four personal traumas within two weeks. Then the pain I thought was my colon began with a vengeance. I pretty much was in a state of shock from the end of December to mid-March. I began to gain some footing once I started getting some medical attention and more of an idea of what was happening to my body.

Early on, a few times I arrived at work and clocked in before putting my stuff in my locker. I was called out on it for, “stealing time from the company.” A time span of less than two minutes, including the couple of times I hit the restroom after clocking in. But, technically, Wanda was right. I didn’t get pissed about it.

Since then and, everyday I work with her, I’ve noticed that she does her shopping ON THE FUCKING CLOCK. Yesterday, her husband was in the store buying at least ten bottles of wine. Wanda helped the cashier pack up the bottles. At Sprouts customers get a free cloth wine bag and a discount when they buy four bottles of vino. She and her hubby scored at least two of those bags and, she had to go around a few registers to find them. This event happened WHILE SHE WAS NOT ON BREAK.

Later, I mentioned it to the cashier who rang the orders. She said, “Yeah, she does that shit all the time. So does Karen (not her real name, store assistant manager). They both do their shopping on the clock. The rules don’t apply to them.”

Thus, Sprouts has kind of been a bit of a disappointment. Both my roommate, Rose, and I think Wanda might be a little jealous because I immediately began getting a lot of customer compliments. I think it kind of pissed her off. She’s never acknowledged any of those compliments to me. I only heard about them from co-workers or the customers themselves.

Still, I’m not regretting leaving Walmart. I’m grateful to have a job and I do like 98 percent of the other employees. Even the store manager, Pat (yep, that is his real name), seems to like me. Turns out he has the same birthday as my mom: March 20th and, he’s a cyclist. So, we talk about bikes (not motorcycles) a lot. I think he was born the same year I was.

Hey, he could be Psycho, too.