I survived and it's finally over. Even though I haven't been able to walk without limping like an old woman, and even though my feet and ankles are swollen to the point that I can't put regular shoes on, I'm happy. Happy that it is OVER!
Last week I participated in my company's annual international convention. This means I was working over at the Salt Palace convention center from Tuesday to Saturday. This means I was working 14 hour days (sometimes longer). This means, I was on my feet for 14 hour days walking, talking, stocking shelves, and just flat out participating in helping anyone with a question.
I'll say this: working with the public is exhausting. It doesn't matter how many large, obvious signs you print, they're still going to look right at the signs and then ask "What is this? How much is it? How many are in this package?" I'm thinking to myself "Really? Isn't the sign obvious?"
But then there are the people who understand how exhausting and grueling being on your feet for 14 hours, working with the public can be. And they express their gratitude for everything you're doing, and thank you for your help.
I was so tired and my body ached so bad that on Friday night I took a Loratab that I had in the medicine collection stashed under my bathroom sink. I had no idea how old it was, and I didn't care. You would have thought finding it was as exciting as finding a check for 10 million dollars made out to me. I was so happy. So happy and so eager to pop the drug and put on my pj's and curl up on the couch amid 10 fluffy pillows and a huge, soft, fuzzy blanket while my husband started a movie on the big screen. I didn't check email, facebook, or update my blog (obviously) as all I wanted to do was NOTHING. I was able to drift off to sleep in peace thanks to the drugs, even though I knew the alarm was going to go off at 5:00 A.M. (that's right A.M.).
I took the second and only remaining Loratab on Saturday night when the mess was all over with. I slept till 10:30 the next morning. I hung out on the couch in my pj's with the same fuzzy blanket and pillows and buried myself in the crevice of comfort because I knew having one day off was not nearly enough considering what I had just put my body through, and so I was going to enjoy every last, fleeting moment of what I had left of the weekend dammit. And so I did.
I took Tylenol pm's at 6:30 to assure that I'd be falling asleep at 10:30 (I have anxiety about going back to work on Monday's and therefore have a hard time falling asleep on Sunday nights). Thank goodness I was able to get to sleep about 10:45. But even so, I have felt like a zombie today. I can't think. My body hates me, my eyes are watery, my feet and entire body still hurts, my left leg is still going numb, and the list goes on and on.
So yes, I did survive, but it was ugly. At one point, I called my husband and told him that I was so tired and achy that I was seconds away from tears at the thought of having to go stand out there and help people for another 6 hours.
And then he reminded me of how he endured boot camp. So I shut my mouth and went back out there.