Casus belli

Today was the final straw.  This means war.  Not since the heady days of the great War On Innumeracy have I been this incensed.  I am outraged.  I am appalled.  The only way this can be stopped is by direct confrontation.  I am put a name to my pain, and the name is me.  I am declaring war on myself.

I have finally noticed a pattern to the ongoing tribulations that I suffer.  In almost every instance, when I really sit down and trace back through the pattern of cause and effect (or is that effect and cause???), I find that the person that I hold most responsible for these incidents is not the Third Man, but the First Person: I.

For example, today my GP supervisor sin-binned me, getting me to do nothing but take blood pressures all day, stunning me into a stupefied state of slobbering sleepiness.  But why did he do it?  Because first thing this morning I completely screwed up presenting a patient to him, making such a hash of it that he clearly thought I was an idiot.  I'd asked the patient all the right questions, I'd even done a decent physical on him, and I know perfectly well how to present a patient.  But I had Monday-brain, which is closely related to monkey-brain, which is itself closely related to donkey-brain, and hence I was unable to think straight and stuffed it up reeeeeal good.  Black eyes: 1.  Feathers in my cap: nil.

Another example: the duty nurse came to get me because she'd been having some trouble getting a blood sample out of someone and in a bout of supreme optimism, thought it would be better to try me next rather than the doctor.  Nevertheless, I sized up the situation, identified a likely vein, then ... ah, but then!  Then, I chickened out.  I decided that the vein looked a bit small.  A bit of a funny angle.  I felt sorry for the patient.  Her skin was a bit fragile and she was a bit lumpy so it could get ugly.  So I chickened out.  I went to get the doctor.  He dug around brutally with the needle, as doctors do, and ended up getting blood from "my" vein.  Black eyes: 2.  Feathers in my cap: nil.

And that's not to mention the pile of unopened mail strewn across my desk.  I've lost my old passion for opening the mail ever since people stopped giving me money and started asking for it instead.  Problem is, if you don't give it to them when they ask the first time, they want more the next time they ask.  Especially the cops.  Does that make me open my mail?  No, it does not, because I am an idiot.  Black eyes: 3.  Feathers in my cap: nil. 

In addition, this morning I did a load of washing, hung it out to catch some rays, then took off to the clinic.  Came home, went to get the washing - gazooks!  Someone has stolen all off our clothes off the line!  Or perhaps ... yes, perhaps I was an idiot.  Yes indeed, a quick check in the washing machine reveals that the clothes are still mashed up soaking wet inside.  I forgot to hang them out even though I planned doing it so carefully that I actually tricked myself into thinking that I had done so.  Black eyes: 4.  Feathers: nil.

And on it goes.

Let me tell you, I'm sick and tired of being treated like this.  I won't take it any more.  I may be able to get away with treating other people like dirt, but I certainly won't put up with it myself.  From now on, I'm getting no second chances.  Every time I try to do this to myself, BLAM!  Alpha strike!  Shock and awe, baby.  I won't know what's hit me.  I think initially I'll get pretty angry at myself for finally standing up to me, but in time I hope that I'll recognize that I have rights too, and that I can't get away with treating myself like this.  It's no good for either of me.