Happy Saturday, everyone.
My work week is officially over, and I have two glorious days off before the long stretch of shifts starts on Monday. The new hire came in yesterday to start her paperwork and just watch how things are done for a couple of hours. I’m hoping she works out; I caught a glimpse of her application and saw that her availability listed “every other night” and I really hope that means I’ll eventually go back to strictly day shifts from now on.
I dropped him off at work this morning, and the car gets dropped off at the shop in about an hour. He knows I’m freaking out about the cost, mostly because I googled repair costs and scared myself silly. Working in healthcare, the people who look up symptoms on WebMD or come in saying “Dr. Oz said…” are the bane of our existence, because they always assume the worst. In my case, I search for regular things to mentally prepare myself for something, and consequently convince myself that the worst possible outcome is also the most likely.
“Just drop it off and go do a workout,” he told me. “They’ll call you with the estimate. Do a hard workout in the meantime, you’ll feel better.”
Let every squat and deadlift and kettlebell swing be a silent (or quietly grunting) prayer to the deities of busted Subarus, asking to keep the estimate low.
