At work, I am charge for two separate units, a total of 51 beds, all telemetry and med/surg. During the summer months, when the census drops, some units throughout the hospital are closed, and it was our turn to close one of our units. A lot of staff getting canceled. The odd thing about nursing is that, instead of people resenting getting called off, there is always a lot of competition to get canceled. I'll get about a dozen calls throughout the shift, all nurses and other staff wanting to be called off, even when they know full and well I can't cancel anybody until 0430 AM after all of the sick calls come through. I finally had to tell the unit secretary that, for all calls asking for me, she tell them that I'm not canceling anyone until 0430 and only if it's something else, to page me for the call. I find that the general rule for nurses to use is that, the tendency to be canceled is inversely related to the desire to be canceled. The more they wish for it, the less likely it will happen.

The air conditioning was sort of on the fritz. It worked, but didn't keep things as cool as usual, and I think it made the patients more irritable (bitchy would be the politically incorrect but more common term). We're in a bit of a heat wave (even worse than our usual) and it's mid 90-s even at night. We had five patients lose it mentally that night. So we went around and removed extra blankets from the patients that were "on the edge." No more flip-outs that night; no idea if the blanket thing had anything to do with it.

I forgot my swim suit when I went to LA Fitness this morning. I was going to just bag it and go back home, but I had worn stuff that could count as work-out wear. So I decided to look around the place and find something to do. I ended up finding an entire wing that includes an aerobics room, four racquetball courts, and a little bar that sells expensive water and juices. Then I walked up the stairs where all of the machines are. There must have been more than 50 machines -- treadmills, bicycles, elipse, stair-masters.

So I figure, with my bad knees, I'd go for one of the treadmills. I get on it, and, as God is my witness, the control panel on that thing must have been three feet wide and two feet tall. Last time I used a treadmill, it had maybe a 12-inch by 8-inch control panel. This thing could apparently launch our offensive nuclear weapons. I couldn't, for the life of me, get it to turn on.

Near me were a few girls walking on their treadmills. They looked 15 but were actually in their 20's. Skin-tight leotards. Neoprene fanny packs holding mp3 players. Headbands. Scrunchies. The whole bit. Skinny anorexic bitches that probably throw up food after meals. I wasn't going to ask them how to get the thing running.

I decided to move over to the bike. It snapped on once I started pedalling. I spent 30 minutes, between levels 1 and 2 (out of 10), I was afraid of working any harder and messing up my knees. It was actually a nice change in routine.

OK time for breakfast -- a bowl of Special K cereal. No plans to throw it up, though.