I'm really sad that it took losing Tango to start journaling again. God. Everytime I write that, I cry. It's funny. I'll have long periods of time where I'll feel like I'm perfectly fine, and then something small and insignificant will happen and I'll lose it and start. crying all over again. I still have his bed on the floor. I refuse to move it. I physically can't. That was his place. His security spot. I didn't even have to be back here for him to want to lay on it. Of course, the dog was more spoiled than I've ever been. I made him a bed out of soft material, then I gave him a couple of blankets to nest up, a feather pillow that he adored and that is so fat and fluffy he could just sink into, and then a normal pillow. And when the weather was cold, I'd turn on the space heater for him and set it behind his bed. He would place his little butt right in front of it before I moved his bed by it. And he use to tell me to turn it on for him. He'd come over to where I was sitting and lead me back to my room then sit in front of the heater. Once I turned it on, he'd lay down and sleep. He'd wake me up to do that too. He use to ask for pain medicine, too. He knew where we kept it and he'd lead me over to that cabinet and do his little "I'm so excited and cute that you have to give me what I want" dance. I know he was after that and not treats, because he had to bypass the pantry, where he would go if he wanted treats, and go to that cabinet. He was such a smart boy.

God I miss him so much. I'm ready for my heart to stop hurting.

Bridgeway is hiring again. If I could find out whether or not my old boss was there, I'd jump at the chance to go back. If she wasn't there that is. I don't want to start putting up with her bullshit again. But man did I love that job.

I've been sequestering myself in my room. I know it's not healthy, but I can't help it. I'm so tired all the time, and leaving the house is so HARD. It's just easier to...not go. To just lay here and not worry about getting up. I don't smile very much anymore. I don't laugh much anymore. And I hardly speak to anyone when I'm home. I haven't been like this for a long, long time. I just don't have the heart, or the energy, to bother anymore. Sometimes I miss having my dad tell me to shut up, but mostly, I just don't care. Oh, out in public I can respond and pretend everything is fine. I don't need the world getting scared of me again because of my depression. But at home, where I don't have to care...I just don't. Why bother?

A lot of people use pets as therapy for their depression and whatnot. I think unconciously, Tango and I worked that out together. He gave me a reason to move when I felt so boggeHe gwn that the idea of it made me ill. He didn't push me or come across harsh the way my parents tend to do, but he demanded my attention. He gave me something else to focus on when I really needed it. I didn't truly realize how much I relied on that dog until I lost him. He really aided in pulling me out of my slumps. He was so much more helpful that people ever are. With people, you can tell what they're up to when they talk to you. They have a false sort of forced cheerfulness to their tone, or their tone will have a light, airy quality to it. They look at you differently. I never had to worry about that with him. I could vent everything to him without worrying that smoeone would freak out and think I was going to kill myself. Most people associate depression and suicide and can't understand that not all depressed people feel the need to take that road. I really hope that one day I can recover from that stupid fuck up of a college and what they did to me. I really, really do. I don't get upset about it unless I talk/think about it. I suppose that's normal though, after what they did. You know, from sixth grade on I did not have a positive school experience. Middle school was hell, high school was slightly less hellish, but it had it's moments, and college...well...I haven't even completed an associates degree, I've had bad luck with schools.

I'm starting to realize how much he helped me with my depression, just by being there and by letting me hold him, cry on him, talk to him and by his needing me and wanting me to do things for him. It made a huge difference in my life. He gave me something that I could never give myself. And I have no idea how to make anyone understand this, since most people aren't so codependent on their pets.

After he died, I was drying his body off with a towel so we could bury him. I just sort of cradled him for a minute while he was wrapped in a towel. My mom said "Don't get weird about this". I hardly see how it was weird, but maybe, because he was "just a dog" not everyone sees it that way. How do you make people understand how crucial something like a dog can be to your life? How do you make them understand that they can provide more than therapy or medication ever can on their own? I'm not eloquent enough to ever verbally convey that. I'm a terrible speaker. My mind works faster than my tongue and it comes out all wrong. Add in the human element, and it makes for a terrible mess. I probably sound crazy to a lot of people. I can't let them into my head to feel what it feels like, or to experience the difference it can make to have something NEED you when you feel like the most needless being on the planet. It's huge to have something that needs you when the rest of the world doesn't.

But to try and say that to someone, face to face, without feeling foolish? That's a hurdle that's so hard to jump, I don't know if I ever will be able to. It's something I've just now been able to explain to myself. It was a revelation I think I've always somewhat known somewhere in the back of my mind but never fully acknowledged. It's shocking to openly realize something like that. He truly was my lifeline. I owe him far more than I'll ever be able to say.

Boo Bear,

Today was your birthday. Today, I marked your grave. I wasn't given a chance to do anything more than set the stones before the mosquito's got to me, and for that I am sorry. I'd wanted to spend a few moments at least, but apparently, it wasn't to be.

It's thundering and lightning right now. A storm to end the day. This has been a big day in my mind for quite some time. I've had this day set as some sort of mile stone in my head, for whatever reason. It felt like such an achievement to have you reach seventeen. I was so proud of us and so proud of you. I had big plans to buy you this pair of four legged pajamas in preparation for the winter. Your poor little back end got so cold due to your arthritis and your thining hair. I guess you had other plans though.

Today was still a mile stone, though a far different mile stone than I had originally anticipated. Today was the first time I've visited your grave since I laid you in it. It wasn't easy, but it had to be done. I refused to let your birthday, the huge mile stone that I envisioned it to be, pass without some sort of significance. I was the only one that remembered it, but that doesn't matter. It was always you and me, there was no need for others.

It's still so surreal to not have you here. I'm coping as best I can. But I miss you. I probably always will. It's far too quiet, too lonely around here. But I'm getting by.

I love you, Boo Bear. You mean the world to me. Happy 17th birthday. What a day, huh?

I broke down Wednesday night. My usual audition anxiety seems to have undone everything I'd done to move forward. That night, I felt hollow. It felt as though my heart had been cleaned out like a pumpkin on Halloween. And it hurt. It hurt so badly. My fingers were itching to go outside and uncover him, because I was having such a hard time believing this was my existance now. It fucking hurts. I haven't felt this sort of hurt before, and I can't stand it. It probably seems so silly; I've lost relatives before and not hurt this badly. But my relatives never really directly effected my every day life. I feel like half of me is missing without having him trailing my every step and laying at my feet. I can't stand how quiet and lonely things are right now. I can't stand it at all. It just makes his passing stand out all the more.

I keep going over this story I read in an old Chicken Soup book in hopes that it will make me feel better. A couple had to put their dog to sleep and they were so worried about how their son would take the news. Once it was done, they sat in the office and talked with the vet, wondering aloud about why pets had to have such short life spans. The little boy pipes up saying he knows the answer. He said God put everyone on Earth to learn how to love. Dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long. There's an old column by Ann Landers (I think. I could be wrong) told as a narrative. The person recalls their life with their dog, all frustrations and all the fun, because it has come time to put the poor thing out of it's misery. It ends with the dog giving the owner a look of gratitude for their care, and in their mind, the owner responds "No, thank you for taking care of me." It's funny how that works, isn't it? Everything we do for our pets seems to pale in comparison for what they do for us.

I haven't been sleeping. I'll sleep about two hours and then be done. It's not healthy, I know, but there's not much help for it. With how much this hurts, I feel like I am doing this whole grieving thing wrong. But there really is no right or wrong, is there? I've always felt that emotions like grief are far more powerful than happiness and it's ilk. The happy emotions, they do leave their mark on a person, but they are nothing compared to the scars that grief can leave. Happiness leaves bruises. When it first starts, it's vivid and colorful, but slowly that color begins to fade. Oh, you remember you felt that and what that looked like, but the mark isn't there. Grief seems to dig deep into your skin, leaving large, ugly scars. Over time, those scars become less obvious and less telling, but they are always there.

Tonight while we were watching Royal Pains on USA, there was a ship sailing in the background. I lost all focus on what was happening on the show and was drawn to the ship. The name of the ship? TANGO. I started crying. I cried, and I cried. And I'm crying now. I had a ticket to go see a few of the MST3K guys riff an old Ed Wood movie on the big screen. I've had the ticket for weeks. And I didn't go. I couldn't go. I just...didn't really care. As obsessed with them as I am, that was huge.

It's going to get better. I'm not wallowing, but I'm not bottling it up either. I've never been good at that whole containing your emotions thing. It won't hurt this bad forever, but I know I'm going to miss him always. I just hope and I pray that my parents will relent and let me get another dog. If it means I'm going to have to move out, then fine, whatever, I'll save up and move out. But I need to eventually get another dog. I know it will make this process a lot easier. I couldn't handle it right now. Just the thought makes me feel like I'm giving Tango the boot. My chest gets tight thinking about it. But in a few months, when the scar has faded a bit, I'll be ready.

This all probably seems really pathetic, doesn't it? I know there are worse things that can happen in a life. But right now, at this moment,

Thanks, everyone, for your words and support. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.

It's now been a week since he passed, and I'm doing okay. I'm still having a hard time adjusting to him not being there, but I've reached a point where I am not bawling at various times during the day. For the first week, that's about all I could do. Wouldn't you know it, everywhere I looked I saw poodles. I live 17 years rarely spotting them in media or around, and the one week I could do without it, they are everywhere. Dog food commercials would make me cry. Thinking about him would make me cry. Seeing he wasn't there would make me cry. Heh, writing this is making me cry. But, you know what? I think it's okay. That dog was my baby. He was my constant and only truly reliable friend all these years. He was part of my family. And losing part of your family, no matter how big or small that part is, is hard. So I'm okay with the fact that I'm going to cry for a while. It's part of the process of healing. And I am healing. Slowly but surely I am making progress. I've been able to talk about him, think about him and look at pictures of him without crying. It's a huge step. I picked up his water bowl and rug. I've collected his sweaters. I washed his little "Attack Poodle" shirt and put it on my teddy bear. Perhaps that's creepy to some, but to me it's a comfort.I haven't been able to pick up the little nest he has in my doorway. That was his guard post and his spot. Moving it is just too..final, I suppose.

It's still somewhat surreal to think about him not being here. My parents have been watching me closely, constantly telling me not to wallow or let myself get consumed by this. I understand why they worry, but it was somewhat irritating. They handle grief and emotion a lot differently than I do and since they don't understand my need for big emotions, they worry. They are very reserved and I am...well, I'm the opposite of reserved. For the first few days, my dad would ask me how I was and then ask me if I was still being sad. Then he'd tell me he'd been a little sad that day, too. This was while I was still randomly sobbing throughout the day, so I thought it was pretty obvious, and understandable, that I was still sad. I think I'm going to be sad for quite some time. But I'm going to be okay.

I've brought up the subject of getting another dog. I know we still have Maxwell, but Maxwell is 100% my dad's dog. He worships my dad. He follows him everywhere and he gets so damn excited when he comes home you'd think he hadn't seen him for weeks. I need my dog. I need a small little protector that I can snuggle. I am wanting to adopt an older toy poodle. I don't need a puppy right now, though I wouldn't say no to one. And I want another poodle. I can't imagine what it's like picking up your dog and having them leave hair behind. And they are just such damn good dogs. I think Tango has spoiled me.

Anyways, my dad said they'd be willing to think about the subject, but he and my mom are getting tired of taking care of things. I know they'd have to take care of it a little bit while I live here, but the big portion of the care would fall on me. And I can't NOT have a dog. I hate it too much. It's too lonely. So I'm hoping they will relent on this, especially considering it won't be a puppy.

Speaking of Maxwell, I think he's missing Tango. Yesterday, he wanted to go out at least twice an hour. He'd usually get thrown outside every time Tango went because he was a buttface who would wait until Tango came in to want to go out. But he kept going out, coming right back in and then going out again.

I painted a stone to put on his grave next week for his birthday. I put the lyric "If I leave you it doesn't mean I love you any less" on it, because Zevon is one of my favorite artists and that song has been a comfort source to me throughout this.



I've always loved that song. It's simple, it's sweet and it's poignant. And it is forever going to remind me of my precious little guy.

It was so cathartic, making that rock to lay on his grave. My mom think's it's too much like a head stone, but I don't care. It gave me a bit of closure,being able to do that. The night I made it I was having a REALLY hard time, sobbing like crazy. But I went down stairs, painted that simple lyric on a stone and felt a remarkable sense of peace. And that was the last night I cried. And since then, I've been able to smile about him, think about him, talk about him and acknowledge my loss without feeling the great, gaping wound of grief rip open again. I couldn't ask for a better gift.

Tango died yesterday. One minute, he was perfectly fine, the next, he was dead. Moments before he was gone, he was trying to get my attention so I would let him go outside. A few minutes after that, mom is telling me he's gone. We found him floating in the pond. We think he had a stroke while trying to get a drink. I know his vision and balance was somewhat crappy, but he's only ever fallen into that pond once in his life. He was so indignant and embarrassed he hadn't done it since. He had his little "Attack Poodle" shirt on.

His 17th birthday was in 8 days.

Today, it's 7 days away.

I've never felt so alone in my entire life. I kept thinking I could hear him barking at me, trying to get me to open the door, only to look out there and see his grave.

I'm just grateful it was quick.

But I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know how to not have him. Every single crappy moment I had to live through, I had him by my side as a source of comfort.

I don't know how to be sad without him trying to make it better.

I keep trying to reach for him, to listen for his snorts and grunts, and he's not there. I had a hard time sleeping last night, because I didn't hear his tags jingling or him snorting as he made himself a little nest out of the mountain of pillows and blankets I had laid down there for him.

I have nothing to take care of right now. I don't know what to do with myself. I want my baby.

Captain's Log:

Well it's been a very quiet week. Very quiet. But it's given me time to adjust and settle in, which is nice. However, I was not relocated to my permanent quarters till yesterday. It is amazing! I was finally able to unpack and put things away. Everything is organized and put where it belongs. It feels nice to be settled and to have my personal effects out.

We managed to find civilization out here. It's about 20 minutes away so that's not too bad. The town, however, is so tiny and small. Last night, we went and saw a movie in their "movie theater" if you can call it that. There are only three screens. They are very tiny screens and they made me miss digital. We saw Star Trek (squee!) as it was the last night it was showing. They had to move it out to move Up in. So they are now showing Night at the Museum 2, Terminator and Up. The tickets and concession are pretty cheap though, so there is that.

They have a siren here that they blast for so many different reasons that it has a tendency to go off multiple times a day and the locals don't even react. Yesterday it went off three times. It's like a tornado siren on crack.

We got to take a look at the theater. It broke my heart. The poor theater gets no respect. Props, costumes, trash, all thrown everywhere. Nothing is taken care of. It's just thrown down and stepped over. One of the things that broke my heart was seeing stacks and stacks of vintage Life magazines just left out and ignored. The oldest one I managed to peek at happened to be from 1943. THOSE DESERVE SO MUCH BETTER CARE!

The weather out here is beautiful. I can't wait to find the track and start walking. Once the rest of the crew gets here, we'll hopefully get access to the gym.

( So, who wants pictures?! )

Captain's Log:

I have taken to using Captain's Log before my facebook status and in my blog's to protest the fact that facebook refuses to allow me to call myself Captain Hooker. I resent this greatly and have decided that they do not take away my ability to consider myself a captain. So there. To be honest, the desire has little to do with the awesome of Star Trek and everything to do with the fact that it reminds me so much of Captain Hook in Peter Pan. But who cares about the why's, right? This is all about the action. The point remains the same. Facebook allowed me to adopt the name Basil Fawlty, taken from an obscure John Cleese character from the hilarious Fawlty Towers, yet they will not let me add the simple title of Captain. Well I thumb my nose at them!

As you can see by the title, something is going on in my life. At this very moment, I am sitting in a dorm room in Blair, Nebraska. This room is merely temporary accomidations, and that is the only reason I am willing to deal with a burned out desk light. I can survive for two days without my desk lamp. It is the Captain thing to do, is it not? I could tell you that Dr. McCoy would agree. After all, does he not say that a little suffering is good for the soul? So I will suffer in silence, rather than cause trouble.

The end of Dirty Dancing is on right now. So much nostalgia watching this. It improves my mood having that movie as my background noise.

Anyways! On to the deal at hand.

As I stated previously, I am now in Blair, Nebraska. Sitting in a dorm room. In the dark. I will be here until July 20th. Quite a long stretch of time, yes? There is good reason for this though. I have marooned myself in the small town of Blair (much dismayed to learn that there is no Walmart in the town of Blair) to be a part of this project http://www.dana.edu/about/blackelkspeaks.

Many of you will remember I was a part of this production a year ago back in my home town. Well we've taken it to the road!

(Swayze just said "Nobody puts Baby in a corner." I wish him strength for his fight with cancer.)

I will be reprising my roles as Lucy and Queen Victoria. I will also be props mistress (as far as I know at this point). I'm thrilled to be a part of this.

(It's the final dance. GUH. I use to try and copy this dance when I was wee with a Pillow Person for my partner. Always makes me wish I could dance.)

AHEM ANYWAYS BACK TO THE MATTER AT HAND (hopefully).

Left this morning at 9 am after a night of no sleeping. I was far too anxious. Arrived around 4 pm. Was informed by many road signs that shooting waterfowl from the the highway was prohibited. Had to put a halt on my vehicular version of Duck Hunt. Sadness.

(Fuck me isn't Swayze gorgeous in this movie?)

Finished two books on the way down. Started on the third in the trilogy. Love that trilogy. It's The Forbidden Game trilogy by LJ Smith. Doubtful you have read it, but if you have, you win!

Anyways, my pilot (Kenny) and I arrived a week before the rest of the hoarde, so we shall see how this week adds up. I plan to try and update daily on progress and developments, as any good captain would. Will have pictures to go along with, hopefully. But for now, we will cut this transmission short as I am far too distracted by Swayze and have many things yet to do. I was in the middle of making a pitcher of water. Should finish that. Also would love a shower. And need to sort through things I potentially will need these next few days. Obviously, tv and internet is established. Futher developments reported as time progresses.

This is Captain Hooker, signing out.

Dear Tango,

It's 4:50 in the morning. You woke me up around 3 to be let outside. I haven't been able to fall back to sleep yet, so I thought I'd take this moment to vent about what's been plaguing me these last few weeks.

( Warning, what you are about to read will be LONG and so sappy it could make syrup. You've been warned! )

Being jobless sucks. But the chances of me getting a job that will let me work for three weeks then be gone for about 8 is pretty slim to none. Getting a job is hard enough right now, having to ask off for an extended leave of absence after 3 weeks of employment isn't going to be something many employers are going to go nuts for. So, I just have to sit on my butt and do nothing until I leave for Nebraska. On top of it, I have so many bills to pay. I have my original student loan from when I attempted college the first time, my credit card, health insurance, Lindenwood and my Lindenwood student loans. I'm twitchy about money even when I'm employed, I'm doubly so right now. I just...try not to think about it. If I do, I get sick to my stomach and have to sit on my hands to keep from tearing at my hair.

I've been holed up in my room for the week, avoiding the world. I've needed time to myself, and I think I need a bit more. This hit me hard. For two weeks I was treated as though everything was honky dory and normal, and then BAM, I had the rug pulled out from under me with no warning. I felt secure in my position because I've been an dilligent and hard working employee who never kicked up a fuss or caused trouble. The parents loved me, the kids loved me. This was the first time my boss ever hinted at my doing something wrong. And even then, it wasn't really wrong, because there is no real protocal for calling in sick in the handbook. And besides, I always felt it was better that someone got my message about me not being there the moment the day began, rather than waiting until 3 or 4 hours later, that way things could be set up to cover and what not. And hell, after doing the same thing for 2 years, you don't expect what you're doing to become a punishable behavior. I mean seriously.

I went up there and had a talk with her face to face. As it turns out, she's floundering and the building is going under. The building needs SERIOUS work to stay open, the parking lot has to be redone and parents are losing their jobs left and right. She's kept this a secret from the entire building, which I think is unfair. I think we deserve to know what's going on as our paychecks are on the line. She told me that is the main reason I was laid off, because there just isn't the money anymore, and I wasn't going to be the only one let go. I told her that had she explained things to me like that from the beginning, perhaps I would have been a little more civil with her over the phone when she first told me. I also told her that I had been a good, hard working employee who had given up a lot for that job and was always there to cover when she needed someone, and because of that, I deserved more respect than what she'd given me. I deserved better than being strung along for two weeks, only to have to chase her down over the phone to get any answers.

She agreed with me on that. And she apologized. In the moment, that made me feel better. I kept my temper in check through the entire meeting, but I did cry. I can't help it, I cry very easily when I'm upset. No major sobbing or anything, but tears were rolling down my cheeks.

Then I had to go into the room and get my stuff and see my kids. I lost it when one of them came over to me and gave me a super tight hug and laid their head on my shoulder. I just lost it. It really hit me that that was the last time I would ever see my kids, and I would never get a chance to see their parents to say goodbye. This is why I've been avoiding the world and just keeping to myself. I miss my kids and and my families so much it hurts. I've worked with most of these people and their children for nearly 2 years. I've been with them every step of the way as their tiny 6 week old infants grew and became babies, then toddlers. I've supported them when they've been frustrated, I've cheered with them as their children reached more milestones. You develop a close relationship with the parents when you've got open and supported parents who want to communicate with you and work with you to raise their baby. Most of them I'd see every day, and every day we'd talk about the child and talk about our own lives in general. They've always been interested in my schooling and my theater activites and they'd ask questions and support me in my outside activities, and I'd do the same for them.

I won't get to see the professors second birthday, which is coming up in a few weeks. I won't get to find out if his mom is having a boy or a girl when she has the baby in June. I've been with her through the whole pregnancy and I've counseled her on what to do to help the professor adjust, consoled her when she was frustrated because of his behavoir and lent an ear when she needed to talk.

I won't get to fix the gerber babys hair anymore. She has a full head of gorgeous curls that are starting to get a bit out of control. I was the only one she'd allow to put it in pigtails. Her mom wanted a picture, because as adorable as the gerber baby is, she's a brat about having her picture taken and so far they haven't been able to get one of her and her pigtails. I never got a chance.

I won't get to see lump start moving. I'll miss her first birthday, which is coming up in a few days.

And then there's my girls from last year. I never even got a chance to say goodbye to them. My girls and I, and their parents, have always been really close. I'm going to miss their third birthdays and seeing them move up.

I'm going to miss so much, and that's what hurts the most. I love those kids as if they were my own. Probably a stupid move on my part, but when you care for a child from the age of 6 weeks till the age of 2, day in and day out for 5 days a week, how can you not form an attachment? You have to if you're doing your job right when you're with infants and toddlers, because that's a lot of what their development revolves around.

I miss my kids guys. It's gotten to the point where I've actually picked up the phone and started calling work, ready to beg to be allowed to see my babies, just for a moment, to get a real goodbye in. This isn't the first childcare job I've had, and leaving the kids is always hard, but it's never been this hard. A lot of that has to do with the fact that I didn't leave on my own terms and that I had no time to come to terms with the fact that I was leaving and that I never got a chance to say goodbye to the kids or the parents. It hurts, and I feel like I've let them down. And they'll never know that either, which sucks.

I really miss my babies. I don't know what to do with myself anymore.

So. I've been at this job for three years. I was one of the very first people she hired. I was going to be going full time this fall. Now, because I've had bronchitis, I've been fired.Nice yes?

Lets' go through this, so I can vent and get my anger out.

I get bronchitis every year, and I always sound like I'm dying. This year is no exception, but this time I have an abominable fever to go along with it, and I can't move without coughing. This makes chasing after infants and toddlers quite impossible.

So I call in sunday night. I sleep all day monday, wake up around 2:30 am, call in and leave a message. I go to the doctor on Tuesday, get some strong antibiotics and codine laced cough syrup that I take 4 times a day. This cough syrup knocks me out and keeps me sleeping. I roll over around 7 pm and call in and leave a message.

I do this thursday as well. Friday night, I have a voice mail on my phone from my boss that apparently came in Wednesday. I listen to it, and for some reason she tells me I'm not following protocal. Okay my bad, she's never complained about it before though. But if that's the case, I'll call in earlier, no biggie. She, however, is out of town until wednesday, and so I'm not scheduled but need to call her wednesday. Wednesday comes and I call. And call, and call. Goes to voicemail every time. Freaking uot, I run up there, on codine, still feverish, and still hacking my lungs up. I'm unable to speak more than three words without hacking, but I manage to explain that I'm sorry I didn't call in like she wanted me to, but that I've been on really heavy drugs that make me sleepy, and had I know that she wanted to talk to me, I would have called in and done so. My bad, like I said.

She says don't worry about it, and to save myself another trip up there, just have my doctor fax her a note BY FRIDAY. Cool, I can do that, no prob. My doctors office closes early on thursdays and his nurses aren't there, so I call friday morning as soon as they open, and they fax it over friday afternoon. I think all is well, right?

Apparently not. I call monday morning and I ask about the schedule, and she says that she didn't get the note until friday afternoon, and the schedule was made thursday. Uh...okay? So once again, I'm not working. She says I still sound sick anyways, so just call her later in the week. Okay, fine.

I call today, 11 am. No answer, voicemail. I leave a message and wait till 1. Call again, am told she's busy, she'll call me later. 3pm rolls around, no answer. Okay. Call again, once again, I get voicemail. I leave a message, saying I'll call in a half hour. Call at 3:30, no answer. Call at 3:40, finally get an answer. Am told that everything works better without me. That now another worker wants to come back full time, another needs to be replaced by may 15, and that since I'm leaving for another job in three weeks, despite her OKAYING it when I asked her about it IN JANUARY, I now have nothing to offer her.

None of this makes any sense to me, and I don't think I've done anything to warrant being fired. At all.