As of today, I am now ACLS qualified. ACLS stands for "Advanced Cardiac Life Support" and means, in English, that if you were unlucky enough to suffer cardiac arrest in my presence, I would (theoretically) be able to bring you back from the brink. Truth is, it's another fancy-schmancy card in my wallet, the fulfillment of a requirement to work on my floor, and license to run around like a headless chicken, but look official while doing it.
Arlene lent me a videotape of Jon Stewart's commentary on the March for Women's Lives. I tried to give it back to her today, unwatched, because I didn't get a chance to see it last night and figured she'd be gone by the time I get back to work on Wednesday. She told me to keep it. "I'll be here in three months anyway," she said, gesturing to her latest surgical site, "getting this stuff...fixed. Watch it. It's not to be missed." She then slid back into Dilaudid-fueled dreamland. I shut the door quietly and went on home.
In non-work news, I (theoretically) have two dates this weekend with Two Different Men. Given that this has never happened before in my lifetime, I feel it necessary to warn everybody that the Apocalypse is coming. I'm also doubting my ability to date more than one person at once.
It's not that I'm crazy about monogamy. After better than a decade of that, I'm running from the word like a rabbit. It's not that I have moral objections to dating around; I figure that if you can manage seeing more than one person in an adult fashion (ie, not playing them off one another in hopes of more stuff or greater protestations of affection) you're free to do so. It's the logistical angle that's worrying me.
My schedule is nuts. So are the schedules of both (presumptive) date-ees. Trying to see them both this weekend while still retaining time for myself started to resemble one of those GRE word problems that involves four people who can't ride the same train at the same time. "If Woman W must see Man A between the hours of ten and six on Sunday, and Man B has only the hours of nine to four on Sunday free, how will Woman W work in a sailing date and brunch? Man A must not be trodden upon by Man B, and Woman W must wear the same clothes for each outing. Show your work."
At least there's no chance of getting them confused. Man A is small, funny, intelligent, and brews his own beer. Man B is immensely tall, funny, introspective, intelligent, and eats mostly raw fruits, vegetables, and soy.
Still...what happens if Man A or Man B gets his schnozz disjointed because he's not Man Only? What if, God forbid, *I* should get my crinolines in a whip because one or both men also wants to date around? Is there some evil lurking vein of jealousy in my nature that didn't show up the entire time I was married? What if I turn into a shorter, less-buxom version of the Woman From Hell? We all know one of her: she's the one who plays our male friends against one another, considers it a point of victory to get new clothes from each of them, and professes herself respectful of all of them, even as they cry on our shoulders about her.
*sheesh* Good thing this didn't happen while I was still in my twenties, or I'd be making rotten stinky mean decisions about everything rather than waiting for things to play out.
It's going to be interesting to see what develops. Perhaps it's a good thing that I'm now ACLS certified. It might come in handy in the future, knowing how to restart your own heart.