Sugar Bomb

I have to work until 5:00 tomorrow. I can't even tell you the last time I worked until 5:00 on a Friday. I know, woe is me. I /should/ have been out at 2:30, but I was nice and scheduled a 2:30 and a 4:00 because the people need to be seen. But still, it will be a long day. Poo.

I wish I could find a way to get out of work for two weeks to go down to the Gulf Coast with the Red Cross and do Katrina relief. While I would have no problem doing dirty cleanup or hard labor, I think my crisis intervention skills would prove very useful. I'm going to chat with my supervisor about it in supervision tomorrow, but I don't really see how it would work without screwing over a bunch of my coworkers for assessments and all that. Too bad I have too much work guilt.

There have been TWO birthday cakes and these killer Devil treats at work since yesterday, and today I put aside my healthy lunch to partake in more Sugar Bombing. I wish I had some willpower, I really do. I sure didn't need a piece of cake and two of those chocolate/peanut butter/rice krispie/frosting/brownie concoctions.

Buzz.

Insignificance

It feels so insignificant and selfish to continue writing about my day to day affairs when there is catastrophe out there. Part of me knows that there is always catastrophe out there somewhere and that the entire idea of life going on is exactly what keeps it moving. Indeed, without a little selfishness, our existence would just be a continual dwelling on past bad events. True.

But at the same time, I can't help but feel like a major heel writing about things like work and eating junk food, when there are people and animals floating around dead in a flooded and toxic city I have never had the privilege to visit and know only through the eyes of Hot Mormon Julie on the Real World. I know that I can't write All Disaster All the Time, and I know I can't fall into my lifelong trap where a bad situation somewhere leaves me guilty feelings where I don't deserve any enjoyment. But still.

My heart just goes out to all of those creatures, four-legged and two, living and dead, out in the Gulf Coast area. I still keenly remember buying toiletries and bringing them to Ground Zero. I wish it were equally as easy for me to help out, even in a little way, this time. (Aside from donating to the Red Cross, we've already done that.)