The melatonin worked wonders. I slept like a babe and awoke refreshed and ready for adventure.
I had found an ad on craigslist looking for seasonal banquet servers. I thought I'd swing by before treatment and fill out an application. They needed help for events on both Friday and Saturday; could I start right away? My sister and I had planned to meet at our halfway spot for dinner, but it sounded like she had a crammed weekend anyway, so I figured she wouldn't mind me cancelling our dinner for the sake of my more long-term sanity in finding something to do with my time on a regular basis.
I had a few hours til treatment, but had to round up a white button-down shirt and black tie, pants, socks and shoes. I hit a few thrift stores and Kmart, and had my supplies just in time to grab lunch and head to my brain tapping.
My happy news at treatment was that, since the device had been down Thursday and I never received that treatment, I didn't have to undergo a depression screening today. Apparently, those are only given after every five treatments, not just always on Friday. So now I'll have my screening on Monday, which suits me better. I hated ending my week on a sour note and have a natural acceptance for Mondays being a little rough.
After treatment (nothing interesting to report there), I headed to my first gig. It was a swanky corporate Christmas party at a country club. I hadn't done work that was that physically demanding in a long time. When I was helping one of the (much younger) staff put away tables at the end of the night, she stopped and said, "I think there's something wrong with this table. I keep hearing a clicking sound." The clicking sound was my old arthritic knee. Ugh.
Though I was exhausted at the end of the night, I was also happy. It felt good to use my body for physical labor as it was intended. It started my gears grinding about ways to incorporate more activity into my current job and reminded me of my dream of working as an FBI profiler.
Saturday night was a completely different experience than the first, but still felt good. The first night had an open bar with top shelf drinks; the second night featured Gatorade with tequila mixed in. Friday night had delicious handmade chocolates; Saturday night had a wedding cake that was on the verge of toppling over at any moment. The staff at the Christmas party was professional and polished; the smell of weed was heavy in the air of the break area at the wedding. Regardless, they were both enjoyable, exhausting, and made me some decent extra cash.
I spent most of Sunday recovering, either sleeping or reading, but definitely not moving a whole lot. Still, I felt good. Physically, I was tired but felt useful. Emotionally and mentally, I felt content. I've got to assume the treatment has a lot to do with that, because without it, I think I would have been fine with just sleeping my time away here. The restlessness that has stirred within me feels like the fire of Stephanie being rekindled.
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