Canada, Oh Canada

{Apparently, mine is pointing north.}

I have had a week. You know, one of those weeks that you sit down at the end of each day and just go, “ughhhhhhh.” Nothing catastrophic, per say, but just enough little things that add up and start to wear on you. (Basically, this post falls under the “poor me” category. Get ready for some self-indulgent venting. And yes, I realize that I have a wonderful life and these are not true problems. But again, see the previous self-indulgence disclaimer.)

It started on Monday. I was working in the office (not traveling this week, which is fine, but consequently less hours, which of course equals less paycheck, a headache in and of itself) and talking to a few other trainers who had been with the company for a while. We were talking about the Schedule (the oh-so-important Excel-spreadsheet-trainer-schedule that shows where everyone will be, when; hence, the capitalization) and checking out the upcoming months. Okay, so I’m going to Alabama, Texas, North Carolina (southern states! Hooray for warm climates!) and then….ON. ON? What state is ON? Oh, let me tell you friends. It’s Ontario. As in Canada.

 

Okay, so Canada. I can handle Canada. I have my passport. It will be chilly, but I have lots of cute coats. And then I look at the dates. December 28-31. New Year’s Eve. Okay. My first question (a dumb one, I’ll admit) was, Canada celebrates New Year’s, right? Shouldn’t everyone have New Year’s Eve off? Why is this silly Canadian pharmacy training people on New Year’s Eve? I’m a little bummed at this point; I mean, New Year’s is an overhyped holiday for sure, but I already found a cute dress, which is half the battle right there.

 

So thoughts are racing through my head…I’ll have to pack my dress and shoes and makeup and change as soon as I land, and then just head to the party, wherever that may be….that’s not so awful. I can handle getting ready in an airport bathroom. No biggie. And then I GoogleMap where my actual site is—Ontario, sure, but Ontario is apparently ginormous. It is also a good three or four hours from the international airport in Toronto. (Who can tell the exact time, because why does Canada use kilometers? I HATE CANADA ALREADY.) And we can’t leave a pharmacy site before 2:00pm. And I will have a four hour drive. And there are no international flights out of Toronto at 6:00pm. And I will have to get a hotel room by the airport and leave the next morning. Thus, I will be spending New Year’s Eve in a hotel, by myself, in Canada. By myself. BY MYSELF IN CANADA! It’s sad. It’s a tragedy. I am throwing myself a pity party. My friend Kelly said that we could Facetime with bottles of champagne. To which I replied wailed, “you can’t even get cell reception in Canada. Sniff.”

 

So, I will be all by myself on New Year’s, huddled in a crappy old hotel room (actually, probably a nice Doubletree, but STILL) in another country while the rest of the world rings in 2014 with friends, family, kisses, killer beats, champagne and party poppers. (I think I will miss the poppers the most. Nothing says “celebration” like confetti. Or champagne-induced dance moves.)

 

I’m sure I’ll have more to say on this subject as the time draws closer, but I’m going to end my lamenting on that subject for now. The rest of my week? Let me just share: Rascal killed a baby mouse and brought it in my house on Monday night. He was proud. I gagged. And then I picked it up in a baggie and threw it in the trash. Also, I messed up my timecard for work and got a tersely worded email from my boss. She was also not impressed (read—I got a look) with me when I mentioned that maybe someone else would like to spend New Year’s in Canada. And I forgot to set my DVR for Vanderpump Rules. (I know, I know. It's a trainwreck of a show, but I just can't stop watching.) Sigh. It’s just been one of those weeks.