First day back in the office: busy, busy, busy. It's still better than the last eight days have been.
A few nights ago I dreamed that I had forgotten about a patient in the hospital and had not rounded on her for several days. In the dream I stood at the foot of her bed as she glared at me accusingly; I was stammering, apologizing and trying to explain why she had been abandoned in the hospital. When I woke up, I was completely convinced that I had forgotten this patient and spent about ten minutes desperately trying to remember who her doctor was and what room she was in before I finally snapped out of it.
Last week the little reading I did was safe, comforting stuff: cookbooks. Something to relax with for ten minutes or so before I hit the pillow. Also the
I Hate to Housekeep Book, by Peg Bracken, author of the
I Hate to Cook Book - two books I'd definitely want with me on a desert island. Her writing is great, she's irreverent and very funny. In the early 1960s, when these books were published, these must have seemed like fresh air - or a lifeline - for women who felt there was more to life than cooking and cleaning house. The recipes aren't bad either, especially
Stayabed Stew.
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