Even in moments of forced lethargy, I can still produce one fine poem:
Lord, I am bored.
2 p.m., Thursday: Renee is checking in a new patient right now, and with the efficiencies we’ve developed by incredible investments in technology and advanced practice management policies that can only come from 32 years of consistent effort, that check-in should take only 45 minutes or so.
It’s so boring, now I’m snoring.
2:03 p.m.: What else can I do? If I get all involved with catching up on my charting, and I am almost up to 1984, Renee will just interrupt me at the same time I perform an Internet search to see if I have to update a deceased patient’s chart and, of course, I have not checked Facebook for 14 minutes and I may miss someone’s important post that they are now leaving to go grocery shopping.
I’m so lazy right now that my mind is hazy, and how.
2:11 p.m.: There are, of course, other important duties I have as the Clinical Director of Vision Associates Incorporated––but the trash cans are not really full, so I would rather wait until the day ends. I could, I guess, read a journal article relevant to my career. Unfortunately, I left this month’s issue of Guitar World at home in my porcelain office.
Perhaps I should call my legislator and try again to explain that we treat glaucoma, not guacamole. Maybe I should clean the instruments? No, just did that in 2009. I know: I’ll call Mom! Great, now I’m bored and anxious, too.
Time flies when you’re heaving sighs.
2:16 p.m.: Where did I put my rubber bands? I just had one on my desk last month. I seem to recall aiming it at the window and shooting myself in the forehead. I was so embarrassed that I proceeded to tell all my ensuing patients about it. I have learned that patients like it when I do something inane.
Then again, waiting here is driving me to the point that, if I could find that rubber band, I might be insane enough to try it again. I’d probably hit my eye. That would not be as entertaining to my patients—to see me rush out of the door in pain to visit my colleague down the street. I’ll just let sleeping rubber bands lie.
I need a diversion. Perhaps a cat that’s a Persian.
2:21 p.m.: While waiting for patients to get ready to be healed of their ocular afflictions, I check my e-mail seven or eight hundred times. Did you know that I have a rich uncle from Nigeria? And there are optometry jobs posted in Dallas? All I have to do is join the Air Force. Nobody’s ever bored in the military, right?
Ate a mint that’s heaven sent.
2:29 p.m.: Eating is a very good way to pass the time while waiting to see a patient. The bad news is that Renee has taken control of the icebox and my Jell-O shots have been replaced by carrots and olive medleys from around the globe. Is this what I am reduced to—eating what a goat would eat?
The patient is ready and her name is Betty.
2:32 p.m.: Hmm. My Mom’s name is Betty. Could it be...?
“Hi, Mom. You look so ‘purdy.’ Yes, I know, my shirt is dirty.”
No longer bored... But, oh, good Lord.