Sunday, March 30, 2008
and scream...and scream...and scream. Another rotten weekend. I do not like to have rotten weekends. Yet, I keep having rotten weekends.
Dude, it's bringing me down.
HOWEVER, the blog is starting to look at least palatable. I can view it without clenching my teeth or sweating profusely, so perhaps I'll be grateful for that and stop whining about the other garbage.
I am flanked by cats, so that I, the HUMAN, may not rest my arms on the ARMrest which is made for HUMANS. Yuki and Grayson could not care less. In fact, they are sneering at me as if to say, "Hey, at least we're not helping you type like we usually do...get over yourself lady!"
You gotta love 'em.
Friday, March 28, 2008
I suppose this awful blue thing is a start on rebuilding hatamaran, but it's not quite the same...I suppose it will evolve over time.
In other news, as I was shutting down my computer last night, I noticed police lights flashing outside. An old car was pulled over in the street directly in front of our house and the cops were searching the car for drugs, while they stomped through the edge of our mailbox garden.
Nice. Perfect end to the day. At least no guns were involved.
Sometimes I do things that are SO stupid that it defies all laws of gravity, interplanetary goo-related molecule-type space dust-stuff and...well...I just totally f*cked up and lost my entire template.
The whole thing. No cached page.
Lesson learned was don't watch late-night basketball, eat an orange, and fend off dogs and cats while doing shit on your computer that is, at least on a hobby-level, quite important.
So here we are in the wee-hours and I at least dredged up some old hideous header that will do until the weekend, when I can *gulp* begin to rebuild this stooooopid thing.
Oh, what I would give for a time machine right now.
Alas, the world does not revolve around the blog.
Maybe it's some sort of lesson.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
That there is no destination except "here."
That you never "get over" loved ones who die.
That chewing your cuticles will give you bad breath.
That worrying changes nothing except the amount of quality time you have.
That forgiveness is about "giving up all hope of a better past."
That sometimes it's better to be wrong.
That if you have the perfect comeback you should probably keep your mouth shut anyway.
That there's nothing wrong with gray hair.
That there's no need to ever buy anything that's not on sale.
That there is no such thing as a comfortable bra or a comfortable thong.
That there's no such thing as black and white, but an infinite range of greys.
That you can take yourself too seriously.
I have no idea why I've suddenly got diarrhea of the blog.
Pardon the mess.
A beginning therapist’s guide to the universe, or “How to run a relaxation group while a patient vomits…”
Granted, I knew becoming a clinical social worker would be challenging—more challenging that writing brochures and thinking up new ways to respond to the following: “I’m not telling you how to do your [marketing] job but look at this brochure I found” (said brochure is always the most expensive piece known to man)…and then, “Yes, can we make it look like that (the very expensive 4-color brochure) and pay $500?” You might as well have said, “…for the same price as drawing with crayons on recycled newspaper?” Or, “Oh, you know, make it creative.” Or, the best, “I just have a few changes” the day before printing.
Then, I moved into the far away and strange world of social work, where you find both the best in humans and the very worst. People stealing from the disabled, people suffering unspeakable tragedies and abuse, but still giving life their best shot, people blowing their life savings during just one bipolar manic phase. You name it. You get the joy. You get the heartache. You see people practically come back from the dead. You see people struggle with things that are unimaginable. You learn some sort of painful (and immeasurably valuable) life lesson just about everyday.
Then there are times that make you incredulous or just make you laugh out loud. I remember when I started this new career I was leading a relaxation group with about 12 people. During the most calming deep breathing part, I hear “heclgh, heclgh, heclgh, bleeeeeehhhhhhhhh!!!!!” I open my eyes to a patient spewing all over the carpet with absolutely no control.
I was surprised to see about half the group was still in a deep relaxation. Several are aghast. One runs from the room hand over mouth. “Uh, just keep breathing…um, don’t worry, just keep your eyes closed and keep breathing (thank goodness it didn’t smell)…we’ll take care of this…”
Well, we moved to another room. It was a little difficult to return to the same level of relaxation. The patient was unaffected by the whole thing.
It has taken me a full year to get to the point I don’t collapse at the end of the day. At first I was completely exhausted and emotionally immobilized after the work day; now I’ve started beginning to practice the survival skill of detaching from work when I go out the door. Patients still creep around in my head, but they don’t keep me awake or distracted during my free time. It’s finally starting to BE free time again.
The main thing I have learned so far is that there is so, so, so much more to learn. Beginner’s mind is useful here.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Don't you get tired of showering? I do. If I could be a guy, it would be an event rife with utter joy, followed by clean clothes and zipping out the door into the fresh air.
But showers include thorough washing off product from long hair, then proper conditioning. This is followed by the shaving of nearly 50% of the body (daily for me because I am the original Chia Pet...ch-ch-ch-chia) and then the rinse cycle complete with manual smoothness check (I am so sleepy in the morning I often just shave one leg if I don't check).
Then the work begins. Application of base. Application of powder. Application of base shadow. Application of eyeliner. Curling of lashes. Application of mascara. Application of lipstick. Then I spend about 10 minutes frying my hair and still only get about 60% of the mess dry.
Apply lotion...possibly powder.
Oops, swath pits with deodorant.
Pull sweater over head.
Wipe deodorant streak from sweater.
Change pants to match new sweater.
Spray hair again as it is now a flat mess.
Change toothpaste covered sweater.
Change pants to match new sweater.
Run from house screaming.
Get to office to rest.
(an oldie, but a goodie...)
Excerpts from a Dog's Daily Diary:
8:00 am Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm Milk bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm Wow! Watched TV with my master! Heavenly!
11:00 pm Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
Excerpts from a Cat's Daily Diary:
Day 683 of my captivity:
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the floor.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. The audacity! There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the
event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released --and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded! The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. The captives have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe....... for now....
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
THE fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
I ran across this little gem on someone else's blog the other day (sorry I can't remember who...), and couldn't believe I hadn't read it before. Sometimes it just needs to be as simple as it is.
"A good marriage is a bit like a pet boa constrictor: either you feed it every day or bad things happen."
Thursday, March 13, 2008
I am totally bummed out about losing my little frog, Mr. Peepers. I tried everything I knew how to get him healthy again, but alas, he lept into froggy heaven whilst I was away last night.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
The picture is of Guatemalan worry people...tell them your worries, stick them under your pillow and voila! your worries will be taken care of...no wonder they look so disheveled!
Friday, March 07, 2008
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
The only explanation to all this (what you ask?) is that I've lost it.
And I ain't no rebel.
For some reason, after starting to feel blue around the anniversary of my father's accident, I started making MORE blogs. Because blogs heal wounds...it is the penicillin to my brain cramp. Bring forth the shit, and lots of it, and publish it onto the web...so shall it be, a great gathering of shit, so that you will believe when thou smellest it.
Now I have a blog about my FROGS, and my DOGS, my CAUSES, my neglected ART, and my frickin' CAR. I'm letting the cats carry on as usual at Hatamaran for some reason.
I have a disease. DIS-ease. I am not at ease, therefore I must spout like a broken sewer line.
And somehow getting all that shit out makes me feel a little bit better.
Just hold your nose.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Sunday, March 02, 2008
That seems to be my "word of the week." Last week was downright crappy. It was the third anniversary of daddy's accident and it wreaked havoc on my heart and soul all week. It was a week of "trudging through" and I just feel like my mojo has been mo-fo'd.
For the last two weeks nearly every minute I am asleep I am having a nightmare, so I seem to keep putting sleeping off tonight. Unless I've only had a couple of hours or so of sleep, I can do fine the next day.
The last couple of weeks have been prompting me to pull the covers up over my head though. I really dislike the state I'm in, especially with my husband's birthday coming up. It will be a nice one, but I can't put my heart in much of anything right now...maybe it will be better tomorrow...