"The belly rules the mind." ~ Spanish Proverb
As I visited my local Second Cup Coffee shop this evening to purchase my gourmet organic coffee beans, a tasty treat in the display case caught my eye. A lemon meringue tart that looked divine but definitely was not gluten nor calorie/fat free. As I eyed it up carefully, thinking of both the consequences to my belly (gluten aspect) and my ass (calorie/fat aspect), I thought to myself....I should buy that...no, no I shouldn't...yes, yes, I should. I decided that the beautiful gay man who often works behind the counter should help me out in making this life or death decision; therefore, I asked him, is that tart ass-getting-bigger worth it or just okay? He responded saying, I had one earlier and it was pretty fantastic - besides guys like big asses. Hmm, I thought...it would have to be damn terrific for me to justify eating that...and I told him this. He contemplated this quickly and replied...you should definitely buy it.
Sold.
And as I sit here having just finished eating that fantastic, totally worth it lemon meringue tart, I think to myself....thanks beautiful gay man; you were right.
Fifty Shades of I Don't Give a Fuck
"The 'not-giving-a-fuck' meter is as far into the red-zone as ever before." ~ Lars Ulrich (Drummer for Metallica)
I'd apologize now for my overuse of the word 'fuck' in this post (one of my favorite words ever), but I don't really care about that at the present moment either.
I returned to work this week after the tragic loss of one of my clients (kids). It's my first week back in the office and resuming my normal work duties, including providing therapy to the kids. I'm noticing some startling and anxiety provoking reactions to my being back at work that are disturbing to me on many levels. Most prominent is my profound lack of caring (or, better said, giving a fuck). As a clinician, I have (of course) analyzed my reactions to re-engaging with the kids and my colleagues and have developed some preliminary hypotheses:
I'd apologize now for my overuse of the word 'fuck' in this post (one of my favorite words ever), but I don't really care about that at the present moment either.
I returned to work this week after the tragic loss of one of my clients (kids). It's my first week back in the office and resuming my normal work duties, including providing therapy to the kids. I'm noticing some startling and anxiety provoking reactions to my being back at work that are disturbing to me on many levels. Most prominent is my profound lack of caring (or, better said, giving a fuck). As a clinician, I have (of course) analyzed my reactions to re-engaging with the kids and my colleagues and have developed some preliminary hypotheses:
- I don't give a fuck because I cannot sleep since returning to work and am therefore far too tired.
- I don't give a fuck because it has become too scary to give a fuck.
- I don't give a fuck because Africa is so close and I am totally bought out of work.
- I don't give a fuck because the kids I am currently working with are pretty irritating, even on a good day.
- I don't give a fuck because I feel like I cannot elicit any positive change or shifts within my current client load.
I think there is merit behind each and every one of these thoughts and assume that my present state of not giving a fuck is likely a combination of all of these things. My concern: regardless of how burnt out I've felt doing this extremely difficult job over the past five years, I've never not given a fuck about what the kids have to say. Have I returned to work too early? Have a run my course at this particular job with this particular agency? Have I become ineffective, jaded, insensitive, detached? I have no fucking clue. What I do know is that this feeling is uncomfortable and I hope it passes quickly.
That said, 59 days.
Crossing Stuff off the Extremely Long List
"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." ~ Mark Twain (American Author & Humorist)
65 days. Unbelievable. Basically, that's tomorrow with a few days in between now and then.
340 bucks later, I have been inoculated against all that might ail me while away in Africa for seven weeks. Today was 'visit the travel clinic day' and I succumbed to yellow fever, typhoid, and hep A and B shots. I declined some others, such as polio, as it is against my nature to get vaccinated for anything. I don't even get the flu shot as some odd place in my brain has me almost convinced that there might be a government conspiracy driving these large inoculation movements. No, I am not schizophrenic. Paranoid, probably. I was also prescribed anti-malaria medication (to the tune of 400 smackaroos) and a wide spectrum antibiotic for extreme poops. In the fairly likely event of extreme poops, I also bought re-hydration salts because if you are extreme pooping, you really want to hydrate yourself. I'm less concerned about the hydration aspect and more concerned about extreme pooping into a hole in the ground. Not to be crude or anything but that sounds messy.
Now, my arm hurts...only one out of two, so there's a daily positive. I think it's funny that I should complain about this given that my largest piece of body art took about eight hours to complete and I did not complain about that during or afterwards.
Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to Africa I go.
Accepting Her Decision
"When you are in doubt, be still, and wait; when doubt no longer exists for you, then go forward with courage. So long as mists envelop you, be still; be still until the sunlight pours through and dispels the mists - as it surely will. Then act with courage." ~ Ponca Chief White Eagle (1800's to 1914).
Something beautiful has left this world behind and entered into a different place, the spirit world. She is now walking beside her ancestors on her journey home. Her journey will take one full year as she passes through the four seasons and during this time we cannot say her name aloud, as it keeps her tethered to our world, the world she so desperately wanted to escape.
The loss of a child, someone as young as her fifteen years, has been difficult for me to grasp. An Aboriginal leader from my community has communicated to me that, despite the pain that has resulted from her decision, it is one that I have to accept. She has encouraged me to sit with my pain, resulting from the loss of one of "my" kids, and to simply let it be. Suffering is part of life, regardless of how much we want to avoid and suffocate it.
She taught me how to throw a baseball. She laughed at me when I attempted to play catch with her while wearing high heels. She thought it was funny to show me the chewed up food in her mouth. She could make a sound that sounded exactly like a Canadian goose. She liked to listen to Johnny Cash. She was quiet, shy, and sensitive. She loved hockey and her family, despite how dysfunctional they can be. She trusted few.
I will miss you little one.
I will painfully accept your decision.
I won't forget.
Something beautiful has left this world behind and entered into a different place, the spirit world. She is now walking beside her ancestors on her journey home. Her journey will take one full year as she passes through the four seasons and during this time we cannot say her name aloud, as it keeps her tethered to our world, the world she so desperately wanted to escape.
The loss of a child, someone as young as her fifteen years, has been difficult for me to grasp. An Aboriginal leader from my community has communicated to me that, despite the pain that has resulted from her decision, it is one that I have to accept. She has encouraged me to sit with my pain, resulting from the loss of one of "my" kids, and to simply let it be. Suffering is part of life, regardless of how much we want to avoid and suffocate it.
She taught me how to throw a baseball. She laughed at me when I attempted to play catch with her while wearing high heels. She thought it was funny to show me the chewed up food in her mouth. She could make a sound that sounded exactly like a Canadian goose. She liked to listen to Johnny Cash. She was quiet, shy, and sensitive. She loved hockey and her family, despite how dysfunctional they can be. She trusted few.
I will miss you little one.
I will painfully accept your decision.
I won't forget.
Days Pass Quickly
"Time is what prevents everything from happening at once." ~John Archibald Wheeler (American Theoretical Physicist)
Today's count sits at 82 days until I leave for Africa. I have to start getting my shots in about three weeks. There are crucial items I need to purchase, such as luggage, which would be good to start with so I can pack the other items I also need to buy to fill the luggage. A sleeping bag, a warm one, because it gets cold where I'm going. The travel warnings continue to be fairly serious and the people who care about me are becoming unnerved because of my non-unnerved-ness about the situation. Oddly enough, my mother appears to be handling things really well but, at the same time, it's not likely that she's caught the international news on these particular events. My attitude: it is what it is. I can't wait to get there.
Time snuck up on me and yelled YOU'RE LEAVING REALLY SOON, then recommended that I start getting my ass in gear.
82 days. So excited.
Today's count sits at 82 days until I leave for Africa. I have to start getting my shots in about three weeks. There are crucial items I need to purchase, such as luggage, which would be good to start with so I can pack the other items I also need to buy to fill the luggage. A sleeping bag, a warm one, because it gets cold where I'm going. The travel warnings continue to be fairly serious and the people who care about me are becoming unnerved because of my non-unnerved-ness about the situation. Oddly enough, my mother appears to be handling things really well but, at the same time, it's not likely that she's caught the international news on these particular events. My attitude: it is what it is. I can't wait to get there.
Time snuck up on me and yelled YOU'RE LEAVING REALLY SOON, then recommended that I start getting my ass in gear.
82 days. So excited.
Adult Summer Camp
"Sometimes too much drink is barely enough." ~ Mark Twain (American Author & Humorist)
On this long weekend in May, I celebrated the third anniversary date of my good friend Sue's passing. The previous two anniversaries I mourned her loss and felt sad; therefore, I decided to switch it up this year and pay tribute to her in a manner she would have actually appreciated. I got piss ass drunk for two days in a row on margarita's and wine, sitting in sunny 30 degree weather in a lawn chair, while intermittently "throwing" around a football and cooking delicious food. I'm using the word "throwing" fairly liberally here, as in reality it was closer to "hucking" or "bifting" the football due to my level of intoxication on the two occasions I engaged in this activity.
I spent this weekend with a friend who gets me on a fundamental level. We share a lot of silence very comfortably; we do not need to fill the air with bullshit. We laugh when it's funny. I adore her and our friendship. Despite not feeling as enthusiastic about "throwing" the football around with me as I was her (as she was the one running her ass off, chasing the football that was zinging by too far to the left and/or right), she still played with me. And it was hot and there was mosquito's. That's a good friend.
This weekend felt like an adult, drunken version of summer camp. Good times.
Here's to good friends of the past and present.
Cheers.
On this long weekend in May, I celebrated the third anniversary date of my good friend Sue's passing. The previous two anniversaries I mourned her loss and felt sad; therefore, I decided to switch it up this year and pay tribute to her in a manner she would have actually appreciated. I got piss ass drunk for two days in a row on margarita's and wine, sitting in sunny 30 degree weather in a lawn chair, while intermittently "throwing" around a football and cooking delicious food. I'm using the word "throwing" fairly liberally here, as in reality it was closer to "hucking" or "bifting" the football due to my level of intoxication on the two occasions I engaged in this activity.
I spent this weekend with a friend who gets me on a fundamental level. We share a lot of silence very comfortably; we do not need to fill the air with bullshit. We laugh when it's funny. I adore her and our friendship. Despite not feeling as enthusiastic about "throwing" the football around with me as I was her (as she was the one running her ass off, chasing the football that was zinging by too far to the left and/or right), she still played with me. And it was hot and there was mosquito's. That's a good friend.
This weekend felt like an adult, drunken version of summer camp. Good times.
Here's to good friends of the past and present.
Cheers.
Daily Positives, May 17th
Despite wanting to go on a shooting rampage at my place of employment today, I managed to simply internalize it all and just hate my life at work more. Yeah me!
I did not get hit by a train today.
I only smoked 100 cigarettes today instead of a million.
I did not drown in a fishbowl today, or a puddle for that matter.
Today, as the children in the apartment below me screamed their heads off for approximately 2 hours straight, I did not puncture my own ear drums.
Even though my soon to be ex-boyfriend lost his mind because I didn't answer the phone when he called last night (one of the reasons he's slotted for the ex-category), I didn't even get angry when he put this stupid fucking post on facebook about just how mad he is. I am officially too tired to be angry. I think this might be a good thing.
Grey's Anatomy season finale is tonight.
I did not get hit by a train today.
I only smoked 100 cigarettes today instead of a million.
I did not drown in a fishbowl today, or a puddle for that matter.
Today, as the children in the apartment below me screamed their heads off for approximately 2 hours straight, I did not puncture my own ear drums.
Even though my soon to be ex-boyfriend lost his mind because I didn't answer the phone when he called last night (one of the reasons he's slotted for the ex-category), I didn't even get angry when he put this stupid fucking post on facebook about just how mad he is. I am officially too tired to be angry. I think this might be a good thing.
Grey's Anatomy season finale is tonight.
Shit Show with the Shit Rats
"I believe that always, or almost always, in all childhoods and in all the lives that follow them, the mother represents madness. Our mothers always remain the strangest, craziest people we've ever met." ~ Marguerite Duras (French Writer & Film Maker)
To put it mildly, my mother and I have not always had the best relationship. I am not unique in this, as family dysfunction is woven into the fabric of every family that has ever existed, in one form or another. It is also abundantly clear to me - this mother/daughter malfunction - because I work as a therapist. Likewise, I have sat on the other side of the therapist's office, for hours, discussing the relationship I have with my mother. Some time ago, my therapist and I had a long discussion about how the relationship with my mother was unlikely to change and yet, over the past many months as I have made considerable shifts, the relationship with my mother has also transitioned into an unexpected place. Apparently, Bowen's Family Systems Theory does have some merit. The two events that I have been able to identify as contributing to this shift were when I stopped smoking pot (my mother's dream) and started dating a good/normal/nice man from my home province (my mother's other dream). Since these dreams have come to fruition, her new dream is having her non-pothead daughter move back to Nova Scotia to start a "family" with said good/normal/nice man. Now, luckily for me, her ideas around me having a "family" do not involve producing grandchildren, because that ain't happening.
Despite my lifelong goal of "never being like my mother," we do share some undeniable commonalities. Recently, some of these similar personality traits have struck me as hysterical, as they fall under the category of "acceptable" or "livable likenesses." How we express ourselves, particularly when under duress, would be one of them. Over the past two months, I have been experiencing some fairly unbearable bullshit at my place of employment and if it weren't for my upcoming trip to Africa (which they are being supportive of and allowing me to take leave, most of which is paid), my ass would have quit by now. In the past, my mother's support around these issues would have looked like this: "buck up." But, more recently her support has taken a turn to the hilarious, of which I greatly appreciate. I have received these wicked emails from her that involve the type of colorful language I usually get shit for from her, including the use of the descriptive term "shit rats," which she is using in reference to some of the people I work with. Here are some direct examples:
To put it mildly, my mother and I have not always had the best relationship. I am not unique in this, as family dysfunction is woven into the fabric of every family that has ever existed, in one form or another. It is also abundantly clear to me - this mother/daughter malfunction - because I work as a therapist. Likewise, I have sat on the other side of the therapist's office, for hours, discussing the relationship I have with my mother. Some time ago, my therapist and I had a long discussion about how the relationship with my mother was unlikely to change and yet, over the past many months as I have made considerable shifts, the relationship with my mother has also transitioned into an unexpected place. Apparently, Bowen's Family Systems Theory does have some merit. The two events that I have been able to identify as contributing to this shift were when I stopped smoking pot (my mother's dream) and started dating a good/normal/nice man from my home province (my mother's other dream). Since these dreams have come to fruition, her new dream is having her non-pothead daughter move back to Nova Scotia to start a "family" with said good/normal/nice man. Now, luckily for me, her ideas around me having a "family" do not involve producing grandchildren, because that ain't happening.
Despite my lifelong goal of "never being like my mother," we do share some undeniable commonalities. Recently, some of these similar personality traits have struck me as hysterical, as they fall under the category of "acceptable" or "livable likenesses." How we express ourselves, particularly when under duress, would be one of them. Over the past two months, I have been experiencing some fairly unbearable bullshit at my place of employment and if it weren't for my upcoming trip to Africa (which they are being supportive of and allowing me to take leave, most of which is paid), my ass would have quit by now. In the past, my mother's support around these issues would have looked like this: "buck up." But, more recently her support has taken a turn to the hilarious, of which I greatly appreciate. I have received these wicked emails from her that involve the type of colorful language I usually get shit for from her, including the use of the descriptive term "shit rats," which she is using in reference to some of the people I work with. Here are some direct examples:
- "How's the fucking shit show with the shit rats going?"
- "I would kick that shit rats ass the length of the fucking highway."
- "You are surrounded by uneducated morons who define the term shit rat."
This is the mother I love...one that I can relate to. Now, if I could only get her on the sauce more regularly.....
Daily Positives
Life's been sucking a little bit lately and, as a result, my mom recommended that I write down some positives every day to remind myself that life doesn't actually suck. Here's my list for May 3rd.
I did not get drunk at work today.
Although my neighbor almost rear ended me and then proceeded to swear and scream at me, I did not get out of my car and beat him senseless.
I did not fall down any stairs today or contract a venereal disease.
No one told me to fuck off today, at least not directly.
I ate some chocolate mini-eggs and they were delicious.
I got paid today.
A dog did not eat my homework today.
I did not fall into a sinkhole today.
An airplane did not crash into my apartment today.
I do not have pink eye.
I did not get drunk at work today.
Although my neighbor almost rear ended me and then proceeded to swear and scream at me, I did not get out of my car and beat him senseless.
I did not fall down any stairs today or contract a venereal disease.
No one told me to fuck off today, at least not directly.
I ate some chocolate mini-eggs and they were delicious.
I got paid today.
A dog did not eat my homework today.
I did not fall into a sinkhole today.
An airplane did not crash into my apartment today.
I do not have pink eye.
Misguided Nostalgia
"It's never safe to be nostalgic about something until you're absolutely certain there's no chance of it coming back." ~ Bill Vaughn (American Columnist & Author).
Once in an extremely blue moon I miss the irresponsibility of my youth. This is a seldom occurrence that only happens after a night out drinking (which happens may be once a year) when I have experienced the loud tribal beats of an excellent DJ that have reverberated through my chest. I don't know that the average person experiences music the way I do; may be everyone does, I have no idea. I do know that the experiences I had in my young 20's, which included a lot of pill popping and electronic beats, changed my experience with music drastically and, apparently, forever.
In the year 2000, the electronic music scene in Halifax exploded; perhaps it happened prior to then, but it happened to me and everyone I associated with during that particular year. It was the birth of a new scene that lead to the death of more than a few young people who danced a little too hard with a variety of chemicals coursing through their young bodies. We were ignorant and immature; therefore, people dropping dead had very little impact on our behavior. Everyone thought they "had it under control" regardless of the fact that none of us did, which was heavily evidenced by the obvious lack of any sort of normal human functioning. Little to no sleep, food, and profoundly entrenched in chaos, it was an experience to remember but never to be replayed or revisited.
I clearly remember dancing to anything and everything....even sounds coming from a dishwasher or laundry machine could catch my otherwise depleted attention span. Music appeared in everything. Don't get me wrong, this was heavily influenced by drugs and a lack of connection to reality, but, it seemed fun at the time. The aftermath of these experiences, when everything was said and done, were anything but fun and I know of many people today that never quite fully recovered. They are still talking in riddles or trying to recapture what was then, which wasn't even real at the time it was happening.
I don't miss dancing to dishwashers, or the drugs, or the scene, or the people. I just miss, once in an extremely blue moon, the youthfulness of total and absolute abandon. So today, as my lazy 34 year old ass lays around doing nothing, I find my thoughts drifting towards me standing in a field with the sun coming up, covered in dirt (for any number of totally ridiculous reasons), dancing my ass off as the DJ spins a perfect set.
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