Alright, Blogville. I'm really itchy. I'm covered in this ridiculous rash that I think is an allergic reaction to some sunscreen I used last week. It's crazy itchy. Did I mention that I itch?
I've tried antihistamines, over the counter cortisol, and zinc oxide. Any other good itchy-type-rash remedies? I'm okay with weird ideas, I just need SOMETHING...
And yes, I'll go see a doctor Saturday if it's not gotten any better. But in the mean time....thoughts?
Showing posts with label life according to other people. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life according to other people. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Sunday, August 01, 2010
Reaping
So, for those who follow a more Pagan tradition (and for those of you who think you don't - there are a lot of traditions that carried into Judaism and then Christianity), today is the celebration of Lammas, the first of the festivals of the Harvest.
I identify myself as a Christian, as we've discussed before, but in my own personal faith I draw from a lot of different traditions. Because I don't think any of us have it exactly right. And I don't think that the good ideas in each are necessarily mutually exclusive - under the light of scrutiny, in fact many of them are complementary. It helps that I was raised in a tradition that is heavily steeped in ritual and mystery and allegory (however closed-minded it can sometimes be), but I think there's something to be learned from every faith. This is a prime example of what I mean - if God is in everything, then praising and giving thanks for the bounty that He brings us from the earth is very consistent with the Christian theology. And however we represent those parts - as gods/goddesses, as being part of a greater collective, as individual souls, as representations of a Holy Spirit - we bring ourselves closer to and embrace what is holy in our world, our higher power, and each other.
But I digress.
I went to a party tonight to celebrate Lammas. It was a small, well-acquainted group of people who come from various walks of life and who endorse alliance with multiple faiths. Many of us in the group have had multiple significant losses of late, and so this is the perfect time to reflect on that which has been harvested from our lives, the cycle of things, the idea that for growth and renewal we must cut down what has grown.
The ritual was beautiful, and gave us all a moment to make that reflection. We spoke individually and as a group of recent losses, of good wishes for peace and healing, and of hope for the future. We lit a lot of candles and shed a lot of light.
And I kept thinking of this Bible passage, which I looked up today trying to remember something that had been said at the funeral and in relation to a recent conversation Jen and I had about death and what to do with our bodies after that.
1 Corinthians 36-44: What you sow does not come to life unless it dies. When you sow, you do not plant the body that will be, but just a seed, perhaps of wheat or of something else. But God gives it a body as he has determined, and to each kind of seed he gives its own body...So will it be with the resurrection of the dead. The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body.
Had I known ahead of time that it probably wouldn't have offended anyone there, I would've brought it with me and read it while I lit a candle. I really like the imagery that you don't plant what you hope to reap, that the seed has to "die" in order for something better, more nourishing, more hopeful to come forth.
That's reassuring.
Blessed be.
I identify myself as a Christian, as we've discussed before, but in my own personal faith I draw from a lot of different traditions. Because I don't think any of us have it exactly right. And I don't think that the good ideas in each are necessarily mutually exclusive - under the light of scrutiny, in fact many of them are complementary. It helps that I was raised in a tradition that is heavily steeped in ritual and mystery and allegory (however closed-minded it can sometimes be), but I think there's something to be learned from every faith. This is a prime example of what I mean - if God is in everything, then praising and giving thanks for the bounty that He brings us from the earth is very consistent with the Christian theology. And however we represent those parts - as gods/goddesses, as being part of a greater collective, as individual souls, as representations of a Holy Spirit - we bring ourselves closer to and embrace what is holy in our world, our higher power, and each other.
But I digress.
I went to a party tonight to celebrate Lammas. It was a small, well-acquainted group of people who come from various walks of life and who endorse alliance with multiple faiths. Many of us in the group have had multiple significant losses of late, and so this is the perfect time to reflect on that which has been harvested from our lives, the cycle of things, the idea that for growth and renewal we must cut down what has grown.
The ritual was beautiful, and gave us all a moment to make that reflection. We spoke individually and as a group of recent losses, of good wishes for peace and healing, and of hope for the future. We lit a lot of candles and shed a lot of light.
And I kept thinking of this Bible passage, which I looked up today trying to remember something that had been said at the funeral and in relation to a recent conversation Jen and I had about death and what to do with our bodies after that.
1 Corinthians 36-44: What you sow does not come to life unless it dies. When you sow, you do not plant the body that will be, but just a seed, perhaps of wheat or of something else. But God gives it a body as he has determined, and to each kind of seed he gives its own body...So will it be with the resurrection of the dead. The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body.
Had I known ahead of time that it probably wouldn't have offended anyone there, I would've brought it with me and read it while I lit a candle. I really like the imagery that you don't plant what you hope to reap, that the seed has to "die" in order for something better, more nourishing, more hopeful to come forth.
That's reassuring.
Blessed be.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
It's not a tie, but...
Happy Father's Day, Dad.
Thanks for teaching me things (like, say, how to make theples). Thanks for letting me drive you crazy. Thanks for good stories, good ideas, and good advice.
Thanks for being my dad, Dad. Love you.
Thanks for teaching me things (like, say, how to make theples). Thanks for letting me drive you crazy. Thanks for good stories, good ideas, and good advice.
Thanks for being my dad, Dad. Love you.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Barred
So I have this friend.
No, no, an actual friend. A friend who started as a friend of a friend but now I consider him a friend in his own right (I think that if they broke up, his girlfriend - my original friend - would ultimately get custody of me, but we could still be friendly). This friend has had some really awful shit happen to him, not the least of which (ahem) was getting sentenced to life in prison at the tender, formative age of 15 while taking the fall for a crime he was only involved in as an accessory.
That's the short version of the story. The long version, actually, is the subject of an indie documentary.
It's a good story, ultimately, because even if it was nearly three decades later, this was rectified. Tomorrow there's a celebration to commemorate his one year anniversary of his release. And I have to say, it's been a pretty remarkable year. He's done an amazing job of reintegrating, keeping his nose clean, and being a functioning member of my social circle.
There are times, of course, this gets downright comical, like when he got a ticket because he'd never seen a parking meter before and didn't know you had to feed it ("There was a bike chained to it. I thought it was a pay-per-use bike rack."). And there's times when it just completely sucks that his previously rough life led up to that at such an important time in his life and development.
We were having coffee this morning (it's what we do, since he's part of the coffee-related circle of friends), and he was like, "You know, I think about all of my experiences, and realize now, I generally don't have troubles." We, of course, were all like, what? And he went on to explain that, although he does sometimes get worked up about things, when he really takes a moment to stop and look at what's happening, it never really seems to be that bad. What's the worst that could happen?
Remarkable, really. I think there aren't many people who could walk away from this experience or even the things that preceded it and not think the world was a heinous, awful, dangerous place.
I told him this morning, it's absolutely amazing, that he got a second chance. A whole new life. Full of new discoveries and good people and humor ("This is my friend from school. We went to Penn State. No, wait, that was the State Pen") and the little everyday triumphs and tragedies that make life what it is.
I'm a little bit jealous, actually. He got to leave his prison. So many of us - myself included - can't ever seem to get out of our metaphoric ones, to free ourselves from the past. His imprisonment meant something much more literal, of course, his liberties curtailed in a way mine have never been. But what I'd give to not be shackled to those years of abuse and pain and terror. I recognize it as a hell of my own creation (well, maybe not exclusively mine), but apparently, like Persephone, I can't ever really leave.
So, in short, Bill, if you're reading this (or if Jen is telling you about it. Hi, Jen!), good work. Keep it up. We're all really proud of who you're becoming and the transition you've made. And don't ever let the rest of us forget how lucky we are to take our freedom for granted.
No, no, an actual friend. A friend who started as a friend of a friend but now I consider him a friend in his own right (I think that if they broke up, his girlfriend - my original friend - would ultimately get custody of me, but we could still be friendly). This friend has had some really awful shit happen to him, not the least of which (ahem) was getting sentenced to life in prison at the tender, formative age of 15 while taking the fall for a crime he was only involved in as an accessory.
That's the short version of the story. The long version, actually, is the subject of an indie documentary.
It's a good story, ultimately, because even if it was nearly three decades later, this was rectified. Tomorrow there's a celebration to commemorate his one year anniversary of his release. And I have to say, it's been a pretty remarkable year. He's done an amazing job of reintegrating, keeping his nose clean, and being a functioning member of my social circle.
There are times, of course, this gets downright comical, like when he got a ticket because he'd never seen a parking meter before and didn't know you had to feed it ("There was a bike chained to it. I thought it was a pay-per-use bike rack."). And there's times when it just completely sucks that his previously rough life led up to that at such an important time in his life and development.
We were having coffee this morning (it's what we do, since he's part of the coffee-related circle of friends), and he was like, "You know, I think about all of my experiences, and realize now, I generally don't have troubles." We, of course, were all like, what? And he went on to explain that, although he does sometimes get worked up about things, when he really takes a moment to stop and look at what's happening, it never really seems to be that bad. What's the worst that could happen?
Remarkable, really. I think there aren't many people who could walk away from this experience or even the things that preceded it and not think the world was a heinous, awful, dangerous place.
I told him this morning, it's absolutely amazing, that he got a second chance. A whole new life. Full of new discoveries and good people and humor ("This is my friend from school. We went to Penn State. No, wait, that was the State Pen") and the little everyday triumphs and tragedies that make life what it is.
I'm a little bit jealous, actually. He got to leave his prison. So many of us - myself included - can't ever seem to get out of our metaphoric ones, to free ourselves from the past. His imprisonment meant something much more literal, of course, his liberties curtailed in a way mine have never been. But what I'd give to not be shackled to those years of abuse and pain and terror. I recognize it as a hell of my own creation (well, maybe not exclusively mine), but apparently, like Persephone, I can't ever really leave.
So, in short, Bill, if you're reading this (or if Jen is telling you about it. Hi, Jen!), good work. Keep it up. We're all really proud of who you're becoming and the transition you've made. And don't ever let the rest of us forget how lucky we are to take our freedom for granted.
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Happy Mother's Day
So it's Mother's Day.
This is a day my own mother has traditionally hated. I'm not sure I've ever figured out quite why, exactly, she dislikes it so much - I get explanations ranging from "it's a stupid Hallmark holiday" to it making her miss her own mother too much. But, since this year I'm grateful that my mother is even alive after this whole fiasco, so we celebrated it by spending most of the day together.
It's been a rough weekend. My dad's hopefully getting out of the hospital tomorrow. But the weekend (or, you know, past two months) has been kind of crazy, so I took a couple of hours this morning and went to Starbucks. I got caught up on my discharge summaries (let's not talk about my clinic notes) just in time to go back on service tomorrow, and met Matt for coffee and good conversation. I felt a little better after that. My mom and I went to the Mothers' Day brunch here at Shady Pines, which was absolutely delicious. My mom doesn't talk much during meals these days, so it was a lot of chewing in silence, but it was still nice to be in the thick of things. We then got in the car (which she's getting better at) and drove around looking at houses in the neighborhood, and found a lot lot lot of great options for me to talk about with the realtor. We came home, I fell asleep for a minute and then went back out to Target, came home, made dinner, installed the transfer bench in the shower, and then my mom and I watched Betty White on last night's SNL (my mom's commentary? "That was weird." I, however, loved it). And then we got my mom showered, which was a 45 minute ordeal. And sent me off on a whole new spiral succumbing to the gravity of this whole situation.
Matt and I talked a little this morning about the cultural differences between his WASPy self and my Greekness. He was like, "I'd probably be more hands-off about the whole thing, but my parents are also younger and I have a high-functioning sister." Right, I said, and you're a son. I'm an only child, and a daughter, and in my culture, that means something entirely different. And sometimes that difference is wonderful, meaningful, amazing. Sometimes that something is a jagged little pill.
There have been other aspects of this weekend weighing heavily on me, but that's another post for another day. Meanwhile, I have a 7am therapy patient tomorrow. I'd better get to sleep...
This is a day my own mother has traditionally hated. I'm not sure I've ever figured out quite why, exactly, she dislikes it so much - I get explanations ranging from "it's a stupid Hallmark holiday" to it making her miss her own mother too much. But, since this year I'm grateful that my mother is even alive after this whole fiasco, so we celebrated it by spending most of the day together.
It's been a rough weekend. My dad's hopefully getting out of the hospital tomorrow. But the weekend (or, you know, past two months) has been kind of crazy, so I took a couple of hours this morning and went to Starbucks. I got caught up on my discharge summaries (let's not talk about my clinic notes) just in time to go back on service tomorrow, and met Matt for coffee and good conversation. I felt a little better after that. My mom and I went to the Mothers' Day brunch here at Shady Pines, which was absolutely delicious. My mom doesn't talk much during meals these days, so it was a lot of chewing in silence, but it was still nice to be in the thick of things. We then got in the car (which she's getting better at) and drove around looking at houses in the neighborhood, and found a lot lot lot of great options for me to talk about with the realtor. We came home, I fell asleep for a minute and then went back out to Target, came home, made dinner, installed the transfer bench in the shower, and then my mom and I watched Betty White on last night's SNL (my mom's commentary? "That was weird." I, however, loved it). And then we got my mom showered, which was a 45 minute ordeal. And sent me off on a whole new spiral succumbing to the gravity of this whole situation.
Matt and I talked a little this morning about the cultural differences between his WASPy self and my Greekness. He was like, "I'd probably be more hands-off about the whole thing, but my parents are also younger and I have a high-functioning sister." Right, I said, and you're a son. I'm an only child, and a daughter, and in my culture, that means something entirely different. And sometimes that difference is wonderful, meaningful, amazing. Sometimes that something is a jagged little pill.
There have been other aspects of this weekend weighing heavily on me, but that's another post for another day. Meanwhile, I have a 7am therapy patient tomorrow. I'd better get to sleep...
Sunday, April 18, 2010
QAO
(Which means, questions asked once. As opposed to FAQ.)
Carol left me some amusing questions in the comments to yesterday's post. And she's not wrong, I should probably give you guys a more substantial update...
She writes:
"But questions questions:
WHERE ARE YOU GUYS?
WHAT HOSPITAL AND WHERE?
WHAT ABOUT MAGS?
OH SHIT is the expletive of the "distinguished society of today" while F--- is that "other society"
hehehe."
First, let me say that I am saddened to know that I am not of distinguished society (I tend to be a minefield of F-bombs on a bad day), while my two year old nephew is. Alas...
(PS, watching Luke running around saying "oh, shit" like he has no clue what it means is even cuter than my mom's septuagenarian friend)
We're still in Chicago. Mom is tired, but good. She's working really hard. We're at the hospital where I did my med school training, so that's been a trip for me. They have a great rehab unit, though, and that's just awesome. My dad is also doing well. Struggling a little with the cold-warm-cold-warm nonsense that the weather here has been doing, but he's holding down the current fort while I'm foraging ahead towards the new homestead.
We're probably moving them down to NC this weekend. Mom has appointments with neurology and oncology a week from tomorrow, and we'd like to be there by then. We'll see what the rehab docs say tomorrow. I got my folks lined up in a great senior livingresort apartment. They even got them into a handicapped accessible unit, or as my mom likes to call it, short person accessible (which will persist, even after she's walking and using her right hand well again). I'm hoping to get back to work for reals the following Wednesday.
Maggie is great. She's home, with our dogsitter, whom she adores. He reports she's as awesome as ever. Me, though? I miss my dog. I hope she doesn't think I've left her forever.
I'm trying to find me a new place to live, too, closer to the folks, which is incidentally closer to work as well (especially since I'll be at the big house like 80% of the time over the next few years, not 50%, as previously billed, due to some changes in the scheduling and responsibilities of the fellows). Cleo's mortgage guy is trying to work miracles for me. We'll see.
I was out until 1 last night, and didn't get to sleep until 3, and then of course had to get up at 6. I did get kind of a nap in this evening on the awesome napping couch. But I made it to the hospital in time for my mom's PT today. She did a great job. And we even took a walk before I left. My dad and my uncle washed his car today, in preparation to sell it before the big move. My dad's going to start packing up the house over the next few days, enough for us to pull off a scoop and run this weekend.
It's gonna be quite a week, y'all.
Bring it.
Carol left me some amusing questions in the comments to yesterday's post. And she's not wrong, I should probably give you guys a more substantial update...
She writes:
"But questions questions:
WHERE ARE YOU GUYS?
WHAT HOSPITAL AND WHERE?
WHAT ABOUT MAGS?
OH SHIT is the expletive of the "distinguished society of today" while F--- is that "other society"
hehehe."
First, let me say that I am saddened to know that I am not of distinguished society (I tend to be a minefield of F-bombs on a bad day), while my two year old nephew is. Alas...
(PS, watching Luke running around saying "oh, shit" like he has no clue what it means is even cuter than my mom's septuagenarian friend)
We're still in Chicago. Mom is tired, but good. She's working really hard. We're at the hospital where I did my med school training, so that's been a trip for me. They have a great rehab unit, though, and that's just awesome. My dad is also doing well. Struggling a little with the cold-warm-cold-warm nonsense that the weather here has been doing, but he's holding down the current fort while I'm foraging ahead towards the new homestead.
We're probably moving them down to NC this weekend. Mom has appointments with neurology and oncology a week from tomorrow, and we'd like to be there by then. We'll see what the rehab docs say tomorrow. I got my folks lined up in a great senior living
Maggie is great. She's home, with our dogsitter, whom she adores. He reports she's as awesome as ever. Me, though? I miss my dog. I hope she doesn't think I've left her forever.
I'm trying to find me a new place to live, too, closer to the folks, which is incidentally closer to work as well (especially since I'll be at the big house like 80% of the time over the next few years, not 50%, as previously billed, due to some changes in the scheduling and responsibilities of the fellows). Cleo's mortgage guy is trying to work miracles for me. We'll see.
I was out until 1 last night, and didn't get to sleep until 3, and then of course had to get up at 6. I did get kind of a nap in this evening on the awesome napping couch. But I made it to the hospital in time for my mom's PT today. She did a great job. And we even took a walk before I left. My dad and my uncle washed his car today, in preparation to sell it before the big move. My dad's going to start packing up the house over the next few days, enough for us to pull off a scoop and run this weekend.
It's gonna be quite a week, y'all.
Bring it.
Thursday, March 04, 2010
Because it's too good not to share.
And because I had the longest day on record - I got in to work at 6:30 this am, because I had a 7am therapy patient. I had a veryextremelylongday at work, grabbed some dinner and then had class, and then, of course, made the repeat mistake of having a ninety minute conversation standing in the cold parking lot with one of my classmates. So I got home roughly 19 hours after I left...
And I'm still sick, obv, but I'm actually feeling better than I was even this morning, so that's a bonus.
I didn't realize it until we were doing our mindfulness practice in class tonight, but today wound up being quite emotionally stressful...
So, I give you this piece of wisdom, noted by The Pasta Queen and passed on by my dear friend Barb:
I'm with her. Who's in?
And I'm still sick, obv, but I'm actually feeling better than I was even this morning, so that's a bonus.
I didn't realize it until we were doing our mindfulness practice in class tonight, but today wound up being quite emotionally stressful...
So, I give you this piece of wisdom, noted by The Pasta Queen and passed on by my dear friend Barb:
I'm with her. Who's in?
Thursday, January 07, 2010
Tigers and Cougars and Crazies - oh my!!
There's a newbie in the Blogosphere.
One of my good friends from Baby Blue has started a blog. Well, actually, two. Jenny, who on occasion is known on this blog as Tiger, or previously, Edie (I think) speaks of the tales and tails that allow us a glimpse into the crazy and wonderful that is her life at A Life I Never Expected. Additionally, she opens to us her spiritual journeys, and those of her coven, at Which Way Apothecary.
Welcome, Jenny.
Incidentally, it's also Jenny's birthday. She says she's slipping over the hill. I say she's my favorite Cougar. Either way, I hope this is a wonderful year.
It's actually quite a time of year for birthdays. Brad's was yesterday as well - happy birthday, Brad! Rene's was this past weekend - happy birthday, Rene! And there are enough impending that there's a group birthday outing tomorrow night for all the January birthdays. Should be a good time!
One of my good friends from Baby Blue has started a blog. Well, actually, two. Jenny, who on occasion is known on this blog as Tiger, or previously, Edie (I think) speaks of the tales and tails that allow us a glimpse into the crazy and wonderful that is her life at A Life I Never Expected. Additionally, she opens to us her spiritual journeys, and those of her coven, at Which Way Apothecary.Welcome, Jenny.
Incidentally, it's also Jenny's birthday. She says she's slipping over the hill. I say she's my favorite Cougar. Either way, I hope this is a wonderful year.
It's actually quite a time of year for birthdays. Brad's was yesterday as well - happy birthday, Brad! Rene's was this past weekend - happy birthday, Rene! And there are enough impending that there's a group birthday outing tomorrow night for all the January birthdays. Should be a good time!
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
How do you say "mocha" in Arabic, I wonder?
(No, I didn't take this. The photo is courtesy of Starbucks, via Twitter)
Saturday, September 05, 2009
Friday, July 31, 2009
Friday
First, read this. What an amazing story. I just...wow.
Also? I got a new car today! And four hours of test driving, paperword, haggling, negotiating, and bargaining have left me with my brain oozing out my ear. Real post tomorrow, I promise.
(EDIT: I clicked on the link above at it worked for me, but if it doesn't work, try clicking this or cutting and pasting it into your browser: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/26/fashion/26love.html?_r=1. You may have a NYT ad pop up - there's a "skip ad" button on the top right hand corner of that screen.)
Also? I got a new car today! And four hours of test driving, paperword, haggling, negotiating, and bargaining have left me with my brain oozing out my ear. Real post tomorrow, I promise.
(EDIT: I clicked on the link above at it worked for me, but if it doesn't work, try clicking this or cutting and pasting it into your browser: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/26/fashion/26love.html?_r=1. You may have a NYT ad pop up - there's a "skip ad" button on the top right hand corner of that screen.)
Monday, July 27, 2009
Makes me want to shine up my trowel...
So, as we do every Monday at noon, we had psychotherapy lecture today. And Dr. Jabba says, kind of as an offhand comment, "Psychiatry is like archeology." Which was closely followed by a comment about digging around in people's heads.
I've been amusing myself with this analogy all afternoon.
It's a pretty good analogue, I think.
Consider an archaeological dig. You start out with shovels, right? Sometimes backhoes. It's not delicate work. It's general, it's rougher, you have a basic idea where you're going and what you're looking for, but more or less, you just dive in.
But then you start to find evidence that there's something else there. So you park the backhoe and pull out smaller implements. You take spade-fuls of dirt away. You carefully pull off layers with your trowel. It's not super fine work, but it's more careful. And you take a closer look at what's in the soil you pull off.
And then you find something - a flash of metal, a change of texture, the smell of putrefaction. You expose a little more, gently, but rarely does it just plop out, all intact and pretty. So you pull out more cautious tools for that, delicate, tenuous things that require great care and a little skill. You're still gentle with the surrounding material, but you focus more on the piece at hand.
Sometimes the artifact comes out in pieces that you have to reassemble. Sometimes it comes out intact, and in pretty good condition. Sometimes it really does dislodge itself and plop out at your feet. Sometimes, you sift and sort through all that dirt, you think you've found something really important...and it turns out to be a plastic cup from McDonalds. And not the prehistoric McDonald's, either.
Such is it with therapy. You start with general ideas. People usually have a reason they come to see you. It's rarely what's really at issue, but it gives you a place to start. Together you dig, you sift, you sort, through layers of their past, looking at what turns up in the process. Eventually you find something that seems somewhat more important, so you slow down, you take note. You usually dance around it for a while. You observe, you examine, as it comes to light. Sometimes it comes out in pieces. Sometimes it makes an inglorious entrance. Sometimes, you look at it and say, "aha!" And then it's your job to figure out the significance of it. Often that may not be readily apparent, until you find more artifacts around it - the context of it, what accompanies it, what's related. You catalogue, you examine, you explore, and then you set it aside and keep digging, because there's always more to find, always more to know.
And some days? You work and work and work and still come up empty handed. But when all is said and done, you find what you find, whether or not it was what you were looking for.
Hmm.
I've been amusing myself with this analogy all afternoon.
It's a pretty good analogue, I think.
Consider an archaeological dig. You start out with shovels, right? Sometimes backhoes. It's not delicate work. It's general, it's rougher, you have a basic idea where you're going and what you're looking for, but more or less, you just dive in.
But then you start to find evidence that there's something else there. So you park the backhoe and pull out smaller implements. You take spade-fuls of dirt away. You carefully pull off layers with your trowel. It's not super fine work, but it's more careful. And you take a closer look at what's in the soil you pull off.
And then you find something - a flash of metal, a change of texture, the smell of putrefaction. You expose a little more, gently, but rarely does it just plop out, all intact and pretty. So you pull out more cautious tools for that, delicate, tenuous things that require great care and a little skill. You're still gentle with the surrounding material, but you focus more on the piece at hand.
Sometimes the artifact comes out in pieces that you have to reassemble. Sometimes it comes out intact, and in pretty good condition. Sometimes it really does dislodge itself and plop out at your feet. Sometimes, you sift and sort through all that dirt, you think you've found something really important...and it turns out to be a plastic cup from McDonalds. And not the prehistoric McDonald's, either.
Such is it with therapy. You start with general ideas. People usually have a reason they come to see you. It's rarely what's really at issue, but it gives you a place to start. Together you dig, you sift, you sort, through layers of their past, looking at what turns up in the process. Eventually you find something that seems somewhat more important, so you slow down, you take note. You usually dance around it for a while. You observe, you examine, as it comes to light. Sometimes it comes out in pieces. Sometimes it makes an inglorious entrance. Sometimes, you look at it and say, "aha!" And then it's your job to figure out the significance of it. Often that may not be readily apparent, until you find more artifacts around it - the context of it, what accompanies it, what's related. You catalogue, you examine, you explore, and then you set it aside and keep digging, because there's always more to find, always more to know.
And some days? You work and work and work and still come up empty handed. But when all is said and done, you find what you find, whether or not it was what you were looking for.
Hmm.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Coming soon to a blog near me...
So, I initially was going to post a link to a very funny site that I stumbled across tonight in my oh-geez-I-can't-move, post-Gomer, laying-like-a-big-lump-ness (work was long and crazy. Oh, so, so crazy. Gomer, whom I haven't seen in two weeks because he was off at the beach and then I was moving, apparently felt the need to make up for lost time. And the gym was like SEVEN THOUSAND DAMN DEGREES. I had so few electrolytes at the end of our workout that I could barely put three words together. I stopped and got Schlotsky's for dinner purely out of lust for the roughly swimming-pool-sized unsweet tea that comes with their - also tasty - vegetarian sandwich, and cranked the AC in the car. Then I came home, delighted in the fact that my dining room table is still clear enough for me to eat dinner there, showered, and commenced with the lump-like laying. It was needed. Of course, the caffeine from the unsweet tea kiddie pool was not, and now it's 10:30...but, I digress. Longly).
And then, I started thinking about the conversation I had with my shrink last night, which entailed things like, "So, I've decided to make Gomer stop weighing me during our assessments (one of which is due soon. I'm hoping he forgets). Because the number is kind of irrelevant at this point. I think the measurements and body fat analysis are more meaningful, but as my body composition changes, that actual number doesn't mean shit. Like, I calculated my lean body mass the other day, which turned out to be X. And then I back calculated what my goal weight would be if my lean body mass stayed exactly the same - which it's so not gonna, if I keep this up - and I were 25% body fat, which is reasonable, and it was Y." She says, "Okay. And?" I blinked at her and said, "Well...I dunno, people who weigh that much can't possibly be healthy, right? I mean, what doctor's going to be like, your BMI (speaking of totally meaningless measurements) is like seven billion, but good work, you're not unacceptably fat anymore?"
Yes, I know. I did go to medical school, remember? I didn't even wait for her to give me the "you know you're being irrational, right?" look to point out that I was being ridiculous.
So I'm thinking about this tonight, and was trying to remember the formulas for basal metabolic rate and caloric need and blah blah blah, thinking about getting more strictly back on the meal plan my wonderful dietitian from a few years ago devised (she's in Florida. And not answering email), and feeling like that might not actually cover my BMR, which, is sort of the anti-answer. So I Google, and follow some links, and then I end up with three new blogs I totally love and a rant about why being fat is the last acceptable bias and this crazy, evil, awful woman who's crusading against fat people. Because we're just that gross, or something, I don't know why she feels the need to do anything besides shut the fuck up (because, really? REALLY what she should do).
But, now it's 10:40, and I do have to go to work tomorrow, and I decided I'm going to table that blog post for Love Thursday. But to give you a hint at the coming attractions, watch this:
(I so love her)
(Also...shit. I guess this means I need to actually write something useful on Thursday...)
And then, I started thinking about the conversation I had with my shrink last night, which entailed things like, "So, I've decided to make Gomer stop weighing me during our assessments (one of which is due soon. I'm hoping he forgets). Because the number is kind of irrelevant at this point. I think the measurements and body fat analysis are more meaningful, but as my body composition changes, that actual number doesn't mean shit. Like, I calculated my lean body mass the other day, which turned out to be X. And then I back calculated what my goal weight would be if my lean body mass stayed exactly the same - which it's so not gonna, if I keep this up - and I were 25% body fat, which is reasonable, and it was Y." She says, "Okay. And?" I blinked at her and said, "Well...I dunno, people who weigh that much can't possibly be healthy, right? I mean, what doctor's going to be like, your BMI (speaking of totally meaningless measurements) is like seven billion, but good work, you're not unacceptably fat anymore?"
Yes, I know. I did go to medical school, remember? I didn't even wait for her to give me the "you know you're being irrational, right?" look to point out that I was being ridiculous.
So I'm thinking about this tonight, and was trying to remember the formulas for basal metabolic rate and caloric need and blah blah blah, thinking about getting more strictly back on the meal plan my wonderful dietitian from a few years ago devised (she's in Florida. And not answering email), and feeling like that might not actually cover my BMR, which, is sort of the anti-answer. So I Google, and follow some links, and then I end up with three new blogs I totally love and a rant about why being fat is the last acceptable bias and this crazy, evil, awful woman who's crusading against fat people. Because we're just that gross, or something, I don't know why she feels the need to do anything besides shut the fuck up (because, really? REALLY what she should do).
But, now it's 10:40, and I do have to go to work tomorrow, and I decided I'm going to table that blog post for Love Thursday. But to give you a hint at the coming attractions, watch this:
(I so love her)
(Also...shit. I guess this means I need to actually write something useful on Thursday...)
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
"Howzat work?"
(Shot by my mom's friend, on her freakin' front porch. It's an elk. How gorgeous is it where she lives?!)
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