April 2006

Today at the clinic, we had a couple of sales people walk in. We’ve had our quota of men in ties trying to sell everything from candy to funky fake flowers to … you name it, walking the neighborhood with sacks full of gadgets or consumables in hope of making a buck. The folks we found smiling at us this morning through the sliding window were selling huge, as in nine inch in diameter, flashlights.

Dude: It has a home charger and a car charger.

Me: Oh, so you can charge your car?

**__**

Office assistant: BWAH!

Dude: eheheheh… heh. hee. uh….

I had a client, so I got out before I found out if anyone parted with ten bucks for a spotlight. I mean, flashlight.

I’m really not able to manage the timing or the joke to actually be funny, at least not often. So it was fun to watch the dude sweat on that one. I do a good deadpan.

The compressor in my car is shot - no air conditioning this summer. The part by itself is 900 smackers, plus all kinds of labor, plus hoses and whatnot because if you’re gonna do part of the system, you might as well do it all. The car is worth, oh, 1500 or so, if I did the repair. Not worth it. I’d rather keep the money and use it for a downpayment on something else. Or a plane ticket.

1. Fourteen hours of therapy left! (grrr, no show people!)

2. Tummy not good. I somehow upset it yesterday, tmi deleted last night, and been urpy and moany all day, not to mention headache-y, but Excedrin Migraine rulz.

3. Parentals not coming to graduation. But, Female Parental was true to her codependant nature and sent Large Monetary Sum. Debating whether to follow trend previously set and purchase yoga lessons/therapy sessions/massages for self. Or blow the whole wad on One Massive Party! Or airline tickets to Australia, New Zealand, Great Britain, or possibly (given current rates) somewhere closer to home, like Canada.

4. Field Placement ends on June 1, due to massive sweeping changes in the system with which I am unable to negotiate. I knew the changes were coming; we all thought it would be later in the year. But, no. So I will be shiftless and job-seeking, and probably doing temp work unrelated to my chosen field to pinch-hit with the bills until I locate Actual Real Career-Related Work, thus hoarding my savings account for a possible relocation to Somewhere That Is Not This Town.

5. It’s ALMOST OVER! ZOMG!

The shock, it comes in waves and squiggles and blinding flashes. How four years can feel like FOREVER. How quickly it can end.

If your apartment has those outlets connected to the lightswitches, don’t connect an extension cord to it then power a lamp and a battery charger. You will be frustrated for weeks when your conservationist habitual turn-out-the-lights instinct collides with your need to have a functioning wireless mouse.

I will not further embarrass myself by mentioning how long it took to figure out what was going on.

Big Test done. Not sure how I did. Likely passed, possibly didn’t, not caring overmuch one way or another due to excessive burn-outedness.

Two measly assignments and a final left in my graduate school experience. And 17 hours of therapy, which will likely not take three weeks to complete. Booyah.

Kind of a so so week, leading into the BIG TEST O DOOM on Saturday.

Out of eight appointments, four have actually showed up. Two appointments that didn’t show were in Distant Clinic. Bah. Still, if most people show tomorrow, I’m still ahead of the game. And if they don’t, I study.

I downloaded the registration packet to acquire an intern number. I need the number to be employed. I need to graduate to get the number. I need the office of Whoever Maintains Transcripts to get the ‘incomplete’ off my transcript so I can acquire an official transcript to finish the form to get the intern number. And I’m getting a sick feeling in my stomach as I wait for the big bad wolf to blow the straw house down. As I asked my supervisor tonight, “whose a$$ do I have to kick to get the incomplete changed?”

Feeling much better about other things, like the graduation ceremony. The people with whom I have an actual relationship will likely be there. My parents will likely say they aren’t up to the drive, as according to my brother both have been declining somewhat. My brother and sis in law will probably bring wacky adopted nephew, and we’ll probably go out for something tasty before they drive home.

In thinking about all the angst surrounding my mama… I’m realizing it isn’t about her at all. It’s about me owning up to the fact that there wasn’t really a relationship, in the sense of two people knowing each other intimately and accepting each other anyway. She can only accept me if I behave like the ten year old she misses. I can accept her the way she is as long as I don’t have to sit and listen to her for more than fifteen minutes at a stretch - I’ve noticed that (probably due to the therapist part) I have this subtle confrontational thing going on, and the one thing anyone who spends more than a day with Mum knows, is you don’t confront her, you let her be as illogical and daft as she likes, and don’t puncture her delusion that the world really ought to function just as she seems to expect. Challenges Are Bad. Conformance Good. You Must Be Like Me Or You Are Wrong!

Good grief. I was raised by a Borg.

mcgriddlefanfic - Community Info

(via BoingBoing)

Some news makes you want to go postal at Pandagon

I lurk at Pandagon, liberal feminist blog extraordinaire, and the numbers in the post drove home to me just how we are NEVER going to see low gas prices again.

Someone recently forwarded one of those “hey, let’s all boycott Exxon and Mobil to get them to drop prices” emails. While I am completely aware that I am ignorant of the process by which prices are determined, I’m really doubting that this would work, and said so to my friend — for one thing, gas stations set pricing as low as they can without taking a loss, because it’s not the station owners that do it. And the small single owner stations are just as high as the big boys. And you know they’ll never go down again; all the murmurings over peak oil and so forth may or may not be valid, I don’t know, I don’t have a giant dipstick to go test it myself — but things aren’t ever going to go back to the days of fifty cents per gallon. They’re not going back to two bucks a gallon. And the reasons have a lot to do with the supply chain and every link in it wanting as much as they can get out of the deal now, because like the professional football player, it’s a short term business. They’re on the way out and it’s only a matter of a few years. Already, lots of people around my town are unable to drive a car. I can predict a push to better and more efficient public transportation. Our city buses are already driven by something other than gasoline.

Well, more like in New Steps Toward Being a Real Live Career Person With Options.

The search for a paying job/internship continues. Four emails this week with resumes, no responses! Everyone wants a volunteer.

Other pursuits involve checking out student loan consolidation, gathering information on new cars, and racking up the no show appointments. I had one appointment today. No client. Other Clinic called to let me know my 9 am wanted to reschedule to later in the day or next week - since the parts for the car came in this afternoon, I said “next week” and will be watching them install a belt tomorrow morning.

Toyota has a college grad special for financing a new/used vehicle, so I’m comparing them to my Other Ideal Car, the Mini Cooper. Websites for car manufacturers have “build your new car” features, so I’ve been playing with them. I’m tossed — 10k more and get a cute little thing with an iPod connector, less and you get a Corolla with extras. Did you know the Cooper has 24 cu ft of cargo capacity and the Corolla only 14? What is up with that?

My mechanic informs me that the Cooper isn’t easy to repair, plus it’s expensive, plus he can’t get parts. So he of course told me to go with a Toyota. I’m thinking some test driving and haggling might be in my future.

Grad invites mailed, waiting for the drama to start. Wheeeee.

Dude chopped down a tree that was in another apartment’s back yard. Now they’re throwing the branches and chunks of wood in a huge woodchipper they backed up right outside my window - for a bit I thought they were tossing in chunks of my car!

Which is sort of wishful thinking. It’s going in next week for a new belt and a clutch pedal sensor. What sensor? The one under the clutch that detects a depressed pedal and gives the engine permission to start. They don’t want you starting it in gear, of course. I don’t know that the sensor’s bad — it’s just cheaper than replacing the starter, and it’s one or the other that keeps me from starting the car sometimes.

I’m starting to worry about the whole hooding ceremony thing. Last weekend I printed up invitations/announcements, because you invite people to watch you shake hands and hug and get the Fake Diploma until the real one arrives. Otherwise what’s the point of doing it?

I haven’t sent any yet. Oh, it’s not postage, not lack of time - I could get ‘em out tonight. It’s the knowledge that the instant those folks I want to invite meet those folks I should invite, things will get hinky. I will be mixing an old boss, a current clinical supervisor, friends of various origin, Roommate, and my family. And of course I am quite specifically concerned about my mother. My brother and his wife walk in the daylight with the rest of the world and have decent manners, and they’ll keep adopted nephew under control. My dad will be mostly silent and grinning ear to ear as he tries not to shake overmuch with the Parkinsons. But, you can’t control Mom, and she’ll blurt something out or cry or lecture me for eighty zillion hours after it’s all said and done about the quality of my friends, the EVIL of sharing a kitchen and living room with a MAN who is not legally my spouse, and generally make me want to slap her. I haven’t spoken to her in months (by her choice) and I’m sure it’s all bottled up in there just waiting for a trigger.

But. I cannot invite the mom I want her to be - the one who has a life other than nagging/herding/dominating her kids into molds she deems appropriate. I’m left with the one I have, who’s done a decent job raising kids with limited resources, left too many problems to resolve themselves, and intentionally ignored some of the most damaging emotional issues — but when it’s all said and done she is still Mom. Good and bad. I’ve finally recognized something — for her to change now would mean she could have changed years and years ago, and she didn’t, and that would leave her with a lot of agita and a ton of self condemnation, and so her ego maintains itself much as it always has, and I’ll have to live with it.

So I’ll send the invitation and she’ll come or not depending on her level of anxiety, and I’ll walk across a stage, say thanks to all and sundry, jump up and down a few times, cartwheel, moonwalk, and jig off down the steps with a masters. And if she warbles some passive aggressive thing in the general direction of myself or one of my profs, well, we’re all mental health professionals — I’m sure we’ll be fine. We’ve all seen a lot of dysfunction before.

Funny how impassive I can be in the presence of an angry schizophrenic, yet just thinking of my own mother in the same room with my crazy friend T gives me a sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach.

I have been staying away from the fabric stores and the craft sections of department stores since I started school, because I kept telling myself I had to finish the projects in the closet first, and besides, yarn is expensive. Then a friend had to get pregnant, and I had to ask myself, what would be a more personal gift, something I buy, or something I make?

It started out innocently enough. The softest fluffy nylon yarn and some of the better, softer acrylic together to make a nice thick blanket suitable for a newborn — 2 skeins each ran about twenty bucks. Cool. But then the fluffy yarn breaks easy, and you’re using two strands at a time, and so I ran out before the last couple rows were finished. Back to the store, and heya, there’s now a yarn sale, and it would be neat to also give her a hat or two, and maybe a bigger afghan to use when the kid’s a toddler….

And then there was a fantastic reduction on my favorite yarn ever, Lion Brand Homespun. One of the few acrylics on the planet that I can use for hours without itching. And now they have Baby Homespun in pleasing colors and oh so soft texture, and so, once again, my stash is huge. But I’ve completed two small things today and gotten a good start on the third, because of course, with two weeks left til the big test and a bad case of writer’s block, there’s nothing like a soft cuddly distraction to keep you happy. And this will look great on my bed.

Yes, I tend to catch up to things on Friday.

I have learned that therapy with children in Real Life Situations is fraught with agita. Working with an ultra demanding foster care agency in addition to a kid who won’t look at you isn’t fun. And of course the newbie gets pushed around, and of course I have to call back and say “You know, my supervisors just won’t let me be that much of a wimp.” But not in those words.

I have learned that my former job is too intimidating - the gal they got to replace me quit after one day. Of course, she also claimed to have bookkeeping experience to the boss, then said to me, “I don’t know about it.” Not good. Honesty is the best policy. So, now I have to teach my boss quickbooks. I’ll give him one afternoon.

I saw signs Roommate has returned from his week out counting bugs and turtles and owls and foxes (foxen? foxi?) in the wild places soon to become housing tracts — random luggage strewn about the apartment. But I think he’s buying his new car this afternoon. I’m glad - his old clunker was leaking oil badly, and I could foresee taxi duty if it continued.

I have been thinking about writing, but getting home tired and headache-y and cranky. And sort of stuck on the WIPs at the moment. I think I’ve plotted myself into a hole. Hopefully digging out won’t require a huge deletion.

WSJ.com - Bloggers React to Windows-on-Mac

Is it bad that I quit buying Pepsi, drink one ginger ale, then crave ginger ale?

I got iced tea the other day instead of Pepsi — I might as well have got the Pepsi. If the goal is to avoid all that corn syrup? Water’s about it, unless you make the iced tea yourself.

Someone found my site the other day using the search terms “who is the dark haired woman sitting next to picard?” Hmmm, wonder if they found the answer to that?

Also, bogglingly, someone else got there with “Kirk Spock clitoris.” Talk about barking up the wrong genitalia. Unless I missed an episode where they went looking for one?