Working Stiffery

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TOOOO MUCH

Is it too much to ask for people to answer the $&^@ phone? Or actually return a telephone call or at least acknowledge that they actually want to come in to see someone?

Apparently it’s JUST TOO HARD TO USE A PHONE.

If you see people walking/driving/skating/flying around talking on their cell phones… well, they AREN’T TALKING TO ME.

That would mean I’m ACTUALLY GETTING APPOINTMENTS SCHEDULED.

SHEESH. Why request services if you don’t intend to EVER pick up your CAPSLOCK-RIDDEN-STRING-OF-EXPLETIVES-DELETED TELEPHONE EVER AGAIN?

Not because I lurv him or anything. Just because he is made of win. Unlike my last one.

SUCH a relief to be spoken to as if I am over 21!

Things to do in the next two week:
1. give stuff away
1.5. work
2. pack the rest
2.5. work some more
3. reserve: truck, phone/utilities, apartment
3.5. keep working; fill out forms
3.75. get: fingerprinted, drug tested, examined by m.d., forms to fill in
4. pack truck
5. collapse
6. drive truck
7. unload truck and turn it in
8. feed friend pizza and beer, eat pizza and beer, collapse
9. drive back to old job; work for three more days, cleaning old apartment in the evenings and camping on the floor
10. drive to new apartment; buy groceries
11. start new job

I hate moving with a passion, but I’ve had a lot of practice.

Jagged Little Pill

It took far too many pills to make it through today. Migraine meds, more migraine meds, sinus meds, and plain ol’ headache pills because of fear of too many migraine meds.

Plus, I had to stop in and have a nail removed from my tire - it was

    this close

to the sidewall and I had a bit of anxiety due to not knowing how much a new pair of tires for this car would be. But they were able to plug it for ten bucks.

Therapy with my Wednesday clients tends to go well, which is good; otherwise it would have been one of those hellish twilight zone days that ends with me under my desk in little knots.

Presently

Thank you, ladies who gave suggestions on previous post….

I think that I am opting for “move to a town with more things to do” - I had a job interview Tuesday and another coming up Saturday, in two different places. Either job I am taking a pay cut but this is immaterial to me - I need something wherein I do not live in fear of layoff, and either position would suit.

And, I think if I still have difficulties I shall start my own book group. Or maybe a hiking group.

Also I have just discovered the tax man owes me enough money to mostly pay off my credit card debt. Hmmmm.

Out of it

I wonder how many posts are apologies for gaps in posting?

I fail as a blogger. Seriously, I have not words to spare. I spend my days working in a job that I took in a town I don’t want to live in, being unmotivated as I sit through meetings wherein we are told there will be cuts… no mention of layoffs but y’know, the Governator just slashed the statewide budget, and that means a year from now….

There’s nothing more depressing than a dead end job than a dead end job PLUS a heartache. PLUS a town that’s so depressing it borders on the twilight-zonish. I go looking for book clubs, hiking groups, whatever meets my hobby list, and find… nothing. Oh, the Sierra Club, but I’m not so sure I like the politics of it, plus the local group appears to exist to recycle batteries and pick up highway trash. The group to the north and west of me, now, they go out camping and hiking.

Retail therapy dictated that I pick up a new camera, small and simple enough for backpacking. My current camera weighs about a pound and the lens cover sticks shut, resulting in random black boxes where there should be pictures. Also a 4GB memory card.

I think I have one beer left. Perhaps I can write, for a change. I’ve been listless and unmotivated for too long.

Back to work

Vacation is over, back to work with me!

Had a good time with friends at new year’s and took advantage of a few sales, and now it’s time to pay the rent again and go see if my office is still there.

Sigh.

It’s almost over

The year, that is.

Here are all the things I haven’t posted about in any detail this year.
* another job search
* horrid supervisor
* massive horrendous icky no good PMS - I will no longer scoff if someone mentions ’suicidal’ and PMS in the same sentence. There have been not-good moments.
* massive heartbreak.

This year I got a raise and considerable backpay, and in addition to paying off some bills I am getting myself camping gear and I am making a resolution to use it next year, as well as getting back into yoga so I can be in some sort of shape to go backpacking in late summer/early fall.

I wish that I had never moved here, because when the pros and cons are weighed? My health has backslid, my allergies are unending, the migraines came back with a vengeance, and I literally have two friends in town. It’s an awful place to meet people. Everyone’s got their own social circle already and I’m not from here, so there’s no roots.

I am not rich but I am not broke, I have a new-ish car, and my intern hours are half done. I would like to now heave a great sigh and fall into bed, however, it is currently covered with clothing, as while I pack boxes and slowly make ready to move again, I am purging old crap I don’t use anymore. For I am tired and hoping I can take some time off over the holidays to regroup.

Another therapist, attempting to ease the nerves of a class full of newbie therapists still in school: “… and you know, after all the stress and so forth, in the end? No one’s ever asked me what my GPA was.”

Me: “What’s your GPA?

(beat)
(everyone laughs)

Maybe you had to be there. But since no one really thinks I’m funny it was kind of cool.

The usual sequence

At the beginning of the week, I said, I will post something witty, intelligent or substantial to the blog! Maybe something about the idea for a novel that I stumbled across while reading up on a topic relevant to the Day Job.

Around Tuesday I would have settled for intelligible.

Around Thursday, I would have settled for a few words about the cat, with a snarky comment obliquely referring to the madness of the bureaucracy.

It’s Friday. I’m sipping wine. I have nothing to offer of any use.

BAH.

Today I was issued a new list of items that are overdue for my various files concerning various clients.

That would be well and dandy except for the fact that all those items were turned in weeks, or in some cases months, ago.

Something tells me I need a new new list - one that I make, and keep, and maintain, and back up with photocopies of the paperwork.

I HATE bureaucracy. The bigger they are, the harder they are to work under. And I’m thinking I need one of those headlamps, I’m so far under.

Not a good sign

Followup call to person who interviewed me.

“Is [name] there?”

“No, she’s no longer with [business].”

Um.

Oh.

Guess I’ll keep sending resumes.

Sorrier than they appear

1. Register for a training a month and a half in advance. Four hours, in the afternoon, blocked off in your calendar. Schedule appointments around it.

2. Six days before the training, receive an email that says “please note training x will now be held on the day before the date listed in the training calendar.” Rearrange your life to suit.

3. On the Friday before the Monday that is to be the day of the training - “please note that the training will be from 8-12 and not 1-5 as noted in the training calendar. We are sorry for any inconvenience this may cause.” Yell YOU ARE NOT SORRY ENOUGH at the screen. Delete email with a fist to the mouse.

4. Go to the (last mandatory) training. Roll your eyes. A lot. A six line memo could have sufficed.

5. Get to work after the training. Be assigned to a school meeting at a location more or less adjacent to your own home, where you had lunch about twenty minutes ago. Drive across town to the meeting with a notepad and a forced smile.

6. Sit in office for twenty minutes before someone remembers you are there, and why, and actually bothers to check with someone who knows. Receive apologies that they did not inform your department that the meeting was rescheduled to two weeks from today.

7. On the way back to the parking lot, turn to face the school and shout YOU ARE NOT SORRY ENOUGH. Suck it up and drive past yon beckoning home on the way back across town to work.

8. Spend remaining hour of the day on the phone trying to provide billable services. Leave messages. The minute you get a live person on the phone and start a serious and productive conversation, the other line rings not once, but three times.

9. Half an hour later, listen to voicemail telling you “by the way, there is a meeting at X on Thurs — ” and stop when the phone rings. Upon answering the phone, the same voice informs you the meeting is really Friday, hee hee, sorry. Refrain from shouting YOU ARE NOT SORRY ENOUGH at this person who has so far neglected to tell you about two meetings, misspelled your name horribly on every piece of correspondence from her office, and routinely forgotten what department you work for, despite having weekly contact with her for a year.

Go home. Sigh. Do it again tomorrow.

I want September to go away now.

Interviews

I have enough experience now to count as a real professional I guess, because I am getting actual interviews from my meager first efforts at sending resumes.

Wow.

Ever feel like you were riding along on a tall wave and were just reaching the tiptop of it, and it was about to crash down flat and take you with it?

My first choice of work issue solution did not work out. Now I am discussing options and forwarding resumes.

I hate instability - I wanted to be here for more than a year. Now it’s looking like that isn’t an option.

1. Why I have been silent and distant with the blog
2. Why I updated my resume
3. Why I thought of an attorney, grievances, union action and/or walking out and not coming back
4. Why I am kicking myself for not getting out while the storm clouds were still on the horizon instead of waiting for them to loom overhead rumbling ominously.
5. Why I have been surfing job ads

I may get my mojo back. It may take time. I just can’t talk about it right now, and I’m afraid if I start typing on another subject things will leak into the text. Stress is bleeding across the edges into everything.

This too shall pass.

Game over!

I have reclaimed two and a half hours of my week - I have ended group!

Now, what should I fill it with? hmmm.

Eating chocolate?

Eh. Probably more appointments.

Word of the day at work yesterday: assiduous. Using this in group supervision meant giving a definition, which was followed by some rather surprised stares. I do use words in conversation that no one else knows, apparently.

I was quite sad. It’s lonely being a word geek.

feh

You know those days where you spend the whole day thinking the appointment will happen, and then you get up to about quarter after and realize they’re not coming, and then you look at your notes from last appointment and realize they’re not coming in this week and it’s actually next Tuesday?

Yeah. Hate those days.

On the up side - Happy Fourth of July! I get to stay home tomorrow and keep writing. The muse has been good to me this week.

Drugs!

As will happen when dealing with kids, one of my wee clients is removed from custody of family and placed in a shelter. Child Protective Services is in the works, so everything official gets filtered through social workers, including appointments and transportation. (No, this is not about the kid. No info on the kid. S/he is one of the thousands of unfortunates clogging the system in America due to the basic inhumanity of humans toward offspring.)

So I called the social worker last week and got a brisk, official response. Pretty much what you’d expect from a pro in the system.

This week, I call and get someone who answered at the same phone number and responded to the same name, but I would’ve sworn I’d just reached someone due for rehab. All floaty and airy sounding, bubbly, cheerful, whatev. Was it a Friday high? Cocktails at lunch? Getting laid? Who knows?

I just want some of what she’s having. The best I could do at short notice was a six pack of Corona and some chips and dip.

Group Dynamics

Running a group for kids to teach them anger management inevitably teaches those running the group more about anger management than it does the kids.

Only I would get into a row with co-workers over whether ‘obstreperous’ is a word.

“It’s not in the dictionary!”

Me: “Yes. It is.”

*pages through* “Oh… my… gawd. ‘noisy and difficult to control.’”

“Hey, that’s me!”

Me: “Yes. It is. Hence my usage of the term.”

“How do you even know that word?”

Me: siiiiiiigh.Floccinaucinihilipilification!”

O_O O_o

Me: “Yes. It is a word.”

I’ve had, in my Magic Filing Cabinet Full O Toys at work, a Bionicle - one of those plastic creature toys that kids are supposed to put together. I kept waiting for one of the kids to verify that all the pieces were there.

Tonight a new kid came in and put the thing together, and when I asked if it was all there he said “yup.” Since he succeeded where other kids have tried and failed, I’ll just take his word for it.

If someone says “you should have the pneumonia vaccination” and “when was your last tetanus booster” take a few things into consideration.

1. Tetanus shots make your arm, shoulder and part of your back sore. You might be lucky and get away with a sore little knot; I of course am not lucky and get the whole gamut of OUCH.

2. Pneumonia shots may induce flu-like symptoms, as in, ALL of them. I’ve missed work because I’m so fatigued.

Pills good. Lots of pills better.

They gave me the shots in my right arm, so now it hurts to drive my new car. Waa!

If only the ugly red strip down my arm would go away. I keep stopping myself from scratching. It’s also not useful that the cat will insist on bonking her head against my right shoulder.

Speaking of the cat, I’ve resorted to throwing a blanket over the hood and windshield — she likes to sit on the warm hood when I’ve parked in the garage, which is of course where I park a shiny new sporty vehicle with a nice stereo. Little paw prints show up real well on a white car.

And of course, I put one of my white Apple decals on the rear window.

What should I name my car? Any suggestions? The Mach 5 is right out.

Slog blog

I have hit the point at which I am slogging. No shows, cancellations, and some really tough cases to assess that take hours of phoning people and collecting collateral info. What do you do when a kid has no parents? You talk to social workers, cousins, group home administrators, teachers…. Ayi yi yi.

Also, kids keep bringing in colds. I keep taking pills.

Also, there’s ice. Pockets, in the gutters and shady spots. It’s cold!

It’s interesting that the stress results in fic. I should be good to go, now.

6:38 am

So as usual I am debating whether to post something about what’s going on. Wondering a) who really reads this anyway and b) whether they’re anyone I know in the flesh.

What’s going on? Stress. I should never go into such detail here that it’s recognizable, I’ve decided, so I’ll leave it at this: disagreements and condescension and manipulation and politics. I hate politics. I hate condescension. I try to be straight and fair, and honest with coworkers. I try to let petty things go. But this is not petty, and it’s unfair.

So, document and document and wait for things to settle down, or work themselves up to a sort of frenzied defend-myself level. I’ve seen this game before.

In other news, I’m swearing off many book purchases, limiting myself to one a month. Of course, I had to order 6 books for the one purchase. They’re mostly used, and less than 10 bucks a book, but still. I also requested ones I didn’t order from the library.

This weekend, for the first time in months, I am visiting the family. It’s not exactly going to be fun. I chose a two day weekend to limit the hours I had to spend gnawing mum’s iron grip off my ankle. She’s already complaining about that.

I had to sit in a training yesterday for most of the day. The dude couldn’t figure out powerpoint so I was yelling answers. Mum said I had to fix their new printer. I will never get away from computer geeking for others, I fear.

No Words

There are no words to describe how very frustrated I am right now.

I haven’t even really filled my schedule and I’m behind on paperwork. That after a couple of holidays and slow weeks wherein all the kids went away on vacation. And I have spent two months trying to get three people to call back, and they just… won’t.

(Normally, a therapist would simply document this failure to communicate and then close the file. I don’t work for a ‘normal’ sort of program.)

I could say a lot of other things but of course - I can’t do that in a public blog. Or a private one, really. The kids are cute. The parents are a) anxious b) indifferent or c) somewhere in between and vacillating rapidly.

Oy.

I still like my job, however.

First day

I managed to get through the first day on the job without incident, unless you count getting lost on the way there. Boss handed me 20 names and client numbers, so I am in the process of reviewing case files and reading the 6 inch thick procedure manual, reacquainting myself with the bureaucratic tree-killing paper load.

Now I’m in the bedroom at the friend’s house, with all my devices recharging, trying to remember my co-worker’s names. Nothing like a blur of people to confuse you. The clinic houses a number of teams and there’s a cube farm going on, but I have an office with a door and a ‘do not disturb’ sign. Therapists are lucky that way. That confidentiality thing requires an actual door.

Tomorrow will likely be a repeat of today, only with meetings. Boo yah.

One Week Til New!Town

Or at least until I start the job - and I have no new apartment secured, and not much of a clue of when I will.

I taught the parenting class last Saturday and sounded like a quacking duck — getting over the head cold from hell and all, and totally wanting to jump back in bed, I managed to hit the points on the lesson plan without much trouble. I was also as charismatic as a paper towel, but we can’t have everything.

Yesterday Roommate said, “let’s go to Yosemite!” and so we did. Fall colors v. nice. Of course, I left the camera at home. We ate in the lodge, and sat in the bar listening to other people cheer at football as we read the voting materials and moved on to books. And of course we walked around the valley looking at the trees and he took pictures of the most gorgeous maple you’ve ever seen, and nearly got hit by herds of bicycles.

Today? I need to turn in things to boss, and make a bunch of phone calls as a prelude to another rental search. Because I have to be at work Monday.

Surprisingly, I’m also still writing and doing some other stuff in between - something to keep me from obsessing over the specter of homelessness.

I have a part of me that wants to drive around picking boxes out of the recycling dumpsters at Acre O’ Offices down the street — there are ALWAYS boxes just piled in them — and a bigger, lazier part of me just really doesn’t like that idea. Big n’ Lazy noticed a recent comment suggesting Costco boxes to be cheaper. BnL also likes the internet, so surfed off to the costco website.

They have moving kits that are roughly a third of the cost of the same thing you’d get at uhaul stores. (By the way? You don’t have to be a Costco member to shop at the website. You, too, can buy your moving supplies, pens, electronics or books, with a small markup over what a member would pay.) Yes, I could get those office storage boxes — but I’m thinking here of hauling hanging clothing for a couple hundred miles, plus loads of breakables and whatnot, and so a kit of wardrobe boxes plus a kit with various sizes and packing material and tape will do it — I don’t really need so many boxes, since so much of my stuff is still in boxes and the electronics will fit in their own boxes, which are currently jammed in nooks and crannies awaiting their call to duty. The kitchen is always the worst part of moving and I’ve got very little kitchen unpacked; Roommate’s stuff has been in use for the past couple of years.

I did a purge a while back, getting rid of roughly 200 pounds of dross (odd clothing, bits of office supplies/craft crap/cassettes I never listen to/shoes I don’t fit into any more) and also reorganizing things into more compact packaging. I have the feeling another purge is imminent, especially as I am in the throes of “OMG I will have money! Real money!” and the old work clothes are not looking so great. This urge is being pinned down and beaten soundly by the old Scottish auntie part of my brain that wants me to wash tinfoil for re-use and save empty butter tubs. I encourage the beating, as footing the rent myself, plus the utility and internet connection (I don’t call it a telephone line, I use my cell phone and let the answering machine talk to the telemarketing industry), plus the entirety of the food bill (Roommate let me mooch quite a lot because he has this habit of picking up more than he needs — it’s a single person’s lot to be consistently buying more of everything than we can possibly use before it grows its own civilization of bacteria), plus OMG I have no furniture! will add up to probably about the same amount of free cash I currently have, which is to say, six dollars and fifteen cents.

This is actually a true representation of my mental state. I am, in fact, thinking in run-on sentences. Also, I nearly forgot to show up for my Saturday gig, which involves me lecturing to a roomful of desparate parents who are totally angry with the family court system and bursting to prove it. I certainly won’t forget this week as I’m carrying the next session by myself, without the seasoned therapist who’s co-leading it. By then, I will have said farewell to the part time job(s) and begun to pack boxes with unessentials. God knows where I’ll store the boxes but I know better than to put off the packing til the truck shows up — oy, oy, oy. Most of it will be books. Some of it will be the contents of a chest of drawers I think I’ll ditch.

Add to that the sheer terror that I’ll pick an apartment next to the guy with the biggest stereo and the paranoid barking dog and nocturnal habits, who parties every day except Tuesday when he has his girlfriend over and they practically knock through the wall into my space, and we’re not looking at much of a joyride.

Gr. Arg.

Hungry, no food in house.

Just drove another 200 mile round trip for a half hour interview, but this time, there was clickage. Part of being an intern therapist is getting a good supervisor - that takes luck and a lot of hunting. I feel quite good about this one, and when I left she was making a note to call my references.

I think I’ve done my time with County X Mental Health Dept. I have to call and let someone know I’m taking a pass - the third interview is for a department I don’t think I want to work in, and driving another 200 miles for an interview with them isn’t really worth it. If I don’t get the green with one of the two positions I’ve interviewed for, I’ll stick it out in the town I’m in.

In other news, I recieved my diploma today. It only took them five months. rolls eyes

As a member of the Microsplerf Provider Outlet Geekfarm, I note with a certain … bad taste in my mouth the oncoming wave of Vista upgrades in our near(? who knows with M$?) future. Having seen the previews/promo crap, I have thoughts of becoming an unwashed hermit living under a bridge. Or possibly going back to basic clerical and pretending I have no knowledge of this thing called Winblows, excuse me, I need to answer the phone.

Already, the fun begins, in a conversation with Friend Who Moved Away via phone the other night.

FWMA: I hated Macs! I couldn’t figure out the Macs in the labs at school. blah blah blah confusing blah argh splutter.

Me: *thinking about all the ways Vista looks like Tiger* Uh huh.

FWMA: Remember when we took comp exams on them? I was so stressed out already! And then I clicked on something I thought would do blah, and it did bling, and I was all, AAAAH!

Me: *thinking about how I won’t want to answer the phone at Geekfarm ever again* Uh. huh. Tell you what - don’t ever get another computer.

FWMA: Whaaaaat?

Me: Use what you like - what you have right now, just the way it is. Transfer the hard drive to the next computer you get. Burn backups of it and keep them safe. Trust me. You’ll be happier.

Because people don’t like change. Think about how hard it is to give up something you like - soda, chocolate, ice cream - or start something new, like an exercise program. The litany, every time we read about another woman who’s spent a lifetime being abused, is “why doesn’t she leave?” Well, she doesn’t like change. That’s her normal. She’s going back to him because he’s the devil she knows. The next man might drink AND beat her AND beat the kids, not just beat her. We learn patterns of behavior and they stick like super glue. The effort to change eludes us — and in the case of domestic violence, it’s the effort to change, plus the economics of being deprived of money and freedom for so long, plus the realities of learned helplessness, of chronic low self esteem perpetuated by verbal putdowns, and of being convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that he WILL find her no matter what and kill her/the dog/the kids/her parents, which might actually be a real danger, plus the shame….

I think Windows is abusive. M$ is abusive. They’re the bully in the schoolyard, the fascist government with all the money and power, and the uneducated masses who think reinstalling every few months is normal just can’t find the right path to freedom. The guys at Geekfarm quote off hourly rates and I don’t doubt some people strapped for cash just go buy another $400 computer rather than fix the one they have, out of sheer frustration. The ones that do pony up the money keep right on using the software. There’ll be an update next week, which is the equivalent of flowers and gushing promises that it will never happen again baby, just come home…. And the cycle continues. Tension builds. The little signs begin — the occasional error message, having to ctrl-alt-delete to end a program that won’t respond, that one time the computer “can’t find system disk” and then it starts to happen more often, and before you know it, you hit a key out of desparation and the disk formats, and those six years of files are gone.

At which point you go to the PC shelter for crisis services, and the case manager has to call in a specialist to help you recover. You get the PC back all shiny and working, your data back in place, and it’s as if nothing ever happens. Until the tension builds, and the messages start…. For someone who relies on the computer for their livelihood, this is costly. You’re at the mercy of the whimsy of a capricious, uncaring, unpredictable creature that sometimes appears to like nothing better than torturing –

I really do need to find a job in my field, don’t I? I’m seeing pathology everywhere.

Bleh.

Don’t worry. I have a therapist.

Your laptop hates me

“This laptop needs a new power connector soldered to the motherboard. Take it apart and see what you can do.”

“Okay.”

About a zillion tiny screws in four sizes and two lengths later, pieces of laptop are scattered across the workbench. I have a motherboard. And no soldering skills. My boss gets out his gear. A while later, I’m able to put it back together.

I have one extra screw. Hmm.

Aaaaand, I forgot to put thermal paste on the heatsink. The laptop works for a while and abruptly turns off. System monitor indicates the cpu is too hot.

Disassembly is quicker the second time, and I don’t have to totally break it down - just lift the keyboard, the fan assembly, the heatsink, and then clean with solvent, apply paste, carefully reseat heatsink… eight dinky screws, two not-dinky screws, a pop and a crack later, it’s all back together.

Still overheats and shuts off.

I make a boot floppy off a downloaded bios update, to see if the motherboard is giving the fan wonky instructions that might be fixed with the update.

Floppy drive won’t work.

I make a floppy-emulating boot cd off the bench system (the one with all the nifty software, like Nero). I boot to the cd.

The bios update program says I don’t have the adapter plugged in. Which is true - I’m using a universal adapter, as we discovered the one that went with the laptop was defective. I switch adapters and boot again. This time the bios update goes smoothly from the cd.

Still overheats. Still shuts off.

I left it that way. If you ask me, when the system won’t boot with the battery in, has a burnt out adapter, and randomly shuts off? Mama needs a new laptop. If it were only the battery and the adapter, well, those aren’t cheap but they’re cheaper than a new laptop. The motherboard on top of those things, however, is very likely to cost more than the system’s worth at this point. But it’s up to the boss to do something with it.

And in the second reassembly, I had… a different screw left over. Oy.

Dear Blog,

Today I shipped back a defective video/alarm device. This sounds simple. Box it, label it, call for pickup. It was not simple.

Firstly, it was picked up in the store in the LA area by Boss. He handed it to me and wrote out a list of projects including ’set up DVR for H.’ So I took the DVR, which is a metal case enclosing a removable drive bay and a system board with a couple of cables, and the hard drive, garden-variety 120GB IDE device, and followed the instructions in the manual.

The thing didn’t give me a menu. I swapped the hard drive to the other location with the other setting - no menu. I swapped the whole works to a different monitor. Then I called tech support, who walked me through the whole thing again and said “exchange it for a different/new one.”

Okay, well, that does it for this project for the day. But wait! I don’t know what shipper we use, nor do I have account numbers. A call to Boss reveals that we have an account with !Shipper, and I should call them. Which I do. No, I don’t have a preprinted label. “hmmm. hold please.” *canned music* “I’ll have the driver bring you a label. Write this on it.”

A call to Store, and I have to explain to two different people what’s wrong and why they should exchange it. “We’ll test it when it gets here.” Okay, lady, you’ll see. There’s not much to it — if you plug it in and there’s no menu, something’s wrong. There’s a whole single board in the thing - it’s pretty obvious it’s something to do with that board. I could sit here plugging it in and unplugging it and it would do the same thing each time. I know - I tried it about two dozen times already.

So. With RMA number and shipper arranged, I set about packaging it. So far, it’s taken an hour of fiddling about with swapping parts and doing it over with tech support, and another half hour of horrible hold music and repeated begging to get to this point. Aaaand the box falls apart when I pick it up by the handle. It’s a sort of clamshell thing, and the bottom pulls apart if you do anything too strenuous, like… pick it up. I can’t ship it this way. I need a box big enough to hold it. For an hour I search — through the inventory room where none of the boxes are the right dimensions, through the junk room which is keyboards and monitors and hardly anything boxed, and then to the neighbor’s to beg for something. I wind up cutting and taping and making my own box, which looks like crap and isn’t too stable. I return to the junk room and… wait. There’s an old computer box in the corner I didn’t notice before. Sure enough, the styrafoam wedges that used to cushion an HP Pavilion work just swell in cushioning this fall-apart retail packaging.

Half the day is now gone.

I spend the rest of the day trying to build a computer for another video surveillance project. All I need is a case that works with the parts. I find, in the labyrinth of boxed cases and flotsam and jetsam in the inventory room, a full tower with an appropriate power supply, and I’m prepping it, pulling out drive bays and setting up the risers to put in the main board and organizing all the parts and dusting it out, and hey! there’s a hard drive for it in stock, and we even have cd drives handy. I know we have power cables because I only counted all 78 of them last week. Everything’s spiffy until I realize… the back panel of the mobo doesn’t fit. The small rectangular opening where the outputs are is too small. The motherboard won’t sit right because the panel won’t go in. A WHOLE .5 CENTIMETER ruined this.

ARRRRRRRrrrrrg.

Boss isn’t too upset. I’m the only one bothered by my inefficiency. But, ARRRRg.

Some days, you just want to take a power saw to life.

Moving Day

I have decided that the only thing to do is move parts of one WIP into another.

The transplant will require some significant rewriting, of course, but I think that it will improve both stories immensely. It will make one WIP much shorter, and the other much more cohesive and complete.

In other news, I have so far in my time at Geekfarm, counted system components, drank too much soda, and run across a software package that will not total the items you enter unless the video resolution is just right. The mind reels at the stupidity of programming so that the math doesn’t work at 800×600, or 1024×1024.

In other other news, no interviews, no calls returned. Grr. Arg.

Your problem is, the problem is never the problem.

It’s been a constant, in therapy and at Geekfarm, that people will come in and say, “My problem is A.” Inevitably, I research that problem and find it to be sort of true, or sort of not, and talk to the client about it, and as the person is walking out the door (in the case of Geekfarm, walking out with the computer), he/she will say something like “it was also Y, did you fix that?”

Uh, you said the problem was A. Not Y. Don’t expect me to know your songs vanished from your iPod when you plugged it in, or to magically fix the issue, when you A) did not mention it and B) did not bring in the iPod and C) in fact you brought in your Office install disks, which I did not need, thereby proving that you really didn’t know what you meant when you described the problem.

Likewise, if you say to me “I keep arguing with my husband” and get annoyed when I ask you a series of questions designed to diagnose what, exactly, is going on and the results come up “looks like bipolar,” don’t get all shirty about my suggestion that you keep track of when the arguments happen and see if it’s not when you’re feeling very UP or very DOWN, and that you speak to a psychiatrist to discuss medicine that might stabilize your moods and prevent you from gambling away the house or sleeping with the pool boy at the Y, all his friends, and half the local football team. The problem is not the arguing at that point. The problem is your inability to face up to your symptoms. You came to someone for an objective, clinical perspective. Stop spitting at me.

Of the two career paths, computer stuff actually starts to look less complicated, doesn’t it? But a coworker failed the MCP exam the other day, and when I think about all the exams it would take to make it in the computer world, I get a headache and long for a chat with a bipolar person.

The problem is a symptom, not the problem. Like the computer I was working on yesterday that wouldn’t install antivirus software — ten minutes of geeking tracked it to improperly installed Windows. Typically, repairing the installation via the XP install menu didn’t work due to wackiness with the key/registration, and left me in endless reboot-restart-glitch-reboot mode. All the splash screens announcing how easy to use XP is get really annoying when you’re trying to install it for the tenth time. The problem is not the person, or the hard drive, but the hideous paranoid copyright crap M$ does to be certain no one pirates their software.

In short - the problem might really be the problem, or it might be a symptom, or you might think you understand what that little error message meant but clearly your command of the Microcrap Help Language is lacking. Yes, it does require telepathy sometimes. No, you can’t have any of my magic beans. Next time mention all the error messages up front and I’ll chat with the little metal box in more detail.

(This ‘you’ of which I speak is not ‘you who read the blog,’ but ‘you who can’t figure out where the CD goes and think the mouse with the really long tail doesn’t need to be plugged in.’ In other words, I’m venting, oh yes.)

This apartment hosts two laptops, two desktops, four cell phones and a PDA.

I have a Treo and a Pocket PC that Geekfarm signed out to me. I also have my laptop and personal cell and old moldy win98 desktop. The Treo plus a PDA would seem to be overkill, but the PDA was solely for the purpose of bossgeek “beaming” his notes to me from his PDA so I can then invoice people for the hours he spent anti-virusing and updating and installing stuff.

Of course, the Pocket PC and Treo do not speak to my Powerbook. They do speak to my personal cell in Bluetooth, however, and to each other. Roommate’s laptop doesn’t talk to anyone, so far as I can tell, nor does his antiquated desktop.

I’m having to put my head back into geek mode, and also into helpdesk mode — a customer brought in her desktop today saying it wasn’t booting, but was putting horizontal red lines on the screen. Of course, my first thought is, that’s a display problem - and the pc booted fine and displayed fine. And then I thought, I ought to run antivirus — then promptly got involved with three other tasks, and wala! the customer comes back, and I explain, and she says she’s going to pick up a flatscreen LCD and that should fix the problem. And then as an afterthought, she asks about a message that pops up about windows backdoor.

Ooooooh, should have run that antivirus. Because messages don’t pop up about the actual windows backdoor that’s part of windows, and there are trojans with ‘backdoor’ in the name.

It figures that after I spend thousands of dollars on an education in my ideal career, I can’t find work, or even a good volunteer gig, in that field - and then find a decent job in a different career path I’d given up on. AAAARG. I’m so far behind in geekery that I feel pretty dumb listening to the guys talk in shorthand about networking crap.

I got a call from defunct Old Part Time Job - the company with no employees is still selling things to people, and bills are piling up. My task, yesterday and today, is to package up paperwork and tidy the last few months’ financials, and to ship a few remaining orders.

One thing about being open to coming back to tidy things up - I may have a line on a temp position with a computer company, the same one who took care of the computers at Old Job, so I know the guy who’s interested in me. As long as he’s willing to work with me on my scheduling and allow me to continue looking for jobs as a therapist, I don’t see how it wouldn’t work out.

Seema is instigating things again. Last night we started a crazy round robin featuring Star Trek characters in yoga class. It’s her turn - too bad we aren’t better Photoshoppers. A young Kirk in downward dog? Doing a handstand? :D

*fingers crossed*

First interview done. Seemed to go well - group interviews are actually easier, as there are three or four people answering questions. But, some good choices for them to debate. The competition’s gonna be stiff.

We’ll see.

In other news, my transcripts came, and I made a special trip to the post office to express mail my app for the intern number. While I was there, I discovered that my handwriting skills have atrophied to the point of near-illegibility. Hope that doesn’t delay delivery or anything.

I also cleaned up a pile of miscellaneous papers that’s been hanging around a corner of my room, sorted clean laundry, and tried in vain to find some important forms.

Also, watched about a zillion episodes of Voyager. Enough to recognize when they re-use sets. More on that later.

INTERVIEW!

Next Wednesday. At the clinic not 200 steps from my front door.

EEEEEEEEEEEE!

There are three positions open and they want people ASAP.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Testing, testing

No, I’m not posting a commentary on another BSG ep. Yet.

No, I’m sort of getting other stuff done today. I’ve been meaning to clean house for a while, and it’s Monday, and there’s no job to drive off to so today’s the day. It’s nearly 9 - I’ve already made a batch of almond lemon curd, done a load of dishes, made coffee, sent off a resume for a part time position (YAY for email and people who use it) and will probably snail mail another before the day is through.

Over the weekend I spent a lot of time re-reading and taking notes on a prior fic novel, to whittle away further at the prep work to write the sequel to it. It’s been a few years, much to my dismay. The sequel is something I thought I had a handle on several times over the last year, but something always happened to derail it. As Seema said the other day, sometimes taking a long break really helps regenerate the interest in whatever you’ve lost interest in, and that certainly seems to be the case. I also have a 60+ page WIP that I’d stalled on, and the solution flashed into my head the other night — I’ve been deleting pages of dialogue and rewriting it in hour-long sessions, off and on. I’m letting another WIP rest, after both Seema and I had a go at it.

In between, I’ve found a yoga podcast, rented yoga dvds from Netflix, and generally tried to figure out how to keep my habit despite the oncoming end of my ability to attend actual classes. At fourteen bucks a lesson, it’s not in my budget. I have to find a job. Doggone it.

I mentioned that the temp job was with a law firm. All I do is answer phones and greet people. There’s a 20-ish guy who is the ‘runner’ - lots of law firms have runners, who go-fer court papers and all sorts of things - in this small-ish firm, the runner also fills in for the receptionist, so he trained me, as much as I needed training. I really could have figured out the phone. What he didn’t do was teach me how to pronounce some of the jaw-cracking names of staff.

The actual name of the company consists of the top partners, of course, just as usual - those are unremarkable. So answering the phone is no prob - sort of like “Smith, Wesson and Remington, how may I direct your call?” It’s when the caller wants one of the many associates that things get un-fun. “Can I speak to Xrckrkurkisk?” “How do you say his name - Rucklckstrk?”*

And then there’s the accents. I can’t even identify half of the accents I’ve heard over the past few days. There was a nice Southern drawl, and some fine examples of regular old Slurvian - English massacred by the laziness of folks who can’t be bothered to enunciate - but sometimes, it sounds like not only is the person English as a second language, they’ve put the phone in a can then buried it beneath the elm tree in the back yard and gone back through to the living room to place the call, but only after slamming as many marbles as possible into their cheeks. And add into the mix that they ask for the biggest mouthful of consonants in the place — whee! It’s the mystery client! What do they want, how do they want it, and who do they want it from?

Thank goodness for voicemail. And for being the temp — everyone blames the temp, because you can’t possibly expect them to get everything right. And no one cares, cause you won’t be around long enough to punish. Hopefully they’ll know how to forward voicemails.

*Yes, all fictional and all exaggerated.

I finished out the books for Former Job, the startup company… which is now stopped. My last duty was cutting myself a check for the balance left in their checking account and posting the furniture on craigslist. To everything, there is a season, and some seasons end up being shorter than others. (Yes, I did quit the job a couple months back… but they needed it done and I needed rent money.)

Today I applied for another part time clerical via email, made followup calls on apps for therapist positions, and got my hair cut. Possibly the nicest looking hair cut ever, too. It’s not easy to cut my hair, and I’ve had the dippiest butch bowl-ish haircuts to prove it. Now all I need is a job interview to show it off before it grows out again.

Former boss called and asked if I would come in this next week and get the books in working order, cause the company is being sold. Guess that will be a pretty good deal, since he trusts me with a key and will be out of town. Me and my iPod, balancing the accounts.

At least that’s the rent paid.

Meanwhile, County to the North of Me has pronounced me unfit for their consideration, since the post office delivered my application late. That’s county mental health for you. All the clinics in town who a) rely on the county certification (tests to take, woe) process or b) rely on a county contract are not hiring til July. County Farther to the North of Me (an hour’s commute) took my app, and promised to keep it on file for a year, “pending open positions.” So I’m stuck and may as well find temp stuff in June.

Or just lie around the apartment watching Dr. Who. Peter Davison is swell, don’t you think?

Delay of game

I’m turning into a housewife. For the first time since I was… 19, I am unemployed. I had intended to get in some quality loafing before signing up for temp work. Today I took the stepcat to the vet, tomorrow I’ll probably end up taking Roommate’s car in to the dealer for a flat repair, and I’ll also likely be scheduling and implementing stepcat’s surgery. Poor woobie has a cyst that keeps ballooning on her lower lip. I’ve also been cleaning house and talking to the pest control guy, who stuck a glue trap in our water heater closet (yay, being kept up by squeaking stuck rodents!). I’m just waiting for my Official June Cleaver Club kit to arrive, thank you.

Yeah, no kids. But if you have to be a housewife, do it without the kids. Otherwise in addition to the boring to-do list above, there would be boring details about soccer practice and homework.

Anyway, the county is wrecking my launch into my new career. Turns out that every clinic and agency in town (all the ones I’ve called, anyway) relies on a county contract, and since the county has frozen their own hiring and essentially everything else related to mental health, any clinic/agency who isn’t the county also does nothing but collect resumes and apologize for the delay. I may have a relaxing summer.

Which I won’t really mind much. Wake me in July.

Done list

I had a to-do list, now I have a ‘done’ list.

1. dropped off resume at clinic that’s less than a block from my apartment and just happens to be interviewing for a new intern

2. finished two apps for two other county mental health departments

3. called a number of folks who said they were coming to graduation and then called to make lunch reservations for the group

4. returned items to a store for a refund — something I had been dreading due to 100F weather.

And now, I have the rest of the afternoon to study for the final I haven’t studied for. Wheeeeeee.

ETA: I bet I aced it, and got extra credit. Big Dumb Easy Final.

and:

5. toasted the end of graduate school with margarita in hand! YAY!

Hopefully, LizBee was able to memorialize my soon-to-be walk across the stage into infamy, complete with flapping graduate style hood and kicky heels. Twould be priceless.

Numb

It’s nearly finals week. It’s my last semester. I blogged my way through four years of school and really not talked a wit about it, other than whining about the bureaucratic nonsense and occasional annoyance. And I find that if asked to put into words what was best, worst, etc., my memories lack specific detail.

In other words, it’s all a blur. Whoa.

Too bad a lot of the stories are confidential material.

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.

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.

Almost! Friday

Overheard in New York: The Voice of the City You’ll go in with a straight face and roll out on LOLlerskates.

I had two out of four scheduled clients show up today. One was an assessment for a schizophrenic. One is never really aware of the intolerance of our society until confronted with the mentally ill. Schizophrenics frequently have little insight into their own difficulties and can’t articulate what’s going on with them, and this one was so isolated by people who treat her like she’s crazy that I could tell I was the first person in a long while who actually listened to her talk. She cried for a while, and the rest of the time she was angry, repeating over and over that she wanted a job, wanted help, and no one would help her. To which I replied, what kind of help do you need? I can see why some people make a career out of helping people like this - sometimes in a budget-crunched system all you can give is compassion, and sometimes that’s the difference between scraping by and jumping off an overpass.

In other news, tomorrow the clinic is closed due to one of those holidays the government offices take off, but the rest of the world doesn’t. I’m going in to train my replacement at Job. Hopefully, the gal will be quick on the uptake.

Really, I just want to sleep. Yesterday I had to cancel an appointment due to a migraine, which plagued me all day, until I got home, hurled lunch, and crashed for four hours straight, which meant I couldn’t really sleep last night. I kept waking up to find the Roommate’s tabby asleep in awkward spots, like between my feet, on my hip, or tucked up against my abdomen with her head in my armpit. I had this long, now-vague half-waking dream, in which I re-imagined every story in the C&C series - sort of the series I would have written if I started it today. Quite different, and some of it stuck with me after I woke up this morning. I was groggy most of the morning even though I had my requisite double-strength coffee. Today, I fear, I was not quite on my game. So I got home this afternoon feeling quite inadequate and with the first vibe of short-timer’s disease - I know that I will not be hired at the clinic, and it’s April this Saturday, which means seven weeks left in the semester, which means…. I need to find a friggin’ job in my field of choice.

I think I need yoga now.

The Lonely Ones

Though I was in a bit of a panic, it seems I have managed through a phone campaign to make 13 appointments next week. I may also have chided a couple of people into showing up for group. Well, not chided. Persuaded, hinted strongly, whatever. Because social anxiety doesn’t go away overnight, and I tend to agree with the cognitive behaviorists that it may be conquered only by practice.

The funny part of all of this is, I used to be totally anxious about social contact, in the way of the geeky. When I was a kid, I was a geek - even though there was no such thing then, and also no home computers, and also no gaming in my rural hamlet pop. 25,000 people spread out across the miles of rolling hills. I fit the profile. I was the kid who checked out 200 books in one summer, mostly those with horses, dogs, awkward kids trying to figure out life, fairies, wizards, rockets, and sandworms. I was also known to pilfer from the adult sections, and since Mom assumed I was sticking to kids’ books and I was a good girl that I wouldn’t be reading SMUT, she never checked.

So it was just me and books. Tom Sawyer, all of Blume’s girls, Taran, Alec Ramsey, Laura Ingalls, any adolescent isolated from the world ala Island of the Blue Dolphins, and also lots of women who found themselves wandering around in gloomy mansions with mysterious male owners who Brooded and Seemed Evil But Really Weren’t, kept me company. Also dragons and other animals of all kinds. Oh, and Alice - though I never did figure out how to Go Ask her. And C.S. Lewis’ animals, the Pevensies, and those pesky hobbitses. Sounds a little crowded but we all fit neatly in my room.

The problem is, you have to share a world with someone to get along with them, and hardly anyone in my class read books the way I did, and no one understood my cute quips alluding to anyone in books, so, geek. Which helps me understand completely how some of my clients end up with no friends, isolated from or in conflict with their remaining family members, and left only with a therapist to talk to — is it any wonder people end up hearing voices, and that the voices are all critical of them?

Most people I talk to have a notion of reality that consists of me=bad, everyone else=better, and sometimes they develop this based on feedback they get from everyone around them. The problem is, if that’s mostly negative, which it often is because the dominant notion of mental illness remains harshly judgmental — people remind me of flocks of birds that pick on a wounded member until he falls; shaming a depressed person by ignoring their obvious misery or by telling them to ‘cheer up’ or ’stop crying’ or other instruction, thus invalidating their feelings, is very common and leads to the person not only feeling more depressed but very alone into the bargain. Moms are great at attempting to be supportive but only making it worse — “you just need to get out more, honey” doesn’t work if you make that your only response. The thought in the mind of Child is, “You just don’t understand.” They’re both right, and they’re both just as stuck, and eventually when Child can’t “get my act together” Mom sometimes forces the issue by… throwing them out of the house, inviting cousins over, setting up Child with a nice young man/woman they happen to know….

When I went through my depressed phases, I knew that I was different. Why couldn’t I bounce back? Why couldn’t I feel normal? And these questions come up in therapy, and I answer “you can, just not right away.” Part of my job is hanging in there with the person so they don’t feel so alone. At some point I can say, this is what you need. Connection with others. Yes, it’s hard. Yes, a lot of people are harsh and reject others who aren’t “like them.” Yes, it’s tempting to act like everything’s fine, ‘fake it til you make it’ — and sometimes faking it is required, as a workplace will demand a smiling employee particularly one who deals with customers. Plus, with friends, you have to make a real effort to be there for them, just as you expect them to be there for you — you can’t just lie there sucking their energy. Even though you don’t have much of your own, you have to get up and slog off to the movies or set up a birthday bash once in a while. But there has to be a time and a place you can be real with another person(s) and if you have no one things will continue as they have been. Relationships enable change. And while hiding under a blanket is tempting, you will only sink deeper into loneliness.

Can’t resort to the introvert defense, either. I’m one. Somehow, by chatting with people in and out of class, and at work, I’ve developed friends. Introverts don’t dislike being around people; they simply need time on their own once in a while. I write and read during mine. It’s how I recover from a day of therapy. And really, therapy is getting easier the more I do it, because asking difficult questions and confronting the inconsistencies in other people’s lives — making them more responsible for their feelings — is something that comes out of you while you are working on your own issues. (On your own time, of course.) I learn things every day about myself because I am talking to so many people.

If there is a point to my ruminations, it’s that loneliness is epidemic, and those who rely on external validations and never develop the ability to cope are most vulnerable. American culture is a horrible place to live these days. We are all going a hundred miles an hour to support our families or just ourselves, and we can’t seem to recognize that society is fragmenting around us. I’m not just talking about “the crisis of the American family” or broken homes, I’m talking about whole families with no divorce that are falling to pieces internally, that externally everyone appears to hang together but emotionally everyone’s forced to be two people and maintain the pretty picture. I’ve seen divorced couples working together to the good of the kids who have more sane relationships than the parents sticking together for the kids.

Maintaining a marriage is not as important as developing an emotionally healthy environment. We’re failing all the way around. I just talked to a 20something who got hooked on meth and smoked/injected with her family members. Beautiful person, shattered life, no clue what the future holds, because she doesn’t know anyone who isn’t emotionally broken, therefore has no idea of what to do to escape the drug culture. There’s hardly any help for her, except this is California, and we have programs to assist women in getting back on track with education and temporary financial support. But unless she has people to give her the emotional support, I can predict the end result. She isn’t alone in this. I see this all the time.

This is why I’ve slid further and further from the Republican party I used to be in — I cannot stand the continued stance of “marriage first, save the babies, but give nothing to the lower classes and let them continue to suffer with no insurance, no help with the zillion kids they have because they aren’t educated about options, and let’s pressure people of all demographics to adhere to our standard of normal with no respect for their internal realities.” Because it’s not realistic, it’s not healthy, and it’s really no wonder that the one person I know who is most seated in denial, dishonesty, and selfishness is also the most outspoken conservative Republican I’ve ever met. You can’t help people who cling to illusions of superiority while spinning out stories of the most morally bankrupt behavior.

I’m not liberal, either. I want balance. Balanced books, balanced minds — yes, I’m an idealist. But then, I wouldn’t be a therapist if I weren’t radically optimistic. I’m also pragmatic; you will never, ever be able to force people to conform completely to your idea of normal. Somehow that internal reality will come out, either as mental or physical illness. People tend to gravitate toward groups they feel normal in. So I don’t believe legislating morality is right, and I don’t believe that we will be able to continue on our current political course without backlash and serious consequences for society and human rights.

I’m afraid, for my clients of all backgrounds and for myself, who doesn’t conform to the “normal” that’s fermenting. I’m afraid for my country. It seems the schisms between various groupings are growing wider, people are polarizing, and if I were seeing this behavior in a family I’d be quite pointed about confronting it and identifying specific issues being ignored. This country needs therapy — not everyone’s idea of ‘touchy feely’ therapy, or TV therapy, or any other stereotype, but family therapy where someone calls the members on their shitty behavior and gets them to think about what they’re doing to their sisters and brothers. Robert McNamara talks about empathizing with one’s enemies. I fear we can’t even do that with our own fellow citizens — no wonder we’re so fragmented as a society.

Posted an ad for my current (part time, dead end, tired-of-it) job today. Everyone went off to a trade show and left me to pay bills and answer phones. Boss asked me to put up an ad on craigslist and monster, but it costs 295 to put an ad on monster and CL is free - so guess where the ad is? No bites yet. They said they’ll call the temp agency I came from if they don’t find someone this way.

Paid bills. Not so bad, paying bills. Most of them need to be paid the first week of the month, so there’s a whole month til next time. With Wednesdays free I might just find a job by the end of semester….

Still not sure I’m getting the extra hours at the other clinic, but I’m not caring. I have a lot of studying to do between now and the end of April. Hopefully with my schedule clear I can pick up other hours at the current clinic as well.

Tangentially, I am updating the WIP up there in the corner, Home in a Handbasket, tonight. From now on it will be all in one page. It’s still a draft, but there have been small edits and deletions throughout. I am considering further trimming but will leave that til it’s done.

Pressure Cooker

Okay, so I heard back from the supervisor o’ the other clinic. She’s sorting out when she wants me, i.e. when an office is available. I’m not sure if it will be available. Also not sure how it’s going to work with the current schedule.

I have 100 of 300 hours necessary to graduate, six weeks into a 17 week semester. That’s 200 hours in 11 weeks I need to do. If I get 20 hours a week, I’m done. I did 17 this week. Oooooo, gonna be close.

crosses fingers

The school bought one copy of the study guide for the test on April 22. Now they are too honest and law-abiding to make copies for the test takers. This is a licensing exam in most other states, and a professional credential in California, and I had to pay 250 interest-bearing dollars to register for it. So, a little concerned about that. Thank you, Amazon, for second hand study guides.

And, on top of the absence of study stuff and the lateness of informing us there would be no study stuff, the school schedules the meeting to orient test takers and provide tips and tricks on passing it during my Tuesday class. Strike Two!

Job interview results: eh. Going through the motions, I called to check and they are still interviewing. 15 mins. per interview times two weeks? That’s a lot of applicants to review. At this rate they may make a decision… oh, about 2008. And I thought County Mental Health moved at glacial speeds.

I am millimeters from telling the job I’m quitting. Now, I really would do better to hang in there and make the rent (even though it doesn’t pay much other than that) because the rent, she is nothing to sneeze at. With the unexpected forty dollar increase, I had to cut back on the grocery trips. I am now eating those cup-a-soup thingies that I refer to as “styrafoam noodles” because, well, yeah. I went to the store tonight and got one artichoke, one package of sausage, and one medicated chapstick. Oh, and two half gallons of ice cream because I am a total sucker for two-for-one sales, and ice cream is the fifth food group stop-looking-at-me-like-that.

But the job is driving me nuts. I’m thinking, counseling is where I need to be full time, because I can sit there all the livelong day listening to people who have no motivation, no ability to self regulate, no discipline, no capacity for taking another single minute of the torment of their depression, and I can talk to them and listen and ask questions like “if you leave here today are you going to be all right? do you think you can make it, or should I call the crisis center and take you over and have you admitted? because we don’t want to let you go if you intend to commit suicide.” Yet going to the job and listening to the bickering that results from certain individuals not wanting to listen to each other and acknowledge points made? AARRRRR. Business is easy, people! Get with the program!

Which isn’t to say there aren’t clients I’d rather not see — how do you do anything therapeutic with someone who’s high? I’m still figuring that one out, because he keeps showing up that way. But you know, when you prefer sitting in a room with a guy who’s flying higher than the clouds rambling about his youthful transgressions and all the ones that came after that to sitting in a room listening to sales people argue about who’s really paying salaries here, and you don’t know what you’re doing, and come ON just do your job! Well, there’s a message here.

The only solution I see is drop-kicking the job. Being available five days a week for group therapy and training and client sessions will get me to graduation faster, and saner. Though poorer.

Mick was right, you can’t always get what you want - but if you try sometimes, you might find you get what you need. wooo! wooo!

My Job o’ Small Paychecks changed over their web page to a new server and hired a company to re-do th esite complete with online shopping basket and all. So the two email addresses I was using for various purposes weren’t available for a few weeks.

Today, I was told ‘call this person and ask to get the email addresses set up again.’ So I did.

Lady: All right, just email me what addresses you want and –

Me: How?

Lady: — because I don’t want to spell them wrong. My email address is –

Me: … I don’t have an email account yet. That’s why I called.

Lady: Well. All right. huff

Right-o. I’ll email you with my mind.

And she acted like I was the one who didn’t understand?

Grr. Meh.

I have such mixed feelings right now. Just blew into the apartment for lunch after the fated interview. It’s for a therapist position on a school campus - not a school counseling position, but a therapist on campus to do crisis intervention and therapy with kids and families.

I totally muffed the interview. But, I have my reservations about working on a campus anyway. And, they would lay off every summer with no benefits for three months. So I wouldn’t want the position, but I muffed the interview! Arrr!

Maybe I’m being hard on myself. Maybe now that my first interview as an intern is over, the rest will be easier. But there was just something about being told “fifteen minute interview” combined with “here’s some scenarios” and the umpteen times I had to sign waiver this and hold harmless that — I don’t know. I think I briefly had an out of body experience.

I totally had my head on straight going in there, I thought. Man. I get it all together, and leave it in the car.

Friday again?

The clinic is now more relaxing than work. I got to the Job Place after spending most of the day waiting for clients who didn’t show ( I read when that happens, usually something therapy or school related so it counts toward hours spent preparing for therapy) and felt like I ought to do some crisis intervention. Boss is a completely square peg, and Marketing Guy is… a marketing guy. All about the concept, man. The atmosphere was tense when I got there. I stuck my earphones in and listened to crosby stills & nash while trying to get the accounting software to cough up numbers. (Rumors that I was caught singing Cecelia off key are totally false. Really. I was SO on key.)

And now it’s Friday, and the interview is Wednesday, and I’m nervous. Like, this isn’t just trainee freebie stuff any more. This is where all those lectures on self talk get applied to the Self.

Self, you have a lot to offer, and you have as much chance at the job as any nearly-graduated therapist.

Two hours of yoga in the morning! Whee! Ought to help for a while, anyway.

I just wish the apartment management had chosen a better time to rip all the paneling off the outside of the apartment. I got home to a total mess, nails all over the walk, boards here and there, and six guys with hammers and power tools ripping nails out, hammering nails in, and toting plywood back and forth. My poor pets. The bird was thrashing around and the cats were clingy. “Eek! strange people! Big noise!” Then, “Feed us!” At least some things were normal….

I’ll be chanting that forever. I made the mistake of responding to “did you watch the State of the Union Address” with “No, I only listen to delusional people when I’m getting paid to do it.” I thought I could get away with a joke. I was so wrong. :P

OOOOOOh, eighteen rounds, and ten rounds more. “You d*** liberal!” “Uh, no.” “Well what are you then?” “I’m apolitical — I think they’re all lying bastards.” Well, it was simpler than the long explanation. I’m probably on the liberal side of centrist, actually. But I knew Boss was conservative Republican, I knew better than to expect anything but a round of “let’s convert you!” and at least I’m a short-termer at this job.

I don’t know what it is — every conservative I’ve ever met feels it’s their duty to debate me into the ground, and every dem I’ve met is always the first to shrug and drop the subject in group discussion. From now on, my reaction to anyone of any belief system, religious or otherwise, who comes at me with both barrels blazing: blank stare, head shake, and a sigh. Exit, stage right. Because I would rather discuss things than have what I say bounce off someone’s head. Because true conversation is give and take, not ignore and attack. I don’t care if you think Bush is the bee’s knees, or Kerry’s swell, or Clinton is the anti-christ — I care more about you respecting me enough to let me make up my own mind, one way or the other.

My last words were “I don’t do extremes, because they result in hostility between otherwise sensible people. So stop asking me whose side I’m on. I’m on everyone’s side, if you really want an answer.” Because I am. I can agree to disagree, and still like the other person at the end of it.

Yeah, venting. Also, waiting for a quiche to come out of the oven. A yoga session and a hot quiche go a long way toward restoring harmony, not to mention a full stomach.

Resolved:

That I shall not respond to the idle conversation question “what do you do for a living” accurately, unless I will see the person again in the process of forming an ongoing relationship with said person.

When a guy has scissors to your head and is crafting your hair into hopefully-acceptable style, you’re kind of stuck on that one. When I said what I do, he proceeded to ask for help with an issue with his girlfriend. Ordinarily the answer is a referral to some clinic, but given the wacky behavior I’ve seen from hairdressers who’ve asked the same question, I didn’t want to appear unsympathetic — so I asked questions and in the end it turned out to be something a lawyer should help with, not a therapist. Close call, though. I’ve noticed that when people find out someone’s a therapist and then corner said therapist, more often than not, the heart of the matter is more “how do I change my wife/girlfriend/boyfriend/friend/mother? how do I convince he/she/it to do what I want, say what I expect, or finally make the bed?” The answer is, you can’t — but you can ask nicely if she’ll make the bed once in a while. You might be able to talk he/she/it into going to counseling with you. But don’t expect anyone who doesn’t want or believe in therapy to benefit from it.

So I’m figuring out a secondary, fictional career that I can toss out convincingly. I think that, from now on, I will be a bestselling novelist. “Perhaps you’ve read my book, Raging Lust on the North Atlantic, in which a tryst between the old sea captain and the Nordic princess melted the glaciers over Greenland?” Or, if the person seems likely to want to read romance, “Did you read my book on the metric system and its spread across northern Europe? called One Kilometer Too Far? It has squid!”

Or, “I’m a student of life. I have been a bookkeeper, receptionist, network administrator, secretary, computer geek, envelope stuffer, and numerous other small jobs. I can’t wait to see what I’ll be next week.”

Or, I wear a button or shirt that says, “No, I will not fix your relationship.”

Most likely, however, I will memorize a short blurb about my standard fee, which will likely shut down casual prying for free advice.

Yawn.

A lot happened at the clinic this week. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you anything about it. But I can hint.

1. I need a better resume.
2. There are a lot of phone calls in my future.
3. I haven’t panicked yet, but it may happen within the month…..
4. Four weeks, and I still have the cough - unrelated to the first three, but nearly as bothersome, specially since medical stuff gets expensive and I’m likely leaving the job in a couple weeks.

Also unfortunately, I failed to write a durn thing.

Still here…

Busier than I want to be. Behind in homework/reading - which is not good, major assignment due in two weeks. Something tells me I will turn in a half-*ssed draft, and though this makes me wince, the last time I did so I got an A, so…. Still going to try getting through the lit review this weekend, if I can find index cards to help me be organized.

At the Job, I’m still trying to balance the books, which is complicated by the fact that Boss waited until July to let me start using Quickbooks, which is difficult to do historical bookkeeping in, especially when recordkeeping prior to that point was .. stuffing papers in folders, each neatly labeled by month. And, not all the paperwork got in the folders. Which was how I ended up with a five digit deposit that went uncategorized until mysteriously the invoice it belonged to turned up, at which point I realized that I had already reconciled May. Silly me, thinking a computer program would be so flexible as to allow for the deletion and re-adding and clearing of a deposit properly booked to pay off the invoice in question. Silly me. I ended up undoing the reconciliations all the way back to January, as for some screwball reason the end of year reconciliation for 2004 undid itself, leaving me with a long winding trail of wildly-varying end and beginning balances that didn’t match the statements at all.

If you did not understand that paragraph, you’re where I was at a few months ago, and I’m very sorry. Not as sorry as I was for me — the pain is quadrupled when the company you work for expects you to make it all balance, and yet, they fail to provide the paper trail that would tell me where the money goes, where it comes from, and then, “oh no! why is this balance sheet so off!” Because you wouldn’t answer those questions I was asking. Remember being annoyed when I interrupted your deep contemplation of what you wanted at Starbucks? That question. It went something like “do you remember what this two grand was paying for? I need to know so the reports don’t look funny, cause otherwise it will wind up being “uncategorized…”

So, yeah. My brain has been sucked off into AR/AP mazes. I’m a therapist not a bookkeeper! Yet the coworkers keep plotting to find ways to convince me to stay past December.

Sigh.

Still ficcing, though it’s slow.

Learning curve

Like everything else, working at the clinic has been a Learning Experience. You know how you get a job, they give you the handbook, and the real learning process involves all those little things that aren’t written down and aren’t articulated anywhere in your college classes or the training seminar or the job description? That’s what I’m working on.

Like, the computer system. I went to four different training sessions on four different things, and not one mentioned the desktop icons featuring the logo of the system we work with and cryptic UCSISOSISS-SI* sorts of acronyms that tell me nothing about whether it’s meant for the psychiatrist only, or the office assistant only, or if it’s for therapists on staff, or the janitor…. I hesitate to explore on my own because these are computers belonging to the local gov’ment, and one of those training sessions was about nothing but “WE ARE WATCHING YOU CLICK.”

My supervisor doesn’t know how to use the computer and doesn’t care to stop using his pen. Me, I can’t read my own goofy writing when I print; years of typing everything have warped my handwriting into something you might see in kindergarten, thanks to hardly ever writing anything. (If anyone developes a cell phone/check printing combo, I’m there. I use my debit card all the time these days.) And they give you these forms with narrow ruled sections and restrictive teeny boxes. This is particularly bad when doing the assessment.

So for assessments I now use a legal pad and take notes, because no one gives information that way. The form is six pages of little checkboxes and sections that end with boxes labeled “continued on separate page”. We always continue on separate page. The clinic gets the really desparate people who have histories of abuse and depression stretching back for decades — you can’t get all that into a neat little box. And the information comes out all out of chronological order, too - someone will say they were never depressed before, and then when they’re wandering off from a description of how angry they were at dad for leaving the family to a long anecdote about how mom grieved for x years, suddenly they’re talking about how sad and hopeless they felt, and they couldn’t sleep, and ate like a pig, and stopped going to the gym which was weird because they always enjoyed workouts before….

It would be so much easier to assemble the disjointed notes if I had a computer. Cut n paste r our friend.

Today I talked to the office supervisor and got part of the puzzle of the computer. Of course, she’s being laid off, so I need to corner her and take notes before long. Wish I’d figured out who to ask about this stuff before now.

*Not actual acronym

She works hard for the…

.. something… yeah, hard for the… hums

I’m switching from working for the agency to working for the employer I’ve been with since… February? yeah. Which is cool, because I negotiated for a raise.

Boss: “Now you’ll have to change that attitude, young lady. You work for us now.”

Me: *snerk*

Boss: “That’s better.”

Me: *writes smiley face on white board*

“Young lady” doesn’t quite work when he’s only ten years older….

Here we go again

Well, I’m set for the semester. Books are ordered (though $100 in books for a single class just hurts) and the syllabus has already appeared on the class web forum. It’s an online class, which is good, because judging from the syllabus it’s allllll about the research. Spending three hours a week listening to someone lecture about research then doing lots of reading and research? Not so much fun.

The class looks well organized, as compared to the other online class I had for this program. The other class was all about the micromanagement and the little “busy” work assignments that drove us all nuts. This class has nice stretchy deadlines and three main assignments. At the end of each month we are supposed to have participated in online discussion and at least two virtual classrooms, of which there are four per month.

Work (the job-for-pay) is burning me out faster and faster. The problem is, my rate of burnout is directly proportional to how much they depend on me. Today I shipped ten orders, answered the phone, and tried to balance the books. All in four hours, before going to the clinic to be mildly chastised/reminded that while I’m doing a great job with the clients, I need to do my case notes differently. It’s tough — research backs us up in saying that it’s the relationship that heals most effectively, but managed care wants specific milestones and concrete proof that we’re managing the client towa