case manager, devourer of foot


Today, having met with a very nice terminally ill woman who 18 months ago was given a year to live, as we were walking back out to the waiting room making small talk –

Client: It has been just too hot lately.

Your hero: Oh yeah, last night I was DYING.


time and things


I can’t believe that I’ve let this much time go by without comment here except of course I can believe it because that’s kinda my jam now. There are a lot of online spaces for me to share my sage wisdom so, you know, neglect. And I just don’t know what the purpose of this space is. On the other hand, I am attached to it.


So here I am reluctantly updating my resume. School has been going so well but work has slowly been getting questionable. Someone puked, like, a whole bunch in my office last week and that I’m totally fine with. I love working with people with substance abuse issues. Love it. For this silly career I’m pursuing, I have another 800 hours of internship that need to be completed in the next two years and if my current workplace can’t accommodate that it is simply not worth me staying there. I wouldn’t have imagined a problem with doing internship at work but there may be a problem, so that was a shitty surprise.

I’m still in love, no big deal.

It is funny to look back at the last several months because it was a lot of he doesn’t care about me and nobody ever will pining when we were just on different schedules. When we were casual and stopped seeing each other it was always some conflict or me feeling clingy and telling him he was bad for my feelings and ending it prematurely and angsty separation followed by reconciling. I don’t know what my relationship would look like if I were secure. I am resolved to keep my fear from destroying me.

So it’s not like things are perfect, in that communication is an issue and we both have a lot going on emotionally, but it’s so worth it. I have never been with anyone like ohmyfuckinggodican’teven…it’s just…there are these moments where it does feel perfect. Fucking just…the best. Amazeballs. Awesome sauce. As I’ve alluded to many a time here, love makes it hard to talk pretty. I have the head feelings and the pants feelings. He makes me laugh. He’s smart and sensitive and has good, Christian-loathing values. UGHHHHHHHHHH IT’S SO OBNOXIOUSLY THE BEST.

[Considering that we aren’t waiting three years to address our issues and then exploding all over town, the outlook is bright. And that, nonexistent internet reader, is the last comment I will ever make about that relationship that one time where I almost got married.]

I’m lucky, no big deal.

Hamlet is my primary source of attachment anxiety now. In class last weekend our instructor was talking about impermanence and how we are culturally bound to so much and attach to things when truly not a single thing we cling to could last forever. “What are you attached to?” she asked us.

And I thought:

C360_2014-07-24-11-55-02-477 C360_2014-08-11-06-11-32-797

Same cat, same stuffed turtle he’s sucking. Hamlet knew me before I was a best-selling self-help author with a no-nonsense straight-talk empire to rival Suze Orman.






Recently, I was perturbed at work about the way my overzealous supervisor was behaving. It was a legitimate perturbation (perturbance is not a word, it should be) but today, in a larger discussion, it was brought to my attention again that I’m a little bit hard on myself. There are some ways that this affects my perspective on things and I am always working on taking in others’ feedback through my oversensitive filter.

The thing is, I’m very competent at my job. I know that, I feel that, and everyone at works validates that. And so, why is the idea of making a mistake so threatening to my sense of self. Because it is. Logically, I know that I’m not perfect and don’t need to be. My impulse somehow, my tiny inner aggressive instinct, is to believe that it’s all or nothing. I’m the best or the worst. And I think I’m the best more often than not so then I think, yeah, I’m someone with good self esteem. I’m the best at self esteem!

Heh. I actually think I have a good sense of what I’m good at and not so good at. I’m just competing with this emotional, irrational, and insidious other…thing. The trance of unworthiness in mindfulness speak. Sometimes I’m not even aware of it, but it’s there. Enough that a caring and insightful person could tell me that she thinks there’s a part of me that doesn’t believe I’m good enough and be right.

My supervisor was still being a dick.

check engine light


Things are not bad but I can’t say that I’ve been in a good space.

Just before I got home today, my check engine light came on. Could be nothing and is likely a non-emergent thing. But I will let it hang over me until I feel emotionally brave enough to get it checked out. After pay day. Hope it’s a one pay day issue.

Every documentary I watch on Netflix (and they are excellent documentaries – Hot Coffee, The Silent War) seems to lead me back to the depressing and familiar conclusion that we live in Backwards Land where a) nothing in our system makes sense and b) nobody seems to care to be informed about any of it. Tonight it was The House I Live In. I have so many thoughts about it, especially given the career I’ve set out on. Too many…And until I can figure out how to speak about it like a smart person, I highly recommend that you just watch it.

I could be wrong about people being largely ignorant to these issues but even in my organization – the place where we can observe daily the way that everyday people struggle with drug use and have that struggle made harder by roadblocks thrown at them by our justice system and fight to regain any sense of self-worth or purpose and these are the people who have fought hard enough to even attempt treatment, meaning they are already stronger and better equipped than many people I will never meet – I don’t see much consciousness about “THE WAR ON DRUGS” and how much total shit it is.

I’m all about playing the cards you’re dealt and personal responsibility. I will bring clients back to that constantly, because it is not helpful in recovery to focus on unfairness. We all have damage. Unfair or not, this is your circumstance, now what would you like to do with it? I’m alllllllllll about that. But I will not pretend that we all start out on the same playing field. I will do whatever I can do to change this broken system.

But…what is that?

grieving for dummies


These past two days I seem to be living the internal life of a bipolar person.

I’m trying to be professional at work (good) and do my helping profession client-centered thing (good) but maybe not taking stock of my own stuff and instead pushing a lot of toxic feelings to the far reaches of my brain (bad) so that I can just get through my day without breaking down or missing a step.

The stuff comes up, I’m just processing it now on my own personal time and being weird and confrontational with my loved ones. I am angry then jealous then sad then indifferent then bitterly doing a bizarre private comedy performance. God forbid I take 5 minutes out of my work day and risk being less productive for 5 seconds. Then I would be failing. I would not be the champion of grieving OR professionalism. Instead I took the 5 minutes to berate/unfriend a racist on Facebook.

Because what the fuck. You have the audacity to be an unapologetic ignorant asshole when people are in misery and suffering. Somewhere all the time someone is experiencing their worst moment and you are going to decry your status as the “real minority.” Of all of the fucking threats to your existence, you choose population statistics. You know what else, EVERY OTHER Facebook friend, I don’t want to hear about you incorrect Dunkins coffee order or your difficulty sleeping last night. Take your first world problems and file them away in a bespoke refinished decoupage antique rolltop desk as inspired by Pinterest, set it on fire, AND THEN GO FUCK YOURSELF.

Tomorrow is Friday. I will get through this and next time have more grace and less emotional confusion.

I’m not myself right now. Ranting, though useless, is somewhat comforting.

bedtime blogging III: fuck off circadian rhythm, who needs you anyway


I set my birthday as the deadline for finally applying for the masters program I want to do in the fall. Today I dropped the application into a mailbox. I’m working on forgetting about it so as not to stress and analyze my chances and criticize myself into insanity. Two references have to be sent directly to the program and one I fear might take awhile, so I don’t know how long it will take for me to hear back. I was pretty confident before. I’m right for this program but you never know…

Hamlet just huffily jumped out of bed. I don’t think he likes night time phone blogging. Seems jealous that my hands are occupied. He would rather have a captive audience to pet him until he falls asleep. You and me both, mister.

inadvertent couch potato


Last Friday I was driving by my apartment complex, heading to Target to grocery shop and drink Starbucks, when my car broke down. It turns out that I was out of oil and the garage found that my radiator needed to be replaced. I hate that I didn’t check the oil. I hate that I couldn’t stop myself from crying while I waited for AAA. Like every car incident I’ve ever had, it ended in uncontrollable tears, and in my being rescued by my father and his car repair connections.

I’ve been sort of disconnected from the whole process since AAA hauled the car away. I’m very lucky that I had somewhere for it to go, that the repair is not epic, that I don’t need to have cash in hand to get it done, that I had PTO for the three days of work I’ve missed so far. I think I will be able to go pick it up tonight. I’m not even calling the garage, I’m letting my dad do it and report back to me despite that he’s not even in the state right now. I feel like such a failure.

I’m much more rational than I was Friday but I can’t quite shake that feeling. I’ve watched a lot of Netflix and tried a lot of new recipes (brownies, pizza dough, crepes) in the past few days and I’m not enjoying it because I feel so lame about calling out of work for 3 days. If my brother had been home, maybe we could have worked out a way for both of us to get to work but even that would have been difficult, and I’m on my own. I know one of the counselors at work lives in my town and even works my hours but we aren’t close and I was not willing to even ask. I guess I think I’m letting someone down by not being there but for fuck’s sake this is a valid reason to not be there. No one is giving me a hard time about it, except me.

I was very hard on myself the other day, mostly because I think I’m 26 and employed I shouldn’t be walking around with $5 in my savings account or driving a 2001 whatever because I can’t afford a car payment or ever need financial help from somebody else. But here I am.

And again, what the fuck, me?! I made a life for myself. I am surviving on my own even if it’s a struggle and I will not be struggling forever. I’m the first person in my family to go to college. I don’t think it makes me smarter or better, since damnnnn I am paying for that degree, but I had goals and I have worked toward achieving them. I pay my bills, even weeks when it means a lot of ramen noodle dinners. I buy Hamlet very good quality cat food despite that he shows no appreciation for it.

I’ve been spending the last three days trying to relax and give myself a break and feel ok. I have. Sometimes I think I have to try to0 hard to not beat myself up. (I don’t need to start a shame spiral about how I have too much shame because that is an exhausting infinity circle of negative self-talk.)

Ugh, the end. I’ll be fine.