Letting Go

Sometimes it’s hard to let go of anything.  There are objects in my possession that I’ve never used, and yet I save them because I’m sure I’ll need or want them one day.  There are clothes that I haven’t worn in years, either because I have no occasion to wear them, I have gained or lost weight and they no longer fit, or they are old, ugly, and I no longer like them.  And yet I keep them, just in case I should have an occasion to wear them, because I’m sure I can lose the weight–or in case I should gain weight back–, and what happens if I need a shirt that I don’t mind getting dirty?

But it goes beyond objects.  The intangible things I find myself even less able to part with than a book on the shelf or a shirt in the closet.  Sentiments that bring tears to the back of my eyes, memories that make me cringe, old feelings that do nothing but get in the way of new, positive experiences.  Lingering anger, grudges, judgements.  Hurtful thought processes that keep me from enjoying the moment.  Falling into the same role I’ve always fallen into for no better reason than that I don’t know what other role to play or how to play it.

It seems like it should be clear what I ought to hold on to and what I ought to purge.  Who, after all, doesn’t understand that holding onto negative emotions can only cause hurt?  It is as Nelson Mandela said– “Bitterness is drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.”

But what about the anger that is justified?  What about the tearful memories that forged personal strength?  The piece of jewelry never worn that was left by a friend who died?

The truth is that sometimes it’s all right, and even better, to hang on to a little baggage.  The trouble comes of trying to decide what to hold on to and what to let go.

What about people?  Those of us who are relationship driven often tend to “collect” people.  Unable to erase the name from our phone that hasn’t called or been called in 3 years.  Continually scheduling get togethers with the friend who flakes out at the last minute or never shows up.  Continuing to confide in a person who used to be a great listener and now just seems to aggravate the feelings that needed confiding in the first place.

I’ve been thinking a lot this month about the quality of the friends I have in my life.  People who are just friends and people who are good friends.  And I don’t use the term ‘good’ to describe the level of closeness.  I use the term ‘good friend’ in contrast of ‘bad friend.’  The friend who called me on my sister’s wedding day just to say ‘hi’ because he remembered it was her wedding day and knew I was probably stressed out as opposed to the friend who sent me a message the same day because she wanted something from me.  (Something I’d already said ‘no’ to.)  The friend who called to ask how my sister was doing after getting very sick as opposed to the friend who became distant and ignored me when I was going through a rough time.  The friend who makes an effort to get together with me as opposed to the friend I have to practically beg to hang out with me.

Yes, the theme I’ve encountered the last few weeks has been “letting go,” and I find it reflected in nearly every aspect of my life.  Emotions, thought processes, anger and judgements, old roles that hold me back, old friends who make me feel bad.

Letting go of the old creates more space for the new.  And so I’m letting go, turning the page, and starting fresh…  Right now.

“To exist is to change.  To change is to mature; to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.”

~Henri Bergson

Ode to Walmart

After stumbling upon a review of Walmart this morning which was written by a friend of mine, I found myself taking a little trip down my personal Walmart Memory Lane.

Everyone knows that Walmart treats their employees terribly.  Nearly every review I read mentioned their poor labor practices, nightmare parking situations, and cheap-quality products.  And yet, we can’t help but go back.  Nearly every review I read also made some reference (in a manner which indicated the hope that no one would pick up on it…) to having returned to Walmart multiple times because they happened to have ‘this’ or ‘that’ for a better price.

Ahh, yes.

In my usual, everyday life, I have no problem boycotting Walmart.  I rarely even remember that it exists.  Fred Meyer or Target are closer and suit my needs just fine.  Not to mention they don’t feel so…  trailer park.  (Don’t hate, you know you were thinking it too.)  My usual overall feeling for Walmart is one of mild distaste.

When I am on the road, however…  That is a whole different story.  On the road halfway across the country and in need of ‘this’ or ‘that’, one finds that most small or medium sized towns–even large towns, really– may be lacking in just about every store you could hope to find, but everyone has a Walmart.  It appears in the distance, a road-weary traveler’s mecca lit by the proverbial beams of light that softly fall upon it from somewhere among the heavens.  Ah, Walmart.

You forget about their poor labor practices.  Suddenly their employees look happy and friendly.  You forget about parking frustrations; this is Wal-mecca, after all, and who can blame the entire town for being here?  The fat woman ambling as slowly as humanly possible in front of your car as she pushes a shopping cart with three children hanging off like spider monkeys while she tows another uncooperative little one by the hand is no longer an obstacle you wish to run over.  She is a fellow pilgrim sharing in the joys of small town shopping.  You forget about low quality; for God’s sake, this frisbee is 89 cents and I can use it as a plate while I’m camping.  Who would complain about that?!

Yes my friend, when I’m on the road I have nothing but warm, fuzzy feelings for Walmart.  Gather ’round, brothers and sisters, and I shall share with you the miracles Wal-mecca has done in my life:

Alamagordo, New Mexico:  It is a hot desert evening as I roll into town in search of a place to stay the night.  In my hunt for a motel room I take note of the local Wal-mecca, glowing soft pink in the evening light.  I find a suitable place to stay the night, then make my way back to Wal-mecca.  It will have what I need; I know it.  People are streaming in as I pull into the parking lot; yes my friends, I know how you feel.  I had discovered in my travels that I was in need of washclothes to wash my face in the morning and evening; the motels had them, but when I camped or slept at a rest stop the lack of washclothage was painfully notable.  I roam the aisles of Walmart and sure enough there they are–so many to choose from!  I finally settle on the pack of 18 washclothes, 100% cotton, for $2.99.  My face thanks you, Wal-mecca.

The next day I prepare to visit White Sands National Monument, a short drive from the motel.  It occurs to me that it would be nice to take a lunch.  A real lunch, not the meager road provisions I have been subsisting on.  I return to Wal-mecca.  It is just as welcoming in the early morning light of the new day.  Sure enough, they have everything I need.  Milk, crackers, food in general!  I find a little blue cooler–with handle.  Wal-mecca has provided.

Farmington, New Mexico:  In my haste to begin my trip, I got a speeding ticket on Day 1 of the great New Mexico roadtrip.  The clock is ticking and I realize that I’m going to have to mail the ticket from the road because it will be late if I wait until I get back home.  I glide into town and straight to the local Wal-mecca.  I roam the aisles and find everything I might need; self sealing security envelopes, bottled water (I just kept bottles of water in the back of my car and grabbed one whenever I needed a drink; it worked delightfully well), those instantly lighting fire logs (turned out I didn’t know how to build an actual fire.  Also turned out that the nights were under 20 degrees, which meant I needed to figure out something to keep me from freezing my ass off.  Those fake logs wrapped in paper weren’t great, but they did give off heat as they burned), stamps.  And of course, Wal-mecca has a mail box out front; my ticket is officially taken care of before I even leave the parking lot.

Gallup, New Mexico:  It is with great chagrine that I realize “that time of the month” has decided to come while I am on the road in the middle of no where.  I leave my motel room and make for the Walmart I had (of course) noted on my way into town.  No doubt you can guess what happened next.  Yes, indeed, my needs were met.  Wal-mecca saved my life in Gallup!

When finally I rolled back into Seattle, Washington and decided to get all of my pictures developed, I went to…  Kit’s Cameras.  Because I was back and Walmart was no longer of use to me.  I haven’t been to a Walmart since.

The moral of the story, ladies and gentlemen, is that what we think of as great and as horrible is determined by our needs.  When you don’t need it, Walmart is terrible and boycott worthy.  When it is your only resort, it is Wal-mecca, and it is fabulous!

Top Movie Scenes that Make Me Cry Every Time

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Walk the Line

Walk the Line –   Referring to the death of his brother, Johnny Cash tells June Carter: “It should have been me…  I’m nothing.”

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The Nativity Story

The Nativity Story – An old shepherd tells Mary and Joseph that we are each given a gift.  When Mary asks him what his gift was, he replies ‘Nothing.’  He is among the shepherds who later arrive to see the newly born Jesus; he reaches out to touch the baby, hesitates, and pulls him hand back.  Mary holds the baby out and tells him, “He is for all mankind…  We are each given a gift.”

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The Last Samurai

The Last Samurai – The end of the Samurai /Katsumoto’s death.

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Memoirs of a Geisha

Memoirs of a Geisha – “Can’t you see?  Every step I have taken since I was that little girl on the bridge has been to bring myself closer to you.”

Deserts and Dreams; Determining What I Want

“Doing is a quantum leap from imagining.”  Barbara Sher

I have once again been kicking around the idea of moving to New Mexico.  Ever since my trip down there over a year ago I have been unable to shake the periodic visions of the desert landscape that dance across my vision, memories of the way the wind sounded on the tops of mesas, the feeling of the sun on my skin.  I have always held a fascination with deserts of different kinds: and this–this was everything I’d ever dreamed of when I was a kid imagining life in the desert.

Unemployment brought with it the startling realization that I can do whatever I want.  I knew it before, but I don’t think I’d ever fully realizedit before.  I settled into a full time job, got used to seeing life in the box that our modern society has put it into.  But I can do whatever I want.

The problem then lies in determining what I want.  I have had the goal of becoming a police officer, with visions of a condo and a career that pays me well.  Is this what I want?  Or is it an adaptation of my dreams into something that fits with society’s standards of living?  A combination of both, I have been thinking.  When I give it some consideration I know that I do want to be a police officer.  There are drawbacks, to be sure.  But it sounds interesting, dynamic, unique, challenging, fun, with new and different situations every day, opportunities for leadership, and the ability to be autonomous and relatively self directed.  This is what I want in a career.  It is why I enjoyed life at the treatment center so much, and why that same job became so miserable when a few of those qualities were taken away.

But when I dream about my future–when I imagine what I want my life to be a few years from now–I can’t imagine where around here I will be living.  In all honesty, I can think of no place in the Pacific Northwest that I want to live.  Places I wouldn’t mind living, sure.  But places that I desire to live?  There are none.  I can picture the inside of my house or apartment or condo quite clearly, but the view from my imaginary windows is not filled in.

And then there is my passion for learning about different cultures, archaeology, geology, early/pre history.  The reason I decided not to pursue a career in any of those areas was the amount of schooling that would be involved.  But now that I have gone back to school -and discovered that I enjoy it- I begin to wonder why not?  I want to be a police officer, yes, but do I want it more than I want a career in any of the categories I just mentioned?  I’m unsure.

If I wanted to go to school for any type of archaeological studies, New Mexico would be the place to do it.  If I wanted to be a police officer, I would want to start that career someplace where I was prepared to live for a good deal of time; I don’t get the impression that policing is the type of job where you can just quit or move around if you have the intention of staying in that field.  Once I join a department up here, the reality is that I will likely remain here for good.

If I want to try living someplace else, now is the time.  While I am young, have almost no financial responsibilities, have the ability to easily return home to my parents if I don’t like it, and before I have a career that I am committed to and unable to leave.

Truth be told, if it wasn’t for my family I wouldn’t hesitate.  I would be out of here in a heartbeat.  Should I stay here for that sole reason?  I am blessed with a wonderful family; I can’t decide if I can bear the thought of being 2,000 miles away from them.  But then I wonder if I can bear the thought of being here forever just because I am afraid to leave them.

I don’t know.

What I do know is that for all that I keep telling myself I can’t leave them, I have a plan for moving away that continues to develop in my mind.  I see references to New Mexico, or the desert, or making decisions, or not fearing the future, in things that I see and read on almost a daily basis.  Because I want to see those things or because God is bringing it up?

I don’t know.

But I guess we’ll find out.

Transitions

It is painfully difficult to go to work every day.  Work itself is not even really all that bad; I suppose it’s probably just a mental thing.  An attitude thing even, although I always want to stab people when they say “it’s all a matter of attitude!”  Motherfuckers.

I called in yesterday because “there’s something wrong with my dog and I have to take her to the vet.”  It was based in truth, and later I did end up taking her to the vet so it actually was true.  Nonetheless, I felt like a total schmuck as I hung up the phone.

My psychologist and I have mutually decided to return me to weekly meetings with her (we had moved to bi-weekly) for a while.  Between job stuff, school stuff, career planning stuff, and the impending wedding of my little sister (and all the family conflict that has been a direct byproduct), we both figured it’s better than emotional backsliding.  But my insurance has said it will only cover 3 more sessions.  My psychologist has said she will try to get more from them, but either way it leaves me more dependent on my job until I can find a new one; either I am dependent on the insurance I get through them, or I will have to come up with the money to private pay for my sessions ($113.00 each; at least that’s what they charge insurance, sometimes insurance companies get a discount…)  And then there is the matter of my Wellbutrin, (anti-depressant) which is about $250.00 per month without insurance.

I find out on Tuesday if I am still being considered for a job I interviewed for last week.  Whether I get it or not I am thinking I will have to put in my notice at work very soon, for my own well being.  But what I will do if I leave before having another job… I really don’t know.

I have given serious thought to simply taking off; packing up, hopping in the car, and just driving around the country for a little while.  It’s a natural instinct, I think; the desire to ‘run’ from everything.  Well, I do think it’s more than that.  How often do we have no ties?  Nothing to keep us stuck in one spot?  I certainly almost never have that.  This is the closest I have ever felt in my entire life to having the ability and the will to pick up and leave.  I like the thought that it’s an actual possibility.

“I want my random phone call;” Backstabbing, signs from God, and the need to escape

“Clearly there’s some piece of information I’m missing, so how about you explain it to me.  I don’t understand so how about you help me understand?”

My voice was tight with frustration, slightly above an ‘indoor voice’ due to anger, the words over-enunciated in an obvious attempt to use my words instead of my fists.

I was not given a clear response; he blathered something that didn’t make any sense.  I clearly had him rattled.  Every time he gave me some round-about reason –when he managed to come up with one– I quickly debunked it, announcing why his excuse didn’t make any sense.  Every time he switched to a completely different answer that didn’t make any more sense.  He was talking in circles, hoping that I would get confused and leave him alone.  I was like a terrier with a rat, and I was not going to let it go.  I got out of my seat, standing over him as I ticked off points on my fingers.

“I don’t understand, so how about you explain it to me?  I’m already a supervisor, I’ve been trained as a supervisor for a couple of years, everyone thinks I do a good job –or everyone I’ve spoken to–, I made it clear that I wanted to be full time supervisor, I’ve been here 2 and a half years, and I have seniority.  So unless it has something to do with my performance –which you’re telling me it doesn’t– then I don’t understand why John is the new full time supervisor and I’m not.”

My ‘boss’ still didn’t have a logical answer for me.  We both knew why I had been passed over for the position.  The employee in question -John- apparently just got out of prison in January, has only been working with us for a few months, has never even been trained as a supervisor, and doesn’t even do his job adequately.  But he was fraternity brothers – and using buddies – with my ‘boss’ Fred and with the president of the company.  And so he was promoted over me from a position below me.

Fred continued to allude the the idea that his boss, our administrator Paula, had something to do with the decision, then back-pedaled.  At one point he told me that Paula said I do a good job as supervisor one night a week -which they took away from me and gave to John as part of his new full time gig- but that I couldn’t handle being full time lead.  That I’m not ready.  Fred kept telling me that “all I can tell you is that I talked to Paula, and I don’t want to throw anyone under the bus but you’ve got me backed into a corner.”  Then he would seemingly change his mind and throw in as an after thought that “but I was the one who made the final decision.”  No answers, no explanations, just bullshit.

I finally walked out, announcing that apparently I needed to talk to Paula.  She refused to speak to me, telling me that I needed to talk to Fred.

Mother Fuckers.

This happened a week and a half ago.  I have been to work a total of 2 days since it happened.  A mixed blessing was the removal of my wisdom teeth the day after my conversation with Fred took place.  I had already taken a few days off ahead of time to recover and then used the wisdom teeth as an excuse to call in several days this last week.  I played up the pain I was in on the one mid-week day I did go to work so that they would attribute my anti-social surliness to pain rather than seething fury.

It is like nails on a chalk board just to be at work now.  It is all I can do not to simply walk out.  Most of the co-workers who I call friends and who are in the same position that I am left the company a couple of months ago.  I have only two left, newer employees who I managed to click with after the loss of my usual crew.  My second day back at work this week -over a week after my conversation with Fred- both of my remaining co-worker friends told me they are leaving.  Both got random, out of the blue phone calls with great opportunies they can’t pass up.  So in two weeks’ time I shall be alone.  At a job I now hate.  Working for people and a company I now hate.  Alone.

I have applied to a dozen jobs this week.  I had one interview for a job that was nothing like what the ad had made it sound like it would be; a sad waste of time that was disgustingly disappointing.  I have been scouring the internet looking for part time jobs, full time jobs, jobs half way across the country, volunteer positions half way around the world, anything.  Anything.

Where is my random, out of the blue phone call?  Why is this happening to me?  Why now?

I am choosing to take it as a sign from God that it is time to leave the company I work for.  The loss of my only remaining co-worker friends seems to me a reaffirmation; God saying “get the fuck out of there before I have to come up with something to make you even more desperate to leave!”

Okay.  I get it.  I get part A of the message God.  Now give me part B.  Give me somewhere to go.  Give me my fucking phone call!

I am willing to do pretty much anything that presents itself; I figure I have always ended up exactly where I needed to be in the past, so the present will be no different.  I believe God puts things together so that the only that works out -for me, at any rate- is what He wants me to do.

So I applied for jobs on craigslist.  Full time, part time, didn’t matter.  I applied for jobs in New Mexico.  I e-mailed some guy in South Africa about a volunteer position for an archaeological dig.

I feel lost and just keep trying to find something new quickly.  Dear God let it be quickly.  Before I call Fred a dick to his face or tell Paula she’s a senile old bitch.  Before I go to work and put my fist through a window.  When I become this discontent I become impulsive, and all my focus is simply on getting out of there with a new job waiting for me before I go off the deep end and quit.  I just want to run away for a while, to escape.

I want my phone call.

Stories for Jeanette – Part 2: The Saga of Dick and Mr. Bean

[Once again, all names have been changed.]

Apparently under orders from our administrator, one of the senior counselors at work found me on Friday in order to bully me into doing a (ill-advised, I found out a short while later) room move.  Apparently a 22 year old male patient (I shall call him Dick…  My reason for doing so will become self-explanatory shortly) was complaining that one of his room-mates — a 48 year male we will call Mr. Bean because I swear to God that’s what he makes me think of every time I see him– snores all night long and keeps Dick awake.

We did not, however, have any extra beds to facilitate moving anyone around.  When I asked if he wanted me to just leave things as they were for the night, I was given a severe look and informed that the administrator had given her word to Dick so we were going to follow through on it.  After disappearing for a short while, this senior counselor came back and instructed me to take Mr. Bean out of his room and to have him switch beds with Ernesto a few rooms down.  Senior counselor dude then takes off for the day.  The administrators take off for the day.

I go talk to Ernesto about the room move.  Ernesto refuses to do it.  Great.  So I track down the other non-snorer in Ernesto’s room and ask him if he would be willing to switch; he (Dave) is thrilled at the prospect because apparently the 3rd room mate in Dave and Ernesto’s room snores quite loudly.  Okay, we’re doing pretty good.  I notice Mr. Bean head into his room and take the opportunity to walk down there and talk to him about the room move.

“Hey, Mr. Bean [wouldn't it be awesome if that was really how the conversation had started...?] I understand they mentioned a room move to you earlier; we’re going to go ahead and do that tonight.”

Mr. Bean promptly freaks out.  He begins to argue, refuse, exclaim that he will not do it.  (I learn shortly after that the reason the room move wasn’t done earlier in the day as it should have been/is always done, was because Mr. Bean had freaked out and dayshift had opted not to deal with it because his counselor hadn’t been there to talk to him about it.  How lovely that the adminstration could pass that onto me after pretty much all the remaining counselors had gone for the day…)  He then leans over and flings the door to his room open, pointing to Dick and yelling that the only reason Dick is awake all night is because he sleeps all day and does not go to functions.  According to Mr. Bean, the only reason he snores is because he has been sick.  Dick and Mr. Bean then begin to get into it.  Thankfully, Dick finally heads up the hallway towards dinner, with Mr. Bean (the 48 year old man, mind you) yelling after him that he is a ‘hater.’

I return to the counseling center and decide to call the assistant administrator to ask what I am supposed to do.  Mr. Bean follows me up there, continuing to argue.  I explain that this was what the administration told me to do and I have to follow through on it.  After growing tired of listening to his arguments, I inform him that I am doing him a favor by calling my administrator and that I am not going to stand there and debate the issue with him.  Basically I order him to go to dinner, and in a huff he seems to decide that would be a good idea.

The assistant administrator proves to be little help; he informs me that the administrator had told him ‘we’ were not going to worry about the room move, and then she must have turned around and told this senior counselor dude something else entirely.

I get off the phone and walk down to Dick and Mr. Bean’s room, where I find that all of Mr. Bean’s belongings are sitting on a cart in the hallway.  Apparently, Dick and one of his young cronies decided to take it upon themselves to evict Mr. Bean from the room.  I demand to know whose belongings those are and inform Dick that he needs to put Mr. Bean’s personal possessions back where he found them.  Dick begins to act like… well, a dick… and after debating with me, he informs me that he’s not going to do anything.  He then leans back on his bed and closes his eyes in a ridiculously stupid pose of feigned disinterest and lack of concern.

It has been a long time since I wanted to actually hit a patient.  I stood in the doorway, really not sure what to do and quivering with barely suppressed anger.  Dick begins to talk again; I turn around and storm off, afraid that I will say or do something I should not.

I arrive at the counseling center in a huff, demanding that my staff member Karl go up to the cafeteria and trade places with Jake, who is effectively my right hand man when I am in charge.  I inform him that I need him to ”get Jake down here now.”  My staff rarely debates with me when I am in such a mood; Karl nods and takes off.  Moment later Jake comes around the corner at a trot.  I apprise him of the situation, my voice and hands shaking with mild rage.  (I don’t get angry with patients very often, but when I do it is often because I am so enraged that my emotions shoot right past anger and on to actual fury.)  Jake heads down to talk to Dick.

A stroke of luck; I see Dick’s counselor walk past, getting ready to leave.  In a breathless mass of words I inform him what has happened; he is good enough to go down to Dick’s room and pull him aside for a moment.  In the meantime, Jake and I stand in the doorway trying to decide how to fix this situation.  We both know that Mr. Bean will be furious when he finds his belongings in the hallway; we also both know that we can’t put them back exactly as they were.  Jake wisely points out that if Mr. Bean knows that Dick was the one who packed up his things, the situation might rapidly spin even further out of control.

“We’re going to have to take credit for packing up his shit,” he informs me levelly.  I sigh, knowing he is right.  Of course, moments earlier Jake had informed me that Mr. Bean has some serious anger problems which are mentioned in his chart.  Lovely.  So Jake and I stand sentry outside the room, guarding against the possibility that Mr. Bean should return and find his belongings without someone to explain things to him first.

I spot him coming down the hallway and motion to Jake; the two of us intercept Mr. Bean and ask him to step into one of the admit rooms with us.  I decide to take the pleading approach.  “Look, I really need your help.”  I explain that administration is simply not giving us any option, that we have essentially been ordered to relocate him.  He surprised me by being somewhat cooperative.  Jake then speaks up, and I cringe as he tells Mr. Bean that we started to pack him up because administration had ordered us to do so but that we stopped because we didn’t feel right about it.  (God I love Jake.)  Mr. Bean freaks out, but only mildly so.  We take the apologetic approach, and I am surprised to find that Mr. Bean grudingly accepts that his relocation is inevitable.

As Jake and I were making the bed that Mr. Bean had just vacated in order for the new tenant to arrive, it occurred to me to take a look in Dick’s belongings.  Lo and behold, I found candy, candy wrappers, and Altoids, all of which are considered contraband at our facility.  (Candy because they can’t have sugar -its affects on the blood sugar levels trigger a desire among the newly sober to use- and Altoids because patients use breath mints to hide if they’ve been using while in treatment.)  Jake commends me as I gleefully gather my prizes.  It makes me feel a little bit better to have caught Dick in breaking the rules even as he’s being given the special treatment of having his room-mate evicted.

In the meantime, Big-ass and Mr. Prize continued to pair throughout the evening, as did Predator-man and Doe-eyes, as did Juliet and her newest Romeo, as did another couple who had been staying more or less under the radar until the last couple days.

An hour or two after the ordeal of Mr. Bean seemed to come to a close, he was up at the counseling center getting wound back up about the violation of having his things gone through.  It pissed me off to have to be apologetic for something I did not actually do, but I listened with a falsely sympathetic ear and made apologetic statements every once in a while nonetheless.  Apparently his sweaty workout clothing had been put in with his clean things; I was given a lecture on how his sweat is full of toxins and now his pillow was ‘infected.’  Finally I simply inform him that I think he is right, the entire situation is bullshit and I would have much preferred to leave him where he was.  I offer him money to do a load of laundry, informing him that I am aware it cannot rectify ‘our’ mistake but that it is the best I have to offer.  He seems to soften somewhat after that; he takes the money and stays out of my hair the rest of the evening.  Thank God.

It had been ordered that Predator-man and Doe-eyes were to be on room focus: that is, aside from going to functions, neither was to leave their room until Saturday at 10 something am.  They were also put on a pairing contract: not to have contact with one another.  Sometime after snack, approximately 9:30 pm, Jake mentions to me that included in a group of patients who is down in the fireside room playing Uno is Big-ass and Mr. Prize, who are sitting pressed up against one another, and Predator-man and Doe-eyes.  I head down there to find that Predator-man and Doe-eyes are also seated directly next to each other – and quite close.  I stroll forward and ask Predator-man nonchalantly, “Aren’t you on room focus?”  He stammers a bit, then mentions something about how it was supposed to end that night.  I simply say okay and promise to double check for him.  I barely make it around the corner before he comes trotting after me, informing me that I was right, it was actually until the next day.  He returns to his room.

Jake then makes his way down to talk to Doe-eyes, reminding her that she too is on room focus and needs to return to her room.  Standing in the hallway, I watch him walk away.  I then watch Doe-eyes come around the corner, note that Jake is facing the opposite direction, and slither non-chalantly outside to the patient smoking area.  *sigh*  I radio Jake to inform him that Doe-eyes has gone outside, and a moment later he reappears, walking past with his jaw set in irritation.

I house-sat for a dog breeder once when I was younger.  One of the females was in heat and the male kept sneaking through the fence to get to her.  No matter how creative I got in erecting obstructions, I simply could not keep him away from her:

Jake tells me later that when he got outside he discovered Doe-eyes and Predator-man together out in the smoking area.  Simply could not keep them away from each other…  Jake informs them that they have no lee-way and they had better return to their rooms right away.

In the meantime, two other members of my crew –Karl and Joe, both a bit older– have been taking turns patrolling the grounds in a joint effort to help keep an eye on the… dogs in heat.  Sure enough, Joe comes back a bit later to inform me that he caught Juliet and her new Romeo making out behind some bushes.

Good God.

Mr. Bean says: "Remember kids, treatment sex will get you STDs."

Stories for Jeanette – Part 1: Young ‘Love’

[Please note that the names of everyone --co-workers and patients alike-- have been changed for the protection of privacy for all involved.  Some names are more obviously not real than others, but they have ALL been changed.]

Cloudy days and drizzle aside, spring is in the air.  How do I know?  An increase in the number of patients at work who are *ahem* getting it on.

The only thing more incomprehensible to me than the fact that 28 days seems to be physically impossible for a large number of patients to go without having sex is the ability some of these people have to find their “rehab soul-mate” before they are halfway through their trip to rehab…  We had a young couple who had been pairing (our term for the couples who spend large amounts of time together and give the impression that they are, in fact, an actual couple.) for a day or two; they were put on a pairing contract, which means they are not allowed to spend time together.  Later that day, apparently unable to cope with the prospect of being separated from one another, our rehab Romeo and Juliet confessed their love to one another right in front of the desk where all of our treatment associates are stationed.  Both had been in treatment for less than 4 days.

My Thursday evening at work was spent skulking around outside in the dark in an effort to discover and stop such pairing.  I’ve discovered a dark spot between buildings where I can stand unnoticed and observe the patient smoking area.  I also figured out that I can get there by circling around behind these buildings.  Unfortunately, this area has no lighting behind it and I opt not to turn on my flashlight unless absolutely necessary so as not to alert the patients to my presence.  (No, I really don’t have anything better to do.)  Even more unfortunately, the back side of these buildings has a small ledge of dirt for me to walk on before the ground begins to slope steeply down to the banks of the creek below.

Thursday night I was struck by the inspiration that if I could go along the back to the far side of the bulidings instead of in between them, I would be able to see more patient activity from a closer distance.  This involved scrabbling across steep declines while swinging myself around a large tree directly in my path.  (Is this all really necessary?  Probably not…  But it makes me happy.  And I am known for my ‘astonishing’ ability to catch people in the act of rule breaking when my co-workers weren’t even aware of what was going on.  Just ask Kurt the night guy about my “now legendary discovery of the coffee buried in the groundbark.”  His words, not mine…)  I just know that one of these days I’m going to end up in the creek…

I have also figured out that a large number of young couples looking for an out of the way location have noticed that there is an unlit area down on the basketball court and behind some large bushes where, at night time, they are virtually invisible to passerby.  Unless, of course, the passerby happens to be me and knows that I can sneak my way down an unlit side staircase and emerge around a corner from behind the same large bushes, effectively ‘ambushing’ the couple in question.  Which is how I discovered a young couple making out down there on Thursday night.  A young man who is apparently considered a ‘prize’ among several young females who have vied for his attention since he arrived, and a young female who, I’m sorry, has the biggest ass I have ever seen on a female of her otherwise relatively normal proportions.  Seriously, I try not pay attention to it but it is the first thing I notice every time I see her.  Her ass is huge.

So I walk around the corner and Big-ass –(you can judge me later, but if the name I use for her is a distraction for you every time you read it, then it is accomplishing the same task that her ass has in person.  Besides, it’s not like she’s a really sweet girl with an unfortunate physical trait; she has an ugly personality.  The day before I had been drafted to serve as ‘body guard’ for the young lady [let's call her Dahlia] that Big-ass had threatened.  After Big-ass found that her room had been searched and her contraband taken away, she blamed Dahlia for allegedly turning her in [which she didn't] and I was therefore called in to ensure that Dahlia remained untouched– which of course she did.) –anyway, Big-ass says “Shit!” as Mr. Prize kind of jumps back from her.  Politely refraining from shining my maglite directly on them, I quietly suggest that they find a more well lit area in which to ‘hang out.’  (Although the hope would be that public and well lit areas would keep ANYTHING from actually hanging out, because no staff or patients would deserve to have to see that.  We already got reports that Big-ass and Mr. Prize had gotten it on in the shower, and just the thought made me want to gag.  If I actually walked in on anything graphic…  Blech.)

I continued my patrol, knowing full well that somewhere on the premises another couple had disappeared together.  This couple is just as gross as Big-ass and Mr. Prize, but for different reasons.  This couple consists of a married 40 year old man whose wife and small children I remember dropping him off for treatment, and a young 22 year old female who has kind of a doe-eyed, ‘easy prey’ look about her.  Which apparently Predator-man took notice of.  I never caught Predator-man and Doe-eyes in the act of anything, although I noticed that he was late for bedcheck and she gave a flustered, uncertain answer when I asked her where she had been.

Big-ass was out at the counter after bedcheck demanding her luggage because she was ‘not going to deal with this.’  In the meantime, I noticed our Juliet from earlier attempting to sneak into her room late.  She has, by the way, moved on from the Romeo she confessed her love to a week before and onto another young man.  (“Holy St. Francis!  What a change is here!  Is Rosaline, which thou didst hold so dear, so soon forsaken?  Young [wo]men’s love then lies not truly in their hearts but in their eyes.”)

Ah, young love.  I shall continue their stories in the next entry.

A side note; Thursday marked my discovery of the best comment I have ever seen on a patient’s SEBA.  (Social Emotional Behavioral Assessment)  The question reads:

“Have you ever tried to harm another person?”

The box for ‘no’ is checked, preceded by the following answer:

“Only in bar fights.”

Eat your hearts out, all you who work at a desk in an ordinary job.

Love Me, Love Me Not

Sometimes I hate it when God gives me something specific He wants me to work on.  Hate it.  (I’m totally scowling as I write this!!!)

Have you ever noticed that guys seem to be particularly attracted to confidence?  It’s a trait that is often hard to come by, but if you ever stop and pay attention to the girls that {atleast act like they} are more confident, you will most likely notice that guys are falling all over them.

Brief and most basic background blurb I can give to fill you in:  I was sexually assaulted about 2 1/2 years ago, I went to counseling about it for a while, I felt like I had dealt with most of the leftover junk from what happened.

I’ve begun to realize in the last two weeks or so that I’m not so over things as I thought I was.  It feels like God is pointing it out to me over and over again and making me deal with it so I can do more healing and move on.  I suppose I appreciate it — or I will in the long run – but right now it hurts and it sucks and I don’t want to!!!

It started a couple weeks ago as I began to notice some… growing attention… from a couple of my (male) co-workers.  Apparently I have a mini fan club…  One– who, by the way, I had only met a couple weeks ago– made a couple really odd and slightly akward comments that I really didn’t know how to respond to so I just tried to kind of shrug them off.  The other, who is married with children and is probably about 40ish, started with just a comment or two about what a beautiful woman I am and began to move into comments that increasingly utilized the word ’sexy.’

At first, at least in the case of the latter co-worker, I was flattered and took the compliments simply as compliments and used them to bolster my burgeoning self-esteem.  But as comments became more along the lines of saying my name in his sleep, for example, I began to grow uneasy.  It was no longer fun, it started to scare me.  And I couldn’t figure out why it was scary; he is definitely not an intimidating individual.  It went from harmless flirtation to feeling like I was being pursued.  They were no longer compliments; they were advances.

At this point I will throw in the added information that for about two years I have been in love with a 45-ish year old man who I worked with up until recently and continue to remain good friends with.  My attraction to older men is a bit of a running joke with me and a couple of my friends.  I mentioned the whole thing to my psychologist a couple weeks ago, lamenting aloud that I seem to be attracting every 40-something guy except the one I actually want.

And then on the way home that day, I had a thought.  An epiphany really.  What if I feel like I’m always attracted to the ‘unobtainable’ guys because subconsciously I’m terrified of the vulnerability of a relationship (or true romantic attention) and this is a way to protect myself without admitting it?  Whoa.

I really had to stop and consider it.  And as I thought about this 46 year old man that I have been totally pining after, I tried to think what it was about him that I loved.  And the first word that came to my mind was safety.  He is a safe person for me.  I never have to be afraid of his intentions, have never gotten a single comment from him that could be considered sexual in nature, have always felt safe because of how strong he is; he always seems to know what to do.  Just writing this I think of the concept of safety that I have vested in him and the depth of the comfort I derive from that is making me tear up.

It feels like one of those things that should be completely obvious, but that God allows to stay hidden from you until the time is exactly right.  The depth of that sudden realization was so overwhelming I went home and cried.  How could I be so afraid and so unaware of it?

This week has been difficult.  Two days in a row I worked with both of the co-workers who have been making comments, only this time I was painfully aware of every tiny infraction on my personal space.  The one who seemed to be making downright advances had begun to touch me every time we talked: a hand on my shoulder or upper arm, mostly.  By the end of the night, I was literally flinching every time he touched me.

The last several weeks I have been amazed at how well I have been doing.  I have been ecstatic at the growing feelings I have had of confidence, competence, and high self-esteem.  I have felt like I’ve really come almost all the way out of my shell.

And with every touch, with every invasion of my personal space, with every odd comment or look, I felt myself retreating farther and farther back into that shell.  Back into that prison.  All I could keep thinking to myself was “It’s not fair.”  It’s not fair that the very confidence that gives me strength and freedom should be the very thing that attracts the attention of my deepest fears and repels that newfound confidence.  It’s not fair that one undeserved night two and a half years ago could have scarred me so deeply that I am still finding fresh pain from it every day.

It really sucks to wake up one day and realize that I’m way more fucked up than I realized.

I’ve had opportunities to date the last couple years.  I’ve gotten tons of attention from guys that I have either ignored, brushed off, rebuffed, or straight up ran from.  I did it last week, I did it yesterday, and I did it today; I got hit on and immediately walked away or changed the subject or ignored it and moved on.  Every day I respond the same way.  With fear.

I was afraid to say something to the co-worker that seemed to be making advances.  I’m pretty good at sticking up for myself except when it comes to men and being flirted with/hit on.  I mentioned to my psychologist that I was afraid I might be misinterpreting, or overreacting, or just wrong somehow.  Her response was that it doesn’t matter what his intention; it is making me uncomfortable so I have every right to say something about it.  I was surprised at how foreign this simple concept was.  The idea that I have as much right to feel comfortable as he does?  It simply never occurred to me.

By the end of the day the other day I ended up politely letting him know that I don’t like to be touched.  He has (politely) kept a safe distance since then.

So good.  Now I know the reason I don’t date is not because I can’t get a date, it’s because I’m terrified of actually going on a date.  That’s helpful.

I don’t really know what to do now.  But I suppose knowing is half the battle, right?  *Sigh*  I hate it when God gives me something specific He wants me to work on.

Hate it.

Guns, Fred Meyer’s, and Rowing Machines

Today was awesome!  I learned how to fire a gun and I had the most fun I’ve had in a long time!  I went to an indoor range where a friend of mine works and he showed me the basics.  Having never even seen a gun, I was a little nervous that I’d end up being a total girl about it, but I did really well.

He started me off firing a revolver, which is the easiest gun to fire and has pretty much no recoil.  I was hitting the target every time and they were all clustered around wherever I was aiming, (near the center on the round target, all in the head or chest on the little person shaped target) so he switched me to a bigger gun: a 9mm Gloch.  The rounds for that are a lot bigger than the revolver, it’s louder, and there’s a lot more recoil to it.  Plus it’s a little more complicated and more difficult to load.  And unlike the revolver, which the rounds just stay in until you empty them, the Gloch spits the used rounds out of the top of the gun as you’re firing.

It was frickin’ awesome.  I had so much fun!

On the way home from the shooting range I stopped by the 24 hour fitness closest to my house and got a free week of membership (although I suppose the term membership insinuates that you’ve actually joined rather than are just trying it…).  The manager guy gave me a tour and was really nice.   He  asked me what my fitness goals were and I told him I’d like to get in good enough shape to take the police officer physical tests, so he told me about a trainer who had just finished helping a client get in good enough shape for the police academy and even set me up with an appointment to meet with the guy this week.

Of course then I had to buy some workout clothes that I can wear in public because I don’t actually have any, (recently any time I’ve worked out I’ve worn pajama bottoms, which are rather comfortable but tend to be especially loose and make me trip over myself…) so I went by Fred Meyer’s after that.  (I frickin’ love Fred Meyer’s.  Open till 11 every day, which means night owls like me actually stand something of a chance!)

Armed with workout pants, a new padlock for the gym locker, and my i-pod shuffle, I made my way to the gym for my first public workout.  I walked out of the locker room, looked around… aaand turned around and retreated back to the locker room.  Deep breath, forget about everyone else.  I survived half an hour on the rowing machine and 20 something minutes on the eliptical machine and am feeling pretty darn good about myself.

Having the tendency to be an all or nothing girl, I did get a little carried away…  I have several blisters on both palms from the rowing machine so I’m probably going to have to lay off tomorrow.  That’s ok, there are plenty of other machines for me to explore.  : )

All in all, it was the best day I’ve had in a while!