I hate it when this happens: in a fit of sexual ennui, I read a Weasley twincest story, only to discover that now that flames have been ignited, so to speak, it was the only good story in the entire sub-fandom. Bah.
I've been thinking a lot about Harry Potter recently, as I am much too fickle to last an entire summer with Clark and Lex only on reruns. I feel rather fondly toward the books--I was aware of them a bit earlier than much of the US, as I had to help HB buy the first two for a friend when we were in England in 1999. I remember that I wasn't terribly impressed by the blurbs on the jackets, and didn't actually end up reading the books until...just before the fourth one came out, I think. By that time the hype was pretty big, but I was entertained enough by Years One and Two to not care that they were kind of shallow. By Year Four I had cottoned on to the part where the worldview got progressively more complex as the kids got older, which I still think is fantastically cool, and, okay, I like the increased levels of violence. Dammit, my favorite part about these books is that the kids could really get killed. I spent my entire childhood terrified of burglers, vampires, and knives; it's downright comforting to see a kids' book where fear is taken seriously.
Seems like I had a point there beyond that I kind of like Harry Potter. Sadly, it's gone.
No big news on the job front, if you're keeping track. The school district position is out--the speech therapist rescinded her resignation. I got an enthusiastic message from GG's boss at the home health agency, but have been playing phone tag with her ever since. I saw GG yesterday, though, and he assured me that this is standard for his boss and not to be concerned. "I told her you were nothing but great, man," he said, which made me miss him all over again.
Things I did today: get to work 15 minutes late, which is highly unusual for me. Play in the sand tray with my client SM and his older sister. Play in the ball pit. Close the door to the service coordinator's office and spend ten minutes yelling about how maybe if SM's parents didn't use him as the focus of their personal battles and occasionally told him he was a good kid, he might not be such the behavior problem, and for God's sake if she has to refer them somewhere, how about a behavior specialist and a family counselor instead of a known drug-'em-up-and-ship-'em-out psychiatrist. Eat lunch. Evaluate a crazy cool woman with a laryngectomy and a stunningly awful voice prosthesis. Crack outrageously inappropriate jokes with her and her chain-smoking, back-country, middle-aged daughter. Stare in lust-tinged awe at the daughter's forearms, which my jailbird sister-in-law would describe as "prison arms." (Dude, she was ripped). Hang out. See some more kids. Listen to Arabic pop in the car. Google "Weasley twincest," thus giving the government one more reason to shove me against the wall when the revolution comes. Go to bed.
I decided today that I'm going to quit my job. I've gone back and forth on this for about a year now, and today, after a particularly tumultous afternoon, I realized that I was no longer unsettled at the prospect of leaving. I thought about saying goodbye to this facility and starting someplace new, and I was calm. I don't think the signals get any clearer than that.
Possible leads: home health agency where KH and GG work, and an elementary school in the sweeeet district northeast of town. I'm gonna fix up my resume as soon as I post this and then start faxing people tomorrow.
Something I like to do when I'm trying to make a decision is to internally assume a potential state to see how it feels--try on an idea or a belief for size, so to speak. I find this works remarkable well most times, although once shortly after I met GG I tried on Jehovah's Witness, just to dip into his head for a moment, and after ten seconds I was chilled to the core. But tonight I'm thinking merely of blogger vs. livejournal, so I'm trying on lj. The title of this post is Redneck Sushi.
We went out last night with A and A, a couple recently introduced to us by CMJ and her husband. We'd all six hung out last weekend, sort of a going-away party for C and M, who are moving to Oklahoma in a few weeks. Leaving the party, A and A approached us and said that it would be a shame if we lost track after C and M moved, and invited us to dinner a few days later in a show of good faith. So last night we went to a brand new sushi joint near downtown, in a trendy little red-and-taupe building that used to be a French restaurant. It was...well. The food was great, and I had wonderful strong coffee afterwards, sipping and watching stolen fragments of A's ice cream melting in my saucer. The atmosphere--well, really, the atmosphere was quite charming, with lovely attention to detail, right down to the polished river rocks as chopstick rests.
The weird part, really, was the combination of the rather self-consciously hip and trendy restaurant staff and us. Here was this waiter--young, blond, dressed in skinny black clothes, and desperate to show off how well-versed he was in haut cuisine--and here were the four of us. The Hubster and myself, in baggy jeans and tee shirts, are what my buddy JT calls "high crass": we can fake it pretty well in polite society, but we're also the ones staring at the bean dip and muttering, "Oooooo, you hear that siren? That's the ass police, baby, and they're coming for you."
And then there were A and A. A1, female, is a psychology grad student from Serbia who recently celebrated her first Fourth of July as a citizen. Her husband, A2, is a rock-n-roll guitarist from Maine who drives a gas truck to pay the bills. They are the strangest couple ever. A2 in particular defies description--when thinking of him, I struggle for words that are not candy metaphors. "Crunchy on the outside, but with a soft, sweet center!" "Chock full o' nuts!" That sort of thing. He looks and moves like a redneck--braided ponytail, upper arm tattoo, overbite, swagger--but he loaned me Into Thin Air. He drinks beer in the passenger seat and his guitar room is covered with 80's skull paraphenalia, but he proudly displays his knowledge of Serbian verb structure. He gave the waiter hell last night--"Nah, we don't want that expensive shit. Just bring us some--you know that cheap-ass sake you get at Chinese restaurants? Bring us some of that,"--but he was good-natured, relaxed, and tipped him well at the end of the night. I don't quite know what to think about him.
There was a girl behind me at belly dancing tonight with the most amazing hips--heavy and loose and beautiful. When she shimmied she made my head spin.
I bought multi-vitamins today. As soon as I finish up the prescription for antidepressants next month--boom chaka laka, baby. The Hubster is watching me with fear and impending fatherhood in his eyes.
Taboule with tomatoes and artichoke hearts
Banana bread
Chicken with basmati rice
Marinated portobello mushrooms with sauteed peppers, onions, and tomatoes with polenta
Smoothies with bananas, strawberries, and vanilla yogurt
Chocolate chip oatmeal brownies (with SMW)
Improv eggplant and portobello parmigiana
Chocolate cherry crumble with crack COCAINE please somebody make me stop EATING it
Not to mention I bought cherries, peaches, and the world's four most perfect nectarines. I am reduced to saying things like, "Come in! Eat some produce!" as I usher people into the house. This appears to be Love Week in the love-hate relationship I have with my kitchen.
Subconscious turmoil update: had heartrending nightmare in which I witnessed a plane crash. Had prolonged, unpleasant dream where I was pursued by Dementors. Had dream with six or seven of my real life clients where my clinical incompetence featured prominently. Had dream about giant poisonous desert lizards. Had dream where if I was unable to solve a case of insurance fraud I would be killed. Had dream where I was unable to stop some woman that I liked very much from finding out, moments before the altar, that her fiance was cheating on her. Had dream where I accidently drove my car off a bridge. Gah.
CMJ, the social worker at work, said there were prominent "loss of control" themes in many of these. I feel so Freudian.
I'm sort of thinking about either getting or switching over to livejournal. Pros: people will stop asking me about it. I might meet interesting folks. Cons: it's like the Borg. I find the "friends page" feature overwhelming.
If you read this blog, have strong feelings one way or the other in the matter, and have not already expressed these feeling repeatedly (Shell, I'm a-talkin' to you), I'd appreciate it if you'd drop me either an email or a comment. I think in this decision majority will rule.
Spent last night in thrall to horrific nightmares. The good part of the dream was when my former neighbor caught the guy attacking me and chainsawed him apart. Gah.
I called in sick and then spent the entire day on the couch reading Harry Potter. Now I am going to bed, where I will please please not have Voldemort dreams.
In a surprising 180 degree turn from this morning, I had a pleasant, relaxing afternoon. This morning...wow. It's not that anything bad happened, but you know how sometimes you wake up and find yourself completely incapable of making a decision?
So, I had to be at work by 9am, but I didn't actually have clients until 10:30. At 7:40am I prop my eyelids open and muzzily wonder if I can get away with staying home. Convince myself that would be unethical and rude. Lie in bed until just on 8am, at which point I must get out of bed if I intend to get to midtown by 9am. Stand stark naked at the bathroom counter and contemplate my toothbrush. Instead of using the toothbrush, decide to flop on the floor and pet Mr. Sinatra, who's lying on his back waving his feet around and purring. Think about staying home. In an effort to humor myself by breaking routine, decide to go check my email and see if there's any more Altville. There isn't. Journal-surf. Realize that--glory hallelujah!--Punk M. has posted her new SV story. Spend 40 or so stark naked minutes reading. Wonder if I should include the stark naked part in my feedback (hey! I was so engaged that I forgot to get dressed!), or if that would be the kind of comment that sends an author fleeing for nonfiction. Stare at the clock. Sigh. Head back to the bedroom with the intent of showering. Instead, collapse on the bed and try desperately to think of a reason to stay home that would be both A). true, and B). acceptable to the new hard-ass boss. Waffle. Think about how wonderful it would be to stay home and read Harry Potter all day. Get up and put contacts in, hoping for insight. Pick up the phone and dial work, fully intending to invent a stomach virus. Hear the receptionist pick up. Hear my own voice say that I'm running late and will be in shortly. Sigh.
I got a little kick out of Shell'sdue South snippet, a Ray Kowalski SOAP note, because it reminded me that once upon a time I wrote a voice evaluation on Blair Sandburg. My Sentinel phase coincided with my endless last year of grad school, when I took Voice Disorders. We had to write a mock evaluation on a client with some type of vocal pathology, and I, thinking I was the funniest thing on two wheels, used Sandburg. I got to write sentences like, "Maximum phonation time on /a/ was 13 seconds, well below the average range (20-25 seconds) for males in Mr. Sandburg's age range," and, "Dr. Megan Connor, an otolaryngologist with UTSHC, performed indirect laryngoscopy using a flexible endoscope inserted nasally." I thought I was way cool. But, beyond just the chance to toot my own horn, I liked Shell's snippet and would encourage y'all to rush right over there and read it.
Overall...I've been having a nice week. I've been experimenting with the "Don't Eat Crap All the Damn Time" diet and have been liking the results. Have fallen in love with belly dancing, to the point where I come home, strip down to my skivvies, and practice. (Pick yourselves up off the floor, now). Met the new department boss this week, and, while I don't like her very much, she does seem to be quite good at the job. On Friday I went to a counseling session with LG, where I blew her co-dependent little mind by saying that I was done being her therapist and we needed to revamp our relationship. She's confused and upset by this, but I feel great--I've been needing to say that for so long, and I feel like now we can either start developing a real, adult friendship, or I can let her go. I referred a kid for a modified barium swallow study, something I've never done before. Yesterday I fell asleep on a couch at the yacht club in the middle of the afternoon, and woke up sweaty and relaxed. Sat in the yacht club pool and gazed drowsily at the centerboard regatta participants (Hubster included) as they tooled around the lake waiting for the wind to pick up enough to actually race. Hung out with sailors and made myself homemade Radler--lemonade, Sprite, and Coors Light--and thought about Germany. Did not have a breakdown, like I did last weekend when the Hubster and I discussed our dwindling chances of moving. Bought Harry Potter and the Order of Magnitude Longer Than the Last Book. Got invited to see Hulk with my beloved client EM for his seventh birthday, although I declined. Ate tomato pie at a local diner. Ate an avocado just now.
I went to dinner with SMW this evening, and while I was in the restaurant bathroom I overheard the kind of painfully cute conversation between a mother and her very young daughter that makes a person quiver with the urge to reproduce. They were in the stall next to mine, and had heard but not seen me come in, so the little girl was afire with curiousity. "Somebody in there?" she says.
"Yes, sweetie, somebody's in that potty," says mom.
"Who is it?"
"I don't know, sweetie."
"Cinderella?"
Me, cackling, "No, it's not Cinderella."
"Mommy, can I see?"
"No, we don't look under the stall doors."
"Wude?"
"Yes, it's rude."
I was dying. The girl sounded very young, but when I saw them at the sinks she looked around three, possibly a little under. As always, I was struck by how very much she talked; normal development never ceases to amaze me.
Another reason I need to have some kids already: got all slitty-eyed angry at the new part-time physical therapist today because she provoked a screaming, crying, hyperventilating fit in my client IV. Okay, I don't actually know that she provoked him--he's a little fussy with strangers in general--but in over a year I've never seen him freak out that badly, and I got protective. Plus she was kind of talking down to him, which made me want to scream, "He's nonverbal, not stupid!" And BT and I were both upset because, when we hustled in to investigate the horrifying screaming coming from the big gym, the physical therapist said something about how IV had grabbed her hair and then, "I asked him, but he wouldn't let go." Okay, I'm a speech therapist, and even I still know that a kid with spastic quadriplegia probably doesn't have good hand control. Give me a break, lady, he's not letting go because he can't open his hand voluntarily. That's why he needs therapy. Argh.
