It's horrifying.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Criminal Minds digs up some memorable quotes
“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief...and unspeakable love.” -- Washington Irving
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
For several years I refused to listen to love stories
or see movies or watch shows on TV. I was so burned out by love it wasn't funny. Hmmm. I think Moonlight took me by surprise and I've been susceptible to love ever since. Stories, that is. Not in life. No, life is not for love.
Today I started Too Much Happiness by Alice Munro. It's very good. Have to take time between stories, though.
Today I started Too Much Happiness by Alice Munro. It's very good. Have to take time between stories, though.
I'm a lazy turd
Every weekend I do nothing but listen to audiobooks. Where's that ambition to write? Gone gone gone. Dead and gone. I find my comfort in stories of other people's lives. Or in series of fantastical people, Eve Dallas, Sookie Stackhouse. Love stories lay me out and fill me with longing. And then I find it hard to get into another story. I listened to Sookie over and over. Her new book doesn't come out until May.
Meanwhile I have no longings for myself any more. Just to have a job and be able to continue taking care of myself.
Meanwhile I have no longings for myself any more. Just to have a job and be able to continue taking care of myself.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
I still have a job
This week was the 22nd anniversary of Andy's death. I was surprised at the ease with which the day passed. The next day I found out I still have a job. The clinic where I work is consolidating and attempting to at least break even instead of losing money every year (our health care dollars at work). So, they chose to have us all interview again to see which ones would be chosen to hire back ... I was relieved to be chosen, but then again, I thought they'd be crazy not to hire me. After all, all that experience ... a shame to waste it.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
A vignette
AN I've struggled and struggled with this, was strangely compelled to write it after a particularly difficult session that left me wuth the feeling of being surrounded by fog or cotton wadding, unable to bat my way out of it.
The air in my office was heavy. The woman sat, legs white in her shorts, hair a dull gray blonde. She had agreed to start without her husband who waited outside. She was talking, indignant about her granddaughter.
“She wanted to spend the night with us. All was well until time for bed. She had her little mat but she wanted to sleep with us. I said no. She screamed and cried. She wanted to put her little mat on the floor beside our bed. I said no.”
“Why couldn’t she sleep with you?”
“Because she wiggles all night and would keep us awake.” She looked at me as if wondering why she had to state the obvious.
“Couldn’t she sleep on the floor beside your bed?”
“Oh no. No. She’s just spoiled. I had to call her dad to come and get her. Then my daughter called me. She wanted to know why Allison was home. I told her. You know what she said to me? ‘She’s only six, mom,’ she said. ‘She hasn’t seen you all summer.’ That’s what my daughter said to me.” Lips pursed, knees together, righteous. I'm wrenched by her twisted logic.
“Can my husband come in now?”
Her tolerance for being alone with me was at an end. I went to the door, gestured to him. He came in, sat down beside her.
The woman started talking about her father. “The town had a big ceremony to honor him. It’s because he’s done so much for everyone,” she said, pleased.
“Your parents are still healthy?”
“Oh yes! They still do everything for themselves.”
“Isn’t this the man who molested your sister?”
“Well, that’s what she said,” emphasizing said. “We had a big meeting about it when she was in the hospital. She says he molested me, too! I don’t remember anything, but she said she used to hear me screaming at night from my bedroom. I don’t remember,” she repeated.
She’s told me she hears voices, but resists medication.
Her husband started, “You know, with our daughter, I would never think of such a thing,” he said. “Never even crosses my mind!”
“And your mother was at this meeting?” I direct this to her, ignoring him.
“Oh yes.”
“And she stayed married to him?” Prodding.
“Oh yes. They’ve been married for 65 years.”
Undoubtedly they didn't allow daughters in their bed because he wanted them alone, I thought. I wondered what the voices whispered to her as I gave up prodding.
The air in my office was heavy. The woman sat, legs white in her shorts, hair a dull gray blonde. She had agreed to start without her husband who waited outside. She was talking, indignant about her granddaughter.
“She wanted to spend the night with us. All was well until time for bed. She had her little mat but she wanted to sleep with us. I said no. She screamed and cried. She wanted to put her little mat on the floor beside our bed. I said no.”
“Why couldn’t she sleep with you?”
“Because she wiggles all night and would keep us awake.” She looked at me as if wondering why she had to state the obvious.
“Couldn’t she sleep on the floor beside your bed?”
“Oh no. No. She’s just spoiled. I had to call her dad to come and get her. Then my daughter called me. She wanted to know why Allison was home. I told her. You know what she said to me? ‘She’s only six, mom,’ she said. ‘She hasn’t seen you all summer.’ That’s what my daughter said to me.” Lips pursed, knees together, righteous. I'm wrenched by her twisted logic.
“Can my husband come in now?”
Her tolerance for being alone with me was at an end. I went to the door, gestured to him. He came in, sat down beside her.
The woman started talking about her father. “The town had a big ceremony to honor him. It’s because he’s done so much for everyone,” she said, pleased.
“Your parents are still healthy?”
“Oh yes! They still do everything for themselves.”
“Isn’t this the man who molested your sister?”
“Well, that’s what she said,” emphasizing said. “We had a big meeting about it when she was in the hospital. She says he molested me, too! I don’t remember anything, but she said she used to hear me screaming at night from my bedroom. I don’t remember,” she repeated.
She’s told me she hears voices, but resists medication.
Her husband started, “You know, with our daughter, I would never think of such a thing,” he said. “Never even crosses my mind!”
“And your mother was at this meeting?” I direct this to her, ignoring him.
“Oh yes.”
“And she stayed married to him?” Prodding.
“Oh yes. They’ve been married for 65 years.”
Undoubtedly they didn't allow daughters in their bed because he wanted them alone, I thought. I wondered what the voices whispered to her as I gave up prodding.
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