Today, it just all sucks.
Because of those motherfucking bedbugs, I no longer have a television. The Amazing Race is on tonight, and I'm going to miss it.
I am ready to be done with this.
...managed to successfully curtail my chocolate consumption with the aid of a venti Starbucks and a pack of Orbit bubblemint.
...saw five clients, one of whom insisted that I be 'more critical' of her as a means of personal improvement.
...reconsidered my decision to travel to DC this weekend to see my boys because I have a final project due on Tuesday which means that, while my friends are drinking and eating potato wedges like it's their job, I'll be self-sequestered in some remote corner, typing away furiously, and silently begging them to turn the music down and subsequently berating myself for being such a loser.
...barely restrained myself from punching random pedestrians in the back of the head because I was trying to quickly exit the subway and couldn't they tell that I was trying to get to the library before it closed so I could blog my very important thoughts? Then I laughed because a punch to the back of head is always funny, as long as it's not happening to you.
...began to dread the Greyhound bus trip to DC, which led to thoughts of how nice it would be to be able to take the train instead, but that's too expensive and wow, am I always going to have to worry about money since I'll most likely be making less money with my graduate degree than when I quit my job to go to graduate school and do I really want to be a social worker anyway?
...got my second round of Hep B vaccination, which immobilized my right arm.
And then I proceeeded to eat a loaf of garlic bread, a ginormous slice of lasagna, various appetizers and a block of cheese the size of my head. And 10 cupcakes.
No seriously, I ate 10 cupcakes.
I need to be stopped.
Ok, crawling back into bed now...
The theme of the literature was the increased risk for unplanned or unwanted sexual activity if one chooses to drink excessively. Statistics indicate that 90% of all college sexual assaults involve the use of alcohol by either the assailant or the survivor. The booklet which we were distributing today includes these tips for protecting oneself:
- Avoid drinking too much
- Don't go back to someone's room or leave a party with someone you don't know well
- Take a self-defense class
Um, what about the responsibility of the assailant? All of these actions imply that women need to take extraordinary steps to protect themselves by restricting their activity. The implied corollary here is that if you do happen to drink too much/leave a party with someone, and you are assaulted, you are at fault. And apparently, you're even more at fault if you cannot/don't adequately defend yourself. I get so angry. Why this focus on the actions of the survivor? If a woman wants to go out and have a few drinks, she should be able to do so without having to consider herself becoming a target for a sexual assault.
All of this just in time for Valentine's Day. It warms the heart, doesn't it?
I'm online via an (illegal) wireless connection.
I am downloading music onto my computer and thus am able to listen to something other than NPR
I am watching WABC on my brother's old television, which he brought into the city on Saturday.
The sounds of 9th Avenue are being muted by the snowstorm.
Looking around my clinical meeting today, I took note of the cast of characters seated around the conference table. The psychiatrist who likes to hear himself talk (and to whom everyone listens with eerie devotion). The Psy-D extern who furtively eats cookies from his pocket and makes eye contact with no-one, ever. The Director who leads our meetings with grace but can't communicate one-on-one. The truly funny psychologist who seems to be deflating before my eyes as the year progresses. My supervisor, whose expression is unreadable. It is incredible to me that these people will sit together for three hours every week, yet ignore each other when they pass in the hallways.
And then there's me: the social work intern who hates to participate in the discussion because of the unwelcoming atmosphere, who blushes every time she forces herself to say something, and who would be virtually unrecognizable as the same person whom her friends know to be intelligent, confident, humorous and warm.
May can't come soon enough.
I'm quite startled to find that it is February. Where did January go? In order to (partially) unravel the mystery, let's consult last week's schedule. (I'm sure this is going to be fascinating for all of you, reading minutae of my life).
Debriefing, Tasti-Delite with MM 8:45-9:30
Daily check-in/moan about school/affirmations with DJ 9:30-10:10
Break-up, Jammer 10:00-10:04
Debriefing with DJ 10:05-10:30
Attempt at reading 10:31-10:40
Talking to R 10:40-12:00 (much better than reading about PMDD)
School reading 6:00-7:30
Adult Psychopathology 9:00-10:50
Visit to Teacher's College Bookstore, buy books ($134.98 - ouch), eat free candy
Advanced Generalist Practice and Programming 2:00-3:50 (say that 5 times, fast)
Dinner with M 8:00-10:30
School reading 10:30-12:00
Internship 10:00-5:30 (including awkward clinical meeting 11:00-2:00)
Social Work with Battered Women 6:00-8:00
Dinner with The Lawyer 9:00-10:30
In bed with Us Weekly 10:40 (an excellent way to counteract that I just ate all of Thailand.
Internship 10:00-5:00 (clients from 12:00-3:00)
Bikini waxing with LK 5:15-5:30
Black History Month Opening Dinner @ Internship 6:00-8:00
Girl's Night 8:00-11:00 (sober, how strange)
Therapy 10:45-11:50 (and I'm sure we could spend even longer talking about my craziness)
Sushi with MM 1:30-2:00
Shopping, shopping, shopping 2:00-5:00 (these, and
these, and this)
NYPL, check e-mail, ignore muttering of the person next to me 5:00-5:30
On-call, SAVI program. 6:00-
-8:00 end on-call shift.
Drag myself reluctantly out of bed, laundry 8:30-10:30
Frantically clean apartment 10:45-11:30
Lunch with my brother, SIL and The Peanut 12:00-2:00 ( yum!)
School, fucking around in the computer lab 2:30-6:00 (blogging for my loyal audience)
Movie night with DM 6:30-
You're riveted, aren't you?
The 1 train, which delivers me to my internship each day, stopped at 96th street with an announcement that it would be going express to 145th street, bypassing my stop. I reluctantly vacated my seat and waited on the platform, along with the other grumbling commuters, hoping that the next train arrive soon. I hate the MTA; first the strike and now these interuptions, which are happening with more and more frequency. And there's almost never an explanation, which leads me to believe that the changes are part of some arbitrary plot to ruin my day.
I was late to work, and in response to the gentle inquiry of my co-intern, supplied an answer which was laden with expletives. Luckily I had stopped my rant by the time my supervisor came into the office. Unluckily, she had just picked up a batch of flyers from the campus print shop, and asked me to distribute them. Did I go to graduate school to learn how to hang up flyers? Probably not. Does anyone read these flyers? Probably not. Am I learning anything valuable? Probably not.
When I returned from my one-woman campaign against nicotine, I made the unwise decision to call my former management company. We're still haggling over my December rent and the return of my security deposit. I hate being back here. Even dialing that number inspires dread in the pit of my stomach. I hate them, I hate dealing with them, and I hate that I have to continue to communicate with them in order to get my money back.
Thus, the rage. I need to go home, kick something, and then go to yoga.