Dear people who like to laugh, and those who don't,
If laughter is infectious,
then that is a disease we should all want to catch!
Hoping to catch something,
O.
Posts
Bipolar, pregnancy and mumhood
2 months ago
Monday, April 28, 2008
opinions vs. sex
Dear people who like to mouth off,
Opinions are like legs.
Don't spread 'em if you can't deal with the consequences.
Keepin' it real,
O.
Opinions are like legs.
Don't spread 'em if you can't deal with the consequences.
Keepin' it real,
O.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
don't keep me waiting... it makes me anxious, but mostly impatient!
Dear Psychiatrist,
I met you for the first time at that appointment. Overall the appointment went well, I think. You seemed kind, energetic, motivated, and most importantly, caring. I like it when people are caring, because it means that if the proverbial shit were to hit the proverbial fan, then you would be there to help or at the very least, to offer guidance.
Honestly, I was a little nervous to meet you, considering the potential implications of a visit gone wrong. I mean, your sole job is to judge the status of my mental health; that kind of scrutiny is pretty intimidating, you have to admit.
(Remember all those years ago when you defended your thesis? That's almost how it feels to meet a new psychiatrist.)
I knew that the first thing you would analyze was how I was dressed, and how well I was groomed. You would then look to see how I responded to conventional greetings, whether or not I made eye contact, and whether or not I responded to your outstretched hand.
As we chatted, I know your brain would tick away to make sure that my time sequencing was correct, that I was aware of my current surroundings and relevant current events. I knew you would also look for signs of anxiety in my body language, signs of thought blocking, and I knew you would be analyzing my ability to relate concepts and ideas into a unified and coherent dialogue. You would also continue to make sure that my body language was appropriate and that my affect related to the content of my speech.
Yes, you had a lot to do in those 20 to 30 minutes we spent together. So I sat in a hard little chair, waiting; reading to keep my mind off the intense scrutiny I was about to fall under.
I have to admit, I was a little pissed that you kept me waiting for 30 minutes while you discussed your latest research project with that guy. And yes, I could hear every word as I sat in that dark little hallway that doubles as a waiting room. Your walls are very thin; therefore, you may want to consider keeping your voice down the next time you proclaim that "it's okay" to keep your patients waiting after your coworker asks if he should meet you later to talk more.
For thirty minutes I sat in that little chair, my bottom growing numb, reading, looking at my watch to note the time, and occasionally squeezing the tissue I was holding. For thirty minutes, that lowly little tissue soaked up the evidence of my anxiety and allowed me to offer you a dry hand when you came to greet me for the first time.
I really did not mind waiting. I didn't really have much to do that day.
The next time it happens though, I might actually have something to do, and I may feel compelled to remind you that time is money, and I'm not getting paid by the hour for these appointments.
Your anxiously impatient patient,
O.
I met you for the first time at that appointment. Overall the appointment went well, I think. You seemed kind, energetic, motivated, and most importantly, caring. I like it when people are caring, because it means that if the proverbial shit were to hit the proverbial fan, then you would be there to help or at the very least, to offer guidance.
Honestly, I was a little nervous to meet you, considering the potential implications of a visit gone wrong. I mean, your sole job is to judge the status of my mental health; that kind of scrutiny is pretty intimidating, you have to admit.
(Remember all those years ago when you defended your thesis? That's almost how it feels to meet a new psychiatrist.)
I knew that the first thing you would analyze was how I was dressed, and how well I was groomed. You would then look to see how I responded to conventional greetings, whether or not I made eye contact, and whether or not I responded to your outstretched hand.
As we chatted, I know your brain would tick away to make sure that my time sequencing was correct, that I was aware of my current surroundings and relevant current events. I knew you would also look for signs of anxiety in my body language, signs of thought blocking, and I knew you would be analyzing my ability to relate concepts and ideas into a unified and coherent dialogue. You would also continue to make sure that my body language was appropriate and that my affect related to the content of my speech.
Yes, you had a lot to do in those 20 to 30 minutes we spent together. So I sat in a hard little chair, waiting; reading to keep my mind off the intense scrutiny I was about to fall under.
I have to admit, I was a little pissed that you kept me waiting for 30 minutes while you discussed your latest research project with that guy. And yes, I could hear every word as I sat in that dark little hallway that doubles as a waiting room. Your walls are very thin; therefore, you may want to consider keeping your voice down the next time you proclaim that "it's okay" to keep your patients waiting after your coworker asks if he should meet you later to talk more.
For thirty minutes I sat in that little chair, my bottom growing numb, reading, looking at my watch to note the time, and occasionally squeezing the tissue I was holding. For thirty minutes, that lowly little tissue soaked up the evidence of my anxiety and allowed me to offer you a dry hand when you came to greet me for the first time.
I really did not mind waiting. I didn't really have much to do that day.
The next time it happens though, I might actually have something to do, and I may feel compelled to remind you that time is money, and I'm not getting paid by the hour for these appointments.
Your anxiously impatient patient,
O.
Friday, April 25, 2008
consumers are people who EAT a lot, and people who SHOP a lot...
Dear people who persist in using the outdated and derogatory term "consumer,"
I am not a consumer, fuck you very much. Calling me a consumer to my face will get you a strong admonishment and a rather long lecture on the history of that word. The history of that word isn't pleasant, and in fact, it is downright insulting. And the word consumer is as derogatory to me as the "n-word" is to a person of African or Caribbean heritage.
Here is a little bit of the history of the word consumer (excerpted from my previous post):
"If you don't know what the word "consumer" is, here is an explanation:
Consumer is what the mental health professionals call people who have mental illness. People with problems of mental health are called "consumers" because historically people with mental illness have been dependent on health care and social services... Their logic in using this term is that people with mental illness "consume" social services in the same way that people with money voraciously consume products on the market.
This is a dangerous term because in the word "consumer" is implied that people who require the help of health care professionals and social services don't give back to their communities. It is implied, by using this word, that people with problems of mental health only take from their communities. Examples of giving back include volunteerism, using experiential knowledge and skills in the workplace or to help peers, contributing to the community and social services through paying taxes, and so on.
I LOATHE the term consumer."
So in my quest for equality for everyone and in my quest to free all individuals from systematic oppression, I say we should do away with the term consumer.
And if you're wondering how in the world the word "consumer" is systematically oppressive; think of why white people are no longer allowed to say the the word nigger. Seriously. Think about it.
In the event that you need some help with this analogy, I will help you through it. Although I'd like to think that most people don't need me to hold their hand through a thought experiment...
Think about how the n-word evolved. Think about how it is/was used. Think of the people this word is applied to and how they feel/felt about that word. Last, think about why we no longer use the n-word.
Now, think about the c-word. Think about how it came to be. Think of how we use it, and who we talk about when we use that word. Think about how those people feel about that word. Last, think about why we should no longer use that word.
Draw a little chart if you think it will help you.
Keeping the pots of controversy abrewing and hoping you're thinking over there on your end of our fibreoptic connection,
O.
PS. Email me if you need me to spell things out for you. Above all, I am here to help and to educate.
I am not a consumer, fuck you very much. Calling me a consumer to my face will get you a strong admonishment and a rather long lecture on the history of that word. The history of that word isn't pleasant, and in fact, it is downright insulting. And the word consumer is as derogatory to me as the "n-word" is to a person of African or Caribbean heritage.
Here is a little bit of the history of the word consumer (excerpted from my previous post):
"If you don't know what the word "consumer" is, here is an explanation:
Consumer is what the mental health professionals call people who have mental illness. People with problems of mental health are called "consumers" because historically people with mental illness have been dependent on health care and social services... Their logic in using this term is that people with mental illness "consume" social services in the same way that people with money voraciously consume products on the market.
This is a dangerous term because in the word "consumer" is implied that people who require the help of health care professionals and social services don't give back to their communities. It is implied, by using this word, that people with problems of mental health only take from their communities. Examples of giving back include volunteerism, using experiential knowledge and skills in the workplace or to help peers, contributing to the community and social services through paying taxes, and so on.
I LOATHE the term consumer."
So in my quest for equality for everyone and in my quest to free all individuals from systematic oppression, I say we should do away with the term consumer.
And if you're wondering how in the world the word "consumer" is systematically oppressive; think of why white people are no longer allowed to say the the word nigger. Seriously. Think about it.
In the event that you need some help with this analogy, I will help you through it. Although I'd like to think that most people don't need me to hold their hand through a thought experiment...
Think about how the n-word evolved. Think about how it is/was used. Think of the people this word is applied to and how they feel/felt about that word. Last, think about why we no longer use the n-word.
Now, think about the c-word. Think about how it came to be. Think of how we use it, and who we talk about when we use that word. Think about how those people feel about that word. Last, think about why we should no longer use that word.
Draw a little chart if you think it will help you.
Keeping the pots of controversy abrewing and hoping you're thinking over there on your end of our fibreoptic connection,
O.
PS. Email me if you need me to spell things out for you. Above all, I am here to help and to educate.
forgive me (proverbial) Father, for I have lost... my motivation
Dear (proverbial, because I'm not religious) Father,
Father, forgive me, for I have lost my motivation. At least I think I have. I feel I have...
I am currently "between jobs" as my too kind and supremely diplomatic friend put it, after I told her that I am an unemployed dirtbag. In truth, I have been "between jobs" for about four months now. Granted, I have been dealing with health problems and waiting on a contract that keeps getting pushed back, but still, that does not stop me from feeling like a giant sack of shite every day. (My health problems are of the "physical" variety this time around, as opposed to the "mental" variety... as if that distinction should actually exist in our day and age, so please don't worry too much, dear readers!)
My partner saunters off to work every morning. And I bury myself deeper into my blankets, thankful for one or two more hours of sleep, dreading that I have to wake up and find things to occupy myself with that day.
Four months ago, finding things to do was easy, since me and my SO had recently moved into a new apartment. I occupied my days with painting, arranging furniture, cleaning, and organizing, while simultaneously trying to manage my health problems. He went to work. It was a great formula because we were both contributing to building our new life, just in different ways.
All of that is done now. There are no more changes to be made to the apartment. There is not one curtain left to hang, or one measly door to paint. He goes off to work. I wake up to another day... another day of feeling like a dirtbag.
So I sit, every morning, on my couch, and wonder, what the hell am I going to do with myself today? And I think; I feel like a sack of poop. I feel like all I do is cook, clean, and waste a lot of valuable time that should be spent working and earning an income.
The other day I visited my too kind and disgustingly diplomatic friend. We had a chat about what we were up to recently. I actually haven't seen her since I moved into the new place four months ago.
I told her how I haven't really done much in the months I've been at the new place. But I told her about the work I've done on the apartment. The furniture I've refinished, the rooms I've painted, the shopping I've done to get the place looking somewhat livable. I chatted about the gardening I've done, and the more that I plan to do. I told her about the meetings I've attended in order to "harvest" the job that I'm waiting on in the hopes that it will open up soon. I told her about the book I'm trying to write. How I sit for about four hours a day, three or four days a week, tap tapping on my digital computing machine (erm, my craptop). I told her that I'm averaging about two pages a day during those sessions. I talked about this blog that I've started. I talked about the books that I've read. I talked about the pets that I feed and give love to every day. I talked about all the baking I've done since I've moved in and so on.
At the end of our chatting, she interjected, "Wow, you sound pretty busy!"
I looked at her in total disbelief. I was shocked that she had said that; totally and speechlessly shocked in fact.
Here I've been beating myself up for being "unmotivated," and my friend, my blessed, wonderful, generous friend, in one simple sentence totally put my life into perspective (at least, the last four months of my life, anyway).
I guess it's all a matter of how we look at things, huh? And it's possible, that my goggles are a little screwed up or something, given all the hangups I have about wanting to be a "contributer" not a "consumer." How else do you explain why I've been castigating myself for the last three months?
Here's to waiting one more week for that mythological job to open up... and here's to one more week of "doing nothing!"
The busiest, yet most unmotivated, girl on this side of the pond,
O.
PS. If you don't know what the word "consumer" is, here is an explanation: Consumer is what the mental health professionals call people who have mental illness. People with problems of mental health are called "consumers" because historically people with mental illness have been dependent on health care and social services... Their logic in using this term is that people with mental illness "consume" social services in the same way that people with money voraciously consume products on the market.
This is a dangerous term because in the word "consumer" is implied that people who require the help of health care professionals and social services don't give back to their communities. It is implied, by using this word, that people with problems of mental health only take from their communities. Examples of giving back include volunteerism, using experiential knowledge and skills in the workplace or to help peers, contributing to the community and social services through paying taxes, and so on.
PPS. I LOATHE the term consumer.
Father, forgive me, for I have lost my motivation. At least I think I have. I feel I have...
I am currently "between jobs" as my too kind and supremely diplomatic friend put it, after I told her that I am an unemployed dirtbag. In truth, I have been "between jobs" for about four months now. Granted, I have been dealing with health problems and waiting on a contract that keeps getting pushed back, but still, that does not stop me from feeling like a giant sack of shite every day. (My health problems are of the "physical" variety this time around, as opposed to the "mental" variety... as if that distinction should actually exist in our day and age, so please don't worry too much, dear readers!)
My partner saunters off to work every morning. And I bury myself deeper into my blankets, thankful for one or two more hours of sleep, dreading that I have to wake up and find things to occupy myself with that day.
Four months ago, finding things to do was easy, since me and my SO had recently moved into a new apartment. I occupied my days with painting, arranging furniture, cleaning, and organizing, while simultaneously trying to manage my health problems. He went to work. It was a great formula because we were both contributing to building our new life, just in different ways.
All of that is done now. There are no more changes to be made to the apartment. There is not one curtain left to hang, or one measly door to paint. He goes off to work. I wake up to another day... another day of feeling like a dirtbag.
So I sit, every morning, on my couch, and wonder, what the hell am I going to do with myself today? And I think; I feel like a sack of poop. I feel like all I do is cook, clean, and waste a lot of valuable time that should be spent working and earning an income.
The other day I visited my too kind and disgustingly diplomatic friend. We had a chat about what we were up to recently. I actually haven't seen her since I moved into the new place four months ago.
I told her how I haven't really done much in the months I've been at the new place. But I told her about the work I've done on the apartment. The furniture I've refinished, the rooms I've painted, the shopping I've done to get the place looking somewhat livable. I chatted about the gardening I've done, and the more that I plan to do. I told her about the meetings I've attended in order to "harvest" the job that I'm waiting on in the hopes that it will open up soon. I told her about the book I'm trying to write. How I sit for about four hours a day, three or four days a week, tap tapping on my digital computing machine (erm, my craptop). I told her that I'm averaging about two pages a day during those sessions. I talked about this blog that I've started. I talked about the books that I've read. I talked about the pets that I feed and give love to every day. I talked about all the baking I've done since I've moved in and so on.
At the end of our chatting, she interjected, "Wow, you sound pretty busy!"
I looked at her in total disbelief. I was shocked that she had said that; totally and speechlessly shocked in fact.
Here I've been beating myself up for being "unmotivated," and my friend, my blessed, wonderful, generous friend, in one simple sentence totally put my life into perspective (at least, the last four months of my life, anyway).
I guess it's all a matter of how we look at things, huh? And it's possible, that my goggles are a little screwed up or something, given all the hangups I have about wanting to be a "contributer" not a "consumer." How else do you explain why I've been castigating myself for the last three months?
Here's to waiting one more week for that mythological job to open up... and here's to one more week of "doing nothing!"
The busiest, yet most unmotivated, girl on this side of the pond,
O.
PS. If you don't know what the word "consumer" is, here is an explanation: Consumer is what the mental health professionals call people who have mental illness. People with problems of mental health are called "consumers" because historically people with mental illness have been dependent on health care and social services... Their logic in using this term is that people with mental illness "consume" social services in the same way that people with money voraciously consume products on the market.
This is a dangerous term because in the word "consumer" is implied that people who require the help of health care professionals and social services don't give back to their communities. It is implied, by using this word, that people with problems of mental health only take from their communities. Examples of giving back include volunteerism, using experiential knowledge and skills in the workplace or to help peers, contributing to the community and social services through paying taxes, and so on.
PPS. I LOATHE the term consumer.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
oh, to be this innocent and happy again!
Dear animal lovers,
Can you remember the time in your life when you had that optimistic enthusiasm for absolutely everything?
Uh... neither can I. But this video is cute, and it will make you want to be young again. Or, it will make you want to be a puppy again. (Hey, whatever suits your fancy! I'm not the one who has to put up with your unusual proclivities!)
Introducing the infectious enthusiasm of Willow the Puppy.
Just click on the grey text and the YouTube video should pop right up.
Hoping you'll catch something (The happiness bug, people! Get your mind out of the gutter!),
O.
Can you remember the time in your life when you had that optimistic enthusiasm for absolutely everything?
Uh... neither can I. But this video is cute, and it will make you want to be young again. Or, it will make you want to be a puppy again. (Hey, whatever suits your fancy! I'm not the one who has to put up with your unusual proclivities!)
Introducing the infectious enthusiasm of Willow the Puppy.
Just click on the grey text and the YouTube video should pop right up.
Hoping you'll catch something (The happiness bug, people! Get your mind out of the gutter!),
O.
you people are strange... really...
Dear people who do not like animals,
People who love animals don't get you and are very wary of you. Quite frankly, we think there's something wrong with you, and we are actually a little afraid. *O.o*
Just sayin'.
An animal lover from way back,
O.
PS. This post is not referring to people who are afraid of animals or to people who can't have animals for health reasons... so don't get your panties in a bunch.
This post is referring to that minority of the population that has a genuine distaste for all life forms that are not human... generally including animals of all species and plants.
Usually these are the people who want to replace their lawns with astroturf, and they chop down the gloriously ancient (and beautiful) trees on their property, and they mutilate any leaf that has the misfortune to have strayed on their lawn.
People who love animals don't get you and are very wary of you. Quite frankly, we think there's something wrong with you, and we are actually a little afraid. *O.o*
Just sayin'.
An animal lover from way back,
O.
PS. This post is not referring to people who are afraid of animals or to people who can't have animals for health reasons... so don't get your panties in a bunch.
This post is referring to that minority of the population that has a genuine distaste for all life forms that are not human... generally including animals of all species and plants.
Usually these are the people who want to replace their lawns with astroturf, and they chop down the gloriously ancient (and beautiful) trees on their property, and they mutilate any leaf that has the misfortune to have strayed on their lawn.
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