I got my November newsletter from NASW-IL and came across this article title: Children, Moral Dilemmas and Putting Our Hearts Where Are Mouths Are.

I admit, I have no room to talk. I no write good. But I don’t submit my C- for effort work to professional publications either. The mistake may have been a proofreading error or a grad student doesn’t know the difference between our and are. Having gone through a MSW program, I’m going to say it’s the latter.

I know it’s a small detail but it bothered me. Also the article was crap. It reminded me of the 5 paragraph papers I had to write in grade school where the teacher would take off points if there wasn’t an opening and closing paragraph and a topic sentence.

101st Post!

So I was previously bitching about my doctor freaking out because my potassium is low. I’ve been making my banana smoothies and I’m going to get retested next week.

This week, my eye started twitching. My left eye randomly twitches for a few seconds multiple times through the day. Everyone says it is stress but I don’t feel especially stressed. There are some problems but I’m dealing with them suprisingly well. I took my contacts out for a day to make sure it wasn’t their fault. Eye still twitched. So I asked the internet and internet said low potassium and electrolyte imbalances can cause an eye twitch.

Sigh, I’m going to go eat some more bananas…

Not even 2 cancelling people could stop me from seeing Morrissey tonight! Even though it was the Aragon, it sounded good and I do not care how old Morrissey is, he still looks good. A little more gray hair but still a lot of hotness.

I was kind of pissy about the two stupid guys in front of me dancing wildly and being annoying. Another guy yelled at them and I was really hoping punches would be thrown.  Learn to handle your liquor, boys.

I started to get tired so I skipped the encore. I walked out during the very end of “How Soon is Now”. Oh ya, how fucking angsty is that?

So I know I bitched about not having health insurance and wanting a real doctor. Now I have one that is really interested in my broken-ness and all I want is basic maintenance. Fill my prescription, send me to a cardiologist, leave me alone.

At the end of my first visit, she actually told me I am scary. I have been told that before in different context but never by a doctor. What she meant is all my defects combined scare her because she has not yet read my chart and was relying on my description of what is wrong with my heart. If you have ever heard me describe my condition to a new person, it’s kind of funny and involves the words “robot” and “fuck this hurts” a lot.  I couldn’t tell that version to the doctor. I had to actually dig into my memory for techinical terms and things I have been diagnosed with or have been ruled out. Names of tests, names of medications, names of doctors.

It’s not just that I have a poor memory, it’s also that I just don’t care anymore. Do I feel OK? Can I keep taking these medications? Ok, I’m good. I’m done with testing and finding the root of my condition. Ideopathic is just fine for me. Unfortunately new doctor is all about finding out what is wrong and why. She sends me for blood tests, repeating tests from Cook County and wants me to come back next week. I work, bitch! I can’t just “stop by for a quick visit” next week. I have to give my work warning when I leave early.

I do the blood test and quick EKG before I left the hospital. The other stuff will have to wait. What I really wanted to do was the x-ray for my knees since they have been hurting like hell. (Tell me to get off my knees like everyone else has. Haha, you’re not funny.) Doctor says she will call only if the results are really bad. And if they are she will call within a day. Oh ya, you guess it. I got a call the next day while I was at work. I was trying to finish my day, talk to people and I listen to her voicemail and growl at whoever I was talking online and leave. The results actually weren’t that bad. Some blood levels are a little off, have to adjust what I eat and take some supplements or something. Don’t scare me like that!

Maybe I should have explained my horrible history with doctors. Too many med changes, too many hospital stays. Arguments with doctors, leaving AMA. I didn’t want to scare the woman. I’m sure she will read my chart from previous cardiologists and find this all out on her own. Did you know doctors do write if you are nice or not? I was reading an old letter written about me from one doctor to another and they were writing about my mood and demeanor during the visit. I was only 10 at the time so I was nice. I wonder what the notes say during the visit where I screamed “fuck this!” and tried to leave.

I recently came across Holla Back NYC, a blog about fighting back against street harassment. A lot of cities/states are linked on this blog, but NYC seems to be the oldest and most active. Women share their stories of harassment and post pics of the harasser if they got one with their camera phone.

Some stories tell of blatant harassment, cat calls, ass grabbing and other joys of wearing a skirt. Some stories were more of grey areas, subtle come ons, compliments, strangers starting a conversation. So what makes a woman scream “fuck you!” in response to a compliment? Why do some women snarl at conversation starters? “Crazy feminists” isn’t the answer. It’s bigger than that. It’s somewhere in the land of feeling generally unsafe and hypervigilant. Or feeling disrespected by some men and generalizing those feelings toward all men. Just got back from a bar and feel like every man that looks at you is hitting on you so you snap back at any attempt of communication from a man? Ya, some of it is contextual too.

Example: I will forever feel bad for passing up some random guy while saying sorry because I assumed he was asking me for change. As I walked past him he managed to finish his request for…directions. Oops.

I like this post where the woman actually tells the conversation starting stranger how she feels. It makes a lot more sense than screaming at a random guy. But growling “go away” or walking away is a lot easier than opening up and telling a stranger you feel vulnerable. And maybe not so safe if he really is a “predator”.
So like usual, I have no answers, only thoughts on why and what to do.

I started studying my LSW book. I went to a coffeeshop and made myself write outline even though the book is already in outline form. I figure thats the only way I can make myself absorb all the knowledge I’ve already been over a million times. I should schedule the test for sometime before Xmas. Work gets busy around the holidays and I won’t be as motivated to study. Or maybe work will be hell and I will be more motivated to study because my job will suck so much.

I’ve started going out with coworkers and it’s fun even though some of them are the complete opposite of me. Coach bag sorority sisters? Whatever, they’re fun to drink with.

I stopped by Neo last night after an unsuccessful try at a way too hipster bar. I wanted to visit Skinny Rabbit, my favorite bartender. It’s been a while since I’ve been a regular but there are still the same people on the dancefloor. Whats up theatre troupe synchronized steps kids? Whats up guy I went on a date with once and I see you fucking everywhere? Whats up DJ who runs away when I request songs? Play me some Praga Khan!

Thursday (I think) at work. The day was going slowly, I wasn’t helping a single person. Sometimes I have days or hours where I talk to lots of people but feel overwhelmingly useless. This whole “helping people” or “clinical skills” thing eludes me sometimes.

So I’m feeling bad about myself, I’m not doing what I intended to do in life. I’m not helping anyone. I’m lacking purpose. I’m thinking about these things on lunch break. I have time to kill so I walk to the store. I don’t really want anything from the store, just want to get out of the office for a few minutes.

It’s cold outside and I start thinking about how stupid it is to be walking to the store in the cold for nothing in particular. Outside the store is the random StreetWise guy selling his papers. Living in the city outweighs my urges to help and I’ve grown used to ignoring homeless people. I rarely give money  or listen to their stories on the corner. (I do however approve of the StreetWise program.)
I walk past StreetWise vendor, go into the warm store and look for something I don’t need. I think about my ability to go buy stuff I don’t need. I don’t have a lot of extra money due to student loans but I have an extra dollar to buy candy. And I am going to buy candy. The candy makes me feel bad because I’ve completely trashed my attempts to lose weight this past month. I’ve gone back to eating lots of sugar and haven’t been to the gym.

At the cash register I decide I am going to give StreetWise guy some money. I walk outside and try to hand him a dollar. He’s mostly blind and doesn’t see me. I step over a bit and he sees me and takes the money. I start to walk away. He tells me to take the paper. I take the paper, thank him and walk away.

I walk across the street and wait for some of my guilt to be relieved. It’s not. I still feel just as bad. Now, actually I feel worse. I was expecting giving a dollar to some StreetWise vendor to make me feel better? I’m suddenly a helpful person because I have candy in my pocket and that guy is still homeless but has a dollar more?

What made me think that little interaction would brighten my day? The homeless man’s cataract covered eyes were certainly no rays of sunshine and the office building I am about to enter lacks that warm fuzzy feeling.
This story has no moral, I had no epiphany and it’s possibly too personal for this blog. It does in it’s own little way, reflect how I have been feeling lately. Did you know Holden Caulfield’s middle name is Morrisey? Ya, I’m a bit of a phony.