2005-03-05 @ 1:55 a.m.
Ever lay down on the couch to watch the nightly news and suddenly you wake up and its like 23 days later and youíre like WTF? I just did that. Damn it all. I hate when I fall asleep for no apparent reason, especially when I have a weird ass dream about someone snatching a child and then I wake up and thereís a story on 20/20 about someone snatching a child.
I guess I was thinking about that because I was in my clientís neighborhood today, and she lives in a really bad part of town and I have to park in front of a crackhouse and everytime a kid is snatched in our town, it always seems to be in that part of town. I usually go up into her building to pick her up, but today I feigned anxiety about falling on a proliferation of ice that was built up on her stairs outside, so I called her on my cell phone and said I was waiting outside. She seemed a little perturbed when she got in the car. I think, in reality, Iím actually a little afraid to go in her house. Last time I was there, when we opened her apartment door, her neighbor did so at the same time, and he looked like Charles Manson, and he just stood there staring at us, and I think I heard demonic chanting or chickens cackling in the background or smelled dead bodies somewhere, so now Iím afraid to go up there. Of course, Iím afraid of lint too, but bygones.
My client wasnít real talkative today. It was all yes and no answers. She had expressed interest in joining the YMCA and I had made a special trip over there earlier in the week with some paperwork, so that she could maybe get some scholarship assistance, but she hadnít filled out the paperwork. I had also called ahead to my ďYĒ to bring a guest today, to show her the facilities, and maybe get her to exercise a little, because exercising is good for depression, but she didnít want to do that either. So we just ate some fast food and went to a Dollar Store. About the only thing that made her laugh today was my bumpersticker, ďThe more you disapprove, the more fun it is for me.Ē
My Thursday group with ďAĒ was pretty good, except for the fact that Mysterious Paul was a no show. Damn him. I was all set to once again extend an invite to my art show which is opening tomorrow. I had already told him about it, last week, but Iím not sure if he made a specific note of some art girl blathering about her art show or not.
So I did a little internet sleuthing. I know he goes to the local university and that he is a graduate student in a certain department, so I went to their website and scoped out all guys named Mysterious Paul. I donít know his last name, but fortunately, there was only ONE Mysterious Paul (wasnít that fortuitous?), so I put his e-mail address in my address book, where it will now probably gather dust because Iím too shy to use it. Damn this overwhelming shyness shit. See if he had been at group, I think I would have been able to mention my art show again, and planted the seed, but as far as actually writing him an e-mail inviting him to an art show full of nude drawings and sculptures...gah! I mean, isnít that a little bold of me? Iím used to seeing nude drawings, but I forget that not everyone is. Would he think Iím like some kind of perv, sitting around drawing nekked people all day? You have to admit, not everyone does that. Or maybe he would think I was more sexual than I actually am, because of my overwhelming interest in the naked body. To me, the naked body isnít really all that sexual. At least in the classroom setting. I donít run off to the bathroom and masturbate everytime Ed or Joe take off their briefs or anything. Its all very clinical for me. I actually wish it had more of an emotional impact on me.
Oh, and I also drove by where Mysterious Paul lives today. You know, since Iím a stalker and all. I have an intense interest in knowing where people live for some reason. Its not like Iím going to set up surveillance or anything. I just like to see if their personalities match their houses. Unfortunately though, just when I spotted Mysterious Paulís apartment building, I nearly rear-ended a truck in front of me. Thatíll learn me, huh?
I did drop ďAĒ a line after group, about my dilemma of not knowing Mysterious Paulís last name. I know all that stuff is confidential, but I passed on the info to him about my show anyways. He said "You were certainly on your toes todayĒ. I guess I was being a little manicky smart ass, making jokes, kibbitzing with Hershel about his mother, maybe talking too much.
One girl was going on a match.com date and I had a box of those candy hearts with messages printed on them, so I sprang out of my seat and told her whatever candy she picked, that would be how the date would go....you know, since Iím such an (ahem) expert on dating.
(Yeah, right, witty. When was your last date? Didnít Flock of Seagulls have a hit song that year?)
I donít think she really wanted to do that, but I was being a schizo, so I dumped out a couple of hearts into her hand. The first one she read said, ďMiss YouĒ. I grabbed that one and said, ďOh, thatís mineĒ and popped it into my mouth. And then the second one said ďTrue LoveĒ. So I told her candy hearts donít lie (I think I heard that on the Discovery Channel). Not really sure what the rest of the group thought, since I had my back to them, by MB seemed somewhat encouraged by my little silly game. Hope it went well for her.
Iíve actually been eating a lot of those candy hearts thus week. I guess because Valentineís candy is currently 90% off right now in the local stores. I even bought myself a box of chocolates yesterday, you know, since nobody else did for Valentineís Day (me looking appropriately sad and forlorn) and only paid 25 cents. SCORE! Nothing better than cheap box of chocolates! Especially since Iím going in for my yearly physical on March 15 and will probably be told my cholesterol level is at 3000.
After group I usually head over to the ďYĒ, but I had a chance to make a whopping $8 to attend a one hour talk at work, so I drove back to town. Was it really worth it? No, not really. I much rather have exercised. The talk was okay. It was given by the woman who signs the checks for my art classes, so I guess it was good to attend. I was also really desperate for hours. Last week I only worked 2 hours. This week I worked 8.5 hours. So itís going to be a very sickly paycheck. My mom and I keep going back and forth about whether its all even worth it. On some days I think it is, because at least I HAVE a paycheck. But then on other days, I worry about my health benefits and food stamps being thrown off by these miniscule paychecks.
One time about a month ago, ďAĒ mentioned he really needed some secretarial assistance in his office during group. Iíd like to talk to him about that, but Iím not sure if I could do it since Iím also his patient. You know with confidentiality, and all. Maybe I could just work on the stuff of people I donít know. Not really sure if this is a viable option. I really want a job which has more stable hours and a more stable environment though. And I would like a job where I donít have to go into neighborhoods with crackhouses, because I grew up really sheltered and get scared when I get out of my car in places like this.
I guess I really didnít know what I was getting into, when I took the job. I was just desperate for money. As usual, I didnít really think ahead. Iím a very in-the-moment person. Mercurial. Artistic. I donít really think in terms of cause and effect since Iíve gotten ill. Like if you work with mentally ill people, witty, they may be kinda scary. They may burn down buildings and say voices told them to do it. Iíd much rather sit at a computer and type data entry. It wouldnít be my lifeís work, because Iím easily bored, but at least I wouldnít feel like I was about ready to get shot when I got out of my car.
I guess Iím just not sure what to do. But I donít want to disappoint people who helped me get the job. And I donít want to disappoint the person with whom Iím going to be doing a group coming up on March 23. I also donít want to take drugs everytime I go to work, because Iím so nervous and scared. Oy, such a dilemma.
But onto a slightly less pressing dilemma. Tomorrow is my art show as mentioned. I think Iím going to take the drawing that was in my last entry and submit that instead of what I already submitted. But that will require two trips to the gallery and Iíll probably look like a geek. But I am a regular member of the art class and Iím on the Board, and I did keep Charlemagneís head from exploding on Wednesday night, so I guess its okay if I go over there twice. My mom just called me at 1 a.m. Yeah, she does stuff like that. She desperately said, ďARE YOU OKAY????????????Ē (In case, you were wondering what brought that on, I havenít talked to her in an astounding 13 hours and she thought I had been kidnapped by a band of insurgents and was being held hostage at gunpoint. You know, because I hadnít called her).
Anyways, she asked me what I was doing tomorrow, and despite the fact that I have told her repeatedly that my art show was opening tomorrow, I repeated once again, that (cough) my art show is opening tomorrow. And suddenly she wanted to go...like for the first time ever. And if ever there was a recipe for disaster, as in my very flimsy coolness factor at the art class, would be irrevocably smashed when my mom would start walking around saying things like ďThis isnít very good.Ē, ďThat penis is HUUUUGEĒ, ďI donít understand that.Ē, ďThatís uglyĒ in a very loud, self important, Iím an art critic from the New York Times kind of voice. And I would soon be packing my suitcases and pastels for places unknown, because I certainly wouldnít be able to come back to my class and face my fellow artists. I mean, Iím used to being criticized by my mother. That is why Iím in such delightful shape as an adult. I donít even show her my work now, because, frankly, I crumble under her unsolicited tongue oí acid. Plus one of my drawings is of a male nude and I know there would be comments about that.
So I told her the show would be running for two weeks, and maybe she will forget, because I actually donít want her to see it anyways. Because I donít really want to listen to her criticizing the work of my friends and colleagues either. Because she has always had this extraordinary need to say bad things rather than good things. I actually called her on it about 6 months ago. She wanted to read something I wrote, so I finally begrudgingly let her, and then she just shredded it apart. It made me angry because I think I write pretty well. So I asked her why she had to do that all the time, be negative....rip things apart and she said, ďI thought you WANTED me to tell you what was wrong.Ē
No, momsy, I actually would like you to tell me what is right....you know, for a change.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty