2003-07-15 @ 12:44 p.m.
|New research suggests that head size and formal education may protect against dementia. A group of Catholic sisters 'who completed 16 or more years of formal education or whose head circumference was in the upper two-thirds were four times less likely to be demented than those with both smaller head circumferences and lower education'
Well thank God for that. Less demented Nuns. I don't think that test group worked at my school. I think we got the big headed ones. I had one nun in particular. Her name was Sr. Constance. My name for her? Sr. Constantly Mean. She was the nun who should have probably paid for at least some of my therapy. This woman used to slam me into walls and beat on me over the head with rulers. I had never had problems with math until I hit her fifth grade class. That all changed the day she beat me over the head while I was doing a long division math problem on the blackboard. I don't know if she was sexually repressed and the number "8" set her off, but she let me have it with one of those old wooden rulers. Whap! I didn't even see it coming. I already had problems as a kid. Painfully shy. Problems at home. Low self esteem and then this demented woman whacked me in front of 35 shiny faced Catholic kids. I think a few kids laughed. I could never do math after that. I still can't do my checkbook to this day.
Twenty five years later I looked at the front page of the newspaper I worked at and the local convent had burned down. And who's picture is plastered all over the front page? Sr. Constance. She must have been at least 112 by then. So many thanks to the Catholic School system. You've made me what I am today.
So it was old home day with my shrink today. After a two week vacation, he finally came back and we did the usual pleasantries and then got back to work. We do role playing. I didn't really expect to jump right back in it, and had taken a clonopin before I went in. So I was kinda cool and finger snapping, but he wanted me to role play anger. Whoops.
He wanted to role play my step mother in the Philippines. She's 4'9" with red lip stick. He's 5'10" with no lipstick. Ok, this could work. For the role plays he's suppose to say really hateful things and I'm suppose to get pissed off and defend myself. Guess those nuns in grammar school prepared me for moments like this.
The married guy wrote me a nice e-mail today. I had written him asking him about the medical reports I had received about my Dad. He knows about physical injuries being a masseuse. He said they sounded like just basic old man injuries. He knows I'm hurting about this whole losing the Dad. losing the inheritance thing and he said, Your future is in your hands and the past is over (is that the most obvious statement I've ever written?). See he's sarcastic like me. He also said he had talked to a lawyer and an accountant and said as disheartening as it sounds that pursuing the dragon lady in the Philippines over my Dad's will would probably not be very productive. I've now heard this from about 3 professional people so I guess I'll soon have to heed their advice.
It doesn't mean I can't be mad about it though, right? And there's always those anger role plays I can look forward to every Tuesday.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty