Archive for August, 2007

Never give up, yo.

August 31, 2007

I worked on my MA dissertation in my head for about 8 months, before speed writing it in 2 weeks. I believe my PhD would have gone the same route.

 I do know that a new project hasn’t yet bored me, and it’s all going on in my head. It’s my secret weapon, the thing that will allow me to realise my dreams and buy us a house with seaside views.


Second verse, same as the first.

August 29, 2007

I sit in these rooms, learning theories about trauma and how to work with it, and I doubt myself. There is so much I don’t know. Why don’t my clients cry more? Do I cry too much in my personal therapy? What area should I go into? Could I really use this technique with a client? How would I do it? What would it feel like to do it?

Am I up to the task?

And the only answer I can see is that within all these questions, there is a knowledge that a really bad therapist wouldn’t ask any questions at all. Rather than self-doubt, I open more and more to curiousity, exploration, awareness.

I learn many new things which highlight mistakes I’ve made in the past. But as I develop and grow, I do not try to fit myself into the theories or techniques. I am the common denominator of all the theories I learn, and I filter them. Shaping, adapting, adding to, leaving behind.

It’s okay that I laugh with my clients, because that’s me in an authentic relationship. When I was a terribly new counsellor (you know, newer than I am now!), I tried very hard for months to fit into what I thought a counsellor should act like. I worried about my hair, clothes, facial expressions. I wondered how to select the next question to ask.

Now I just walk into a room, sit down, and spend fifty minutes with another imperfect person. I’m enjoying it a lot more as I become more of myself.

Thus ends the lecture on therapy from a therapist’s perspective. For this evening, anyway.

Babble filled ketchup bottle.

August 29, 2007

Whew, yesterday. One of the most stressful and rewarding days I’ve ever experienced whilst working for this company. It was a day that involved a lot of stress, angsty phone calls, sweat, and waiting in line. And when I walked away from a very happy client that evening, I heard myself say to TMD, ‘Today I feel like I’ve made a real difference.’

And I felt satisfied.

I think that’s what I loved about camp: I felt like I was making a difference every day. Even in the very small instances of chatting with a lonely child for ten minutes. Sometimes now I don’t feel I’m making a huge difference –  I know that in relation to work I am offering huge practical and emotional support to young people, but for some reason it’s rare that I feel so complete and satisfied, if tired.

I was worried about how I’d feel when it came to the evening – Filmetta and I drove down to CurlyGirl’s house for dinner. CurlyGirl’s house suddenly made this country a more hope-filled placed for me. It was so surprising, quirky, and spacious….made me think that if one house like that exists, there must be others. Admittedly, Mr. CurlyGirl is an architect, so that helps!

He’s also a wine importer. I drank so much white wine it was extraordinary – and it didn’t make me tipsy or feel ill this morning. Apparently that’s because it’s (can you hear the posh accent?) very good wine. I had such a lovely time with those women; we have formed some sort of therapy triumverate of goodness.

And….I didn’t get in until after 1 am. For a normal twenty-something, this might be par for the course. I, however, have not stayed out that late on a weekday since I was probably 19. (Ooh, have I mentioned? It’s my birthday next Wednesday!!)

Today is dubious. Have to spend the afternoon tethered to a computer updating records. Tonight I’ve got a specialised therapy training from a counselling job. By the time it finishes at nine, I’ll probably be in a vague sort of coma. Last week was a whole lot of nothing, while this week is intense by anyone’s standards. And if other people think it’s intense, then it’s clearly so far out of the league of ‘Existere’s view of an acceptable week’ that it’s crazy.

Still, it’s sunny. And I’m wearing turquoise pants. It’s not all bad.

Oogle at Google.

August 27, 2007

I don’t know why I love looking at what searches bring people to this site, but I do. Sometimes I even have strong responses to them.

Recent ones:

wife feels trapped
sadly pictures
why do I feel like I have to throw up?
Nam Myoho Renge Kyo
taco bell packet “the feeling is mutual”
Taco Bell
feel like throwing up but i dont ?
“novelty rap”
pictures of summertime
i feel like i need to throw up but never
latin meaning for owning great things
Affects my deepest person
other words for Grandma
upbeat pictures
The Buddha, Geoff and Me
pictures of summertime
what is motility rate
metaphor scarecrow
so full of feelings
word that means to stand out
nam myoho renge kyo dreams come true

I have deleted the other 57 searches for ‘other words for Grandma.’ Apparently I’m the number one site on the internet for anything grandma or vomit related.

I think the gold crown of these searches goes to ‘scarecrow metaphor.’ I love that. In fact, I love any old metaphor.

1.5 pounds from a healthy weight.

August 26, 2007

been wanting this for weeks!

Actually, it’s 52.5 pounds, thanks.

Lions and tigers and bears.

August 21, 2007

Jaysus. I’ve just realised why that job has been catching my eye. I’m fairly certain Kleinette worked for them at some point. I wonder if she still does?

If she did, I really couldn’t apply. It would be too messy.

Too bad there’s no class for asking your therapist if she works for the place you might want a job in. Especially because you found out about her link there by being a complete and utter online stalker and googling her a lot. Fuck, no.

Ack, yack, oof.

August 21, 2007

Excuse me while I vomit at the computer-generated smiley face in the last entry.

Am I the only one who thinks those things are unforgiveably gross?

Today is. ? .

August 21, 2007

My second client cancelled today as well. I’m doing work anyway, but always feel a little flatter when I haven’t worked directly with clients. I’ve been casually flicking through various websites in the past fews weeks to look for counselling jobs. One particular one has been catching my eye, and I’ve been ignoring it.

It features a lot of things I don’t have relevant experience in, as well as some stuff that makes me a bit nervous. At the same time, I think it could be interesting…and as I always tell the young people I work with, even if you are offered something you don’t have to take it!

Not sure if I’ll send the application in, but I’m filling in the long essay-type part that this country requires on job applications, and it’s interesting to review my skills and realise I’ve got more than I thought.

TMD and I are still seriously talking about moving out of the city. While we could buy a house if we did, and still be reasonably close to work, well….it’s expensive! TMD asked an old co-worker who lives in this town about travel prices. The monthly train pass is a third more than I’m currently paying for my course – and that’s just to get into the city. Once we’re here, we’d have to pay for additional travel expenses.

We’ve been looking at other possibilities – such as me exploring jobs to the north and nearer to where we might live. This would make things more feasible, as TMD needs to work and study in the city for a further two years. It’s coming up more and more…me needing to get a driver’s license. It’s crazy. I’ve had one for, let’s see, 13 years from The Place Where I Was Born. It counts for nothing here.

It feels a bit mental to have to study for a theory test and do another driving test when I feel so old…driving wise, anyway. I can’t escape the fact that I don’t know how to drive a stick, though. Corporate T, will you give me lessons? I have done it before, but not on real roads. I feel that you giving me lessons could make or break the friendship – let’s make it, baby. 🙂

I’ve also downloaded and printed off an application for citizenship. That’s pretty straightforward too – but so expensive I might sell some organs on the black market to compensate. Of course I have to take a little test before I can apply, so I’ve bought the requisite book to read and memorise. I plan to apply for it once we’re back from our holiday in September….we have to mail off my passport, her passport, and our wedding certificate. I hate sending originals in the mail – I am very untrusting. (Not of the postal service, but of the government.)

Still, having two passports will be really fucking cool. How cosmopolitan I’ll feel with my trendy travel wallet, bulging with all my passports.

Um, yeah.

Reporting from the other side of the world…

August 21, 2007

I feel completely repulsed by this sort of chumminess that is arising as a result of social networking sites and email. Now, I love those two additions to the modern world as much as the rest of you, but when it comes to people you knew twenty-some years ago sending out all these ‘let’s get together’ emails constantly, I am baffled.

Do these people have nothing better to do than hang out with people they went to school with when they were five? Admittedly I grew up in a very provincial place. Many people are still spending their weekends just as they did when we were in high school – drinking beer in each other’s garages, playing card games.

I feel my eyebrows draw together in total puzzlement. I mean, a big group of people from my graduating class (of less than 60 people, mind) all went to my university. These people all rented a house together and lived very insular lives. Whereas I was so relieved to be able to get the fuck away from that sort of life – I met so many brilliant people, particularly Cookie and Opposite Gender Soulmate. I can’t imagine what university would have been like without them there. We created our own world, where we made new rules and created a family.

Now, my primary school is having a fair/carnival thing at the end of August. This very organised chickie has sent out an email inviting everyone to meet in the beer tent. And I am AMAZED at the number of people who apparently live within walking distance of this place. I just don’t get it.

It’s no secret that the only person I’m still friends with from that time period is Gas Station J, and she’s not even from high school, but camp. I don’t know. Weird.

The other thing is how all social networks or roles that existed back then seem to have been utterly erased. This one guy, bless his cotton socks, was a giant loser and everyone hated him. It’s like he’s frantically trying to prove to himself he’s loveable, and he’s become someone who is constantly emailing, messaging, planning outings. He has sent me more lovely messages than I can tell you – but that doesn’t erase the fact that we have not actually seen each other in about 13 years.

There’s just all this creepy weirdness. Like, messages to the whole primary school class saying things like, ‘Come on, you guys. No one came to the bar last month! We’re going to kick some ass! We need to get Schmerwitz to come along – any of you boys who went to Catholic Boys High School with him, make him come!’

Lots of exclamation marks and pictures of people’s babies.


I don’t want to sound totally anti-social. I guess I’m just living a very different life from these people. While I try not to make judgments about them, I do feel very thankful that I’m over here and not over there.

What is this entry? I’m not sure.

August 21, 2007

Just got a pretty in depth email confirming that I am registered for this online course. It has all sort of info about submissions, the amount of writing time needing to be dedicated to the course per week, etc.

I think this is what I need to force me to buckle down. Because I am a crazy perfectionist who always does well in school-type things, I will make sure to create the time and space to write. That’s the idea, anyway.

This class is more about short stories than novels; it’s sort of a warm-up to further writing classes. I am not a short story writer, and I think there are a lot of benefits to be gained from honing my skills. Still, I’m used to the leisure of having hundreds of pages to tell my story. Cutting that down to 5,000 words seems….interesting.


My first client’s mum texted me to cancel his appointment this morning. I don’t have another meeting until 1 pm. There would have been a time when this was a glorious chance to just wander around work (‘work’ being a large area in my city, with several places in it where I meet clients or co-workers) and dabble in organising things, chatting with friends/co-workers, etc etc. All the little mundane things that seem almost fun because they aren’t real work.

Today, though, I have loads of data inputting to do. My client meeting this morning would have rescued me from doing this…because I am c-c-crap with finding the motivation to sticking to this database stuff. Still, maybe I’ll try to finish it all before 1.

Wow, is this exciting or WHAT?


In the shower I often go into what Opposite Gender Soulmate and I dub ‘dream sequences.’ You know, I’ve been living on a desert island, learning the language of the people. A mean representative of the western world comes to threaten my adopted home (as the result of shipwreck, of course), and I have to act as some sort of interpretting and mediating wonder.

Yeah, I know.

Anyway, today I was thinking up insults that teenagers who are proper dorks AND love Harry Potter would say. Shit like, ‘I’m gonna throw this Quaffle at your face and leave an empty ring behind.’ That was the best I could do. I also seemed stuck on Quaffle jokes.

I don’t know what this says about me. So I certainly won’t tell you that I created a whole story involving a broken engagement, a ring, and a Quaffle.