45 Years of Bad Road

I'm going to re-name this blog "downer" because that's all I seem to use this space for anymore. I twitter happy stuff with pictures and funny things to say all the time. All day everyday, in fact. In 140 or less. But when Teh Suck descends on me, 140 or less don't cover it. And too, some people who follow me on twitter are not trying to hear Teh Suck. They don't follow me just so they can hear me say that sometimes my life is no better than a steel-toed boot to the face.

Because frankly, EVERYBODY lives a life which isn't always that great. And so people subscribe to twitter accounts for their own entertainment, not to be brought down. Which is why there are therapists. You go pay for the service of having someone hear you whine. Not many want to do it for free.

But for the ones who WILL do it for free? Them I call "friends."

So friends, here it is again.

I spent over an hour on the phone today because the insurance company that pays me for listening to people's problems wildly both overpaid and underpaid me--as if they lost their entire minds when the insurance buy-out took effect and their pay rates to me changed.

In trying getting to the bottom of why they screwed up so badly (no answer was forthcoming), I did find out what they intend and actually WILL pay me, once they get it right on a consistent basis.

This;
Fully one-third less than what I had been paid.

This will be from now on with my insured clients. The same work for much less pay. For no other reason than that one company bought out the other.

Aside from the ethics of that action, I ask myself, when does life get better? How many setbacks is ahead of me, yet still left to wade through?

I tend to think that, okay, life sometimes absolutely sucks. Without question. It can ab. so. LUTELY suck. Absolutely. But through the suck, you grab a foothold here, a threshhold there, and you get to enjoy what's "normal" sometimes. You get to have a sense of equilibrium. Some security. Some love. For just a while. Maybe for a good while. And maybe along in the good whiles, you can make a difference. Plant you a flag somewhere. Matter to planet Earth and a few of its inhabitants for just a spell. Get a little of that glow before you go back to Teh Suck again.

But what happens when Teh Sucks seem to mount up to more than the Good Whiles? Inordinantly disproportionate numbers of Teh Sucks. Wildly out of kilter. What then? When you look back at your life and you realize you're looking at 45 years of bad road.

Parents who physically fight one another.

Polysubstance-abusing father.

Bipolar-disordered mother.

Raised by a woman who, while is not your mother, dysfunctionally loves your father so much that she covers up for the absolutely shitstain of a human being that he is.

Molestation from a neighbor.

Uprooted from home and transplanted into a roach-infested, impoverished neighborhood.

The task of fitting in thrown comically off-kilter by the fact that you already know what sex is, and it's terrfying.

Learn to escape your life by playing D&D and reading comicbooks.

Sequester yourself in a religious cult, because fantasy & science fiction isn't covering your tracks when your peers want to go get high and make all the gooshy sex.

Made to believe that the only life worth living is the one on the other side of death.

Realize religious zealotry is mainly best suited if you're a bigot, but your skin is brown, so you know you'll never fit in there.

Realize also that men are more sexy than women, and so, hey guess what, you've actually been gay all this time! 1000 bonus points!

Try to turn this shitstorm into a life, head off into being a therapist because that's the only degree your years in religious zealotry can be folded into.

Discover your chosen profession pays the least amount of all the degreed professions because mental healthcare is low on the totem pole of societal concerns and values.

Turn around to see yourself smack dab in the middle between your 45th and 46th birthday with no savings, living from paycheck to paycheck, rooming out of someone's apartment, no girlfriend, no boyfriend, no kids, no future security, no ... you don't know what. So unsuccessful at being an adult that you don't know WHAT else it is that you don't have. But you know you don't have it.

Yeah.

Now.

If I don't succeed in something within the next 5 years of my life, then really, what am I doing? What's the rememdy for the facts as I've lain them out here? Do I need to shake off the cobwebs and get that doctorate? Go deeper into debt but come out somehow with a better paid position because of the PhD? Do I reinvent myself as a Super Hip Metropolitan Professional Life Coach, and pile on the charm to court the affluent and needlessly wealthy & encumbered? Do I jump tracks completely? Do I sign up for public assistance--again?

Or maybe I go back to the pursuit of art and find ways for it to make me money this time. All this free time, forcing the time & opportunity to write, maybe that makes it "put-up or shut up" time.

I think I'm a good writer.

Oh yeah?

PROVE IT.

Make some MONEY with it.

Stop whining.

DO something.

Else.

The Week To Come

So a few days ago, or maybe a few weeks ago (hello speeding train that is my life), I was made aware of ANOTHER small indie comics convention to take place next weekend. In the outer boroughs. That seems to be the kind of venue that Hunky Comics Geek might show up at, since that's what he did at the last two that I attended.

So guess what I'm doing next weekend? And guess why?

Again, I'm going to find out what's what. If he's arrow-straight I'll have very nothing to lose, except the potential to see him barechested. And even so, I still could if we became friends. Straight guys--well okay, GUYS--find some of the strangest reasons to strip their shirts off when they have something they're proud to show off. And if anyone has a reason to show it off, Hunky Comics Geek doth possess it.

What I am aware of is that I'm setting myself up for that familiar ol' heartache of unrequited lust. I'm not sure how else to interpret those long, on-the-edge-of-approach looks from him, but given humans, there could be dozens of alternative reasons.

I could look exactly like an old Army buddy of his.

He might have seen me at a previous convention when I was working the booth for My Hero, and given his build, he also is aiming towards being A Hero.

He could be a Blackophile, one of the rare breed of white folks who attribute the Black Man all these powers of unspoken cool and prowess, sight unseen. I do know a few guys who are this way and since I enjoy fulfilling a few myths AND I'm an Anglophile, we get along fine, no matter the fact that out of Black types, I'm WAY more Carlton than Fresh Prince.

But whatever the reason for the previous eyelocks, I have to know. His handsomeness & potential haunts me.

And in addition, let me put this out here too; if he's straight, then I'm putting myself in the same position position I've been in for ... well ... since I broke puberty at the hands of a pedophile at the tender age of 6. Pretty gross, right? So the fact remains that if he IS gay, and DOES want me--there's no guarantee that I'll capitulate. I've considered over and over again, and the evidence is in, that I'm just not ever going to be sexually active with a consenting adult, male or female. Too repressed/haunted/scarred to be with a dude and not turned on enough to be with a lady.

I have waves of time when I'm okay with that. It's my comfort zone and intellectualism is my defense mechanism, with a liberal dose of compartmentalization. I have my comics for rollicking fun, the internet for my online conversations, I live in NYC for my culutural infusion of cool, and the audioworks that I love. My career is about to get ALL the way on track, I'm about to get a job that keeps me in NYC and frees me up to pursue the PhD, and I didn't die of a massive coronary at 36 like my friend did the week before Thanksgiving.

I said I wasn't happy before, but right now, with the future looking a little brighter...well I'm not UNhappy right now. So if Hunky Comic Geek wants me ... in THAT way ... there's no guarantee of a happy ending. Pun intended. Or if he DOESN'T want me. It's all just another chapter in This Redeemable Life.

With many more to come!

NO pun intended.

Recoup

So yesterday I had 3 clients in a row, which is my least favorite thing to look forward to. Because that means 3 more hours of work on top of a full-time stint in the day.

But they were the fastest 3 hours of the day. I love doing therapy. I love winding through folks' lives. It's like reading blogs, and being able to comment during the writing of it. It's a beautiful experience to be invited into folks' lives and being trusted to have influence in them. Isn't it? You guys know, because you guys are my therapists.

I'd really put forward the attempt to do therapy full time if the economy wasn't so bad and if I didn't need the security and health benefits. (My meds ain't cheap without insurance!)

To add to the forward momentum and improving mood, on the 15th of this month I will have amassed 4K in my savings. I only give the amount here because it isn't the goal, it's just a means to an end. The goal is to drop a load of money on a prospective landlord to pay for a full year's lease at one time instead of applying for a month by month lease and failing the credit check and being denied the chance to live independently again. So having 4K is nothing compared to what I actually need. Say I find a place for $1000 a month--then I'm only 1/3 of the way there. But it's way better than nothing at all! But and however, with the economy being the way it is, I might also just approach perspective landlords with the offer to drop 4K on them as a prepayment to offset my bad credit. Maybe in this economy, a landlord would jump at the chance.

See? Despite my interpersonal hangups, I've still got some cool goodness going on!

AIAFOMA. So that's alright then.

I'm Not Ready To Make Nice

That song popped into my head. It's a Dixie Chicks song that addresses the experience they've been through since they publicly derided George Bush and caught hell for it. Right after it happened, Natalie Maines was on TV crying and apologizing, but here--years later--she's singing about being "still mad as hell." They won the Grammy for it in 2007. I don't know if I understand, but there in the last years of the Bush administration, seems the Chicks sure as hell did get a lot of retroactive support.

I don't know what that has to do with me today, actually. I thought of the title because I'm not entirely ready foir sunshine and bubbles yet. Tomorrow is the Geek Festival and I've arranged to start the festivities with that geek buddy who shouted me out on a podcast last year. I like him. He's good people. So it looks a little better on the "needing a friend" front.

Yesterday afternoon, however, after the training, I was nauseous and feeling miserable. I had a client to meet in the evening and I wanted to do anything but. I was playing sobering songs on my iPod on the way down and felt like I would burst into tears at any moment. I reigned it all in when I walked into the center and there was my client in the waiting room, early for the appointment. So we began early. And suddenly, Miserable Alan was gone, and Therapeutic Alan was left. My heartache was gone and only the client's heartaches were left. Then my client's joys surfaced and we celebrated them. I found a ton of inspiration and encouragement for them and they left walking on clouds. And so, somehow, did I.

When I was seeing my own shrink, and I was getting this job at the counseling center, she was excited for me and encouraged me highly to follow through with it. She must have known what I know now. But I'm not sure if I feel 100% safe with it. I mean in some ways it's kind of creepy. I'm living through my clients.

That's just not good enough. I can't be dependent on them--that's not what the therapeutic relationship is all about. I mean, I am doing them some good. I'm doing them wonders, in fact. They're getting through MAJOR life obstacles with my meager assistance. Obstacles that I've so far avoided out of my own fears and traumas. And I'm talking about having babies, getting engaged, having great sex, lessening anxieties, etc. MAJOR, right?

And when they accomplish these things, I feel like I accomplish them too.

But I'm not. At all. And I guess I'm using this post to remind myself of this. I can't be satisfied with my life just because I'm helping other people live theirs. I have to live mine.

I'm not ready to make nice.

I'm not ready to back down.

A Good Day

I'm posting this at 1 in the AM so I'm not actually talking about the 20th when I say today was a good day. But it really was. It was a holiday so I slept in, but got up in time enough for a gym workout and shrimp at A Salt & Battery. Then I had even enough time to return home and shave my face, carving my sideburns to the jawline out of the scrub that I left on my face all weekend. I'm happy to say that the 'burns are now frosty white, fading to black up into my hairline. It doesn't look so much like a birthmark now, like the white patch on my eyebrow does. I tell you, I had no idea I'd ever really have to contend with all this middle-aged buuuuullcrap.

So I went to deal with my clients tonight, and coming home I made my walk to Central Park West and witnessing the snow coating the tree limbs and Park wall, plus illuminating everything inside the Park as if it were painted for detail--all reminded me of something.

This was part of my dream. To work in Manhattan. To belong here. And to be helping people. To be doing good. I've said it before, but in a panoramic flash, I was reminded of it afresh--like the snow itself.

I belong here. With or without a significant other.

And speaking of dreams, I wonder if I'll see my father again tonight. He's been making a lot of guests appearances lately. Showing up in the oddest places, but belonging in every one of them. I wonder if it's my brain's way for informing me that I've forgiven him and I don't even know it?

All in all, a good day.

I Think I'm Ready For An Entry

:-)

Here I am, up early, so I can accommodate a client's need to be seen according to their schedule. For them I can do it. For my day job? Not so much. But we'll see. I did it today--I'd like to do it all next week. Oh didn't I tellyou? My inner morning guy died the death ages ago. The meds helped awaken him, but they weren't enough. No stumblin' to the kitchen, no poruing myself a cup of ambition.

So Wednesday night I got with Former Pastor and a huge platter of the geek brethren, including the friendly geek who shouted me out once on a podcast and made me feel special. Unfortunately I wasn't able to spend the full night with them, but I did pair off with one person who kept it interesting. And there is the promise of more when the Geek Event happens next month.

At the Geek Event, there is also the promise of meeting new folks who make some of the podcasts that I listen to (as I did last year down in Ned's territory). Those podcasts are like geek blogs for your ears. While waxing eloquent and intelligent about the geek medium of comicbooks and superheroes, they also expose their personalities, their senses of humor, their passion, and elements that I find I have in common with them. So what happens? Of course, I form mancrushes and wish to be their bestest friends ever!

Set myself up for failure much?

Former Pastor stretched out a compassionate metaphorical hand to me on Wednesday and I didn't take it. I don't think I slapped it away, but having been one to reach out the same on different occasions, I guess it can feel like a slap when not taken. But he took me a little by surprise. I didn't think I telegraphed a sense that I was in emotional distress, but Former Pastor said he was worried about me just the same.

And too, my Former Father Figure has left me a few messages since we met those few weekends ago and I haven't responded yet.

And here's something else I did--I blew the lid off my longterm gaming group when Grim Jester snapped at us, ala e-mail, for not committing to cancel a meeting last weekend when it snowed. He said he didn't want to play psychological games while we looked to place the blame on someone for canceling the meeting, so he canceled it for us. So not being one to ignore the bait, I wrote back to the group that he was our defacto leader because when he didn't attend our get togethers, no one else wants to either. And yes, I was "looking" at my passenger--although we have gotten together without Grim. So yeah, I pretty much was a prick about it, knowing in my heart that I resented Grim's power of persuasion and leadership. So how did he respond? He ignored it, then declared a geektogether for tomorrow. Gotta love his style. Or hate it.

Speaking of style, My Scott Ellis wrote a kickass short story for a contest that he and his literary blogmates frequently enter. One of his blogmates is about to have her first novel published. I suspect that as soon as he puts his first novel together, Scott will be having the same success. And I've suspected that for years now.

In all this observation of my friends' lives and goals, I have to keep reminding myself that I too have achieved some small amount of goal-reaching. Because it damn sure doesn't feel like I have. Maybe something in the way I've been writing has betrayed me, here. Maybe that's what Former Pastor has seen.

But for all my forging ahead, it still feels like I've gotten nowhere. My Colleague's flirtations have died. I guess she's chosen the security of her man over the unknown quantity of me. Which was a good choice for her actually. I'm sure her man doesn't present the kind of drama I would bring. And Fringes is now married to Q and is about to have their baby. And Grizzbabe is engaged. And Ned is off the radar again because his life has taken an upturn socially. And Scott is writing again and has a loving family. And MFTD has a to-die-for house, a doctorate, a wife, a baby.

And me?

And me?

Well ... I help people. Last night I took a case for free when the client showed up for the appointment that the center made for us sans a dime in his pocket and no intention to pay. Yet he was suicidal and bawling his head off. So I served him. I hope the director HATES that I did that, just as a twist. Because I didn't schedule it, HE did.

And speaking of schedule, let me dash. After my ultra-early client, I'm going to the gym. Because I'm fairly sure I weigh more now than I did before I went on Nutrisystems. And if that's not a sign, then nothing is.

Anyway. This is the part where I try to sum up the bad with something good, but that was the best I could do. More frequently, I'm living vicariously through my clients. As always, your encouragements are welcomed.

Generalized Anxiety Disorder ... We Hateses Itttt

Yeah, so, I've definitely failed at some daily adult living skills in the last few months as it pertains to my career. I've really REALLY let the ball plummet when it comes to my day job, and my day job boss called me on it. I had no choice but to admit it to myself and come to a decision.

In the past, I would have tucked my tail and ran. I would have shriveled under the disapprovement with self-loathing and an abysmal sense of doom. I would have beaten myself up worst than if I were wearing red in a Crips' neighborhood.

But I've learned a lot. And I have to say I've learned it through therapy. The therapy that I give to other people. Because I've started to listen to myself. I've come away from sessions shaking my head and wondering how it is that I can dispense such counsel to others and not myself. How can I teach couples how to fight when I've been running away from relationships in terror of conflict? How can I counsel men about commitment when I've never been successful at it myself? How can I counsel people how to combat anxiety when I've been ruled by it?

These damn meds seem to give me the ability to practice what I preach. Without that feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, I've been able to override self-condemnation and the long practiced coping mechanism of hiding my head in the nearest sand dune, thereby letting the world pass on--something I've done "successfully" for 38 years. As in successfully never learning how to kiss passionately, let alone learn how to make love. While this is only an aspect of social functioning and not the entirety of it, I'm going to say that I have been suffering from Generalized Anxiety Disorder because it did disable me from operating in normal society. Ask anyone if it's normal to be a 44-year old virgin. See what answer you get.

So now the time for nevers is finished. I'm on the other side of the summit now. I've got the key and I've tested it out in the lock. And it works. I can chat up a fairly desirable woman. I can curry her favor to meet me at a party. And I sure will ask her out to somewhere else when the party ends. For food, dessert, or just kissing lessons.

And to bookend this post properly, I can own up to my mistakes at work and not be ready to hand in my resignation. I can continue working with the knowledge that I screwed up, and even parry with my boss' extreme displeasure and disappointment in me. If he fires me, then I get fired. Problem solved. Mea culpa, man. I get what I get. NYC-bound careers here I come. But if my boss wants to accept my apology and let me move on and correct my laziness, my disfocus, my poorly handled juggle of two careers--

--then let's do this.

It may have taken me 44 years to realize (minus the obligatory 18 years of honorary childhood), but I'm a grown-ass man.

Time to act like one.

"Wolf!"

Cried the boy.

Or at least, this is how it has felt, what with me calling out about The Crush, Crazy Plane Girl, Match Girl I, Childhood Bud II, etc. Every time I brought up a new possible girl here on the blog and it petered out, it felt like I was crying wolf.

So this is nothing new, except it's kind of different. I will call her The Colleague because she's a fellow therapist in the center where I do my evening sessions. And I have found her attractive, but in that distant "she's a professional girl" kind of way. Then increasing over the past months, as we passed each other or processed our paperwork at the same time in the front office, she and I would trade smiles, laughs, and banter. And of course, I was doing so because I wanted the pretty lady to talk to me. Then my ego helped me realize that she was doing the same thing. I smiled, she'd smile. I bantered, she'd banter. I made small talk, she'd make small talk.

So tonight, she let out a few microscopic hints that she wanted to know more about my life. She wanted to know about my day job and if, given the additional night cases I have, if I had any time for a social life, "like going to the gym." Yeah, she said that. In that "make it sound as casual as possible" way. And as I picked up on this it occurred to me that this was an opportunity that I wanted--one that I've been whining about here in this blog.

So there's this holiday party thrown for the center at a swank apartment overlooking Central Park South. I went to the one they had earlier this year. They seem to be throwing another one here in December. And I didn't want to go because for me, the gloss has WAY worn off for the center's director. But I did love that apartment and I get along well with the other therapists, so I considered going. But last night The Colleague, while we were bantering, found the party notice in her mailbox. She was making noises like she felt the way I felt and asked if I were going. I said "I would if I had you there to talk to."

Yes I did!

And then she started making noises like she might go in that case, and I added in, "If you go I'll go."

And she said, "Alright..." pensively.

So I got the party notice out of my box and said, "We'll check the RSVP at the same time, ok?"

This made her smile. And we then did check them at the same time, with she looking over at my paper to make sure I put my name down as well. When another therapist walked into the office and saw our party notices she asked The Colleague, "Are you going to the party?" The Colleague answered, "Alan convinced me to."

So. How about that, hunh? And check this, the party is designed to end at 9:00pm. A real sterile affair. But it leaves enough time in the evening to go somewhere else when it's over. Which I'm going to ask The Colleague to do. Because enough with the maoning and groaning, right? The opportunity presented itself, and I took it. As you guys have counseled me many times before, this isn't marriage and I don't have to panic. This is just a friendly get together. It's not even really a date.

But it would be nice if she and I became friends. With benefits.

And that's what's going on.

Woo!

As It Is Now

This started as a response to a comment, but My Ned, you pull out the conversation in me. I've missed that. :-D

Re: My laptop speaker problems, I know just the toothpick I'm going to use. Ned that would AMAZING if that were the only problem. Pray with me. ;-)

Re: Alan as zombie ... hmmm. I can attest to still having feelings of anger, as that there's a colleague in my day job pissing me off to high heaven with her passive-aggressive, hypercritical, complaining - to - my - boss - about - me - in - her - meetings ass. And I dread seeing her in a meeting this morning--in a few minutes actually. Last night, on my walk back to my car, I actually cussed her out aloud like one of those crazy homeless people (it was my process to get it out of my system for today, lest I become unemployed before I'm ready). So the meds haven't zombied that out, lol.

But the two times that I've had major crying jags since my San Diego trip, it was a day or two after I ran out of meds, and the situation warranted it (I was missing My Hero's hug and realizing that I was heading back into my hugless, sterile, alone life). I must admit, it felt good to let it go, but ... I'm no worse for not having broke down in the doc's office. A nap came along and helped some.

You're right Ned that the danger is present where I might settle for the Medicated Me and not try to change my circumstances. Additionally a pitfall I see is that I pine after you distant satellites around the globe. I share so much more with you guys, so much more often, than I do friends that are physically accessible. I wish that weren't so. Because sometimes, I wish I could just come over to your houses and we could pass a few hours away watching the boob tube, or listening to music, or just philosophizing the night away (as if I could find the time, lol!) So I'm connected to yous. And that makes it easier not to put in the fight to find someone in the here and now, the physical. But I wouldn't give you guys up for all the spoons in Souptown.

The meds have taken away a good bit of the anxiety when it comes to meeting Whoever She May Be, so I don't know what the blockade is now. I would have tried to chat up The Crush yesterday, but she went home early, right at the start of my training as it so happened. Story of my life, lol.

Lending out ego strength. It's what I do for clients. It's what I feel I need for myself. I need a wingman. Someone to ride shotgun with me and help me into and out of situations. Someone to introduce me around. Someone to pep me up on an unsuccessful ride away from the coffeehouse, club, party, concert. Maybe Grim will serve when he's ready, now being without a significant other, and never having actual success breaking away from her until his brother The Grim Reaper came and did it for him, but I don't think he'd be the ideal wingman. He's too negative, and he wouldn't know what I wanted if She kidnapped him and held him at gunpoint to get me into Her life.

And ultimately, it's me. Maybe I could get through an initial meeting now, not to mention Date One & Date Two (let the record show), but for the long term, what then? Guys are hot. Nice catch for your husband to have those kind of thoughts, right ladies? So hey, there, Al ... why not just take the hinges off the closet and Live Out Loud? Yeah, because I want to trade the closet for a pigeonhole. For the upturned nose or the roll of the eye. I want to escape the stereotype of the Angry Black Man on the eve of Obama's smoke-filled election just so I can become the Angry Gay Man. I want to go from the chance of fighting the normal conflicts within a hetero marriage to the added strain of fighting the conflicts within a gay marriage PLUS all the scrutiny, disapproval, and legal bans against our union. Not only do I want to try parenting in my late forties, but I want to do it PLUS try to usher the kid(s) into the world having My Two Dads for their social back-up. Or make that My One Proud & Out Dad and My One Confused Ashamed Dad (that'd be me). Yeah. Fly that rainbow flag high!

Grrr. Aggravating! There's nothing "gay" about it.

P.S. The meeting happened and Ms. Picky Passive-Aggressive was on her best behavior. That's why she pisses me off so much. She can be a sweet as pumpkin pie most of the time, and then she's a barracuda. I feel tricked and betrayed by her, and I'm going to go ahead and get all the way over it. Because please. What is she to me? Nothing, actually. Plus my boss supported me because he knows I'm an asset to him and valuable. Ms. Picky can go somewhere and scratch.

So yeah.

GRRR. Mad! But getting over it. Meanwhile, somebody, throw me a bone over here. I'm really not such a bad guy ...

Merry Early Christmas

There's a "Getting To Know You" meme circulating amongst my audio producting brethren and sistren. I am avoiding filling it out just as not to depress the living bejeezus out of the recipients. It asks you to share questions such as "Natural or Artificial Tree?" "Favorite Christmas Food?" "Home or Away?" "Gift Bags or Wrapping?"

Er, hrmm. A series of N/A's would be way too Charlie Brown for my tastes. MFTD wants me to come to his parents for Christmas Dinner and I resist for the same reason I changed my mind on Thanksgiving. This being "The Other" is getting on my nerves. This time of the year is so oppressive. Families EVERYWHERE. Toddlers riding on the shoulders of dads. Christmas specials as far as the eye can see.

Last night my laptop went mute. It had to be a static shock that traveled from my fingertip, through the earphone, into the comp audio connections, and fried something. Because one second it was working. Then I took the earphones out to help a fellow therapist (I was in the middle of downtime and took the opportunity to mix more audio for the show) and when I put the earphones back in, only one ear was working correctly, and the laptop speakers not at all. Audio production came to a screeching halt. SO depressing.

Then today I had to go to the prescribing doctor for my medication. I had to sit in the exan room by myself for about twenty minutes. I took my shoes off and lay down while I waited. And I thought of Grim's girlfriend, who is now died. And I thought of my mother, who has done the same, about 17 years ago now. And I thought of the absence of anyone in the waiting room waiting for me. And I thought how miserable it is to be alone sometimes. And I thought of my mortality. And of the grey blanket of sky over all of us. And the naked trees. And colorless world. And I wanted to cry, but I didn't because I'm on my meds.

So when the consultantion was done and I got my re-up prescription, I went to Best Buy to treat myself to an early Christmas. I got a flatscreen comp monitor for my desktop at home, which is the only reason I ever bought a laptop in the first place. (The laptop was cheaper than a new monitor at the time). And I bought a router for the same desktop. Nothing's wrong with the soundcard in the desktop. And I bought a 4 gig thumbdrive to use as the audio work harddrive.

So there.

And now I have to do a training at the siite where The Crush works. I may just chat her up today. Why not? What do I have to lose? MORE aloneness?

The Interview

We clinicians are an odd lot. As was my interviewer. He was all over the place. We spoke more about his personal life than the job. It was like he was looking for a new friend, rather than an employee.

The position is hinky, at best. It's like becoming the mental health equivalent of an ambulance chaser. My job would be to create clientele out of waiting medical center patients. Which is something I feel I could do. And he promises a salary as opposed to per hour or per diem. And I really want the change.

But, Grizz as you said, my friends are giving me really good advice. Add my lion of comics podcasting to the mix. Do I really want to give up benefits for a part-time job, even though the money is promised to be the same?

The interviewer wants me for the job. Looks like I may have to turn it down.

And then I had three more great sessions tonight, with clients just dripping with "aha!" moments left and right. One was compelled to say how much this is helping them. Me seeing therapeutic approaches unfolding as we navigate the terrain of their lives. Such amazing journeys. Such a privilege to be trusted and be brought along. So healing for me as well. So redeeming.

Today on a morning show here in NYC (and in other parts of the country, the crew sent one of their own out in a pilgrim outfit to give away turkey sandwiches. It started out as a way to make an ass of the pilgrim, but the pilgrim found a shelter and a line of people outside it to give the sandwiches away to, and as you heard him offering and each one taking them, the whole moment was transformed from a joke to a near-weeping triumph of human spirit. It threw the host totally off his game and I swear it sounded like he was fighting tears as they all started praising the pilgrim-dressed crewmember and adding to his altruism by phone.

I just think this is what it's about. Helping people. Stretching out from self and uplifting someone with your energy. Maybe that carpenter dude had it right 2000 plus years ago.

"And the greatest commandment is this; that you love your (N)eighbor as yourselves."

;-D

Forgot To Title This! (Talk About Busy!)

Another crazy busy day. Has me here typing to beat midnight. Three good sessions tonight. Makes me remember why I want to do this full-time.

I have my interview in the morning. I probably won't have time to blog before I go (unless I wake up at 4 in the AM and can't get back to sleep. Friends say I shouldn't give up the NJ job in these harsh times. These harsh times has me thinking they may be right. I will at least quiz this dude tomorrow on what exactly he's offering. I might have to be so pessimistic that he won't want to hire me. And too, I'm getting such a sadness from the idea of leaving my NJ clients. They will survive without me, yes. But I will miss them.

I'm off to some well-earned rest.

I Really DID Get A Rock!

As in ROCK AND ROLL!!!

The guy who I expected to call me on Friday called me today!!!

We'll meet next week, and he's going to interview me briefly, and we're already bonding! It'll be informal and brief over in the neighborhood where he lives in Manhattan. And would you like to guess where that neighborhood is?

Correct on the first go!! My FAVORITE neighborhood--the Upper West Side!!!!

Okay. Now. Here's what I've learned, and here's how I'm going into this interview; I need to stop idealizing these work situations. Although this guy sounds handsome and intelligent and like a great guy over the phone, I have to realize that he might be a crazily neurotic lying troll of a person. He wants me to work part time and he says they compensate well. Of course that translates to HE gets paid well. I want him to be friendly on the eyes just because it's nice to look forward to going into work. Endorphins creates a good vibe that I need to work with clients well. I have more than a few attractive clients that I like working with just because I like looking at them as we do the damn thing. Is that shallow of me? Of course. But I know there's more to it than that, and I'm good at what I do regardless of what's circling around in my melon. Plus, since I don't even kiss people and am most-likely all PTSD'd up, so I wouldn't do anything inappropriate with my clients or my bosses even if they threw their clothes across the office, had a sports brief or a Victoria Secret's push-up bra on and threw themselves at me.

What was I saying? :-D

Oh! So, I have to realize that even though I BADLY want to trade the full-time NJ job for the part-time NYC job, I have to recognize that nothing is going to be as good as I think it will. Isn't that funny? Usually I'm trying to convince myself that nothing will be as BAD as I think it'll be. I guess it's all about balance. I have to learn how to stay in the middle and accept that nothing is All Bad or All Good. And I have to learn that that's okay. To this end, I'm happy to say that I'm accepting my counseling center's director faults without wanting to run screaming from the center. I wanted him to be a big grandfather-figure to shower me with wisdom and guidance and make me a better therapist. Now, I can't trust him. He's manipulative and greedy. But I accept that. I don't feel devastated or haunted, whereas before I would have. It would have rocked my world. Now, it only warns me not to take this man's criticisms to heart anymore, and to let him have his way with the complaining and sending me notes. I'll just take them with a Plymouth Rock-sized grain of salt.

Anyway, things are looking up for real. Less time spent working with the same income equals a more rested, less beat-dowm feeling Alan! I see myself maintaining the gym schedule I've wanted to create. I see myself having real living wages without having to spend on a car. I see myself in my own apartment with a new kitty cat (yay!!!), a living room, and an expandable couch for guests who wish to visit NYC and need a nice free place to stay. (Yes, I'm looking at YOU.)

PS; I changed the phrase "for guests who wish to come to NYC" to "for guests who wish to visit NYC" because I love ya, but I'm not ready to get all with the forever cozy! Unless you want to roommate with me wearing nothing but colorful undies all day and all night.)

PPS; I really do need to switch jobs. I love this NJ gig, but I've been spending the whole day on the internet--out of sheer "tired of doing paperwork"-edness. I need a change, or I may never again render another honest day's work in my life.

Tha Hootin' and Tha Hollerin'

This song motivates me because 1) Kickass rap lyrics addressing the rap world, 2)recited with genius, 3) kickass beat thanks to the 80's and Numa Numa, and 4) it assists me with the forward momentum of getting what I need to get, and stomping who I need to stomp into the pit.

I'm livin'my life.

LIVE YOUR LIFE
(Numa Numa)
Mia hee, mia haa, mia hoo, mia
ha ha
Mia hee, mia haa, mia hoo, mia
ha ha
(x4)

(Rihanna):
You're gonna be a shining star, fancy clothes, fancy car-ars.
And then you'll see, you're gonna go far.
Cause everyone knows, who you are-are.
So live your life, ay ay ay.
You steady chasing that paper.
Just live your life (Oh!), ay ay ay.
Ain't got no time for no haters.
Just live your life (Oh!), ay ay ay.
No telling where it'll take you.
Just live your life (Oh!), ay ay ay.
Cause I'm a paper chaser.
Just living my life (ay), my life (oh), my life (ay), my life (oh)
Just living my life (ay), my life (oh), my life (ay), my life (oh)

(T.I.):
Nevermind what haters say, ignore em 'til they fade away.
Amazing they ungrateful after all the game I gave away.
Safe to say I paid the way, for you cats to get paid today.
You'd still be wasting days away now, had I never saved the day.
Consider them my protégé, homage I think they should pay.
Instead of being gracious, they violate in a major way.
I never been a hater still I love them in a crazy way.
Some say they sold yah and no they couldn't get work on Labor Day.
It aint that they black or white, their hands in areas the shades of grey.
I'm West side anyway, even if I left today and stayed away.
Some move away to make a way, not move away 'cause they afraid.
I brought back to the hood and all you ever did was take away.
I pray for patience but they make me want to melt their face away.
Like I once made them spray, now I could make em put the k's away.
Been thuggin' all my life, can't say I don't deserve to take a break.
You'd rather see me catch a case and watch my future fade away.

(Rihanna):
You're gonna be a shining star, fancy clothes, fancy car-ars.
And then you'll see, you're gonna go far.
Cause everyone knows, who you are-are.
So live your life, ay ay ay.
You steady chasing that paper.
Just live your life (Oh!), ay ay ay.
Ain't got no time for no hata's
Just live your life (Oh!), ay ay ay.
No telling where it'll take you.
Just live your life (Oh!), ay ay ay.
Cause I'm a paper chaser.
Just living my life (ay), my life (oh), my life (ay), my life (oh)
Just living my life (ay), my life (oh), my life (ay), my life (oh)
Just living my life.

(T.I.):
I'm the opposite of moderate,
immaculately polished with
the spirit of a hustler and
the swagger of a college kid.

Allergic to the counterfeit,
impartial to the politics.
Articulate but still I'll
grab a ni**a by the collar quick.

Whoever having problems with their record sales just holla 'Tip.
If that don't work and all else fails, then turn around and follow 'Tip.
I got love for the game but ay I'm not in love with all of it.
Could do without the fame and rappers nowadays are comedy.
The hootin' and the hollerin', back and forth with the arguing.
Where you from, who you know, what you make and what kind of car you in.
Seems as though you lost sight of whats important when depositing them checks into your bank account and you up out of poverty.
Your values is in disarray, prioritizing horribly.
Unhappy with the riches cause you piss poor morally.
Ignoring all prior advice and forewarning.
And we mighty full of ourselves all of a sudden, aren't we?

(Rihanna):
You're gonna be a shining star, fancy clothes, and fancy car-ars.
And then you'll see, you're gonna go far.
Cause everyone knows, who you are-are.
So live your life, ay ay ay.
You steady chasing that paper.
Just live your life (Oh!), ay ay ay.
Ain't got no time for no hata's
Just live your life (Oh!), ay ay ay.
No telling where it'll take ya.
Just live your life (Oh!), ay ay ay.
Cause I'm a paper chaser.
Just living my life (ay), my life (oh), my life (ay), my life (oh)
Just living my life (ay), my life (oh), my life (ay), my life (oh)


Got everybody watchin what I do
Come walk in my shoes
And see the way I'm livin' if you really want to
Got my mind on my money
And I'm not goin away

So keep on gettin your paper
And keep on climbing
Look in the mirror and keep on shinin'
Till the game ends, till the clock stop
We gon' post up on the top spot
Livin the life, the life
In a brand new city got my whole team with me
The life, my life
I do what I wanna do
I'm livin my life, my life
I will never lose,
I'm livin my life, my life
And I'm not stopping

Mia hee, mia haa, mia hoo, mia
ha ha
Mia hee, mia haa, mia hoo, mia
ha ha
(x2)
So live ya life

Thank You For Attending...

...my pity party yesterday. I have some lovely parting gifts for you in the vestibule.

So guess what I learned yesterday? My counseling center director? He does that "losing-clients-is-your-fault" thing with EVERY therapist there. I found this out because one client who I'd "lost" was given to another therapist after a week or so of non-attendance. Well last night I saw both that client in the waiting room and the therapist who took them on. The client jumped up to shake my hand and explained that they was going to call me because they had gained a lot with me in that little time we'd been together and that they didn't really know what they were doing with the other therapist. Which doesn't mean that the other therapist was doing anything wrong. The other therapist has a different mode of therapy which I don't know how to do. Think of it like hypnotherapy (although it isn't). So in my mind I figured as long as the client is getting help, then bless 'em. But as the client spoke to me, they said that the director had called them to offer them another therapist--just like, talked them into coming back. Which was not what the director told me that he had said to the client. The director gave me the impression that the client was sitting out of therapy, lost and hurting, let down by me--but the client had just kind of been coerced to return by the director, and when I saw them last night, they seemed like they didn't know why they were there.

But then, after they had left for the night, their new therapist and me were the last ones in the center, and the therapist opened right up saying, "I don't know why Director keeps talking these clients into coming back when they're finished with us." Because my former client expressed the same kind of want to stay home while their personal life needed their attention, and then the client would call me when they wanted to return. I could have leaped in the air with a double fist pump.

The other therapist further elaborated; she has been working at the center for more than 7 years, and she said the director has always done this. She said when she terminates therapy with a client, the director would call her and talk to her like it was her first day on the job. This therapist, who is always full of smiles and hugs literally, was showing her less-friendly side when it came to the director's behavior and I could've ate it up with a spoon.

So that was double the affirmation I needed in one night. Yes, I can learn to be a better therapist. And yes, there's always room for improvement. But this director was giving me a bad vibe, and I was right. And my instinct with my clients was not as off as the director made me think it was. I really actually AM a good therapist and I will now let the directors phonecalls to me run off my back like a skittle of water across oil.

I got my mojo baaaaaack!!

As for my sexuality rant of yesterday, today's not a day of regret or confusion like it was yesterday. It may so happen that I will oscillate back and forth until I lose my freak status, and I urge your patience and compassion as I do so, but today, I'm stomping the generals of opposition into the Spartan well of accusation and self-doubt.

Ned, you're with me. Let's meet the Persians together, buddy!!





This










IS










TRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIBE!!!!

Onward...

Tomorrow I go back over the Bridge to my day job. I don't want to go. This helps me decide what's waht on Friday if I get the call from interested career psychologist guy. My day clients will adjust without me. I'll miss them, but they'll get over me. Just as they have gotten over the other people who've come and gone through their homes and apartments.

There's even a girl who I believe my boss would happily replace me with.

Oh please call me on Friday, Interested Career Psychologist Guy. And please don't be running a roach-infested opium den. And please REALLY do have the money you offered for a part time position. (Four days off, same income!)

Then I'll have to save up enough money to sell my car. Because yes, I still owe so much interest to the bank, I'll never be able to sell it and get the title without chipping in. And no one in their right minds would take over the loan.

Oh, and today? I dug deep enough to find the right contact number and method of becoming a provider for Blue Cross Blue Shield. awwwwwww YEAH.

The Upside Of Being Me

So yeah, yesterday was a day of melancholy. I was so moved by it that I left Grim Jester a phone message with the most emo content I've ever given him. He might receive it--he's pretty vulnerable these days. But I knew I'd have to go over his house to see him. So instead I went over the friend's house who didn't want to play D&D that day because Grim wasn't going to be there (y'all remember that?).

Yeah, he lives within walking distance, which is why I pick him up to go to the D&D game. And he's invited me over by e-mail (because he never uses his phone. He hates his phone. All phones. I know ... where do I get these friends? Grim Jester, that's where) but I haven't wanted to go over there because this guy is a recluse and a little sociopathic, and he likes to use me for therapy. And when I'm not working, I'd rather keep not working.

But yesterday I was feeling the lonelies and Captain Hypocrite tapped me on the shoulder and grinned broadly in my face as I realized that I had the nerve to feel lonely when I had this standing invite a half hour's walk away. So I went, and we had a good time. He showed me a few of his favourite obsessions and I made sweet love to his cat, who is the runt of Azrael's litter. SO cute. SO so friendly and purry and rubby and twiny and meowy and warm and soft and pretttttttttty. (Yes, maybe the cat was a bigger draw than I first anticipated. And yes, I will be visiting again to see 1) the cat and 2) my friend, in that order. Shoot, he was ready to stand ME up in favor of Grim Jester! I don't owe him nothin'! I'm not mad at him. I just wanna see the cat again.)

But anyway, we watched "Dexter" the Showtime series? He collects movies and shows so I requested the show that he said I would love.

And what do you know?

I loved it.

And as we watched, I wondered why we both loved it so. He said he already knew why HE loved it. It was because he and Dexter had so much in common. You see, Dexter narrates the show. He explains what it's like inside his head. He is a psychopath of the genteel kind. He's a serial killer who has been guided into killing only people who deserve it by his cop father who loved his little psychopathic foster son. And so Dexter is charming on the outside and an emotionless murderer on the inside. In the pilot episode, the only thing that aroused his passion was the work of another serial killer. Everything else, he performs. Smiles, social niceties, love ... it's all a reproduction that he's picked up along the way. We find this out as he narrates his relationships with his sister, his collegues in the police department, and his girlfriend and her two kids.

So tell me... why did I feel like I found my brother in Dexter? The way my friend does? Remember back when I first met Ned, and I proposed that maybe we both had Asperger's? That we were removed from some social mores and that possibly we were just born this way? I revisited that again when I was watching Dexter.

And I practically skipped home.

So ... what if, yeah? I'm a 44-Year Old Virgin because I just don't get it? That I just never got it? And that maybe I just won't ever get it? That I haven't dug in them gutz with a woman or a man because to me it's just a thing that people do and it just doesn't appeal enough to me? That I know what sexual desire is, and the feeling of the male O is a vivifying treat on so many masculine levels--but that whole with another person thing can sometimes just be so ... euw? Smells and sights and gasses from every orifice and sticky, pasty, cloudy fluids spilling here and staining there. And like Dionne Warwick said;

"What do you get
When you kiss a guy?
You get enough germs
To catch pneumonia.
And when you do,
He never phones ya."

Maybe I'm just not made for relationships! Maybe, like Dexter, I can analyze and apply my observations for others, but I'm perfectly content to watch from inside my beautiful little Asperger's bubble?

and maybe that's just me, and maybe that's o-effing-kay?

Because guess what? Today I got a call from someone who found my resume on Monster and wanted to know if I was interested in a part-time position using my license here on Isla de Manhatan, which at 24-27 hrs a week will net me as much as I make in NJ at 40 hrs/wk. Add to that the absence of a car payment, the car insurance, and tolls and gas, and whew does it tempt my soul. I'm waiting to see if he calls me back on Friday for an interview.

So who needs a relationship right now? I'm still building something here! I'm making a life! I don't have time to wine and dine! I still gotta get out of Jersey! I still gotta pitch my money pit of a car! I still gotta sock three months rent away in an account! I still got a belly to lose! I still got insurances to become a provider for!

I'm not finished yet!

This...


IS...


...ALAAAAAANNNNN!!!!

a

a

A

A

A

A

A

H

H

H

H

.

.

.




*squish*

Revolutionaries Wait For My Head On A Silver Plate

I've been getting A LOT of criticism lately on my various job performances whereupon I recieve my dough. Not a comfortable feeling.

Last week I ditched out on a psych meeting in NJ after securing the knowledge that the person who initiated it was fully present. But I ditched it to make another appointment in NYC at the counseling center, which I was early to and the other person was late. Not the right thing to do, but I had to do what I had to do. So my nice boss in NJ really socked it to me on that one.

Then of course there's the drama of the counseling center director continuing to give me grief about clients who cancel appointments, as if I were directly responsible, which if I am, I'd rather they stop coming than me force them to stay.

But more than a small part of me hates to admit that I'm doing something wrong. Even though lately long-term clients have been rescheduling with me, and yes, they might be getting tired of coming after we've already worked out some primary things that they first came to me for, but that's not really a reflection of anything I'm doing wrong, is it? I'd say it was a reflection of something I'm doing right. This damn director's got me feeling like I'm failing when I'm probably succeeding. All signs point to succeeding. I took a position in this man's center because I thought he was a nuturing person who'd guide me and help me be a better therapist. But I'm experiencing the exact opposite.

And then again, my own defensiveness could be getting in the way of identifying a problem in my ability to provide therapy for my clients, and I'm not learning what I should learn to help them better. Which ends up being something that again--I'm doing wrong.

Bleah.

Okay. I got that out. I'll stop being so damn vulnerable, suck it up, learn what improvements I can make, and dismiss the rest as the director's economic paranoia. I'm a good therapist. But I can be better.

A Surprise Festival

Last night after I was done with my clients, I found myself loose on the town. I was feeling good. I had done good work. I often think I do, but lately the director of the center has been scrutinizing why I've had so many cancellations over the past couple of weeks.

"More than anyone else," he said.

Mind you, they were cancellations--not terminations. Some of my clients taking the night off for one reason or another. For me, when they cancel, I get the night off too. Feels good to me. But to the director, it's lost income. And yea, I lose income too--but I have a day job. The night therapy cases are extra income.

It'd be nice if the director didn't try to make me feel as though I was doing something wrong--"losing them," as he likes to put it. Not to mention going on at length about how the clients leave my services when they get the sense that I'm not helping them, but use excuses because they can't actually tell me that they want out. (Except I did have a client who told me that exact thing. The sessions were terminated with no malice at all. I understand that I'm not the right therapist for EVERYONE. But for the ones who keep me--have kept me for months now--I'm useful. Helpful, even.)

But now that I'm removed from the emotions of our disagreeable phone conversation by some days and a bunch of co-opted Chipotle utensils later, I can see it for what it is. He wants to make money so he wants to motivate me to minimize (well, actually, the way he puts it, STOP ALTOGETHER) the cancellations. But I don't like his style of criticism. He's not the man I thought he was. I don't know what his true motives are, but I don't like his delivery. It feels wrong. He feels wrong.

Anyway, all this was going through my head, along with the successful sessions I had experienced that day. All three clients, (two of them I've been seeing for 4 months or more) reflecting the changes they've been making in their lives for the better. Changes that I've helped them with. Changes that I just knew they were capable of with enough encouragement and enough opportunity & space for thought. Changes that made me feel like a worthwhile human on planet Earth, even though I walk around alone with a rucksack full of my own unfulfilled dreams and personal life goals. I'm telling you, helping other people--it's where it's at, man. I think it's what we're all alive for.

ANYWAY anyway, I didn't want to go home because it was Hallowe'en, and I didn't want to have to kill somebody's children after having such a good day. Yes, repeated ringing of our WWII-era doorbell will make me psychotic. Don't ask. So I purposed to catch up on my promise to Ned by going to get "The Time Traveller's Wife," from B&N, and then holing up somewhere quiet and latte-driven to start reading it when I discovered something wonderful along the way;





On All Hallow's Eve, in NYC, in Greenwich Village, straight up the center of my old haunts (5th Ave, 6th Avenue, from around 14th street and southward) the freaks come out at night! In the Village, Hallowe'en Night is like Mardi Gras! I knew they had a parade, but my deviant mind thought it was like a drag queen affair. Stereotype Greenwich Village much, Alan? For shame!! It was like a big comicbook convention only with the entire neighborhood!! And throw in the bored, pleasure-seeking students from NYU on a surprising 60-degree night, and you've got PARTY. Streets blocked off in rapid succession. Real cops taking pictures with costumers.

My Hero would have loved this!!

Anywaying the anyway's anyway--welcome to my first post of November. They won't all be this long.

Back To Default

So. I've been in MidJersey practically all week because remember the co-worker with brain cancer slowly dying? Well her decline is noticeable and her work performance is compromised and my boss has me down here to make up for the widening gap in psychological quality of care. That means I'm meeting psychiatrists that I've never met before, advocating for clients that I know nothing about, and forming relationships with parents who I hope never to meet again. Meanwhile my ailing co-worker keeps trucking on, losing more and more of her objectivity, discretion, and patience. She's liable to cuss out a visiting state caseworker if she isn't reigned in. (Which is something we sometimes would all like to do until we realize that we're all on the same side.)

Well this morning, in addition to this, the program director calls me on my hour-long commute here to tell me he's not coming in, he has an injury, and he wants me to chair the meeting today that we'll have for a new admit. Sure! No pressure!

Meanwhile, I'm back to eating the pain-reducing sweets that I love/need to get through a day, Mr. Morning Guy dissappeared somewhere from inside of me last month and I'm arriving late to work again, I'm feeling a glimmer of the old ennui that haunted me before I redefined myself with Ned's help, and I'm suspecting that I need another increase in my meds.

(The client has arrived, so game paused on account of profession. I'll be back...)

Okay. So the meeting went, and it went well. I chaired the thing, and I found myself mysteriously on point. I guess processing it here in writing got me ready to take it on, and I took it on.

*exhale*

I guess it's like life. Stress comes, you process it, and then you deal. And of course, what I'd really like is to call up Scott or Ned or Tera or Grizz or Dawn or preferably all of them, and say "Where we havin' lunch at?!" and we'd all do a "Sex and the City" roundtable at the pizzeria or Chinese Buffet and decompress in our wonderful, several, witty ways before going back and finishing our day.

*sigh* I would love that.

But here we do have the internet. It may be a lot like all of us being-- [CUT!!]
Short story alert!! I'm going to cut what I just wrote and paste it somewhere else, because I think it's a dynamite idea for a story and I will write it.

Anyway, when I started this post, I was ready to moan about some setbacks I'm experiencing. But right now, not so much. A well done task at a job you like is miraculously therapeutic. Even my brain cancer'd co-worker did well. She only needed redirection once.

I'm telling you...Ally McBeal, anyone? I just know it. We're going to lose this co-worker like Ally lost Billy (oops, spoilers). One day, this co-worker is just going to plop down on the floor, and then lay down and die. That may be Worst-Case Scenario Man's torturous, sonorous tones, but I just know it. I mean--I did tell you that my Mom died of the same stuff that this co-worker is experiencing, right? So why wouldn't my mind go there? But dammit, I'm ready. I'm ready. If I'm here when that happens, we're all going to be okay, and my co-worker gets her release. I've done this before. I'm ready.

Anyway.

I love you guys.

I'm a little lonely. A little moody. A little fat again. A little unhappy. A little proud. A little okay.

Meh.

Plehp.

Fhltt.