As I was leaving the clinic this afternoon, walking to the back parking lot toward my car, when I was met by the sounds of a car stereo blaring some sort of country music. I walked up the steps to the back lot and found the elderly janitor, long-handled dust pan in one hand and a broom in the other, sweeping the asphalt. His grey hair shone like silver in the afternoon sunlight as he gazed downward at the ground, intent upon his task. I recognized the music as Johnny Cash and smiled to myself as the old man danced a step or two to the side. I kept walking toward my car. He apparently heard the sound of my boots on the pavement as he abrubtly spun around to face me. I noticed for the first time that his face was very lined, with years of stress, smoking, sun, and life. He held a lit cigar in his mouth, pinched between his teeth. He looked at me for a second, I smiled, he smiled, and then looked down and began sweeping again. I opened my car door, threw in my purse, and waited for him to look my way once more. He did. I waved and smiled again, got in, and drove away.

It's moments like these...when we see another creature enjoying a moment and being alive in that moment...that make us smile and can help us understand what life is about. It's about being. It's about living. It's about being alive in the moment.

And why is it that we are so afraid to let others see us living, loving, and being alive in that moment? We're so afraid to make ourselves vulnerable. We're so afraid to be as we naturally are...unless we're sure the door is locked, the curtains are closed, and no one is watching.

I'm tired of hiding my joy because you're looking at me. I'm tired of wondering what you think about me...because I know you rarely ever do.

My ass hurts.

I woke this morning in bed with a bleeding rectum, a empty wine bottle by my side, and a pair of my panties on my head. There was a mysterious trail of a single hoof print leading from my kitchen sink to my bed and back again.

What I think is that a one-legged evil demon goat climed out of my sewage system through my kitchen sink, drank my wine, hopped over to the bed and fucked me up the ass. Damn demon goats!

At least he didn't steal my panties.

My Nora, Happy Magic Land, and The Methadone Phone

A couple of weekends ago my friend Nora and I went to visit Shawn and Chris in, what Nora called, Happy Magic Land or Columbus. It was an excellent and therapeutic weekend for both Nora and myself thanks to those two crazy, lovable, latently homosexual men of mine. :)

We arrived on a Saturday and went to BW3 to play trivia and eat the chicken wing. We then went Krogering and purchased le alcohol to drink that night. Chris called my voice mail at work and acted like he was jonesing for methadone, making semi-sexual noises and screaming, "I need a fix! Gimme a fix! I need some goddamn methadone!" I forwarded it to all the counselors the following week and they all thought it was one of their patients flipping out. :)

Once back at the apartment we decided to play drinking games. Shawn was drinking Kamakazies, Chris had some creamy beer that kept creaming all over the table and his pants, and my Nora and I were drinking something like a Koolaid that we dubbed The Methadone. Of course it only took a few rounds of Fuck the Dealer to get me, Nora, and Shawn...um...fucked. Chris says he wasn't even buzzed. Who knows? I've learned never to question the tolerance level of a man who has had an intimate, long-term relationship with Jack Daniels.

Nora is supervisor at Parkersburg Tx Center and she carries the emergency/after hours cell phone for that clinic. Basically, if a patient is in crisis they can call that number and receive after hours/emergency counseling. Sometimes it rings like mad, sometimes it doesn't ring at all. So...Nora had it with her in Columbus...and we were all trashed. Shawn and Chris kept threatening to answer the Methadone Phone and telling the patient calling to "get a fucking life you damned junkie"! Hearts of gold, those boys have. It's probably a really good thing that it didn't ring all weekend.

Shawn used Nora's cell phone to call my home voice mail and left this message in his best Hogwarts School of Wizardry voice: "Hello!!! This is Harry Potter! Harry Potter!!!! Hermione!!! What are you doing with that broomstick?!?!? Oh my! Blimey and bugger! Oh my!" I played that one for some other counselors as well. :)

We started playing euchre and trying to teach Nora while we were all drunk. We ran out of some alcohol that Chris needed to make mine and Nora's drinks...he made her something he called Nora's Suicide...it was basically a pink Kamakazie. She didn't drink it. Shawn went upstairs and passed out when the neighbors came over to join in the playing of the cards. Nora and I went to attempt to wake him at one point. We hopped on the bed and began humping him...well...Nora sort of bounced around in the corner of the bed with her mouth hanging open, making noises like a low functioning mentally challenged individual. Shawn lifted his head and said, "I'm up! I'm up!" and then passed out again.

Joe, the neighbor, started to touch me at one point and I provided unintentional entertainment for all by saying, "No! Don't touch me! Didn't we discuss this before?" Finally, the neighbors left and we all passed out. No one was molested or hurt. I slept safely and soundly next to my own personal cuddly bald man, Shawn

On Sunday we awoke and we all piled downstairs on the couch for an all day Nightmare on Elm Street movie marathon!!!! The boys had watched Nightmare on Elm Street, Nightmare on Elm Street: Freddy's Revenge, and part of Nightmare on Elm Street: Dream Warriors on Saturday. So we finished Dream Warriors and Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master and then broke for an excellent pasta dinner, cooked by our very own Chef Berry. We then watched Nightmare on Elm Street: The Dream Child through Wes Craven's New Nightmare. At moments we found ourselves reliving our childhood fears of Freddy Krueger, but mostly we mocked the films Mystery Science Theatre 3000 style. I mean...so all Nancy would've had to do in the first one is absorb people's "powers" when they die (like Alice in #4) so she could've become a super bitch and kicked his ass with a nursery rhyme? Or maybe she should've went down to the local mental hospital/former convent where Freddy's nun mother's body was bricked in a wall and released her spirit (like Alice's friend in #5)? Or maybe she could've donned some 3D glasses prior to going to sleep and would've been able to see differently in the dream (like Katherine/Maggie in #6)? And the things that gave Freddy his terrifying powers were simply sperm-like demons with skeletal faces (#6)? And dogs piss fire in dreams (#4)? What the hell?

Monday, Nora and I had the day off, so we spent the morning window shopping at the Easton shopping center in Columbus. After walking around all day and oggling expensive clothing, handbags, jewels, and homefurnishings in such fine stores as Bebe, Guess, Coach, Steve Madden, Diamond Cellar, Z Gallerie, and Pottery Barn, we stopped at the Cheesecake Factory for a slice of...cheesecake. It's a rare thing, I think, when two women will spend all day at a mall and walk away with nothing but a satisfied sweet tooth and a sense that all of the pretty things that they had looked at all day long were just pretty things that neither one of them needed to be happy. :)

So we left Happy Magic Land, and headed back across the disturbingly flat and open farmland of Ohio as night was falling. And we ran into the consoling embrace of the dark, whispering West Virginia hills. Hills speckled with light here and there...like the night sky turned upside down...where we could hear the trees dreaming of spring...and where we could see Orion blazing proudly above our heads.

You have to be what you want.

This weekend has been quite peaceful and restful. I hung with the family and cleaned up my little apartment.

I bought some red Martha Stewart sheets this morning. (Who knows? They could be collecter's items one day!) They look quite nice on my little bed.

Dad fixed Granny's lamp and hung it over my bed. It casts the perfect amount of soft light over the room. Very cozy.

It feels nice to have a clean home. It's just me exercising what little control I have over my environment. :) Recognizing it doesn't make it any less comforting.

I wish I had someone to cuddle up with in my new, red, Martha Stweart sheets.

I'm doing it! I'm really doing it, man!

In spite of my evil Marshall website, Prestera decided to hire me! Huzzah!

As of April 5th, I'll be a Case Manager/Counselor for Prestera Center for Mental Health's Advantage Valley Interchange program. As I previously stated, I'll be working with 12 kids, ages 4-18, doing group counseling, one on one counseling, treatment planning, referrals, etc. The kids in the program are there due to being kicked out of school for a variety of behavioral problems. They must successfully complete Prestera's Interchange program before being allowed back into the school system. I'm looking forward to working with a more impressionable population. I guess I'm thinking that I'd like to get to these kids before they have the chance to become addicts and dysfunctional adults. It should prove to be exciting!

I'll be making $20,000 per year, so I took a $3000 pay cut...but not really. There are incentive programs and I should be able to make $900 extra dollars every quarter, so $3600 extra a year. Also the insurance is cheaper. In the long run, I actually might be making about $300 less annually than I could make if I stayed at CTC. But it will be more than I took home this past year, so I'm not really worried about it. :)

Other good stuff about my new job:

Prestera actually wants their employees to better themselves and they're willing to reimburse me for school, which means I'll be able to go back to grad school this fall!

I'll be working with M.A. and PhD level psychologists, so I'm sure to learn a lot if I keep my eyes and ears open.

I get to wear jeans!

I'll have "normal people" hours again!!!!!

The Resignation

I turned my resignation letter in to Tanya this morning. My last day will be April 1, April Fool's Day. I've entertained the thought of running into her office on that day and saying, "April Fool's! I'm not quitting! Gotcha!" And then saying, "Um...no...that was the April Fool's joke. I'm really quitting. Goodbye!" But no...I won't burn any bridges. Even if they are rickety old foot bridges.

Anyway, Patrick gave his notice on Tuesday, so there is a Counseling Supervisor position open. Cyndi and Sally are applying for it, and had I not been totally done with CTC, I too would have applied. Tanya mentioned it to me on Wednesday evening and said that I should submit a letter of interest. I told her that I'd probably end up shooting myself if I got it. She just laughed. I wasn't joking.

When I handed her my resignation letter this morning, I'm most certain that she thought it was a letter of interrest for the supervisor job. She was all smiles when she first took it from my hand...and then she abrubtly stopped smiling. She asked where I would be working. She responded that she had learned a lot at Prestera during her time there and felt it would be a good career move for me. Then she asked if there was anything she could get for me to make me stay. I just smiled a wry smile, shook my head, laughed a little, and said, "No, Tanya. No, there's nothing".

I'll miss...

My co-workers. I've met some FANTASTIC people during my stint at CTC and made some good friends. I'm determined not to loose touch with Patrick, Kevin, Sally, Vander, and Cyndi at least. I hope I can keep contact with more, but that's unlikely. I'll miss my office. I'll miss early morning conversations in Kevin's office. I'll miss lunch with Cyndi. I'll miss Nancy's stuttering when she's flustered. I'll miss Cheryl's crazy booty dance, Cindy's oversexed persona, and Mike's friendly/fatherly advice. I'll miss Vander Outlaw's harmless sexual innuendos. I'll miss Patrick's personal space invasions. I'll miss Joey's paddling, Sally's princessiness, Malena's defensiveness, and Jenny's evil little anime girl looks. I'll miss all the faker, the shit-pisser, Whizinator, and "my dog ate my methadone" stories.

My patients. I told about 10 of them today that I was leaving. I was met with a range of emotions from tears (from a great young man with whom I've built an excellent rapport and who has come very far) to anger to blank stares. :) It's been more difficult than I thought it would be. In a way, I feel like I'm letting down 45 people who've stuck out the program. I've taken the time and worked very hard to build up trusting and safe relationship where my patients can come and unload...and now I'm walking away from that. But I guess this is the last lesson that I'll get to teach them. That they trusted once and it worked...so now they must have the courage to trust again with a new counselor. Several people thanked me today for "everything I've done for them". I HATE hearing that! I just redirect it and make them realize that they're responsible for every change in their lives...I'm just their sounding board, support, and guidance.

Well...I hope I haven't fucked anybody up too much. There's always the next two weeks, though!!! :)

I didn't cough up any more blood so I'm assuming I'm not dying. Sorry to disappoint you all.

The van, the van, the van is on fire!!!

Anyway...interesting happening at the clinic this afternoon. (Imagine...something exciting happening at the methadone clinic. That NEVER happens.)

So, there was this patient who's van had broken down on him this morning and he was out there all day trying to fix it. At 1:30 the clinic was officially closed and this patient was told that he either needed to remove himself from the property and leave his van until tomorrow or remove the van from the property.

He and some friends managed to push it to a point where it could coast down the hill in neutral. They went down the hill and pulled the van into the warehouse parking lot below us. I watched this all from the big picture window at the end of the hall and then went back to my office to do some work.

About 15 minutes later I heard one of the other counselors say, "A fire! A van is on fire!" I ran down the hallway to the window and looking down the hill I saw, to my amazement, the patient's van totally engulfed in flames!!! The vehicle's windows had been shattered by the heat. Orange and yellow flame was licking through and around every open space as thick black smoked cascaded skyward.

I stood for a moment in slack-jawed wonder, feeling like I had just stepped onto the set of a John Woo film. I thought, "How the hell does someone manage to roll his car down a fucking hill...and end up setting it on fire?"

Someone ran to call the fire department while the rest of the staff and I stood watching, giddily contemplating the chances of the van actually blowing up. Fortunately, our lust for disaster was never satisfied as the fire department shortly put the blaze out.

I swear, I will miss some things about CTC (when I finally do get the fuck out of there!). Like some of the staff (Patrick, Kevin, Sally, Cyndi, Nancy), the morning pow-wows in Kevin's office, and all of the crazy fucking shit that our patients do and get themselves into!!!

A glimmer of hope in the long, dark night

Good news! I have a job interview with Prestera Center for Mental Health on Monday! It's for a position as a counselor working in an outpatient setting with behavior disordered children, ranging from ages 4-18. The hours are 8am to 4pm (normal hours!!!) Monday through Friday. No Saturday work ever!!!! The only problem is that I know it will be less money than what I make at the clinic. (And I'm poor as hell as it is.) But that really doesn't matter. As long as I can still pay all of my bills, I'm there.

It's turned into a struggle to get out of the bed in the mornings because I'm so damned tired! And then it's a struggle to do anything else all day long...because I'm so tired! If I keep this up for much longer, I'm totally going to crack. I've already gone a little Office Space at work, pointing out in team and entire staff meetings when things are bullshit and useless wastes of time. My program director ordered me to call a patient a week or so ago. I stopped, looked at her, signed heavily and said, "God, I don't want to. I've got too much to do. But I guess I have to, right?" She just rewarded me with a confused and slightly wide-eyed stare.

I've got to get out of there, but I'm sure I'll miss it when I go. I'll miss Kevin, Patrick, Sally, and a few other co-workers. I'll miss a few of my patients, even...the ones who are trying to help themselves...and a few of the ones who aren't. :) I'll miss the tales of the shit-pissers, the Whizinator drug screen faking devices, the "my dog ate my methadone" stories from the patients, and the late doser freak-outs. But I won't miss the ambivalence and incompetence of management or the early hours.

But I haven't even had the interview yet! And if they ever find this website at Marshall, I'm sure they'll never hire me!!!! Yeah...I'm going to contact Marshall's help desk to have them remove this shit A.S.A.P. Cross your fingers for me!