I thought that this was worth mentioning:
I am in a Coffee shop a few blocks south of my house, and I have just gone to the bathroom, which had two toliets, one sink, and no stalls. Two open toliets. Just hanging out. Which made me wonder what would happen if we took down all of the bathroom stalls in the world.
Also, I enjoyed my horoscope for this week, and have already read it to my housemates, and feel the need to share it further, and invite anyone reading this to become an aries for a little while:
"Everything is complicated," wrote poet Wallace Stevens. "If that were not so, life and poetry and everything else would be a bore." I hope you will choose his wisdom to serve as your guiding light in the coming weeks. It is high time, in my astrological opinion, for you to shed any resentment you might feel for the fact that life is a crazy tangle of mystifying and interesting stories. Celebrate it, Aries! Revel in it. Fall down on your knees and give holy thanks for it. And by the way, here's a big secret: To the extent that you do glory in the complications, the complications will enlighten you, amuse you, and enrich you.
(http://www.freewillastrology.com/horoscopes/aries.html)
That's all for right now. There is a blue sky outside, and fat, white clouds.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Switching Seats
It is sunny out today. It has been sunny for the past few days, actually. But today is Saturday and for the first time in a while I sat on the porch without a sweatshirt. Jeremy and Garrett dug up dirt on our small plot of land, that still suffers from lead poisoning, which started three or so years ago during a repainting job. Lauren brought out a pitcher of lemonade. I did not drink any, but I felt happy to see the others enjoying their small cups of it. People walked by, some with dogs, some without dogs. We said hello. We felt friendly.
I've felt a lot more empowered at work lately. Maybe it's the coffee. Or the fact that I've hit the six month mark since I drove away from Drakes Island to be driven to the airport, a ride that I spend half with Ella, Charlie, and my mom. Charlie kept farting. And we kept yelling at him as he opened the front seat window with a grin. I spent the second half in Dad's car. Abby and I switched seats. I felt thankful, and a little bit prized to know that both of my parents wanted me as a passenger before I took off on my own journey.
But now it's February, and the rain is lessening a bit, and I've learned to knock on people's doors in the morning and not take on all of their problems as I continue down the hallway. I've learned to enjoy my weekends more, to see the sliver of yellow between the thick, gray clouds, to read books I love. Just today, Lauren and I took the bus to the grocery store. We missed our connection, twice, and switched off carrying a backpack full of economy sized dish soap, hand soup, peanut butter, hot sauce, and cheddar cheese. The process took up our whole morning, and I did not feel impatient.
I remember talking to my supervisor this summer about the different theories of social justice. Of charity v. advocacy, of how you should and shouldn't serve, of just language and different educational approaches. How tiring all of that is, she said, wrapping yourself around "the answer to the worlds problems" and plotting your work in one direction toward it. That's when the burn out happens, because there is always something that will throw off the results.
I didn't leave work until 6:30 last night, and for one of the first times this year I was okay with that. I picked up a patient who'd gone back to the hospital after coming into the program. I pulled the car around to the emergency room entrance and helped him load his laptop, books, and bag of clothes into the backseat. He sat in the front and his sister, who could not hear very well, sat in the middle. He is one of the more extroverted that has been in our program. He likes to talk about all of the pot he smoked in the 60s and the strange girlfriends who have broken his heart. It didn't matter what he put into his body then, he said. His body used to be this mystery that he could trust. We drove over the past the Rose Garden, and he yelled jokingly out the window to the basketball fans wearing Celtics jerseys. It was dark by then, but the sky held a clearer darkness than I've seen all winter. It's those moments, when I'm driving people to and from where they need to go, setting the radio on the music they like, that I feel like my time is being used well.
I've felt a lot more empowered at work lately. Maybe it's the coffee. Or the fact that I've hit the six month mark since I drove away from Drakes Island to be driven to the airport, a ride that I spend half with Ella, Charlie, and my mom. Charlie kept farting. And we kept yelling at him as he opened the front seat window with a grin. I spent the second half in Dad's car. Abby and I switched seats. I felt thankful, and a little bit prized to know that both of my parents wanted me as a passenger before I took off on my own journey.
But now it's February, and the rain is lessening a bit, and I've learned to knock on people's doors in the morning and not take on all of their problems as I continue down the hallway. I've learned to enjoy my weekends more, to see the sliver of yellow between the thick, gray clouds, to read books I love. Just today, Lauren and I took the bus to the grocery store. We missed our connection, twice, and switched off carrying a backpack full of economy sized dish soap, hand soup, peanut butter, hot sauce, and cheddar cheese. The process took up our whole morning, and I did not feel impatient.
I remember talking to my supervisor this summer about the different theories of social justice. Of charity v. advocacy, of how you should and shouldn't serve, of just language and different educational approaches. How tiring all of that is, she said, wrapping yourself around "the answer to the worlds problems" and plotting your work in one direction toward it. That's when the burn out happens, because there is always something that will throw off the results.
I didn't leave work until 6:30 last night, and for one of the first times this year I was okay with that. I picked up a patient who'd gone back to the hospital after coming into the program. I pulled the car around to the emergency room entrance and helped him load his laptop, books, and bag of clothes into the backseat. He sat in the front and his sister, who could not hear very well, sat in the middle. He is one of the more extroverted that has been in our program. He likes to talk about all of the pot he smoked in the 60s and the strange girlfriends who have broken his heart. It didn't matter what he put into his body then, he said. His body used to be this mystery that he could trust. We drove over the past the Rose Garden, and he yelled jokingly out the window to the basketball fans wearing Celtics jerseys. It was dark by then, but the sky held a clearer darkness than I've seen all winter. It's those moments, when I'm driving people to and from where they need to go, setting the radio on the music they like, that I feel like my time is being used well.
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