Here's my husband's entry. (I say, Well done!)
My approach was as smooth as always. And it was easy for me. Just keep it all inside, bottle it all up. You know, just put on my game face and go about my business as usual.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
3WW - writer prompt: bottle. approach. smooth.
He might as well have approached me with shards of a bottle the way he crushed me with the force of his hand. In his smooth cunning voice I had trusted to him to come near thinking that this time would be different. But instead, into my ear he whispered seething rage. With glass like precision, his nails cut into my skin until sour tears of blood drip down my arm. I tightened my eyes shut as hard as I could until I saw nothing but the black and white bars behind my lids. I was safe behind my prison wall.
Tarasoff
In 1974: Prosinjit Podder, an Indian Graduate student, studying at Berkeley, begins to date Tatiana Tarasoff. They kiss. He feels that she is his intended. He gets upset when she expresses interest in other men. He goes to counseling at the University Health Service. He tells the psychologist, Dr. Moore, that he wants to get a gun and shoot Tarasoff. Dr. Moore sends letter to campus police, they investigate Podder, they think he is not a danger, tell him to avoid Tatiana. When Tatiana returns from Brazil at the end of summer, Podder stalks, stabs her to death.
Tatiana's parents sue the mental health department, saying that the therapist should have warned Tatiana of Podder's threats. The court rules that based on confidentiality, there is no cause of action. The parents appeal and win the case. The outcome: “the therapist bears a duty to use reasonable care to give threatened persons warnings as are essential to avert foreseeable danger.” (i.e. the therapist has to warn the intended victim and the police to be sure that they can take necessary actions for the victim's safety.)
I had to report Tarasoff this week for the second time in one year. The patient had been stalking someone with a loaded weapon in car, waiting for the right time to assault with intent to murder. The Tarasoff report was an involved process taking several interviews from the patient until she agreed to give me contact info of the intended victim. It also involved lengthy track down of a police officer willing to take my call and take the threat seriously. Apparently, not all police officers are familiar with therapists' Tarasoff mandate. And not all people (in general) want to go through the extra steps to get their job done right.
Too add to the mix, I reported the patient as unsafe to her children based on active impulsivity and violent behaviors with current threats and planned out murder threat to another. As I finally get the police officer to work with me, I simultaneously find out that the patient's children have been removed from her custody. So, my efforts resulted in breaking up a family. (I'm reminding myself that this is probably a good thing, but it's hard to know that you separated a mother from her young children and young children from their mother.)
Fortunately, all is protected, the patient is locked up for the moment, we will work on a safe discharge plan. Hopefully getting back on psychiatric medication will help.
In the meantime, I'm skipping the news and going straight to bed. I've had enough listening to violence for one week.
Tatiana's parents sue the mental health department, saying that the therapist should have warned Tatiana of Podder's threats. The court rules that based on confidentiality, there is no cause of action. The parents appeal and win the case. The outcome: “the therapist bears a duty to use reasonable care to give threatened persons warnings as are essential to avert foreseeable danger.” (i.e. the therapist has to warn the intended victim and the police to be sure that they can take necessary actions for the victim's safety.)
I had to report Tarasoff this week for the second time in one year. The patient had been stalking someone with a loaded weapon in car, waiting for the right time to assault with intent to murder. The Tarasoff report was an involved process taking several interviews from the patient until she agreed to give me contact info of the intended victim. It also involved lengthy track down of a police officer willing to take my call and take the threat seriously. Apparently, not all police officers are familiar with therapists' Tarasoff mandate. And not all people (in general) want to go through the extra steps to get their job done right.
Too add to the mix, I reported the patient as unsafe to her children based on active impulsivity and violent behaviors with current threats and planned out murder threat to another. As I finally get the police officer to work with me, I simultaneously find out that the patient's children have been removed from her custody. So, my efforts resulted in breaking up a family. (I'm reminding myself that this is probably a good thing, but it's hard to know that you separated a mother from her young children and young children from their mother.)
Fortunately, all is protected, the patient is locked up for the moment, we will work on a safe discharge plan. Hopefully getting back on psychiatric medication will help.
In the meantime, I'm skipping the news and going straight to bed. I've had enough listening to violence for one week.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
And speaking of lies...
Children are the best faces of truth we have. When I lie to myself, my children are sure to point it out. Case in point:
Anne: Hmmm. My hair looks like hell. I don't have time to color. It's not so bad. No one will notice. I'm so tall no one sees the top of my head.
Kid: "Hey Mom, your hair looks weird. Why's it all black?"
Anne: "You mean up here? You can't even see up here."
Kid: "Yeah, well it's all around your ears and back too."
Kid: "Will you play with me?"
Anne: "Yeah sure, just a minute."
Kid: " That means forever cause you're blogging."
We don't even want to go into the butt conversation. Suffice it to say that the word "Squishy" has become a four letter word in this house!
****
Any lies your children have unveiled?
Anne: Hmmm. My hair looks like hell. I don't have time to color. It's not so bad. No one will notice. I'm so tall no one sees the top of my head.
Kid: "Hey Mom, your hair looks weird. Why's it all black?"
Anne: "You mean up here? You can't even see up here."
Kid: "Yeah, well it's all around your ears and back too."
Kid: "Will you play with me?"
Anne: "Yeah sure, just a minute."
Kid: " That means forever cause you're blogging."
We don't even want to go into the butt conversation. Suffice it to say that the word "Squishy" has become a four letter word in this house!
****
Any lies your children have unveiled?
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
How Far We've Come
Susan B would be proud. Women have rights, opportunity, wisdom like never before. So why in down pouring rain, two women in a parking lot with two kids each, slam into each other's steel bumpers and have no idea what to do next. And so, we exchange names and numbers of our husbands to sort it all out. Why?
3WW - writer prompt: scattered. breath. tomorrow.
Mind is scattered,
there’s always tomorrow
to find my breath.
there’s always tomorrow
to find my breath.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Cool Link: Electoral Compass
Electoral Compass USA - "Discover your position in the political landscape for the USA presidential election of 2008"
Check out where you stand against the candidates @ http://www.electoralcompass.com/
I matched up closest to my candidate, so I guess I'm where I need to be. ...Sigh of relief....
Check out where you stand against the candidates @ http://www.electoralcompass.com/
I matched up closest to my candidate, so I guess I'm where I need to be. ...Sigh of relief....
Matter
Matter is a physical substance, distinct from mind and spirit. It is a physics term to denote physical entities. Matter requires space. I often hear people say, “It doesn’t matter.” Or, “What’s the matter?” We can’t tangibly access our thoughts, emotions and spiritual state as something physical, but I don’t think anyone would argue that they are as physical as our blood and bones.
Most, if not all of the emotional dysfunction I come across can be tracked to the basic source of matter. Depression, anxiety, marital problems, parenting issues, you name it. It always comes down to the question of “Do I matter?” If I am matter, if I rightfully take up space in the universe, than I must be worthy of being alive. I am worth fighting for. If I don’t matter, there is nothing to fight for. Getting to the place of matter is the only way we can begin the work to reclaim lives.
Finding your matter is grounding. When you come down to the basic question, your feet touch the earth. You are part of the space all around us, firmly footed in gravity. Matter doesn’t compare to matter. It just is. You are matter, I am matter. No one is better matter than the other, matter isn’t smarter, wiser, more successful. It just is. A physical entity.
Imagine yourself as a tree, deeply rooted in the ground, breathing the oxygen around you, your strong trunk reaching up to the sky, spreading out into branches, leaves and fruit. Nothing can sway you in this physical presence. Dysfunction or pain then becomes a visitor on one of the branches rather than the core. The problem is not you as a primary being, it is just a part of you, that needs careful tending to heal, or in some cases to let go of (when you have outgrown that extension of yourself). Staying grounded in the matter at the core, we can isolate the issue and do the work that needs to be done.
Most, if not all of the emotional dysfunction I come across can be tracked to the basic source of matter. Depression, anxiety, marital problems, parenting issues, you name it. It always comes down to the question of “Do I matter?” If I am matter, if I rightfully take up space in the universe, than I must be worthy of being alive. I am worth fighting for. If I don’t matter, there is nothing to fight for. Getting to the place of matter is the only way we can begin the work to reclaim lives.
Finding your matter is grounding. When you come down to the basic question, your feet touch the earth. You are part of the space all around us, firmly footed in gravity. Matter doesn’t compare to matter. It just is. You are matter, I am matter. No one is better matter than the other, matter isn’t smarter, wiser, more successful. It just is. A physical entity.
Imagine yourself as a tree, deeply rooted in the ground, breathing the oxygen around you, your strong trunk reaching up to the sky, spreading out into branches, leaves and fruit. Nothing can sway you in this physical presence. Dysfunction or pain then becomes a visitor on one of the branches rather than the core. The problem is not you as a primary being, it is just a part of you, that needs careful tending to heal, or in some cases to let go of (when you have outgrown that extension of yourself). Staying grounded in the matter at the core, we can isolate the issue and do the work that needs to be done.
Monday, January 21, 2008
3WW - writer prompt - awkward.obsessed.kitchen
Just found "Three Word Wednesday" - http://threewordwednesday.wordpress.com -
here's my response to last week's prompt to use awkward, kitchen, obsessed .
(inspired by my late grandfather whose initials were AWK)
Her favorite apron,
awkward across his knees.
He sat in the darkened kitchen,
obsessed with silent memories.
here's my response to last week's prompt to use awkward, kitchen, obsessed .
(inspired by my late grandfather whose initials were AWK)
Her favorite apron,
awkward across his knees.
He sat in the darkened kitchen,
obsessed with silent memories.
Evil Editor!
The Evil Editor is coming to town!
Go check him out at Church Lady's Blog http://abenchpress.blogspot.com/
It is guaranteed to be a hoot 'n holler with lots of fun contests to boot. Evil Editor is promoting his new book "Novel Deviations vol. 3". His industry insight is legendary across the land and has been known to have psychoanalytic powers over the query letter and first pages. http://evileditor.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Self Inflicted Writing Challenge Update
Ernest Hemingway states in his book "A Moveable Feast" that someone once asked him how he writes a book. He replied (something like), "I start with one true word and then another and another."
I committed to write 1,000 words per week for a year which equals 52,000 words which equals one adult book, give or take. In three weeks, I have written 4,500 words, which added to the previous year is 10,000. 1/5 toward goal. Whoo Hooo! It probably reads like crappola but that's cool, I'll begin the shaping up work next year.
My project is called "Smoke Break" and it is about my somewhat fictionalized and overly dramatic life on the psych ward. I'm having a lot of fun since I am venting the odd, poignant and crazy stuff I see on a daily basis. Fortunately, I have keys so I can get in and out. Hmm, that sound like a play on words. Lock keys and computer keys. :-) Get it? Ah well...
Here's my first two paragraphs:
Smoke Break
There’s one ray of hope on an inpatient psych ward – smoke break. It is the one commonality that patients have amongst the world of dysfunction they come in with. Whether they are coming off of a meth high, overdosed on medications, had been contemplating shooting a bullet through their nose, believe that they have been abducted by aliens or even just walking into walls, banging their head relentlessly, everyone pulls it together for smoke break.
It’s not to say that every one was a smoker before they came in. But nine times out of ten, they’re a smoker before they leave. The nurse announces “Fresh Air Break on the patio, and even the most isolated of patients find their way out the door. I’m not sure where the “fresh air comes in” but the puffs waif and cloud the air until they get to the butts. According to the rules, there’s only 2 cigarettes per patient allowed, so time goes by quickly. The cloud starts to clear. Out comes the basketball. A few shots here and there, people start to relax. Stories begin to unfold.
How is your writing going? Any goals or updates?
Friday, January 11, 2008
What's Your Werd?
Making up new words is crazy fun. What is even more blogtastic is reading other people's new words. On my way to work today I was thinking Yiddish, and out popped my latest werd:
Schlop
(verb) The act of schlepping from one place to another for the sake of shopping.
and then:
Freudalyser
(noun) Someone who excessively reads into and pathologizes anything that is said.
Whaddyathink?
Some of my recent favorites posted on addictionary include:
(and yes, don't freudalyse me, I know they're related to drink & butts) :-)
Disthillary
(noun) The place where Kentucky Republicans go when they've had enough of Democratic primaries.
resippy
(noun) n: term for recipe for any item that can be sipped or drunk instead of eaten
commarrhea
(noun) N: condition in which a writer excessively uses commas for punction
ignoranus
(noun) A person who's both stupid and an asshole.
and oh there's more...... get ready for some giggles! www.addictionary.org
Now tell me yours!!
Schlop
(verb) The act of schlepping from one place to another for the sake of shopping.
and then:
Freudalyser
(noun) Someone who excessively reads into and pathologizes anything that is said.
Whaddyathink?
Some of my recent favorites posted on addictionary include:
(and yes, don't freudalyse me, I know they're related to drink & butts) :-)
Disthillary
(noun) The place where Kentucky Republicans go when they've had enough of Democratic primaries.
resippy
(noun) n: term for recipe for any item that can be sipped or drunk instead of eaten
commarrhea
(noun) N: condition in which a writer excessively uses commas for punction
ignoranus
(noun) A person who's both stupid and an asshole.
and oh there's more...... get ready for some giggles! www.addictionary.org
Now tell me yours!!
Monday, January 7, 2008
Time & Kids
If you have time, do you have kids? If you have kids, do you have time?
Since having kids, I am more aware of my time, or lack there of. Mostly because pre-kids, I could pretty much make my own schedule - hours of free "me" time before and after work. Now my free moments are like butterflies - always just ahead of my grasp, and if I catch one, she flies away before I can truly appreciate her.
It's my expectations that kill me. The ones that say "I will have 'ME' time when....." Opportunities like "bedtime" or "when they're watching T.V." or "oh good, they're getting along for a minute.." become huge disappointments because I put so much value in those moments to get a bit for myself. Whether it's a minute to surf the net or call a friend, or a plan to carve out a couple of hours to write, I seem to be endlessly disappointed when an interruption occurs. The movie wasn't that entertaining, the kids are bickering, someone can't sleep or needs a water cup. Don't even get me started when my one day off is "ruined" by a sick call from school. Nope, not much sympathy there for my sick child. "When is there time for me???" My mind rages. I'm starving here!
People tell me, "Take some personal time." "Have time for yourself." It's all true, and maybe it would do me some good. But on the other hand, I'm missing out on so much. I don't get to take my kids to school. I don't get to pick them up. I'm working. I love my job. But by working, I'm missing out on my other job. And so when I am home, I don't call the babysitter. I don't go to Starbucks and leave my family behind. I suck it up like any good martyr (a.k.a. mother) would do. I remind myself that my time is 10 years from now (probably even less than that). When I'll be wishing for these times again. Wishing I could spend more time with them and less by myself.
Yesterday, my other half needed a 15 minute break. He'd been watching them all morning while I worked. And so the kids & I donned our boots, mittens, jackets, umbrellas and scarves and headed out for some puddle jumping. We waded through worm filled streams, kicked wet pine cones into the gutters, felt the rain on our heads, laughed, joked and pondered. By the time we reached Starbucks, I got my cup of joe and the kids were good and worn out. I wouldn't have traded 5 hours of alone time for the short opportunity to walk in the rain with my kids. And when we got home, the movie seemed a lot more appealing, and I had a few minutes break. Until....
Expectations - they get me every time. 10 years. 10 years. I will have time someday. Right? Maybe? Please? (Okay, guilt is setting in now...)
Since having kids, I am more aware of my time, or lack there of. Mostly because pre-kids, I could pretty much make my own schedule - hours of free "me" time before and after work. Now my free moments are like butterflies - always just ahead of my grasp, and if I catch one, she flies away before I can truly appreciate her.
It's my expectations that kill me. The ones that say "I will have 'ME' time when....." Opportunities like "bedtime" or "when they're watching T.V." or "oh good, they're getting along for a minute.." become huge disappointments because I put so much value in those moments to get a bit for myself. Whether it's a minute to surf the net or call a friend, or a plan to carve out a couple of hours to write, I seem to be endlessly disappointed when an interruption occurs. The movie wasn't that entertaining, the kids are bickering, someone can't sleep or needs a water cup. Don't even get me started when my one day off is "ruined" by a sick call from school. Nope, not much sympathy there for my sick child. "When is there time for me???" My mind rages. I'm starving here!
People tell me, "Take some personal time." "Have time for yourself." It's all true, and maybe it would do me some good. But on the other hand, I'm missing out on so much. I don't get to take my kids to school. I don't get to pick them up. I'm working. I love my job. But by working, I'm missing out on my other job. And so when I am home, I don't call the babysitter. I don't go to Starbucks and leave my family behind. I suck it up like any good martyr (a.k.a. mother) would do. I remind myself that my time is 10 years from now (probably even less than that). When I'll be wishing for these times again. Wishing I could spend more time with them and less by myself.
Yesterday, my other half needed a 15 minute break. He'd been watching them all morning while I worked. And so the kids & I donned our boots, mittens, jackets, umbrellas and scarves and headed out for some puddle jumping. We waded through worm filled streams, kicked wet pine cones into the gutters, felt the rain on our heads, laughed, joked and pondered. By the time we reached Starbucks, I got my cup of joe and the kids were good and worn out. I wouldn't have traded 5 hours of alone time for the short opportunity to walk in the rain with my kids. And when we got home, the movie seemed a lot more appealing, and I had a few minutes break. Until....
Expectations - they get me every time. 10 years. 10 years. I will have time someday. Right? Maybe? Please? (Okay, guilt is setting in now...)
Sunday, January 6, 2008
I haven't fallen off the blog-slide yet
It's been a busy few weeks with school being out and husband being on half work schedule. Not to mention my mother being in town. Not much time to write or blog or anything. To top it off, I think I have anemia, and have very low energy. I went to give blood on Thursday and they rejected me. I'll be going out to get some iron tabs later today.
It's been raining pretty heavy around here the past 2 days, which for So Cal, is big news. I grew up on the East coast where rain was a given, every few days, any season. In So Cal, rain is enough to turn off all regular programming while the news covers "Storm Watch 2008". That mixed with Brittany news, we're fully entertained. It's pretty funny. No one knows how to drive in the rain either. So it's a good time to stay home.
Granted, with all the fires and hills, there's a lot of destruction to be had when the rain comes down. Mud slides are all over the news. But still...
Anyway, I'll be back in the blog land starting this week. School starts for my kids and my husband, and hopefully a regular schedule will ensue. Maybe the laundry will actually get done. Uh no. That would be asking too much. Writing definitely takes precedence! :-)
It's been raining pretty heavy around here the past 2 days, which for So Cal, is big news. I grew up on the East coast where rain was a given, every few days, any season. In So Cal, rain is enough to turn off all regular programming while the news covers "Storm Watch 2008". That mixed with Brittany news, we're fully entertained. It's pretty funny. No one knows how to drive in the rain either. So it's a good time to stay home.
Granted, with all the fires and hills, there's a lot of destruction to be had when the rain comes down. Mud slides are all over the news. But still...
Anyway, I'll be back in the blog land starting this week. School starts for my kids and my husband, and hopefully a regular schedule will ensue. Maybe the laundry will actually get done. Uh no. That would be asking too much. Writing definitely takes precedence! :-)
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