The rage tonight has to do with a woman who died on a hospital floor in Brooklyn, I think. I'm not sure of the town. Somewhere in NYC. The woman lies on the floor in the waiting room for a time and finally, a nurse shows up. Th nurse is on record kicking or nudging the body with her foot efore she realizes the woman is unresponsive. I've heard descriptions of the video and thus far, have seen snippets, but I have yet to see the entire thing.
A few points come to mindbefore I view it and I reserve the right to change my mind after viewing the whole tape. I just do.
What comes to mind:
1.) It's a city hospital E.R. High volume and large homeless population should immediately come into play. The homeless are used to sleeping on the floor.
2.) The woman is dressed in a nightgown. That would indicate that she came after or around the time she was ready for bed.
3.) She lays on the floor which is surprisingly common. Night shift, nightgown, city ER and lieing on the floor.
4.) We have no idea what she went to the hospital for in the first place, although there's discussion that it was for some unknown psychiatric reason.
5.) Way too often, people show up in the ED for dumb shit while they're high or drunk and it's not uncommon for them to fall asleep. It's more comfortable doing that while in an air conditioned waiting room than it would be on a park bench in the muggy outside air. The kicking or nudging might seem over the top but maybe not if the person stunk like an animal or maybe urine and feces.
6.) Despite the fact it's not necessarily "professional", it's basically human. Someone on the floor, semingly asleep or unconscious - it's not outside the realm of possibilities that she would get a "kick" to the legs, that is having someone use their foot to shake the person on the floor rather than bending at the knees to shake them.
Anyway, I need to see the whole clip and after I do, I can make a much more informed opinion on the whole situation. It seems like I always do.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOCpOZ4txvs
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Dawning of a New Age
7-1-08 - New residents. I gave the orientation speech today to a sea of new faces. The orientation is from the nursing perspective, naturally and the fresh, clean, eagerly anticipating faces stare, jot notes and wait for something pertinent. They're eager to do the work ahead. The excitement is palpable and it's refreshing, in a way. Frustrating in another. Always a round of new folk to be introduced to the same, old routine and it brings a fresh atmosphere into the mix. It's also repetitive, a little boring and unfortunately played out to some degree. After all, the APS is in a constant state of orientation at its worst and sometimes, it's just plain tiresome - even though the latter parts of what I just said are generated from within the pessimist in me. And it's that pessimist who sees a drug seeker in every anxiety-ridden kid and a personality disorder in every poor bastard who come in and really doesn't know quite how to express him or herself.
Although, now I'm not being fair to myself. I'm a bit more aware of what's going on than what those last, few sentences make it seem. I've been doing this long enough to assess who and what is before me and to admit I'm wrong when I am.
They all look so young, all the new residents. All the new docs look like kids. It really is a sign of how I'm aging. Kids in medical school actually look like kids. Seriously, when you get right down to it, that's pretty fucked up from where I sit.
Although, now I'm not being fair to myself. I'm a bit more aware of what's going on than what those last, few sentences make it seem. I've been doing this long enough to assess who and what is before me and to admit I'm wrong when I am.
They all look so young, all the new residents. All the new docs look like kids. It really is a sign of how I'm aging. Kids in medical school actually look like kids. Seriously, when you get right down to it, that's pretty fucked up from where I sit.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Intro. Needed
- Grew up shy, pretty humble overall and not liking or appreciating any attention. Made me uncomfortable. I was big then, with rolls of fat and man-tits.
- High school. Lost a ton of weight in a very unhealthy way taking Dexatrim. Kept a journal of what I ate, always wanting to go lower and lower with my calorie count. Bottomed out around 350 calories per day and stayed there for about 2 weeks. I think the crash diet encompassed about 3 and a half weeks total. I remember being light-headed and on the verge of passing out just about every day. I was a sophomore in high school.
One thing that stands out as food during that time - 1 slice of bread and 1 slice of salami for lunch at school. I think i also used to eat a small can of tuna in water and sometimes a Dannon yogurt. I have no idea how many calories that equals right now but it isn't much. Breakfast was cottage cheese. I would weigh the amount and can't remember what was acceptable. Sometimes I would put raisins on it and sometimes I wouldn't. Sometimes it would be garden style cottage cheeseand have tiny, hard chunks of vegetable in it, sometimes pineapples. I think dinner was a little of whatever was served for the night or nothing at all. I don't remember dinner being anything special. I only really remember breakfast and lunch. And throughout this whole time, I would hit the weights at night at home.
- There was a time at a school play, I think it was 8th grade, where I was hanging out with my best friend. I was 13 or 14 at the time, a couple of years before I lost the weight. My friend had boasted to me several times bout the girls he'd kissed and to date, I had not locked lips with anyone.
We were at the school play and running around inside the school, running for some reason, whatever it was. I can't remember. There probably wasn't even a reason. I was running because my best friend was running and he was running mainly because it was important to BE running, for some reason from nowhere to nowhere, I imagine.
Rick ran. I ran. It was Beta trailing Alpha.
The reason this sticks out in my mind is because we ran by a cluster of girls that night, one of which I was enamored with. She was, as far as I was concerned, the girl upon which all other girls had to measurethemselves. she was, to me, proof that heaven and earth did indeed merge in small doses, that God would triumph over the devil, that THE reason to live trumped a pointedly vapid existence, even though I have no idea what that means.
Anyway, one time when we ran by them (I guess we were really just running in circles around the gymnasium), I thought they called out to me, that SHE called out to me.
"Hey!", she said and I stopped running to face her. Rick kept running, oblivious to the amazing thing that had just happened to me and I felt some pressure to keep up with him, running to points unknown because he was my best friend and that's what best friends do. Apparently, she was pretty oblivious to the incredible thing that had just happened to me also, that of her calling out to me, because it took a moment for her eyes to lock onto mine and at that moment, I had to let her know how I felt, had to let her know how captivating she was, how enchanting and I had to do it quick because Rick was getting away, running farther with each passing second and even though I could have cut across the gym to catch up with him, it seemed so incredibly important to follow suit, mainly because that's what you did at 13 with your best friend, even though she was now staring at me and I was staring at her and my heart was thumping beneath my man-tits and fat rolls, I did what any sophisticated, suave and sultry seductor would do - I lifted my fist into the air sideways and extended my thumb upwards, a la Fonzie. Not nearly enough to show my attraction, I coupled it with a stern expression so she would understand the depth of attraction and why I stopped in the midst of my... what? Mission? Outing? Running? I still don't know what we were doing. Something serious. Running after my friendwho had now put a decent distance between us, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I'd stopped.
There are very few things in life where one's idiocy becomes glaringly obvious to the point where it should be displayed on a billboard, just to complete the massive thundering into oblivion of one's ego. This was one of those times. For me.
My friend was gone. I'd just given the girl of my every fantasy the Fonzie sign and I watched with a sinking sensation in my gut as she first looked shocked, as though a small electrical charge suddenly jolted her and then turned as if in slow motion toward the friend to her side. It dawned on me then that what i'd aken for a locking of the eyes was nothing more than a mistake and that her friend had a look on her face like she'd just tasted something foul. And then it started. They laughed. They laughed so hard.
She hadn't called to me, probably hadn't even noticed me running blindly to and fro, aside from the fact my fat was no doubt bouncing hither and yon. and now she was laughing, at me. Her friend was laughing at me too. We were no longer meeting eyes, there was no connection and it was perfectly clear. I was a fat kid with boy-tits and I was a fuckin' dork. There was nothing to offer in this early stage of sexual attraction other than a dart board and she'd hit the bullseye.
I made the decision to not be fat anymore prettyy soon after that.
Altogether, I lost close to 40 pounds in just under a month. Also, during all of this, I was hitting the weights, like I said before and when i finally decided to quit the starvation diet that was dropping chunks of fat from my frame, I was ripped and buff and believed I was ready to start my life anew, despite the fact I'd been damaged in a way that carries through sometimes even today.
-----------------------------------------------
I guess this was my earliest memory of getting "shot down", even though I wasn't really shot down. It was more like I stood there and pulled a gun on myself.
Dork.
- High school. Lost a ton of weight in a very unhealthy way taking Dexatrim. Kept a journal of what I ate, always wanting to go lower and lower with my calorie count. Bottomed out around 350 calories per day and stayed there for about 2 weeks. I think the crash diet encompassed about 3 and a half weeks total. I remember being light-headed and on the verge of passing out just about every day. I was a sophomore in high school.
One thing that stands out as food during that time - 1 slice of bread and 1 slice of salami for lunch at school. I think i also used to eat a small can of tuna in water and sometimes a Dannon yogurt. I have no idea how many calories that equals right now but it isn't much. Breakfast was cottage cheese. I would weigh the amount and can't remember what was acceptable. Sometimes I would put raisins on it and sometimes I wouldn't. Sometimes it would be garden style cottage cheeseand have tiny, hard chunks of vegetable in it, sometimes pineapples. I think dinner was a little of whatever was served for the night or nothing at all. I don't remember dinner being anything special. I only really remember breakfast and lunch. And throughout this whole time, I would hit the weights at night at home.
- There was a time at a school play, I think it was 8th grade, where I was hanging out with my best friend. I was 13 or 14 at the time, a couple of years before I lost the weight. My friend had boasted to me several times bout the girls he'd kissed and to date, I had not locked lips with anyone.
We were at the school play and running around inside the school, running for some reason, whatever it was. I can't remember. There probably wasn't even a reason. I was running because my best friend was running and he was running mainly because it was important to BE running, for some reason from nowhere to nowhere, I imagine.
Rick ran. I ran. It was Beta trailing Alpha.
The reason this sticks out in my mind is because we ran by a cluster of girls that night, one of which I was enamored with. She was, as far as I was concerned, the girl upon which all other girls had to measurethemselves. she was, to me, proof that heaven and earth did indeed merge in small doses, that God would triumph over the devil, that THE reason to live trumped a pointedly vapid existence, even though I have no idea what that means.
Anyway, one time when we ran by them (I guess we were really just running in circles around the gymnasium), I thought they called out to me, that SHE called out to me.
"Hey!", she said and I stopped running to face her. Rick kept running, oblivious to the amazing thing that had just happened to me and I felt some pressure to keep up with him, running to points unknown because he was my best friend and that's what best friends do. Apparently, she was pretty oblivious to the incredible thing that had just happened to me also, that of her calling out to me, because it took a moment for her eyes to lock onto mine and at that moment, I had to let her know how I felt, had to let her know how captivating she was, how enchanting and I had to do it quick because Rick was getting away, running farther with each passing second and even though I could have cut across the gym to catch up with him, it seemed so incredibly important to follow suit, mainly because that's what you did at 13 with your best friend, even though she was now staring at me and I was staring at her and my heart was thumping beneath my man-tits and fat rolls, I did what any sophisticated, suave and sultry seductor would do - I lifted my fist into the air sideways and extended my thumb upwards, a la Fonzie. Not nearly enough to show my attraction, I coupled it with a stern expression so she would understand the depth of attraction and why I stopped in the midst of my... what? Mission? Outing? Running? I still don't know what we were doing. Something serious. Running after my friendwho had now put a decent distance between us, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I'd stopped.
There are very few things in life where one's idiocy becomes glaringly obvious to the point where it should be displayed on a billboard, just to complete the massive thundering into oblivion of one's ego. This was one of those times. For me.
My friend was gone. I'd just given the girl of my every fantasy the Fonzie sign and I watched with a sinking sensation in my gut as she first looked shocked, as though a small electrical charge suddenly jolted her and then turned as if in slow motion toward the friend to her side. It dawned on me then that what i'd aken for a locking of the eyes was nothing more than a mistake and that her friend had a look on her face like she'd just tasted something foul. And then it started. They laughed. They laughed so hard.
She hadn't called to me, probably hadn't even noticed me running blindly to and fro, aside from the fact my fat was no doubt bouncing hither and yon. and now she was laughing, at me. Her friend was laughing at me too. We were no longer meeting eyes, there was no connection and it was perfectly clear. I was a fat kid with boy-tits and I was a fuckin' dork. There was nothing to offer in this early stage of sexual attraction other than a dart board and she'd hit the bullseye.
I made the decision to not be fat anymore prettyy soon after that.
Altogether, I lost close to 40 pounds in just under a month. Also, during all of this, I was hitting the weights, like I said before and when i finally decided to quit the starvation diet that was dropping chunks of fat from my frame, I was ripped and buff and believed I was ready to start my life anew, despite the fact I'd been damaged in a way that carries through sometimes even today.
-----------------------------------------------
I guess this was my earliest memory of getting "shot down", even though I wasn't really shot down. It was more like I stood there and pulled a gun on myself.
Dork.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
39
So this is it - 39. I turned 39 about 15 minutes ago. This is my final year in my 30's and I suppose if I'm able to take the tme with this, it'll be fair for me to chronicle my time up to the age of 40. What would be the reason, overall aside from my desire to continue writing, no matter what?
1.) Info. for my kids about what I do every day after I leave the house.
2.) A way for Trish to get the same information.
3.) Introspection. A necessary piece of growth that could potentially provide an interactive aspect since others would be able to comment. If they do, that could help with entries.
4.) I, like everyone else, feel as though I am an ultinmate human. I shouldn't die. I'm important. And it's all bullshit. I need to discuss this to settle this ridiculous feeling inside my own head, come back down to earth and come to terms with the fact I'm just a sack of carbon like everyone else.
5.) My profession is fucked up. It'll help to open up bout it.
6.) The way my profession has progressed is important, actually. People really are affected by it, when push comes to shove.
7.) I'm a fuckin' schlub.
8.) The people I meet. That'll all come out over the next year.
-----------------------------------
I wrote this at the bar in Foxboro the night my age tripped over from 38 to 39 and thusly, this blog was born. I didn't celebrate my birthday at home. Such is life and has been for quite a while. Just making sure that little piece of the pie isn't lost amongst the stupidity scribbled above. :)~
1.) Info. for my kids about what I do every day after I leave the house.
2.) A way for Trish to get the same information.
3.) Introspection. A necessary piece of growth that could potentially provide an interactive aspect since others would be able to comment. If they do, that could help with entries.
4.) I, like everyone else, feel as though I am an ultinmate human. I shouldn't die. I'm important. And it's all bullshit. I need to discuss this to settle this ridiculous feeling inside my own head, come back down to earth and come to terms with the fact I'm just a sack of carbon like everyone else.
5.) My profession is fucked up. It'll help to open up bout it.
6.) The way my profession has progressed is important, actually. People really are affected by it, when push comes to shove.
7.) I'm a fuckin' schlub.
8.) The people I meet. That'll all come out over the next year.
-----------------------------------
I wrote this at the bar in Foxboro the night my age tripped over from 38 to 39 and thusly, this blog was born. I didn't celebrate my birthday at home. Such is life and has been for quite a while. Just making sure that little piece of the pie isn't lost amongst the stupidity scribbled above. :)~
Monday, July 5, 2010
Randoms...
1.) Charming fellow, quite easily manipulates those around him to fulfill basic wishes, even if they go above and beyond basic prison allowances. Such a feat is not extraordinary. It is, in fact, aligned with what is to be expected from Subject X. He is a charming and seductive fellow and it is for this reason he should be quarantined from general population.
2.) Sexual fantasy, of course. Bound, gagged with a firm hand pressed against the windpipe. Choking, eyes bulging, feeling the vagina muscles spasming or perhaps the warm gush of urine as she slips out of consciousness. Love, right? It's love, isn't it? They all said yes. Every single one of them. When I got to the point where their life hangs on a thread, they loved me. They would do anything for me. And yes, that's what happened with my mother. But forget her. Those girls loved me. I figured out how to make that happen.
3.) There's a mouse in the shelter. I saw it last night while my sister slept and although I wondered whether or not to kill it initially, I now have to be realistic about it. Realistically, the world is destroyed. Realistically, a mouse can be a pet. Realistically, not much food is needed and realistically, I have nowhere to put a dead mouse body. I don't want to smell it. Not ever.
4.) Traveling around, visiting new places. Of course that's fun. It's exciting. But it's always comfortable, always nice when you come home to a place where you know the sights, the sounds. aybe the smell. Familiar faces. The smile when you pull a seat up at the bar - not a smile just because you're a patron but a smile because of who YOU are, your history in the place. A smile because the bartender knows you're going to be respectful and polite and leave a decent tip. That's the smile I'm talking about. Yeah, it makes coming home that much sweeter. It makes life itself seem just a bit more clear and understandable.
5.) So 40 is just around the block. I have but 1 more year to reflect upon the past and prepare for life on the other side of the hump. Maybe I should start a blog and market it as best I'm able through BB.com and especially the Misc. Important piece though is to make sure to mention fairly often that I have pieces of the blog / my life and reflections set aside as private. If it takes off, that could work in my favor regarding leverage with an attempt to publish. Humor may not be my thing. I should explore all avenues. It's not really fair to pigeon-hole myself before I've had a chance to really test the water. This is a chance, a true chance to challenge and possibly redefine myself. Mark Dirschel does not have to be a horror / thriller writer just because he always has been or rather just because he's always defined himself as such. There's a whole world open to that aspect of my writing with being a husband, a father, a psych nurse at MGH, etc. as well as being fairly well-versed at life online. I've got enough of a vague following to actually try what I just outlined and see where it takes me.
6.) I remember several instances of violence in the beginning of my career - stuff that essentially helped to define the field I was getting into, had gotten into and planned to continue working in.
Two I remember:
a.) Drunken mother-fucker who was throwing a wheelchair on the entrance ramp at Mountainside Hospital. I went out to deal with him and was confronted by a leather jacket wearing fool who chanted over and over, "I'm too strong!". He'd almost hit an old woman with the wheelchair he threw so taunted him until he came at me and when he did, I took him down hard at the ER entrance. He managed to get a handful of my hair and tore it out, something I didn't realize until later, whikle I held him on the floor and he struggled to get up. Luckily for me, since security at the time had no way of helping - it consisted of a single, 70 + year old man - someone had the wherewithal to call the police. The cop who responded was named Shawn and I vividly remember seeing the sliding doors open, Shawn coming through the doors, going airborn and landing on the kid with a knee to the back while I held him down - with difficulty. The kid was strong but I was stronger. When Shawn hit him, though it took the fight right out of him and he went limp. Later that night, he was put into leather restraints and wound up pissing all over himself. We let him walk home that way basically because he was such a fuckin' dick.
b.) Dude who'd been walking for God knows how long, seen in the ER by me and the psychiatrist and ultimately admitted to the unit with all his angry bullshit and tough talk. The unit would have been 2B, the place I got my first job ever in psychiatry. The nurse that night was a woman, a regular and I think she might have been the only person on the unit when I brought him up with a security officer. She was Korean, a mom in her 40's, hot as hell with huge tits which was odd for a Korean but whatever. I liked her. She was fun and kind and always polite.
When we got to the floor, we set him up in the quite room because of his anger. He wouldn't let it go and I could see that the nurse was a bit nervous knowing the security guard and I would be leaving soon and she'd be alone with him and the rest of the patients. At one point, he said he had to use the bathroom and into the quiet room bathroom he went. that's when he completely lost his shit and started pounding on the metal sink, yelling and cursing. It was on right then. I grabbed hold of him, yanked him off the toilet and slammed him against the wall across from the toilet, twisting his arm behind his back and pinning him. I told him point blank, "I don't give a fuck how pissed off you are and I don't really care why. You better pull it together. Now. In a moment, I'm going to let you go and that nurse here, her name is -----, she will be the person taking care of you. She's a female and I care about her. She's much more sympathetic to people than I am and she will not want to put you in restraints. Are you listening?"
He nodded yes without any sign whatsoever of the anger and rage he'd displayed throughout the night. I had his attention, which was good. We needed to establish where the line was.
"If I have to come up here again for a problem you crate, I pomise you this - I will slam you onto the bed, strap you down and make sure the doctor orders needles to put you out. Do not fuck with -----. Don't you dare."
I let him go and he sat on the toilet to finish his business. The fight was out of him, it was over.
Security leaned over to me at that point and whispered that the guy had pissed on my boot.
--------------------
Reflections:
1, 2 and 3 were errant ideas for scenes that popped into my head.
4 was most likely a reflection upon the Peking Garden in Foxboro, where Al the bartender always made me feel right at home eery time I walked in.
5 is fucked up. I don't know how I drove home that night. What the hell was I thinking? Really.
And 6 were 2 episodes of early psych work at Mountainside. The fun, the fun.
2.) Sexual fantasy, of course. Bound, gagged with a firm hand pressed against the windpipe. Choking, eyes bulging, feeling the vagina muscles spasming or perhaps the warm gush of urine as she slips out of consciousness. Love, right? It's love, isn't it? They all said yes. Every single one of them. When I got to the point where their life hangs on a thread, they loved me. They would do anything for me. And yes, that's what happened with my mother. But forget her. Those girls loved me. I figured out how to make that happen.
3.) There's a mouse in the shelter. I saw it last night while my sister slept and although I wondered whether or not to kill it initially, I now have to be realistic about it. Realistically, the world is destroyed. Realistically, a mouse can be a pet. Realistically, not much food is needed and realistically, I have nowhere to put a dead mouse body. I don't want to smell it. Not ever.
4.) Traveling around, visiting new places. Of course that's fun. It's exciting. But it's always comfortable, always nice when you come home to a place where you know the sights, the sounds. aybe the smell. Familiar faces. The smile when you pull a seat up at the bar - not a smile just because you're a patron but a smile because of who YOU are, your history in the place. A smile because the bartender knows you're going to be respectful and polite and leave a decent tip. That's the smile I'm talking about. Yeah, it makes coming home that much sweeter. It makes life itself seem just a bit more clear and understandable.
5.) So 40 is just around the block. I have but 1 more year to reflect upon the past and prepare for life on the other side of the hump. Maybe I should start a blog and market it as best I'm able through BB.com and especially the Misc. Important piece though is to make sure to mention fairly often that I have pieces of the blog / my life and reflections set aside as private. If it takes off, that could work in my favor regarding leverage with an attempt to publish. Humor may not be my thing. I should explore all avenues. It's not really fair to pigeon-hole myself before I've had a chance to really test the water. This is a chance, a true chance to challenge and possibly redefine myself. Mark Dirschel does not have to be a horror / thriller writer just because he always has been or rather just because he's always defined himself as such. There's a whole world open to that aspect of my writing with being a husband, a father, a psych nurse at MGH, etc. as well as being fairly well-versed at life online. I've got enough of a vague following to actually try what I just outlined and see where it takes me.
6.) I remember several instances of violence in the beginning of my career - stuff that essentially helped to define the field I was getting into, had gotten into and planned to continue working in.
Two I remember:
a.) Drunken mother-fucker who was throwing a wheelchair on the entrance ramp at Mountainside Hospital. I went out to deal with him and was confronted by a leather jacket wearing fool who chanted over and over, "I'm too strong!". He'd almost hit an old woman with the wheelchair he threw so taunted him until he came at me and when he did, I took him down hard at the ER entrance. He managed to get a handful of my hair and tore it out, something I didn't realize until later, whikle I held him on the floor and he struggled to get up. Luckily for me, since security at the time had no way of helping - it consisted of a single, 70 + year old man - someone had the wherewithal to call the police. The cop who responded was named Shawn and I vividly remember seeing the sliding doors open, Shawn coming through the doors, going airborn and landing on the kid with a knee to the back while I held him down - with difficulty. The kid was strong but I was stronger. When Shawn hit him, though it took the fight right out of him and he went limp. Later that night, he was put into leather restraints and wound up pissing all over himself. We let him walk home that way basically because he was such a fuckin' dick.
b.) Dude who'd been walking for God knows how long, seen in the ER by me and the psychiatrist and ultimately admitted to the unit with all his angry bullshit and tough talk. The unit would have been 2B, the place I got my first job ever in psychiatry. The nurse that night was a woman, a regular and I think she might have been the only person on the unit when I brought him up with a security officer. She was Korean, a mom in her 40's, hot as hell with huge tits which was odd for a Korean but whatever. I liked her. She was fun and kind and always polite.
When we got to the floor, we set him up in the quite room because of his anger. He wouldn't let it go and I could see that the nurse was a bit nervous knowing the security guard and I would be leaving soon and she'd be alone with him and the rest of the patients. At one point, he said he had to use the bathroom and into the quiet room bathroom he went. that's when he completely lost his shit and started pounding on the metal sink, yelling and cursing. It was on right then. I grabbed hold of him, yanked him off the toilet and slammed him against the wall across from the toilet, twisting his arm behind his back and pinning him. I told him point blank, "I don't give a fuck how pissed off you are and I don't really care why. You better pull it together. Now. In a moment, I'm going to let you go and that nurse here, her name is -----, she will be the person taking care of you. She's a female and I care about her. She's much more sympathetic to people than I am and she will not want to put you in restraints. Are you listening?"
He nodded yes without any sign whatsoever of the anger and rage he'd displayed throughout the night. I had his attention, which was good. We needed to establish where the line was.
"If I have to come up here again for a problem you crate, I pomise you this - I will slam you onto the bed, strap you down and make sure the doctor orders needles to put you out. Do not fuck with -----. Don't you dare."
I let him go and he sat on the toilet to finish his business. The fight was out of him, it was over.
Security leaned over to me at that point and whispered that the guy had pissed on my boot.
--------------------
Reflections:
1, 2 and 3 were errant ideas for scenes that popped into my head.
4 was most likely a reflection upon the Peking Garden in Foxboro, where Al the bartender always made me feel right at home eery time I walked in.
5 is fucked up. I don't know how I drove home that night. What the hell was I thinking? Really.
And 6 were 2 episodes of early psych work at Mountainside. The fun, the fun.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Still no date on this one...
D.I.D. - Dissociative Identity Disorder. Now, here's an interesting diagnosis. It's the modern term for Multiple Personality Disorder. New and improved, updated - bringing it into the 21st Century much like Manic Depressive was updated to Bipolar Disorder - quite possible the most often diagnosed diagnosis.
But let's focus on DID for a moment, shall we? Imagine for a moment having more than one person living inside you. Various personalities which have the potential to emerge at any moment, sometimes mid-sentence. One moment, you're aware of the world as a 30-something year old woman (since the majority of supposed DID cases are female) and you're perhaps looking for a job, buying a slice of pizza, driving a car or having sex.
And then - BAM!
You're a 6 year old girl.
Imagine the frustration, huh?
Now, imagine you're a man with that woman. One moment you're lost in sexul bliss with the 30 year old personality and then BAM, the switch. And she starts screaming RAPE!
Yeah.
Multiple Personality Disorder. That's pretty legit, eh? DID?
What about getting caught while stealing? "Oh, that wasn't me. It was X personality."
Running a red light? "That was my 6 year old alter. She doesn't know how to drive."
Throw a rock at someone or start a fight - "My angry teen came out. I'm so sorry."
Murder? "I don't remember that. It must have been one of my alters. My doctor says..."
Ah, yes. One of my alters. Even MPD / DID has its own catch phrases, words and terms to toss around at the coffee shop or inside a psychiatric groupsession. Something to normalize or attempt to provide a sense of legitimacy to a fucked up thing that's wholly fucked up.
It's a diagnosis prevalent in women with a trauma history and som other personality disorder to boot. Crack the surface of that and there's a plethora of problems to wade through, like surfing the ocean tide rife with jelly fish, seaweed, a few circling sharks and the rusty remnants of a steel-supported dock long since removed.
------------------------
I don't remember who it was that inspired this when I hit the bar but it was no doubt someone with DID, one of the most ridiculous diagnoses ever to grace the world of psychiatry, in my opinion. Some docs believe everything and anything they're told by their patients because it's easier to do that than to challenge asinine statements.
There are only a handful of people who come in with a diagnosis of DID, so it had to be one of them. They're all essentially manipulative to the core and become quite offended when told they're full of shit (diplomatically) - usually without switching alters. Go figure.
But let's focus on DID for a moment, shall we? Imagine for a moment having more than one person living inside you. Various personalities which have the potential to emerge at any moment, sometimes mid-sentence. One moment, you're aware of the world as a 30-something year old woman (since the majority of supposed DID cases are female) and you're perhaps looking for a job, buying a slice of pizza, driving a car or having sex.
And then - BAM!
You're a 6 year old girl.
Imagine the frustration, huh?
Now, imagine you're a man with that woman. One moment you're lost in sexul bliss with the 30 year old personality and then BAM, the switch. And she starts screaming RAPE!
Yeah.
Multiple Personality Disorder. That's pretty legit, eh? DID?
What about getting caught while stealing? "Oh, that wasn't me. It was X personality."
Running a red light? "That was my 6 year old alter. She doesn't know how to drive."
Throw a rock at someone or start a fight - "My angry teen came out. I'm so sorry."
Murder? "I don't remember that. It must have been one of my alters. My doctor says..."
Ah, yes. One of my alters. Even MPD / DID has its own catch phrases, words and terms to toss around at the coffee shop or inside a psychiatric groupsession. Something to normalize or attempt to provide a sense of legitimacy to a fucked up thing that's wholly fucked up.
It's a diagnosis prevalent in women with a trauma history and som other personality disorder to boot. Crack the surface of that and there's a plethora of problems to wade through, like surfing the ocean tide rife with jelly fish, seaweed, a few circling sharks and the rusty remnants of a steel-supported dock long since removed.
------------------------
I don't remember who it was that inspired this when I hit the bar but it was no doubt someone with DID, one of the most ridiculous diagnoses ever to grace the world of psychiatry, in my opinion. Some docs believe everything and anything they're told by their patients because it's easier to do that than to challenge asinine statements.
There are only a handful of people who come in with a diagnosis of DID, so it had to be one of them. They're all essentially manipulative to the core and become quite offended when told they're full of shit (diplomatically) - usually without switching alters. Go figure.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
No date entered.
The first patient he'd ever come in contact with was an older woman who liked to smile. He was fresh out of collegethen without a thought in the world related to his nursing license. He'd majored in psychology in school and done fairly well despite his penchant for marijuana and Jack Daniel's, consumption of both earned him consistent A's. Youth and innocence, resilience with a good heart. That's what he was about back in those days. Hell, that's what the whole world was about, as far as he was concerned. The sky was the limit, to coin an old cliche and why shouldn't he? For him, there was only upward movement when it came to his prospects for the future. He was a college graduate and he was working a professional job.
And so, there he was, walking the unit with the first patient he'd been assigned to since graduating. His first job. His shining star. They walked together around the unit. Sometimes he looked at her and for the life of him, she never looked back. No problem, though. What did that matter? He was there to make things ok, wasn't he? Psych counselor extraordinaire with a heart of gold.
Right.
Yeah.
That's a cheap shot at myself. Cheap and inappropriate. That's life.
Damn, I'm angry with myself, aren't I?
------------------------
edit: I don't remember what started this or why I got so down on myself. It happens sometimes. I remember that patient, though.
She was always sweet and pleasant, we'll call her Tina. She used to tell me about the clowns in her head, laughing. And I remember initially thinking that that wasn't such a bad thing until she told me about how they were laughing at her, with sharp, pointed teeth and they told her they were going to kill her. Or she had to kill herself. "They want me to die.", she'd said at one point - but she still smiled.
And I remember when she came into the ER one night, dead on arrival. Her liver had been failing for a long time and one night it and a lot of other things in her just quit. This was in the 90's. I stayed with her while the medical team did their work and straightened her out / cleaned her up when they called her time of death. And I remember holding her dead hand for a little while after and saying good bye.
My first patient.
And so, there he was, walking the unit with the first patient he'd been assigned to since graduating. His first job. His shining star. They walked together around the unit. Sometimes he looked at her and for the life of him, she never looked back. No problem, though. What did that matter? He was there to make things ok, wasn't he? Psych counselor extraordinaire with a heart of gold.
Right.
Yeah.
That's a cheap shot at myself. Cheap and inappropriate. That's life.
Damn, I'm angry with myself, aren't I?
------------------------
edit: I don't remember what started this or why I got so down on myself. It happens sometimes. I remember that patient, though.
She was always sweet and pleasant, we'll call her Tina. She used to tell me about the clowns in her head, laughing. And I remember initially thinking that that wasn't such a bad thing until she told me about how they were laughing at her, with sharp, pointed teeth and they told her they were going to kill her. Or she had to kill herself. "They want me to die.", she'd said at one point - but she still smiled.
And I remember when she came into the ER one night, dead on arrival. Her liver had been failing for a long time and one night it and a lot of other things in her just quit. This was in the 90's. I stayed with her while the medical team did their work and straightened her out / cleaned her up when they called her time of death. And I remember holding her dead hand for a little while after and saying good bye.
My first patient.
Friday, May 21, 2010
...
For some reason, he was seated backwards in his Volkswagen as it rounded the corner. That was odd for several reasons, not the least of hich was the fact he didn't own a VW and not the most of which was his foot was fully pressed upon the clutch and he had to let it go. several things went through his mind simultaneously.
1.) He needed to turn around and face front. There was no way he could drive seated backwards.
2.) When he let up on the clutch, the car was going to shott forward.
3.) There was someone standing in the street (God knew why) and he had to make sure the car didn't hit him.
4.) Why the hell was he driving backwards to begin with? It was a question for the ages, he supposed. A bollox. Why did he get into the car this way and how had he driven this far... well, thus far?
His foot lifted from the clutch and sure enough, he felt the transmission engage, sweeping the car forward. He turned the wheel, away from the man in the road, all the time looking over his shoulder and cursing the fact he was there. And then, he was twisting in his seat, intent on sitting correctly in the seat, realizing too late the car was veering off the road, was going to hit the curb and then a lower - he couldn't stop it and his heart began to race, to pound, the futility of it all, just let it go, just give up...
RAPE! RAPE! RAPE! RAPE!
His eye snapped open at the violation of the alarm as it tore, without a care, into his ear, into his head. It was true he'd set it to go off the night before but at that moment, he'd changed his mind. NO, his body shouted but still the screeching continued its intent. His mind stuttered, attempted to recover and was mercilessly bashed to-and-fro.
RAPE! RAPE! RAPE!
He rolled over, one hand lurching from beneath the pillow to still the aural attack.
He blinked and looked at the clock. 4:35 a.m. No sunlight shone in from the outside because it was dark, dark as night.
It was still night time but it was time to get up.
"Fuck.", he said, rolling onto his back, staring at a ceiling he couldn't see, feeling his heart rate slow. He was relieved - happy, actually - that he was not reaklly in a car about to hit a house or a person or whatever, but not so happy he was getting up to join the real world.
Work loomed in his future.
Work.
Yeah., he thought and swung his legs out of bed. He had a train to catch at 6:05.
1.) He needed to turn around and face front. There was no way he could drive seated backwards.
2.) When he let up on the clutch, the car was going to shott forward.
3.) There was someone standing in the street (God knew why) and he had to make sure the car didn't hit him.
4.) Why the hell was he driving backwards to begin with? It was a question for the ages, he supposed. A bollox. Why did he get into the car this way and how had he driven this far... well, thus far?
His foot lifted from the clutch and sure enough, he felt the transmission engage, sweeping the car forward. He turned the wheel, away from the man in the road, all the time looking over his shoulder and cursing the fact he was there. And then, he was twisting in his seat, intent on sitting correctly in the seat, realizing too late the car was veering off the road, was going to hit the curb and then a lower - he couldn't stop it and his heart began to race, to pound, the futility of it all, just let it go, just give up...
RAPE! RAPE! RAPE! RAPE!
His eye snapped open at the violation of the alarm as it tore, without a care, into his ear, into his head. It was true he'd set it to go off the night before but at that moment, he'd changed his mind. NO, his body shouted but still the screeching continued its intent. His mind stuttered, attempted to recover and was mercilessly bashed to-and-fro.
RAPE! RAPE! RAPE!
He rolled over, one hand lurching from beneath the pillow to still the aural attack.
He blinked and looked at the clock. 4:35 a.m. No sunlight shone in from the outside because it was dark, dark as night.
It was still night time but it was time to get up.
"Fuck.", he said, rolling onto his back, staring at a ceiling he couldn't see, feeling his heart rate slow. He was relieved - happy, actually - that he was not reaklly in a car about to hit a house or a person or whatever, but not so happy he was getting up to join the real world.
Work loomed in his future.
Work.
Yeah., he thought and swung his legs out of bed. He had a train to catch at 6:05.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
And...
Eyes meet and questions bloom. What is happening exactly? What is going on? I would like to taste a woman's flesh, run my tongue along a neck, a throat, glide my lips over wet woman parts.
And another...
I would imagine most men have a sharp contrast / dichotomy of ideas and beliefs when it comes to their worth and affluence in the work place. I saw Molly at Beckett's on 5-12-08 and will likely see her and boy-friend Joe on 5-19-08 for Carolyn's going away party.
edit: Carolyn's going away party was for Paris and Molly was Brian's old room-mate. Took me a minute to remember that one.
edit: Carolyn's going away party was for Paris and Molly was Brian's old room-mate. Took me a minute to remember that one.
String of dateless posts...
The alarm began to bleat like a stomped sheep...
edit: I dunno what this was about. Maybe the beginning of a story? Dunno.
edit: I dunno what this was about. Maybe the beginning of a story? Dunno.
And yet another dateless entry...
Long day today with a questionable look into the mirror. 50 year old, male RN working 60 hour weeks. 2 kids, aged 18 and 15. 18 year old was going to college, 15 y.o. in a private high school. Wife is a stay-at-home mom. Patient himself gave up drinking 6 months prior to presentation but seems to have a problem with both Perocets and oxycodone. Dude was manic when he got here, in my face, pointing hif finger at me - jabbing it actually, cursing, refusing procedure even after we'd made it to Bay 41. To complicate matters, the patient's brother was the mayor of a nearby town / city and apparently good friends with someone at the top / upper echelons of administration here at the hospital. Of course. Doesn't it always work that way?
It's pressure, of course. It makes things a bit more difficult. Add to that the side stepping of protocol by the docwho took charge of the case and suddenly, I have a labile, volatile manic man who doesn't want to be on the unit who is allowed to circumvent procedure because of his place in life coupled with his volatility and he gets to do this in spite of the edicts I started to lay down related to his stay in APS. It's already been decided he will stay - already decided he will be amitted - already decided he will be secured and locked in while simultaneously allowed to circumvent policy regarding the changing of his clothes all because he was loud and cursing and his brother was a mayor. And at that point, enough was enough.
Security was in speaking with him about behavior and I decided to end the difficulty. I went into the room and told him straight out that nurse-to-nurse, he came onto the unit where I worked and pissed all over it with serious disrespect to both me and our profession in general. We had a few words about doing our jobs and the fact that when patients came through and acted like ass holes, it made the rest of the job that much harder. He listened and he agreed, reluctantly. Then he changed and handed over his clothing.
Sure enough, he told me later that he had Percocets in his pants pocket and he wanted to know if they were still there after security put his belongings in the lock area. 1.) Opiate dependance, even in a well-functioning individual, trumps all other concerns. Initially, he'd told me he was prescribed Percocets but didn't take them. However, when the blood was drawn, he began to sing about both the fact of oxy / opiates in his system and later, that he had the Percs in his pants...
So, well functioning RN, husband, father - at least by his report. Wife and brother both telling me he was not at baseline. About 4 hours of sleep per night, loss of 32 pounds since January, huge spending on a new car for wife and 18 yo daughter, college at 52 G per year with 20G in scholarships. The sound of torture in his presentation, working to keep the family afloat, anger toward wife when he wanted to spend money and she wouldn't allow it. I really had a hard time separating some of the pathology from the overall story - probably because it so closely resembled my own life.
So, how is any of this important? Why does any of this matter? Two good questions and I have to wonder whether or not I have a viable answer or if I'm going to spit out a ridiculously overblown / over-thought / somewhat pompously and attemptedly introspective answer. Hmmm...
I guess it's important because it's a facet of humanity. It's important because his life story mimicked so much of my own. Busting ass to keep a family together is a truly difficult arena of life.
There's a fight in the bar right now and I'm distracted, so...
edit: Two women started grappling while I was writing, punching and yelling and what have you. The husband of one of the girls suddenly jumped up from the bar and grabbed the girl who wasn't his wife and that's when I jumped up and went after him. He saw me coming and let go, put his hands up and started saying, "It's cool! It's cool! She's ok, man. We cool? We cool?"
Stupid shit.
I told him to leave them alone to work it out or i'd fuck him up and he left while the two girls continued to yell at each other - without any punching. The girl he grabbed came over to me after to thank me (I was talking to someone else at that point who invited me back to her place and of course I couldn't go because I'm married) and then she bought me a drink. Whatever. I left soon after that anyway so I could head home. Chances are I had to work the next day...
It's pressure, of course. It makes things a bit more difficult. Add to that the side stepping of protocol by the docwho took charge of the case and suddenly, I have a labile, volatile manic man who doesn't want to be on the unit who is allowed to circumvent procedure because of his place in life coupled with his volatility and he gets to do this in spite of the edicts I started to lay down related to his stay in APS. It's already been decided he will stay - already decided he will be amitted - already decided he will be secured and locked in while simultaneously allowed to circumvent policy regarding the changing of his clothes all because he was loud and cursing and his brother was a mayor. And at that point, enough was enough.
Security was in speaking with him about behavior and I decided to end the difficulty. I went into the room and told him straight out that nurse-to-nurse, he came onto the unit where I worked and pissed all over it with serious disrespect to both me and our profession in general. We had a few words about doing our jobs and the fact that when patients came through and acted like ass holes, it made the rest of the job that much harder. He listened and he agreed, reluctantly. Then he changed and handed over his clothing.
Sure enough, he told me later that he had Percocets in his pants pocket and he wanted to know if they were still there after security put his belongings in the lock area. 1.) Opiate dependance, even in a well-functioning individual, trumps all other concerns. Initially, he'd told me he was prescribed Percocets but didn't take them. However, when the blood was drawn, he began to sing about both the fact of oxy / opiates in his system and later, that he had the Percs in his pants...
So, well functioning RN, husband, father - at least by his report. Wife and brother both telling me he was not at baseline. About 4 hours of sleep per night, loss of 32 pounds since January, huge spending on a new car for wife and 18 yo daughter, college at 52 G per year with 20G in scholarships. The sound of torture in his presentation, working to keep the family afloat, anger toward wife when he wanted to spend money and she wouldn't allow it. I really had a hard time separating some of the pathology from the overall story - probably because it so closely resembled my own life.
So, how is any of this important? Why does any of this matter? Two good questions and I have to wonder whether or not I have a viable answer or if I'm going to spit out a ridiculously overblown / over-thought / somewhat pompously and attemptedly introspective answer. Hmmm...
I guess it's important because it's a facet of humanity. It's important because his life story mimicked so much of my own. Busting ass to keep a family together is a truly difficult arena of life.
There's a fight in the bar right now and I'm distracted, so...
edit: Two women started grappling while I was writing, punching and yelling and what have you. The husband of one of the girls suddenly jumped up from the bar and grabbed the girl who wasn't his wife and that's when I jumped up and went after him. He saw me coming and let go, put his hands up and started saying, "It's cool! It's cool! She's ok, man. We cool? We cool?"
Stupid shit.
I told him to leave them alone to work it out or i'd fuck him up and he left while the two girls continued to yell at each other - without any punching. The girl he grabbed came over to me after to thank me (I was talking to someone else at that point who invited me back to her place and of course I couldn't go because I'm married) and then she bought me a drink. Whatever. I left soon after that anyway so I could head home. Chances are I had to work the next day...
Saturday, April 17, 2010
No date on this one either... :/
The warmth of the sun in spring feels like a re-birth, of sorts. Peeling away the sweat shirt, the jacket, the long sleeved shirts. Opening the windows to let the fresh air in. And, of course, the slow bake of one's skin, exciting the melanin, infusing the Vitamin D an waking up the bodyafter a long winter's sleep.
Not sure of date..
Today was a full-fledged cluster-fuck of angst and clucking hens related to a crazy man who exited Bay 42 and attacked CLD. She'd been walking past the bay en route to the fridge when he opened the door with his left hand, wrapped his right arm around her neck, brought her to the floor and punched or began punching her with his left fist. Luckily, Kev D was there and jumped in, wrestled him off her and dragged him back to 42. That right there is the basic story. Of course, like all stories / events involving CLD, there's so much more to the story. I'll try and get this downin as short a time as possible. There's a lot to write and the story is still developing.
------
4-17-10: So, I wasn't at work when this happened. I got a call soon after the dust settled an was given the blow-by-blow. This was pretty much the beginning of the end of CLD's employment. She left on a medical and essentially never came back. There was more drama surrounding her exit - but I'll leave that be since it's, uh... not really my story to tell.
------
4-17-10: So, I wasn't at work when this happened. I got a call soon after the dust settled an was given the blow-by-blow. This was pretty much the beginning of the end of CLD's employment. She left on a medical and essentially never came back. There was more drama surrounding her exit - but I'll leave that be since it's, uh... not really my story to tell.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Brief Thought.
It came from nowhere, the fist that shattered her world. It caught her on the side of the neck, a sloppy punch overall but it stunned her, made her see gray and caused her throat to lock.
-----
Daddy will protect me. Daddy will make it OK. Daddy did my room, made everything I want. Daddy took care of me. Took care of what I needed. I can see the light. Daddy will be there. He's there. He'll save me. Isn't that right, Daddy?
Daddy?
...
DADDY!!
Where are you?
As panic sets in and heart rate accelerates.
Where are you? - Eyes moving left to right, a tear slips down her cheek, so soft.
Where... are... you?
-----
Daddy will protect me. Daddy will make it OK. Daddy did my room, made everything I want. Daddy took care of me. Took care of what I needed. I can see the light. Daddy will be there. He's there. He'll save me. Isn't that right, Daddy?
Daddy?
...
DADDY!!
Where are you?
As panic sets in and heart rate accelerates.
Where are you? - Eyes moving left to right, a tear slips down her cheek, so soft.
Where... are... you?
Within the Gray Area of No Dates...
He stared at the man who had brought him to wherever he was. Cold, gray eyes beneath a dented forehead. What could cause a dent like that, he wondered. Brass knuckles? A hammer? Maybe a police baton or steel-toed boot? Whatever it was, there was no scar.
Maybe he got his head busted up without ever having the skin break, he thought. Jesus Christ. What's going on?
Maybe he got his head busted up without ever having the skin break, he thought. Jesus Christ. What's going on?
Yet Another Without a Date.
I drove into this dead town 3 days ago. I came to visit my mother. She's dead. I still can't believe it. So mny are dead here. It doesn't make any sense really, but at least we know what's going on. They come from the mist. Jesus Christ.
They come from the mist.
I did manage to find a cache of townsfolk who figured out what's going on. It's because of them I'm still alive. For how much longer, though? Thy'll find a way in eventually.
They always do.
That's all they do.
That's how they feed and when you get right down to it, it's only natural. When something is hungry - starving, actually from what I'm told - it does what it can to find food. The concept is both natural and elementery.
It's just... not right when YOU are the food.
They come from the mist.
I did manage to find a cache of townsfolk who figured out what's going on. It's because of them I'm still alive. For how much longer, though? Thy'll find a way in eventually.
They always do.
That's all they do.
That's how they feed and when you get right down to it, it's only natural. When something is hungry - starving, actually from what I'm told - it does what it can to find food. The concept is both natural and elementery.
It's just... not right when YOU are the food.
Not Sure About This One Either.
You ever wonder what the high point of life really is? Work? School? Dating? Sex?
Drugs? Booze? Having a kid and hearing the word "Daddy" for the first time?
Maybe all of that, maybe all of it plus other stuff not mentioned? Or maybe none of it. Something else entirely? Eh. Maybe it's kids. I don't know.
What I do know is how easy it is to allow yourself to slip into a rut, to forget the things you enjoy in life and even if you don't really forget them, how easy it is to... well... yeah. Forget them.
Drugs? Booze? Having a kid and hearing the word "Daddy" for the first time?
Maybe all of that, maybe all of it plus other stuff not mentioned? Or maybe none of it. Something else entirely? Eh. Maybe it's kids. I don't know.
What I do know is how easy it is to allow yourself to slip into a rut, to forget the things you enjoy in life and even if you don't really forget them, how easy it is to... well... yeah. Forget them.
I don't Know What Day I Wrote This...
The fog rises from the water in a white, misty cloud. It's not an even cloud, of course but rather one that reminds me of a city landscape or a rocky bluff, like a terrain of hills and mountains made of stone, recreated or deposied now in mist. That's when it's dangerous, of course. That's when they're coming. Time to lock the doors an windows, you know. Make sure they're shut tight. Because there's no getting away when they rise in the mist - and if you leave something open, beware.
Don't leave anything open.
You'd have to be a madman to tempt fate.
Because fate, when tempted, can be one mean mother-fucker.
Don't leave anything open.
You'd have to be a madman to tempt fate.
Because fate, when tempted, can be one mean mother-fucker.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
1-21-09 end.
God damn. Short skirts make the atmosphere. The body is tight. The face is pretty.
It works.
It works.
1-21-09 continued.
Pretentious mother-fuckers make me want to fuck someone up. a kid was coming in today for a Blake 11 admit from France. Boston resident. Goes to NYU. Reportedly manic and parents flew out to Frnce to collect him and bring him home. That, in and of itself is enough to piss me off. If the kid is fucked up - let him go to a hospital in France and get stabilized. It's not a huge emergency if he can fly from France and then head to the ER. Ok. That's one piece.
His mother called the ER tonight wanting to speak to the RN who would be working with her son. That was enough to boil my blood even though i didn't take the call. I imagine she wanted to set / understand the parameters, as though her son was that important. I suppose, on some level, I understand the importance piece as a parent however I have to wonder / think / despise the fact that she was calling with the belief it had something to do with her trying to manipulate something along the line of notifying the concierge of a preferred table they expected to get because of factor X. That's a shitty analogy, in case you didn't get it.
Anyway, I have no confirmation of this, of course. It's all perception on my part. And maybe the worst part has to do with my ongoing cynicism that usually proves unfounded when I'm face-to-face with people I otherwise immediately dismiss as shitbags. Rich, pompous, entitled shitbags.
- Uh... yeah. I'd say this displays the emoional lows I hit every winter her in Massachusetts. Reading through this now doesn't elicit even 1/100 the ire that's dripping from the page of my notebook. There are entitled ass-holes that come through the ER almost daily - but re-reading this now, I see a worried mom who was probably trying to get a sense of what to expect along the journey she was about to undergo.
I really hit some pretty bad lows over the winter months. It's the main reason I want so badly to move down south where the sun shines year-round. Reading stuff like this brings it to the forefront, especially during times where my emotional level is more balanced, like now.
Sorry, lady.
His mother called the ER tonight wanting to speak to the RN who would be working with her son. That was enough to boil my blood even though i didn't take the call. I imagine she wanted to set / understand the parameters, as though her son was that important. I suppose, on some level, I understand the importance piece as a parent however I have to wonder / think / despise the fact that she was calling with the belief it had something to do with her trying to manipulate something along the line of notifying the concierge of a preferred table they expected to get because of factor X. That's a shitty analogy, in case you didn't get it.
Anyway, I have no confirmation of this, of course. It's all perception on my part. And maybe the worst part has to do with my ongoing cynicism that usually proves unfounded when I'm face-to-face with people I otherwise immediately dismiss as shitbags. Rich, pompous, entitled shitbags.
- Uh... yeah. I'd say this displays the emoional lows I hit every winter her in Massachusetts. Reading through this now doesn't elicit even 1/100 the ire that's dripping from the page of my notebook. There are entitled ass-holes that come through the ER almost daily - but re-reading this now, I see a worried mom who was probably trying to get a sense of what to expect along the journey she was about to undergo.
I really hit some pretty bad lows over the winter months. It's the main reason I want so badly to move down south where the sun shines year-round. Reading stuff like this brings it to the forefront, especially during times where my emotional level is more balanced, like now.
Sorry, lady.
1-21-09
I managed to make a journal entry today - http://markdirschel.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-day.html
Very good. My Blog is called Countdown to 40 and I have 33 entris over the past 7 months. That leaves about 6 months of no entries, although I have a bunch of written entries inside a notebook I really should put into the Blog. Just like my writing - I haven't done very well keeping up.
So, I'm at Jennerations right now after finishing at the gym. Work was pretty decent, all told. I felt much better than last week and I think it's because Rechele got us all together for a night out last Friday to blow off some steam. It helped. Next drink party is tomorrow and I'm looking forward to it as well.
My Jack and Coke is making me feel warm - a flush over my face and shoulders I'm sure is coloring my skin red.
So, the story I started has a mn in his camper soon after splitting with his wife and missing his kids. 1 change in the first chapter should be for the guy to have punched or kicked the neighbor before he had a chance to leave - for reason of coming into his home, not because he was fucking the man's wife. It's a respect thing.
Second chapter should deal with either he and wife meeting and some of their courtship OR of him going out on a date and the awkward initiation into the bar / drinking / single / new place to live scene. Whichever isn't second chapter should be third.
What the fuck's the point of the stroy though? I have no fuckin' idea. Maybe the beginning of the Apocalypse / Martial Law excursion? Eh - doesn't inspire right now but who knows? Start writing, bitch. See where it takes you.
- Jennerations was a bar I liked to go to downtown before it closed. It was a "townie" bar where the bertenders knew me and I knew them. And I knew most of the faces inside, also. They served me a Jack and Coke the moment I walked in and kept 'em coming until I left. I spent all my time there, when I went, sitting at the bar and writing. It was a good place to do that and the people there interrupted me infrequently.
It's reopened now as Ziggy's North - the mom of my mechanic bought the place and redid it as a northern version of her bar in Florida - Ziggy's. I haven't been there as much. The vibe changed and I have to get used to it.
Very good. My Blog is called Countdown to 40 and I have 33 entris over the past 7 months. That leaves about 6 months of no entries, although I have a bunch of written entries inside a notebook I really should put into the Blog. Just like my writing - I haven't done very well keeping up.
So, I'm at Jennerations right now after finishing at the gym. Work was pretty decent, all told. I felt much better than last week and I think it's because Rechele got us all together for a night out last Friday to blow off some steam. It helped. Next drink party is tomorrow and I'm looking forward to it as well.
My Jack and Coke is making me feel warm - a flush over my face and shoulders I'm sure is coloring my skin red.
So, the story I started has a mn in his camper soon after splitting with his wife and missing his kids. 1 change in the first chapter should be for the guy to have punched or kicked the neighbor before he had a chance to leave - for reason of coming into his home, not because he was fucking the man's wife. It's a respect thing.
Second chapter should deal with either he and wife meeting and some of their courtship OR of him going out on a date and the awkward initiation into the bar / drinking / single / new place to live scene. Whichever isn't second chapter should be third.
What the fuck's the point of the stroy though? I have no fuckin' idea. Maybe the beginning of the Apocalypse / Martial Law excursion? Eh - doesn't inspire right now but who knows? Start writing, bitch. See where it takes you.
- Jennerations was a bar I liked to go to downtown before it closed. It was a "townie" bar where the bertenders knew me and I knew them. And I knew most of the faces inside, also. They served me a Jack and Coke the moment I walked in and kept 'em coming until I left. I spent all my time there, when I went, sitting at the bar and writing. It was a good place to do that and the people there interrupted me infrequently.
It's reopened now as Ziggy's North - the mom of my mechanic bought the place and redid it as a northern version of her bar in Florida - Ziggy's. I haven't been there as much. The vibe changed and I have to get used to it.
12-19-08
The snow fell, a thick sight-occluding fall which guaranteed slippery roads. The temp didn't matter much because he remembered to dress for the weather but his knee was bothering him and he didn't move as fast or as quickly as he normally would have. That made him feel old. Much older than he was.
He paused to watch a car spin its wheels on the road, wondering whether or not he should help. Wondering what would happen if his knee buckled and gave out. It was bad enough the way it was. He was starting to lean toward helping the car when its wheels caught and it lurched forward.
Decision made. He adjusted his pack and straightened his hat. White, frosty steam roiled from his nostrils as though a fire burned in his belly and he looked upwards into the falling snow.
Black and white.
Spots of cold. Points of cold. Flashes of snow hitting his face, sparking momentary specks of life from his flesh. Life is good, he thought.
Sometimes it is. And then he lowered his head and looked around at the snow. Lights flashing all around and the train he wanted to catch rumbled in on the tracks overhead.
"No problem.", he said out loud. "There's always another one on the way."
No one was there to hear him. No one was there to respond. And then he was hit from behind and felt his knees buckle. The lights flickered and he willed himself not to pass out. A hot, brutal thud of aggression thocked againt his cheek.
Jesus, he thought. It's a bat. I got hit by a bat.
His head was buzzing. His heart pounded and he saw two people cirling him, looking down into his face.
"C'mon, mutha-fuckers. We've got eyes."
A voice in the distance. More people. How did he not see this coming?
"He's still up. Fuck!"
"Get his shit, man. We gotta go."
Hands on him. Running over him. kick to the stomach and he lost his air as the world turned black.
- I guess I must have been jotting down some idea while waiting for a train. Seems I spend a lot of time waiting for trains.
He paused to watch a car spin its wheels on the road, wondering whether or not he should help. Wondering what would happen if his knee buckled and gave out. It was bad enough the way it was. He was starting to lean toward helping the car when its wheels caught and it lurched forward.
Decision made. He adjusted his pack and straightened his hat. White, frosty steam roiled from his nostrils as though a fire burned in his belly and he looked upwards into the falling snow.
Black and white.
Spots of cold. Points of cold. Flashes of snow hitting his face, sparking momentary specks of life from his flesh. Life is good, he thought.
Sometimes it is. And then he lowered his head and looked around at the snow. Lights flashing all around and the train he wanted to catch rumbled in on the tracks overhead.
"No problem.", he said out loud. "There's always another one on the way."
No one was there to hear him. No one was there to respond. And then he was hit from behind and felt his knees buckle. The lights flickered and he willed himself not to pass out. A hot, brutal thud of aggression thocked againt his cheek.
Jesus, he thought. It's a bat. I got hit by a bat.
His head was buzzing. His heart pounded and he saw two people cirling him, looking down into his face.
"C'mon, mutha-fuckers. We've got eyes."
A voice in the distance. More people. How did he not see this coming?
"He's still up. Fuck!"
"Get his shit, man. We gotta go."
Hands on him. Running over him. kick to the stomach and he lost his air as the world turned black.
- I guess I must have been jotting down some idea while waiting for a train. Seems I spend a lot of time waiting for trains.
8-12-08 part 2.
I think I'm gonna head home and watch I Am Legend since I have the time and a chance to do so. I'm getting some Chinese food now and there's a chic at the bar in a sun dress - lots of cleavage for her small tits. Or, I should say, lots of skin exposed with the hint of tit swell on both sides. Back exposed. She's cute, in a Massachsuetts girl sort of way. Short blonde hair. Decent fuck package.
8-12-08
Finished Nick's constellations today and I think he'll like it when he gets back. It's not professional grade by any means but it's all his - right down to his date of birth beneath the Pisces. Little touch. And 'm surprised I was able to get the little star dots (for the most part) off the sheet and onto the wall.
The display really did turn out OK.
I also added the clouds to his walls. And put scattered dots of stars in them. All good.
- This harkens back to an earlier post about the work I did in Nick's room.
http://markdirschel.blogspot.com/2008/09/nicks-room.html
and
http://markdirschel.blogspot.com/2008/09/nicks-room-2.html
The display really did turn out OK.
I also added the clouds to his walls. And put scattered dots of stars in them. All good.
- This harkens back to an earlier post about the work I did in Nick's room.
http://markdirschel.blogspot.com/2008/09/nicks-room.html
and
http://markdirschel.blogspot.com/2008/09/nicks-room-2.html
7-8-08 end
Caught the train and made it home. Paid the late fee on my parking space because I didn't get a chance to pay this morning. Got to the parking lot as the train was pulling in.
There was a young girl (college age) alone at the station tonight as I was preparing to pull away and I paused to ask her if someone was coming for her.
"Someone's coming.", she said. "Be here in about 3 minutes."
She smiled. I waved and drove away. Young girl. Train station. Open area. Alone. Lots of wooded area.
I made it as far as the road before turning around. She saw me coming, of course. Young girl all alone, after all. Same truck left and came back. She'd crossed away from the light to stand in a bit more shadow. Walpole's not a dangerous town. In fact, it's a well-to-do haven of sorts where people still know their neighbors - but a oung girl alone at night is still a young girl alone at night and she stopped where she stood as I pulled back into the parking lot.
"I'm not a freak.", I said with the passenger side window sliding down. "I'm an ER nurse and I'm just gonna hang out 'til your ride shows up."
She smiled and said thanks. She was nervous. Of course she was. How could she not be?
I smiled back and pulled across the parking lot.
"I'm just gonna stay here until your ride shows up. Make sure you're OK.", I said again, trying to get that one point across. I felt it was important to get it out there again.
She felt good. She felt all right. I could see it in her face and then I felt good. That was a good thing to see. It's something I like to see.
I flicked on the lights in my truck and pulled the book I'm reading out of my bag - Duma Key by Stephen ing. Time began to tick away.
"Thank you again.", she said and I looked up from my book.
"You're welcome.", I said and we chatted.
She's in college. Studying autism and asperger's. Funny how that stuff works out. We had common ground.
I pulled across the lot so we didn't have to yell and we chatted for a few more minutes until her ride showed up.
I left then. Whatever I thought needed to be done was done.
- I remember this night and I remember how good it felt to help her feel at ease. The train station itself isn't very intimidating - but alone at night with a lot of open and wooded space, outside of the comforting bubbles of sporadic light on the platform, it can be pretty creepy. Or at least I can imagine it could be creepy. All it would take is one or more people walking along the track area when you're standing there alone. Drugs, alcohol whatever. Things can get bad quick if the conditions are right.
Anyway, despite her initial wariness to my return (a perfectly natural reaction given my physical presentation), the relief I saw and heard in her when she knew I was going to stay and meant her no harm was a human-reward. It made me feel good. It made me feel good in direct contrast to the excessive helpings of human misery and suffering I see every day at work. And I drove home with a smile on my face even though in the grand scheme of things, I really didn't do anything.
There was a young girl (college age) alone at the station tonight as I was preparing to pull away and I paused to ask her if someone was coming for her.
"Someone's coming.", she said. "Be here in about 3 minutes."
She smiled. I waved and drove away. Young girl. Train station. Open area. Alone. Lots of wooded area.
I made it as far as the road before turning around. She saw me coming, of course. Young girl all alone, after all. Same truck left and came back. She'd crossed away from the light to stand in a bit more shadow. Walpole's not a dangerous town. In fact, it's a well-to-do haven of sorts where people still know their neighbors - but a oung girl alone at night is still a young girl alone at night and she stopped where she stood as I pulled back into the parking lot.
"I'm not a freak.", I said with the passenger side window sliding down. "I'm an ER nurse and I'm just gonna hang out 'til your ride shows up."
She smiled and said thanks. She was nervous. Of course she was. How could she not be?
I smiled back and pulled across the parking lot.
"I'm just gonna stay here until your ride shows up. Make sure you're OK.", I said again, trying to get that one point across. I felt it was important to get it out there again.
She felt good. She felt all right. I could see it in her face and then I felt good. That was a good thing to see. It's something I like to see.
I flicked on the lights in my truck and pulled the book I'm reading out of my bag - Duma Key by Stephen ing. Time began to tick away.
"Thank you again.", she said and I looked up from my book.
"You're welcome.", I said and we chatted.
She's in college. Studying autism and asperger's. Funny how that stuff works out. We had common ground.
I pulled across the lot so we didn't have to yell and we chatted for a few more minutes until her ride showed up.
I left then. Whatever I thought needed to be done was done.
- I remember this night and I remember how good it felt to help her feel at ease. The train station itself isn't very intimidating - but alone at night with a lot of open and wooded space, outside of the comforting bubbles of sporadic light on the platform, it can be pretty creepy. Or at least I can imagine it could be creepy. All it would take is one or more people walking along the track area when you're standing there alone. Drugs, alcohol whatever. Things can get bad quick if the conditions are right.
Anyway, despite her initial wariness to my return (a perfectly natural reaction given my physical presentation), the relief I saw and heard in her when she knew I was going to stay and meant her no harm was a human-reward. It made me feel good. It made me feel good in direct contrast to the excessive helpings of human misery and suffering I see every day at work. And I drove home with a smile on my face even though in the grand scheme of things, I really didn't do anything.
7-8-08 continued
"I told myself there was time. Of course, that's what we always tell ourselves, isn't it? We can't imagine time running out and God punishes us for what we can't imagine." - Stephen King, Duma Key, p. 346
There's always time. Isn't that right? Not 40 yet. Still a few months to go. And 40 is young, right? Plenty of time to start writing again, to get back into the game. Sure there is. Just keep telling myself that and like verbal morphine, the itch inside, the burn - the piece of me that has screamed and shouted and demanded to be heard ever since I was a kid will settle down and relax. Nice slap - shut up and sit down. Plenty of time. Kill the urge. Kill the moment. Verbal morphine. Sedate the itch. Quench the burn. Plenty of time, man.
Plenty of time.
Distractions abound with writing and mindless interaction on the internet. It feels important for the moment but the moment passes, doesn't it? It always passes and whatever it was I spent time on suddenly seems unimportant - maybe even foolish. Empty. Nonsensical.
But yeah. I still go back.
Never mind the books or short stories. Never mind even the Blog I started with the intent to count down to my final years before I hit 40. So much has gone down already this year - so much missed. Is it even worth reflecting, trying to match events with dates / days? Or maybe just the fact that I'm recounting some of the serious bullshit that I do day in and day out - stuff even my wife most likely doesn't believe - then again, I'm sure she doesn't want to know most of what I do. And that's OK.
What I do is a slice of life she doesn't understand and it would likely break her heart if she ever knew some of the intimate details. Especially when it comes to the kids.
She couldn't handle the kids. And she probably wouldn't be able to handle it if she knew I sometimes cried about the kids that came in.
Gotta go catch a train...
- I've had writer's block for several years. Not horrendous, mind you - I can usually pop out a story here and there but the book writing has all but dried up. It's my fault, as I laid out in this passage. I spend too much time not writing and not enough time writing. It really is that simple.
The second piece of the above most likely has to do with a kid I took care of that day but obviously, I didn't get into specifics which is probably a good thing. Abuse (verbal, physical and sexual), removing kids from the home, broken lives, broken people. Whatever. Something must have got under my skin that day. I wonder what it was.
Oh, and I see in my notebook that someone at the bar (Clarke's) recommended I read Brett Easton Ellis's Rules of Attraction. I haven't read it yet.
There's always time. Isn't that right? Not 40 yet. Still a few months to go. And 40 is young, right? Plenty of time to start writing again, to get back into the game. Sure there is. Just keep telling myself that and like verbal morphine, the itch inside, the burn - the piece of me that has screamed and shouted and demanded to be heard ever since I was a kid will settle down and relax. Nice slap - shut up and sit down. Plenty of time. Kill the urge. Kill the moment. Verbal morphine. Sedate the itch. Quench the burn. Plenty of time, man.
Plenty of time.
Distractions abound with writing and mindless interaction on the internet. It feels important for the moment but the moment passes, doesn't it? It always passes and whatever it was I spent time on suddenly seems unimportant - maybe even foolish. Empty. Nonsensical.
But yeah. I still go back.
Never mind the books or short stories. Never mind even the Blog I started with the intent to count down to my final years before I hit 40. So much has gone down already this year - so much missed. Is it even worth reflecting, trying to match events with dates / days? Or maybe just the fact that I'm recounting some of the serious bullshit that I do day in and day out - stuff even my wife most likely doesn't believe - then again, I'm sure she doesn't want to know most of what I do. And that's OK.
What I do is a slice of life she doesn't understand and it would likely break her heart if she ever knew some of the intimate details. Especially when it comes to the kids.
She couldn't handle the kids. And she probably wouldn't be able to handle it if she knew I sometimes cried about the kids that came in.
Gotta go catch a train...
- I've had writer's block for several years. Not horrendous, mind you - I can usually pop out a story here and there but the book writing has all but dried up. It's my fault, as I laid out in this passage. I spend too much time not writing and not enough time writing. It really is that simple.
The second piece of the above most likely has to do with a kid I took care of that day but obviously, I didn't get into specifics which is probably a good thing. Abuse (verbal, physical and sexual), removing kids from the home, broken lives, broken people. Whatever. Something must have got under my skin that day. I wonder what it was.
Oh, and I see in my notebook that someone at the bar (Clarke's) recommended I read Brett Easton Ellis's Rules of Attraction. I haven't read it yet.
7-8-08
I am so sucked into the online world of BB.com's Misc. section, it really is ridiculous. There's no way for me to realistically break away from the procrastination I've allowed, away from my writing with all the time I spend there. Even now, right now, while I'm sitting here writing this, I'm wondering what's going on there and whether or not something is going on I should respond to. That's not right; not helthy. The only thing that might be beneficial in a roundabout way, is that I'm actually doing some writing. My journal never took off - the Blog. So much for setting out to maintain a solid and ongoing piece of writing. The material is never-ending - it's my life, so there's no reason to I'm lacking on entries save for the black hole that absorbs my time and words with fail, forcing them away into obscurity moments after the 'SUBMIT' button is pushed.
Bah.
I'm failing myself.
At some point, I'm going to have to make a decision to either log off to that and any other website, in order to put my time into the writing I've always said I want to do but have not been doing. It's all well-and-good I have a book out. It's a personal achievement, not a professional one. The climate surrounding PA at the time of publication was so controversial and essentially negative in the world of publication and literature, having that book published may have actually been a step backward if I'd been of the ilk to wanting only to pursue a career as a novelist.
And that's funny, really, considering the acceptance my writing has achieved online at the various web forums I've spent time within which trying to establish myself.
The Misc., for example really isn't a place where acceptance is guaranteed. In fact, it's quite the opposite and when I take my age into consideration on top of everything else, it's fairly impressive (to me, at least) the level of acceptance I've achieved. I'm old, with marginal computer and chop skills - interacting with youngin's, essentially, most of which supposedly possess above average computer skills. The respect I've received thus far and the help in navigating my way around the web as a result, fascinates me.
The Misc. isn't a nice place. It really isn't. The fact that they've been nice to me is surprising.
So, I moved from 1 bar to the next - Quan's to Jenneration's. This is definitely more along the line of what 'm most comfortable with. I really like this place.
I have to wonder overall, what my life would be like if I didn't have kids and a family. A lot of this, most likely with a scattered bevy of un-named women.
- Just a random night out after work. There was a time when Bodybuilding.com's Misc. section consumed an incredible amount of my time. It's funny, brutal, invasive, potentially dangerous as the people there have a knack for unearthing any and all information about each other and using it for ill. It's a little like the chan's in that sense although from what I understand, the chan's are a whole other level. For a little while, at least, I know there was a bit of cross-flow between the Misc. and the chan's - at least number 4. Anyway, I still visit from time to time but in NO WAY do I spend as much time there as I did back then. It's addictive, as any web forum can be - and if you've ever frequented a web forum and found your place within one, you'll understand what that means.
Bah.
I'm failing myself.
At some point, I'm going to have to make a decision to either log off to that and any other website, in order to put my time into the writing I've always said I want to do but have not been doing. It's all well-and-good I have a book out. It's a personal achievement, not a professional one. The climate surrounding PA at the time of publication was so controversial and essentially negative in the world of publication and literature, having that book published may have actually been a step backward if I'd been of the ilk to wanting only to pursue a career as a novelist.
And that's funny, really, considering the acceptance my writing has achieved online at the various web forums I've spent time within which trying to establish myself.
The Misc., for example really isn't a place where acceptance is guaranteed. In fact, it's quite the opposite and when I take my age into consideration on top of everything else, it's fairly impressive (to me, at least) the level of acceptance I've achieved. I'm old, with marginal computer and chop skills - interacting with youngin's, essentially, most of which supposedly possess above average computer skills. The respect I've received thus far and the help in navigating my way around the web as a result, fascinates me.
The Misc. isn't a nice place. It really isn't. The fact that they've been nice to me is surprising.
So, I moved from 1 bar to the next - Quan's to Jenneration's. This is definitely more along the line of what 'm most comfortable with. I really like this place.
I have to wonder overall, what my life would be like if I didn't have kids and a family. A lot of this, most likely with a scattered bevy of un-named women.
- Just a random night out after work. There was a time when Bodybuilding.com's Misc. section consumed an incredible amount of my time. It's funny, brutal, invasive, potentially dangerous as the people there have a knack for unearthing any and all information about each other and using it for ill. It's a little like the chan's in that sense although from what I understand, the chan's are a whole other level. For a little while, at least, I know there was a bit of cross-flow between the Misc. and the chan's - at least number 4. Anyway, I still visit from time to time but in NO WAY do I spend as much time there as I did back then. It's addictive, as any web forum can be - and if you've ever frequented a web forum and found your place within one, you'll understand what that means.
Idea for a Short Story
"He's not a good man. Definitely not someone you'd want living next door to you."
The officer laughed and broke eye contact. His statement was huge in his own mind, given the history of the man he was speaking about. The murders. The mutilations. The girls that would disappear suddenly, without a trace. Someone's girlfriend. Someone's wife or mother. Someone's daughter. Raised by people who loved her more than they loved themself.
The smile disappeared and his eyes found the camera again.
"No. I take that back. You would want him as a neighbor. His neighbors were safe. They say he was a nice guy. They say they can't believe he's guilty, actually. There's one old woman who told me he spent an hour and a half helping her look for her lost cat. She invited him in and gave him her own food when they couldn't find it even.
"Yeah. I asked him about it and he told me he found her cat. Said he stomped that cat's head flat and picked up shattered pieces of its brain to eat."
Very serious now. The officer's eyes didn't waver.
"He never touched that old woman, though. Treated her like a princess. She couldn't say enough about him, how wonderful he was.
"Yeah, he was a good neighbor. I guess. Sure."
"But you didn't want to cross him. No, sir. Crossing him was a really bad thing."
- I think I jotted down some of this while trying to figure out a short story to submit to Writer's Digest. It may have been an early "fleshing out" of a triple-angle piece I wrote called "Lover".
The officer laughed and broke eye contact. His statement was huge in his own mind, given the history of the man he was speaking about. The murders. The mutilations. The girls that would disappear suddenly, without a trace. Someone's girlfriend. Someone's wife or mother. Someone's daughter. Raised by people who loved her more than they loved themself.
The smile disappeared and his eyes found the camera again.
"No. I take that back. You would want him as a neighbor. His neighbors were safe. They say he was a nice guy. They say they can't believe he's guilty, actually. There's one old woman who told me he spent an hour and a half helping her look for her lost cat. She invited him in and gave him her own food when they couldn't find it even.
"Yeah. I asked him about it and he told me he found her cat. Said he stomped that cat's head flat and picked up shattered pieces of its brain to eat."
Very serious now. The officer's eyes didn't waver.
"He never touched that old woman, though. Treated her like a princess. She couldn't say enough about him, how wonderful he was.
"Yeah, he was a good neighbor. I guess. Sure."
"But you didn't want to cross him. No, sir. Crossing him was a really bad thing."
- I think I jotted down some of this while trying to figure out a short story to submit to Writer's Digest. It may have been an early "fleshing out" of a triple-angle piece I wrote called "Lover".
12-12-08
I'm angry today. And frustrated. And not feeling at peace. Right now I want to get out of nursing. I want to change jobs. Change careers. This has to be part of a mid-life crisis. I'm not sure what else it could be.
I'm 40 and I want to get bigger.
I'm 40 and I want a better job. I made more than ---k this year and I want a better job. That right there paints a sad picture. Spoiled, overblown expectations of a world outside my grasp.
And I sit at Clarke's right now, drinking my third drink, minutes away from my train and jotting down this bullshit.
- Clarke's is a bar at South Station in Boston, MA. I used to go there and have a drink or two before I got on my train after work, when I took the commuter rail - which is a fancy name for the long distance train. It took me from Boston to Walpole so I could drive home from Walpole.
I'm 40 and I want to get bigger.
I'm 40 and I want a better job. I made more than ---k this year and I want a better job. That right there paints a sad picture. Spoiled, overblown expectations of a world outside my grasp.
And I sit at Clarke's right now, drinking my third drink, minutes away from my train and jotting down this bullshit.
- Clarke's is a bar at South Station in Boston, MA. I used to go there and have a drink or two before I got on my train after work, when I took the commuter rail - which is a fancy name for the long distance train. It took me from Boston to Walpole so I could drive home from Walpole.
8-14-08
Low dipped tank tops. Enough to reveal full, swollen cleavage. Wonderful. Beautiful. Something to illustrate just how necessary, essential, human, pleasing and overwhelmingly precious summer months are. Enough to frame them and hold them up as the reason a man enjoys being a man.
Breasts. In your face, just beneath the smile of a beautiful girl.
It's so very primal, the whole attraction piece of the puzzle- man vs. woman because the dance is legitimate. It's been going on for thousands of years. Millions, actually if you looked at it true with sloped foreheads and gray area between Neanderthals and modern man. And never mind living things in general or the dance spreads back billions of years - back to the day when 1-celled organisms split in half again and again with the primitive thought of propagating the species, although ultimately just programmed to continue a line of DNA.
Yeah. Gonna pay my bill.
- written after work while sitting at a sports bar in Plainville, MA. If I remember correctly, there was a pretty brunette behind the bar who kept coming over to talk and every time she leaned down on the bar - BAM! - those beauties were right there. Just wonderful.
Breasts. In your face, just beneath the smile of a beautiful girl.
It's so very primal, the whole attraction piece of the puzzle- man vs. woman because the dance is legitimate. It's been going on for thousands of years. Millions, actually if you looked at it true with sloped foreheads and gray area between Neanderthals and modern man. And never mind living things in general or the dance spreads back billions of years - back to the day when 1-celled organisms split in half again and again with the primitive thought of propagating the species, although ultimately just programmed to continue a line of DNA.
Yeah. Gonna pay my bill.
- written after work while sitting at a sports bar in Plainville, MA. If I remember correctly, there was a pretty brunette behind the bar who kept coming over to talk and every time she leaned down on the bar - BAM! - those beauties were right there. Just wonderful.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
6-29-09
Turning of the tide. Waves roll in. Waves sweep out. Anything left behind is summarily eradicated. It's enough to give someone pause if they're paying attention. Enough to allow for thought, given the time to watch and gauge the whole, the fullness of the rolling waves.
Life begins. It learns. And it ends.
Three moth psych rotations. Every three months we welcome new residents. Every year is a fresh, new batch of youngsters eager and ready to learn. Waves roll in. Waves sweep out.
Life and psychiatry goes on.
Life begins. It learns. And it ends.
Three moth psych rotations. Every three months we welcome new residents. Every year is a fresh, new batch of youngsters eager and ready to learn. Waves roll in. Waves sweep out.
Life and psychiatry goes on.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
A look back.
So, I spent much of my time during my 40th year writing long hand in journals instead of sitting at a computer to log in my daily thoughts. I've meant to transcribe whatever I could find from the past year into this blog for some time but much like the rest of the time surrounding this blog - I blew it off. The entries I include (when I find them) will be written as they are in the journal. No editing, no post-interpretation.
Anyway, here's an entry from January 21, 2009:
I managed to make a journal entry today. Very good. My blog is called Countdown to 40 and I have about 33 entris over the past 7 months. That leaves about 6 months of no entries, although I have a bunch of written entries I really should put into the blog. Just like my writing - I haven't done very well keeping up.
So, I'm at Jennerations right now after finishing at the gym. Work out was pretty decent, all told. I feel much better than last week and I think it's because Rechele got us all together for a night out last Friday to blow off some steam. It helped. Next drink party is tomorrow and I'm looking forward to it, as well.
My Jack and Coke is making me feel warm - a flush over my face and shoulders I'm sure is coloring my skin red.
So the story I started has a man in his camper soon after splitting with his wife and missing his kids. One change in the first chapter should be for the guy to have punched or kicked neighbor after he had a chance to leave - for reason of coming into his house, not because he was fucking his wife.
Second chapter should deal with either he and wife meeting and some of their courtship OR of huim going out and the awkward initiation into the br / drinking / single / new place to live scene. Whichever isn't second should be thrid.
What the fuck's the point of the story, though? I have no fuckin' idea. Maybe the beginning of the Apocalypse / Martial law excursion? Eh - doesn't inspire right now but who knows? Start writing, bitch. See where it takes you.
1-21-09 continued
Pretentious mother-fuckers make me want to fuck someone up. A kid was coming in today for a Blake 11 admit from France. Boston resident. Goes to NYU. Reportedly manic and parents flew out to France to collect him and bring him home. That, in and of itself, is enough to piss me off. If the kid is fucked up - let him go to a hospital in France to get stabilized. It's not a huge emergency if he can fly from rance and then head to the ER. Ok. That's one piece.
His mother called the ER tonight wanting to speak to the RN who would be working with her son. That was enough to boil my blood even though I didn't take the call. I imagine she wanted to set / understand the parameters, as though her son was that important. I suppose on some level, I understand the importance piece as a parent however I have to wonder / think / despise the fact she was calling with the belief it had something to do with her trying to manipulate something along the line of notifying the concierge of a preferred table they expected to get because of factor X.
have no confirmation of this, of course. It's all perception. And maybe the worst part has to do with my ongoing cynicism that usually proves unfounded when I'm face-to-face with people I immediately dismiss as shitbags. Rich, pompous, entitled shitbags.
1-21-09 continued
God damn. Short shirts makes the atmosphere. The body is tight. The face is pretty.
Anyway, here's an entry from January 21, 2009:
I managed to make a journal entry today. Very good. My blog is called Countdown to 40 and I have about 33 entris over the past 7 months. That leaves about 6 months of no entries, although I have a bunch of written entries I really should put into the blog. Just like my writing - I haven't done very well keeping up.
So, I'm at Jennerations right now after finishing at the gym. Work out was pretty decent, all told. I feel much better than last week and I think it's because Rechele got us all together for a night out last Friday to blow off some steam. It helped. Next drink party is tomorrow and I'm looking forward to it, as well.
My Jack and Coke is making me feel warm - a flush over my face and shoulders I'm sure is coloring my skin red.
So the story I started has a man in his camper soon after splitting with his wife and missing his kids. One change in the first chapter should be for the guy to have punched or kicked neighbor after he had a chance to leave - for reason of coming into his house, not because he was fucking his wife.
Second chapter should deal with either he and wife meeting and some of their courtship OR of huim going out and the awkward initiation into the br / drinking / single / new place to live scene. Whichever isn't second should be thrid.
What the fuck's the point of the story, though? I have no fuckin' idea. Maybe the beginning of the Apocalypse / Martial law excursion? Eh - doesn't inspire right now but who knows? Start writing, bitch. See where it takes you.
1-21-09 continued
Pretentious mother-fuckers make me want to fuck someone up. A kid was coming in today for a Blake 11 admit from France. Boston resident. Goes to NYU. Reportedly manic and parents flew out to France to collect him and bring him home. That, in and of itself, is enough to piss me off. If the kid is fucked up - let him go to a hospital in France to get stabilized. It's not a huge emergency if he can fly from rance and then head to the ER. Ok. That's one piece.
His mother called the ER tonight wanting to speak to the RN who would be working with her son. That was enough to boil my blood even though I didn't take the call. I imagine she wanted to set / understand the parameters, as though her son was that important. I suppose on some level, I understand the importance piece as a parent however I have to wonder / think / despise the fact she was calling with the belief it had something to do with her trying to manipulate something along the line of notifying the concierge of a preferred table they expected to get because of factor X.
have no confirmation of this, of course. It's all perception. And maybe the worst part has to do with my ongoing cynicism that usually proves unfounded when I'm face-to-face with people I immediately dismiss as shitbags. Rich, pompous, entitled shitbags.
1-21-09 continued
God damn. Short shirts makes the atmosphere. The body is tight. The face is pretty.
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