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.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
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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