it's the first day and I'm already in over my head. great.
intended to be private, but she can't figure out the security settings yet.
My therapist said I should write all this down and that it'll make me feel better. I'm really not so sure about that - it feels kind of like I'm reliving the past sometimes - but hey, she's a therapist, I did a two month general psych rotation, maybe there's something to it.
I actually went out yesterday, and I kind of socialized, sort of, with the neighbors. It wasn't really my idea of course but ... as funny as this is going to sound, I get the feeling strange things happen here. Let me explain. Or, let me sum up, if explaining will take too long.
That's a joke. I know it wasn't really that funny though. My jokes usually aren't. Sigh.
I went with Pascha and Thicket out into the backyard to make sure the fence was secure, and Pascha (the little beast) climbed up one of the trees and jumped down into the neighbor's yard. Can you believe it? God, I was scared. But I had to go get him! I couldn't leave Pascha even if he is a mischevious little brat. So I actually - I still can't believe this - I went into the neighbor's yard.
I haven't talked to a person (aside from the customs agents at the border and I had to take two Valium as we were coming into Fort Erie just to work up the courage to answer 'anything to declare?', isn't that stupid?) since the hospital. Thank god for email - that's how I found this place - otherwise I'd be so, so screwed. I was amazed my voice still worked!
(I know, stupid, your voice doesn't just go away, that's medically impossible, but it kind of felt like it should have. I haven't used it in ages.)
So next door. It's the weirdest thing - back when I was ... you know, before I fucked up everything, when I was at Harvard - I'd heard all these stories about this guy, Dr. Gregory House? How he eats the brains of lesser doctors after stabbing them through the heart with a silver scalpel, has a black leather labcoat and a motorcycle and rides through the night with his fangs dripping with the blood of his enemies? Scary stuff, but some of the residents swore it was true. I heard that he'd done some crazy elimination games to pick his fellowships, that he hired one guy because he had a criminal record, how he used to break into people's houses, how he got sued all the time and still managed to keep his job - Baker called him 'The Teflon Doc'. Of course he was an idiot, Baker, but he may have been right on this one. Even a stopped watch is right twice a day.
Anyway, that's my new neighbor.
I didn't see any dead bodies, and his kid - daughter, adopted I think - she looks nothing like him anyway - was very sweet. She talked me into the back yard. SO embarrassing. I felt like such an ass. I still feel like an ass. Especially after I twisted my ankle chasing Pascha around, and then had a panic attack in his backyard.
And then another one after he invited me inside. God, I'm such an idiot.
But he fixed my ankle (and gave me more Valium, which I hate but ... maybe going cold turkey isn't such a good idea after all. Damnit. I really want to kick this! It's not my fault I'm so screwed up, is it?)
Okay, maybe it is. Sigh. I'm so hopeless.
I can't be entirely hopeless though - that was the other weird thing. Either I'm not entirely hopeless or he's a total idiot, because he actually offered me a job. ME. Seriously! I'm going to be his new office assistant. I start on Monday. I can hardly believe it!
I'll probably screw up somehow, but hopefully I can get at least a paycheck out of him first.
Or, well, maybe he'll kill me and drink my blood. That's always possible too. I really hope not. He carried me home, isn't that crazy? Because of my ankle. He literally carried me home. Which was differently frustrating. He has such nice hands ... even if he is something of a jerk.
I emailed my therapist. She says I need to try and get out and to meet a few new people. She's worried that moving away like this is only going to make it harder for me to adjust eventually because I have no support network here. I told her that it's not like I have one there, either, and I'd like to at least have some of my dignity. What little there is left of it. After my face was on all those newspapers after the surgery screwup, after they took pictures of me going inside the courthouse looking like some kind of felon, tore down my credibility, insinuated I'd screwed so many things up... there's nothing for me in Boston anymore, even if I were to go outside of medicine. If I'm going to move, I might as well go all the way.
My therapist told me to start thinking about socializing and *gulp* dating. Isn't that insane? She needs to book a session with herself, honestly. Dating. Pah. (Although I do ... wish. A lot. It's been a while for a lot of things, not just talking.)
Anyway. I think I'll make some cookies or something - to take my mind off of this. It's a hope.
My therapist said I should write all this down and that it'll make me feel better. I'm really not so sure about that - it feels kind of like I'm reliving the past sometimes - but hey, she's a therapist, I did a two month general psych rotation, maybe there's something to it.
I actually went out yesterday, and I kind of socialized, sort of, with the neighbors. It wasn't really my idea of course but ... as funny as this is going to sound, I get the feeling strange things happen here. Let me explain. Or, let me sum up, if explaining will take too long.
That's a joke. I know it wasn't really that funny though. My jokes usually aren't. Sigh.
I went with Pascha and Thicket out into the backyard to make sure the fence was secure, and Pascha (the little beast) climbed up one of the trees and jumped down into the neighbor's yard. Can you believe it? God, I was scared. But I had to go get him! I couldn't leave Pascha even if he is a mischevious little brat. So I actually - I still can't believe this - I went into the neighbor's yard.
I haven't talked to a person (aside from the customs agents at the border and I had to take two Valium as we were coming into Fort Erie just to work up the courage to answer 'anything to declare?', isn't that stupid?) since the hospital. Thank god for email - that's how I found this place - otherwise I'd be so, so screwed. I was amazed my voice still worked!
(I know, stupid, your voice doesn't just go away, that's medically impossible, but it kind of felt like it should have. I haven't used it in ages.)
So next door. It's the weirdest thing - back when I was ... you know, before I fucked up everything, when I was at Harvard - I'd heard all these stories about this guy, Dr. Gregory House? How he eats the brains of lesser doctors after stabbing them through the heart with a silver scalpel, has a black leather labcoat and a motorcycle and rides through the night with his fangs dripping with the blood of his enemies? Scary stuff, but some of the residents swore it was true. I heard that he'd done some crazy elimination games to pick his fellowships, that he hired one guy because he had a criminal record, how he used to break into people's houses, how he got sued all the time and still managed to keep his job - Baker called him 'The Teflon Doc'. Of course he was an idiot, Baker, but he may have been right on this one. Even a stopped watch is right twice a day.
Anyway, that's my new neighbor.
I didn't see any dead bodies, and his kid - daughter, adopted I think - she looks nothing like him anyway - was very sweet. She talked me into the back yard. SO embarrassing. I felt like such an ass. I still feel like an ass. Especially after I twisted my ankle chasing Pascha around, and then had a panic attack in his backyard.
And then another one after he invited me inside. God, I'm such an idiot.
But he fixed my ankle (and gave me more Valium, which I hate but ... maybe going cold turkey isn't such a good idea after all. Damnit. I really want to kick this! It's not my fault I'm so screwed up, is it?)
Okay, maybe it is. Sigh. I'm so hopeless.
I can't be entirely hopeless though - that was the other weird thing. Either I'm not entirely hopeless or he's a total idiot, because he actually offered me a job. ME. Seriously! I'm going to be his new office assistant. I start on Monday. I can hardly believe it!
I'll probably screw up somehow, but hopefully I can get at least a paycheck out of him first.
Or, well, maybe he'll kill me and drink my blood. That's always possible too. I really hope not. He carried me home, isn't that crazy? Because of my ankle. He literally carried me home. Which was differently frustrating. He has such nice hands ... even if he is something of a jerk.
I emailed my therapist. She says I need to try and get out and to meet a few new people. She's worried that moving away like this is only going to make it harder for me to adjust eventually because I have no support network here. I told her that it's not like I have one there, either, and I'd like to at least have some of my dignity. What little there is left of it. After my face was on all those newspapers after the surgery screwup, after they took pictures of me going inside the courthouse looking like some kind of felon, tore down my credibility, insinuated I'd screwed so many things up... there's nothing for me in Boston anymore, even if I were to go outside of medicine. If I'm going to move, I might as well go all the way.
My therapist told me to start thinking about socializing and *gulp* dating. Isn't that insane? She needs to book a session with herself, honestly. Dating. Pah. (Although I do ... wish. A lot. It's been a while for a lot of things, not just talking.)
Anyway. I think I'll make some cookies or something - to take my mind off of this. It's a hope.