That's what my personal ad would say.
So, yesterday during a massage with a client who is a teacher, the client was telling me another ridiculously awful story about the quality of students in her english class; how everyone is looking at a phone constantly, no one does assignments, people show up 40 minutes late or leave halfway through, even a story of a guy who couldn't understand why the teacher didn't get his text saying he was going to miss class (her response, "the office phones are landlines, they don't get texts." WOW.)
She said some of her students want to be nurses (including the guy that abbreviates registered nurse as NR) but all universally say they are not interested in science. She says they will have a wake up call when they can't pass anatomy and physiology.
I told het that it was my first anatomy and physiology class that convinced me I should go into a medical field, because I was REALLY good at it and knew it would earn money, as opposed to the other things that I was really good at, like English, which would just put me on track to being a poor teacher who hates everyone even more than i already do.
She laughed wildly.
Then she asked, if I hate people, how come i seem to enjoy my career as a massage therapist so much, and am so good at it?
So... Huh. I have thought of this before, but never come up with really satisfying answers.
Like, "I appreciate helping individuals but hate groups." Or "I just do it because I want praise."
Yeah, both of these are true. But i really do feel like each person that gets on my table, no matter how i feel about them as a person, is a child under my care that i need to nurture, heal and protect.
But damn, i honestly dislike the majority of humans that I know of. I don't hate most people that i meet, I just don't care about them. It takes someone really special for me to feel like, if you disappeared from the planet right now, I would miss you. I only have a small handful of people i would consider good friends.
The flip side of the coin is that i have a jillion acquaintances, because I'm so eager to please that everyone likes me to some degree. I don't care about these people at all, but i have to make sure they like me. For some reason.
And the few people that I know personally and hate, I wish slow death and suffering upon. These are also the only people that I don't try to please.
Perhaps my choice of careers reflects emotional damage when I was a kid in an abusive elementary school; trying to stay out of the sight of bullies and being extra nice and charming so no one would want to hurt me, but LOATHING everyone around me with the burning hatred of a thousand suns.
Take away message; if your kid doesn't hang themselves or shoot up the place because of school bullies, they'll probably make good health care professionals. (I KID BECAUSE I LOVE.)
Saturday, February 1, 2014
I can safely ay that 100% of the diaries, journals and blogs I have ever kept have died for the same reason. I suddenly suffer some major gap in time, and after that point even if I have things to write about, I suddenly feel awkward writing them without explaining what I've been doing with myself in the mean time. As if I need to catch up an old acquaintance or something. As if my journals judge me. (Stop judging me!!)
In this instance it is not only the awkward gap in time but the fact that I am now forced to do most of my typing holding aloft an iPad, which is... So... So... Horrible beyond description... (Incidentally, please forgive any typos. I promise you they bother me way more than they bother you. You know how your typing program highlights every error in red? That's my whole brain.)
Usually the gap in time happens after some major life event occurs. I'm not entirely sure why I find it tedious to write about major life events in my diaries... Perhaps I've written so many letter and talked about it using so many important words already that to rehash it one more time for something that simply amount to "posterity" feels trite.
Maybe I only like to share thoughts that I haven't previously shared. "Private" thoughts that I hope someone cares enough about to read.
In any case, i've had too many random things I've wanted to say to let this blog languish any longer. So I bring you back to life, written words of mine! *BOOM*
Here is a summary of my life and why I have not done any upkeep here.
Got married. On a farm, with a corn maze and squirt guns and a bonfire. It was THE BEST PARTY EVER. Got pregnant one month after that. Oops! But I always knew I'd have a baby at some point and figured I wasn't going to get any younger, so alrighty then. At least I got married first - yay life going in the correct order! Had Lydia on July 5th at 1am, and could still hear fireworks outside the window. Did, and have subsequently done, everything as naturally and mother-chimp-like as possible based on the fear that if i don't there might be the smallest chance I'll be turning my baby girl into one of the thousands of people that I think are a waste of skin and resources. Since I don't know what it is that turns someone into a worthless human being, I don't want to accidentally do it. It's a crazy theory that I'm afraid to not abide by. Which is not to say this has been easy. Lydia is eighteen months now and literally tests at three year old intelligence, which i'm not saying to brag, but to beg commiseration. She is CRAZY sauce, barely eats but takes eight mother's worth of energy to keep up with, but I do my best somehow, even though i feel like I live a shell of a life. I'm told this will change... At some point... Maybe... (Yaaay). We just bought a house, my very first since my childhood home, in Oak Park, a. hoping the schools here will be what Bananas needs to stay sane, b. hoping it's as interesting and walkable as where we had lived in roscoe village so I can stay sane, and c. hoping it's the closest burb to Chicago so Paul can stay sane. None of us feel very sane yet. But moving never goes smoothly, right? (Stabstabstab)
So that should bring you up to speed, you damn judgmental blog you.
Now, on with the brainmeats.