abigail414's diaryland diary
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Smack and Run
"Suffering is not holding you. You are holding suffering. When you become good at the art of letting sufferings go, then you'll come to realize how unnecessary it was for you to drag those burdens around with you. You'll see that no one else other than you was responsible. The truth is that existence wants your life to become a festival."
-Osho
ARIES (March 21-April 19): According to the Midwest Book Review, David Foster Wallace's 1,088-page book 'Infinite Jest' is "perhaps the most innovative novel in the English language since James Joyce's Ulysses." The Review of Contemporary Fiction calls 'Infinite Jest' a vast comic epic, adding that it's "so brilliant you need sunglasses to read it." On the other hand, critic Dan Schneider Cosmoetica.com) believes Infinite Jest "might be the worst novel ever written." I expect that there will be a similar diversity of opinion about you and your efforts in the coming week, Aries. My advice? Ignore everyone's assessment but your own and that of the person who knows you best. (This was my Rob Brezny horoscope last week)
Thursday morning started out with a dream that I had received a tongue/throat (aka �pluck�) transplant from a sick goat. It was a pre-emptive strike against some awful lung disease, meaning the goat had it and survived and was then killed so that I could be imparted some kind of immunity � if I didn�t catch it first. I woke up from the dream having a hard time breathing, thinking the transplant should be removed because the goat had been too sick and I was getting ill. Nelly came over and snuggled and I started breathing more normally - waking in a panic attack is bad, especially creepy since in real life I had gotten my Remicaid IV infusion a couple days before. Remicaid is made by giving lab mice liver failure so their abdominal fluid can be extracted and purified antibodies used to lock up an overactive part of my immune system. I wish I had just called in sick.
Instead, I went to work and was greeted by wet rags in my office (as usual - janitor crew has a problem), and assigned the perenially late, slothful, and insubordinate assistant. Not only did I manage to offend her (very easy, she is offended that she has to work at all), but also hurt the feelings of a friendly co-worker trying to help, and fueled an argument between the medical director and the internal medicine specialist. I'm starting to think I need to leave my quirky personality at home so I can play-act the expected doctor role and get through the day.
My veterinary work life has been very much like the above horoscope. It is my calling, clients love me, patients heal, I make good money, my boss enjoys all of the above; but my co-workers just don't get me. The latter is a problem, since I'm with them 12 hours a day. I think perhaps it is because I am an ENTP personality type, which can look like an eccentric scattered genius rather than the linear and pragmatic ISTJ personalities that dominate veterinary medicine. Or I�m a typical self-absorbed Aries, insensitive Monkey, have a mild case of Asperger�s syndrome, am in menopause - any number of defects that I readily acknowledge as I run back into my hole to nurse my wounds.
In the midst of this chaotic morning, Dr D. walked in - the specialty surgeon that I drooled over last month. I had sent him follow-up x-rays on a case we referred to him - he fused some broken metacarpals (aka toes). Of course I had to drop what I was doing to suit his schedule, as expected by most visiting surgeons. I ended up in the dark radiology room with him, scrutinizing the plate and pins in the bone, and a small part of my mind was passionately kissing him and realizing it was a familiar experience. Hmmn. In reality, I kept my flirtmobile parked and locked at the curb, and all was professional, even when he asked with twinkling eyes �how are you doing�? I made an offhand comment about being busy, and then inquired about his cremation urn business, since I used to make these in pottery(and his wife is his business partner on the internet). Good move - he knows I know.
For lunch, I met a vet friend who will be working with us in spring, and while eating a messy shrimp tostada a truck smacked into my car. Big time - looks like I�ll need a new bumper, and I also have a rear-end waddle at low speeds. What was noteworthy was that a handsome DHL Express guy wrote the license number of the smacker on his hand, found me in the restaurant, waited around for the cops, who proceeded to catch the guy and charge him with misdemeanor hit and run, and then he rode off in a cop car to ID the perp. (My 2nd ex-husband left for a camping trip while a crazy woman driver blockaded me in at my house, so the kindness of this stranger really impressed me). I gave him my card and offered him a good dinner. If I don�t hear from him, I�ll have his address from the rap sheet and will send a gift certificate to him for a nice restaurant and he can take his sweetie or daughter.
I�m realizing now that my overall stress level, and hence personality defects, are probably being enhanced by the fact that I may buy a house out here if they�ll take $450K for it (believe it or not, that is below median price). All my commitment issues are surfacing � do I belong with these people, am I worthy, do I like them, is this a good time/place/area to buy or a bad time/place/area to buy, etc etc. In a relationship, this is the stage where I would create a crisis to test my partner, or end it rather than go smoothly to the next level. Holding my hand through the house part is Randy, an adorable gay real estate agent who has lived here a long time and has excellent taste. How can you worry when a tan blond guy in a silk lime green designer shirt and gucci belt with snug jeans is showing you 'fabulous' or 'adorable' houses? It feels like I'm living �queer eye for the straight girl�. After he gets me in a cool house I think I need a wardrobe consultation.
The opening drawing was done by a little girl in describing her birth. Last week, Hugh, my 86 year old hypnotherapist, pointed out that a lot of my problems go back to being a C-section - I keep thinking someone will come along and rescue me, or; if things are going along well a big hand will pull me into a cold brightly lit room and smack me. That looks like a core belief I need to let go of if life is truly going to be a festival.
8:50 a.m. - 2006-10-15
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
other diaries: |
