In the dead vast and middle of the night
Song of the hour: Not a mouse stirring, by my oscillating fan
(okay not really)
It’s 1:30.
I’ve been trying to sleep for over an hour, but my pillow is uncomfortable and the sheep are infinite. The thought of holding any book in front of my face brings tears to my eyes… so hey there, stranger. Thought I might write a note.
Of note, I consumed roughly 11 cups of coffee over the course of the day; so don’t feel sorry for me.
I did this to myself.
I finished my first written grad school assignment tonight. It sucked, but it’s submitted on time. An ironic little piece, really—in it, a defense of the DSM and the medical model of disability (as opposed to the social constructionist model, which is a fascinating idea) and mostly defending the paradigm of psychologists and psychiatrists as being, basically, well intentioned. While writing this paper, however, I repeatedly chewed on my small, lightweight, $28 paperback handbook of the new APA guidelines on writing, which dictates your heading formats, your in-line citation styles, where to put you periods, quotations, headers, spaces, etc.etc.etc. in a farcically OCD fashion… of course put together for, and by, the mental health industry. Very frustrating, that. Bastards.
Where I last left you… oh, right. Obviously, I took the GRE, I was accepted into the program, and am now overwhelmed to sleeplessness. That part’s pretty obvious. The David part is too depressing. The short version is that the paperwork in done, Joss got to see his father briefly though they didn’t speak, and David’s wife is not my favorite person as she refuses to let her family to have anything to do with Joss. David’s wishes are unclear, but since he never responded to the letter Joss sent him, my guess is apathy. Joss, of course, is still waiting for response. It’s fucking heartbreaking. But that’s that, and I’m not sure that it will ever change.
On a brighter note, Joss started middle school, and seems to be getting along okay. Well, no new catastrophes, at least. His school does a really good job of helping kids transition into the busier schedule, so it’s been mostly painless. The bus coming at 6:55 instead of 7:55, however, is quite painful.
I have a new laptop—it’s one of the super shiny deals where everything is glossy and the screen is polished to a mirroring gleam whose function, I keep discovering, is to consistently remind me that I am in the magical possession of The Worst Haircut Ever. It’s like that Dorothy Hamil haircut my mom got me in 4th grade that instigated ruthless harassment for 3 years, but worse. I’m hoping it will soon grow out of its Kenneth Branagh Hamlet phase and into a Julie Andrews Sound of Music phase… if I’m lucky. And though I am sometimes prone to hyperbole, I assure you now, I’m not joking. Worst. Haircut. Ever.
It’s after 2. I need to get back to my shepherding business and run a head count. I have a patient coming tomorrow—a WWII vet I really wish I could tell you about—and I’m going to be completely worthless as is…
Anyway, just saying hello. Sorry for the squeak and gibber.
Love.
