On a season-long plot arc about serial rape on Veronica Mars

Now harder to take my mind off work when I get home on Tuesdays. I mean come on, leave that to CSI: Miami.

...of fun!

My job has its ups and downs, its highs and lows, its moments... Actually, I could keep going on that for a while, so let's just cap that with the vernacular, if I may. It's a rollercoaster. I've said before that it's challenging, but really, what else would be expected on a unit for the treatment of convicted sex offenders? Sometimes, a patient will surprise us and make us reevaluate where we think they are in treatment, other times they... well, not so much. On a lot of days, we see both those things. As I'm sure that you have surmised, dear reader, today was one of those days, making everything up to a now an elaborate way to state the obvious.

A lot of this is actually pretty standard. Some patients are on positive bends right now, others: not so much. High Risk group was especially difficult, but it often is. The more cognitive groups can be more difficult, especially after an emotional day of psychotherapy. As things often do in life, confusion gives way to embarassment and very often a healthy dollop of anger, which means that an equal amount of effort is often needed to work through this. At its best, the group takes care of this as peers help those having difficulty work through it. Almost as often, though, there are some who end up making it worse. Today was, let me hear it: BOTH! It's a lot of effort, but yeah, it's satisfying. I was able to talk to the unit psychiatrist (no, not about that, Hana!) to summarize one of the more stressful groups and got a lot of positive feedback for what I said in it. After some months on the job, I'm getting pretty good at calming down agitated patients. This ended the workday, which was good.

Apolgies for vagueness, but it's required. Working in a healthcare facility is one part of it, but I'm also working in one of the most secretive aspects of it, given the sensitive nature of the clientelle. Yes, I do realize that's pretty anticlimactic after the epic introduction. For that, I beg your forgiveness. Formalities aside, the hourlong drive home and trip to the grocery store is always a way to let the stress evaporate. And that's including bad road conditions and other drivers! Fuck yeah!

Epilogue: As some of you know, I've been theoretically participating in NaBloPoMo, but have missed a few posts already. I've been battling the beginnings of a cold and have been falling asleep before my routine posting time as a result, making the last post somewhat of a painful stopgap. The weekend summarizing post is often that, I've found. The point is, I'll make up for those posts.

And for my next trick

I just had a nice lazy weekend. After some Friday excitement where Michael, Shani, Theo, Jesse and I went to see Borat but ended up seeing The Departed (there weren't any seats left though we had bought tickets, so the theatre refunded us and let us all see another movie for free), I settled into a nice relaxing next 48 hours of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the November issue of Vogue, Jeff Tweedy live tracks and about 7 hours of Children of Mana.

Wow. Did you hear that? That was the sound of your envy. Or my virginity. These days, I'm not sure I know anymore. Regardless, I still had a fairly fulfilling weekend. I mean yeah, to some the only discernible sound might be that of haunting loneliness, but sometimes that just sounds like Bauhaus turned up or early Ryan Adams sung in the shower. Not exactly jetsetting, but hey, I reap what I sow. The only thing that could have gone better would be early afternoon bento with Shelly, but she and her husband were out in Sherwood Park making roasted pepper somethingorother.

I am way too old to be 21.

It's a good life if you don't weaken

I have the worst luck with ordering things and using the postal service. When I was six, my Nintendo Entertainment System came with a free subscription to Nintendo Power magazine. So I dutifully filled out the card and sat quietly as my mum drove me to the mailbox and I tipped it in. Almost sixteen years later, it still hasn't arrived. Should I send a letter?

In mid August, I ordered my Macbook and was given an estimated delivery date of the next week. The day after that rolled around, I got an email saying it been delayed another week. A week after that, I got a similar email. After a series of phonecalls with Apple, I got the computer discounted and the shipping upgraded to expedited for free, but nobody told Fedex. It shipped standard. Eventually, on September 6th, a full three weeks after it was supposed to be delivered, I finally got it. But they didn't deliver it - no, that would have been too simple, too easy; THEIR JOB,. I had to drive to the other side of the city with directions to the warehouse that included intersections that didn't exist. Think of something that could have gone wrong; it did.

On September 17th, I ordered two Sigur Ros singles off Amazon. The latter, Hoppipolla, had an estimated ship date of 1-2 weeks. On October 4th, an email said it was delayed 4-6 weeks. On Wednesday, another email amended that to another 4-6 weeks from now. The delivery date is now anywhere from December 4th to the 20th. That's three months after I ordered it. I've got no idea what to do; if I cancel it and order it in-store, it'll ship from the same place and likely take just as long. I've got this sinking feeling that next July as I step off the plane in Reykjavik, my first stop will be to a record store, who will probably just make me order it anyway.

one two one two one two

It's no secret that I've got some odd tendencies. For years, it was just tidying tables and counters to have everything neatly organized in rows. A year or two ago, I started habitually making sure the doors were locked before I could get to sleep. If I didn't and thought about it, it'd bother me enough that I'd have to get out of bed, or it'd start eating away at me and I wouldn't sleep. The same thing for lyric ideas. I jokingly dismissed this as my "OCD tendency" to one of the forensic therapists at work, and after a few questions he got a distressed look on his face. "Yeah, that... could be worrying," he told me. But come on, making sure things get done? That's useful! That makes sure that my nightly routine gets done! So for a few months, I forgot about it. It wasn't really there, it wasn't even a shadow.

Now it's starting to bother me a bit more. A lot. It's getting to the point where an increasing amount of my thoughts every night are devoted to this routine. To making sure the pillows and duvet are in a certain position, that my pajama bottoms and shirt are in a certain position, that the mattress is okay. Earlier in the week, I spent two hours each night constantly rearranging these and getting out of bed to check the doors, touching the locks and pulling to make sure everything is just right. It's not uncommon these days for me to walk back and forth between the doors, checking and checking again. By 2:30 or 3 I get my mind off it long enough to fall asleep, or maybe it's just worn me out so much I can't help it.

This isn't normal and it's probably not healthy. I'm scared that it's actual obsessive compulsive disorder but I'm even more scared of actually talking to people about it. And it's not like I don't have good supports, I work on a unit with a psychiatrist, three forensic therapists, a social worker with a psychology degree and a psychologist as my supervisor. At a mental hospital, with countless professionals. I talk with the staff about everything else, but for some reason I can't seem to do it now. I'm starting to become afraid to go to bed, I'm not sure whether I'll be able to fall asleep or not. I don't think I can control it anymore, I definitely can't joke.

A mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in bacon

Since I'm so much younger than almost the entire staff at work, it seems to be a common interest on the unit as to my love life. Generally speaking, it's just Shelly talking about me loving her, but occasionally I make a mistake. Like baking and bringing it to the unit. Now, everybody is just plain confused as to my being single. I'm getting all these comments about how "it will happen soon" and I'm "going to get snatched up" but all I can think of is not blushing.

[EDIT: This was NaBloPoMo post #1, so just pretend I got it in four minutes earlier.]

A perpetual contest to see can get to Hell the fastest

Me: So, Stephen Hawking is getting a divorce.
Dad: What, is he not very good in bed?
Me: Yeah, I guess he just lays there.
Dad: It's a miracle he's still alive. But I don't think he's as smart as everyone says he is. He can't even talk without that machine.
Me: That's classy, Dad. Seriously, a new height for you.
Dad: I'm just saying, he uses a straw to type onto a keyboard and brilliant things come out. I think he's just a puppet.