Dear Verizon:

Dear Verizon,

I am sitting here waiting for my webpage to load and I imagine that I can complete this letter before it finishes. Normally, one is advised to keep such letters brief, but I think a lengthy letter is necessary to detail the torture I have endured over the last 2 years while paying for Verizon DSL.

Let us begin with the fact that the Internet ceases to function about every 10 minutes. I then must either restart the modem or the computer or my wireless connection or some mysterious combination of those in order to get it to work again. This is always fun when you are in the middle of doing something important, such as work for one of the three jobs I have that force me to rely on an Internet connection.

Because of these issues, I have been forced to call your technical support on a number of occasions. Well, actually, there really isn’t any way to call technical support directly. Instead, I must call a main Verizon number and speak to a robot for 20 minutes, a robot that doesn’t understand English and does not want me to speak to a human, before I become so frustrated that I just start hitting numbers. That usually makes the robot angry enough to give me a human being. A human being who then transfers me a to a few other human beings before settling on one that thinks he can help (he can’t, but we’re getting to that).

In the past I have re-wired the entire router set-up, replaced the modem, and done a number of other troubleshooting tasks with your handy technical assistance people. While spending upwards of 45 minutes on the phone with a tech support purpose is a great time on a Friday night, it doesn’t seem to resolve any of my problems. The last one told me he’d have some tests run and I’d get a call back. I didn’t get a call back.

My favorite part of this whole thing is the part of your recording that tells me to seek assistance on your website for technical problems. You do realize that if my Internet was working, I wouldn’t be on the phone, right? So all that does is make me angrier.

Needless to say, two years of no real assistance and no resolution to the worst Internet service on the face of the planet (since the days of dial-up when somebody picked up the phone while you were on the Internet), I would like to cancel my DSL service. Please be cautious when opening the box that I use to return your rented modem as it may contain a gift symbolizing my appreciation for a fantastic two years. For the sake of not being arrested, I will state that it will not be an explosive or anything deadly, just something I really don’t want and I’m sure you don’t want too (like the crap that I clean out of my vacuum cleaner) so that you can waste as much time cleaning the modem as I have trying to access the Internet.

Sincerely,

ME

Bitemark

Yesterday, I was bit at work.  And I know I’ve been complaining about work a lot, but I think it’s justified.  I was bit because the two individuals restraining the child were not doing so properly and I was trying to prevent their arms from being bitten.
It’s not a terrible bite, but the little pain in my right thumb is a constant reminder of my job and how unhappy it makes me.  I returned to work in January with the intention of approaching my work, to the best of my ability, as just my work, without responsibility for the poor job done by others.  And this has helped a little bit, no pun intended.   However, I still carry a caseload and a half without any compensation for my additional work.  I still  have to sacrifice the quality of my work and live with the idea that I can’t do better because my employers won’t allow it – they refuse to acknowledge the ongoing problem of having only 4 licensed clinicians.

So I spent the last few hours applying for jobs.  I doubt that I will receive any response with the state of the economy, but there is always the possibility that I will.  And that is bittersweet because a therapist can never make a clean break from her job.  There will always be clients left behind.  Clients that have been abandoned so many times in their lives and I have opted to selfishly abandon them again.  I know that my self-preservation is the only way that I can make a difference in this field, but I still carry guilt from leaving behind a few clients from my previous position.

I probably have forgotten the majority of them or they moved on easily without thinking of me.  Perhaps I have over-inflated my importance in their lives,  but I just can’t shake the thought that my actions were one more bad memory in a chain of loss and abandonment for a few of them.  And so, for all the clients in the world that were left by a therapist that they trusted, I am sorry.

For me, I can’t continue to work in an environment where “work” is secondary to the personal needs of the majority of the employees, including much of the administration.  And I can’t do my best work in an environment wrought with dishonesty and unethical behavior.  So, I apply for jobs, as I have done so many times in the past.  And the road splits – I will either receive an adequate offer, move on, enjoy some happiness, however briefly, and live with some guilt OR I will not receive any offers, I will stay, things will get better at points, I will wait patiently for the proverbial shit to hit the fan, and I will likely become frustrated and apply for more jobs again in the future.

A**

Today I was called an “asshole” at work.  In front of my entire department.  By the co-worker who has created the mess that has made my working life a living hell.

Now, I will confess to being a lot of things- too serious at times, socially awkward on occasion, even bitch-y when the moment strikes, but I am about as far from an asshole as one can get.  And I just can’t let this go.

Let’s go back a few months when my already stressful and oft infuriating job became a nightmare.  See, the aforementioned co-worker, we’ll call him Narcissus, lawyered-up to go after the NJ counseling board for not issuing him his independent counseling license.  Narcissus has been practicing unlicensed in our facility under clinical supervision for several years.   At one time, somebody somewhere considered our facility exempt from having licensed clinicians because we were an “educational facility”.  But then the laws changed and we retained several unlicensed clinicians.  When Narcissus applied for his license, he was denied repeatedly for a number of reasons that I will admit do not make a whole lot of sense.  So then he decided to fight the board for his license, leading the board to become angry and agitated (I’m sure because he also treated them as he treated me today).  In their anger and agitation, they went after my licensed supervisor for supervising an unlicensed clinician and stated that no unlicensed clinician could practice in our facility, effectively eliminating 4 of our 7 clinicians instantly.

Now, I am independently licensed and have NEVER practiced without a license because social workers are properly educated in understanding the laws of their state.  Our state only allows me to practice unlicensed as a certified school social worker (I am also one of those).  So, all of this means that I now get to carry a massive caseload while rescinding much of my job to a case manager who is supposed to be a clinician but can’t be because Narcissus had to go and make waves.  And I frequently find myself going through entire days where I do not have more than 2 minutes to breathe, but am fortunate enough to pass Narcissus in his office texting on his cell phone while he does virtually nothing and gets paid for it.

I will admit that I was angry, even furious, at this man for the problems he has entangled me in.  You see, I have broken no laws, I have done all that was expected of me, but I am the one working 10 times as hard to meet the demands of our facility.  I have essentially avoided Narcissus, knowing that I could not show much regard for him, especially when I heard that he was considering declining the license offered to him because it was not the independent license that he sought.   Such a decision would narcisistically allow him to avoid work while I continue to work like a dog.

Which leads to today.  This morning I received a Christmas card in my work mailbox, my first name written on the envelope – “Nichole”.   And inside, a card simply signed by, you guessed it, Narcissus.  Now, I’m not one to really get angry when my name is spelled wrong, but I would expect a man who I’ve worked with for three years to have a pretty good idea of how to spell my relatively easy-to-spell name.   But, narcissistic people only care about how to spell their own names.   In all honesty, it was one of those slightly painfully funny moments that makes me laugh a little at the absurdity of my job.

Later, we had a “going away” lunch for one of our interns where I thought I would take the opportunity to remind Narcissus how to spell my name.  So I simply said this line, “Pop quiz [Narcissus] – How do you spell my name?”  Let me elaborate in saying that this particular co-worker goes around “quizzing” other clinicians on clinical theory and whatnot on a regular basis to continue to promote his believe in his being superior to the rest of us.

And he replied, “A-S-S-H-O-L-E”.

And I replied, “Wow, that was mean.”

Because I’m pretty bad at comebacks when I get slapped in the face like that.  And then I went on to explain why I was asking – because he had spelled my name incorrectly.

And he replied, “Does it really matter how your name is spelled anyway?”

Because the truth is, no matter how hard I work, not matter how much I demonstrate (rather than just profess) my abilities as a clinician, Narcissus will never respect me and I never really will matter in his eyes.

And I just can’t let this go.

Ending

Two weeks ago, we said goodbye to Papa.  A few days later, I promised John I would write about him.  I don’t know why he asked me to do that, but I can only imagine it is for the same reasons that I wanted to write about my father after his death.  We are terrified of forgetting.  And by the time they are gone, we’ve already forgotten so much.  The sound of his voice, his Polish accent, the smell of his drug-store cologne, his toothless old-man smile.

I can’t think of John without remembering Papa.  Before we even had an idea of dating, John talked about spending his Spring Break going to breakfast with his grandfather.  They were part best friends, part father and son, part son and father…inseparable in many ways, and so good for one another.  “My best grandson,” Papa would call him.  Being only 1 of 2 grandsons may make this seem more like a jab at the other grandson.  But, I think Papa was saying, “My Best Friend” – somebody who never showed an ounce of impatience toward a man with so many unmet needs.

We will always fear forgetting when we lose the ones we love the most.  And, inevitably, we will forget a lot of things.  But all of those things that we forget, somehow, we don’t miss them.  We just miss the person, we miss the spirit.   We will miss his spirit – his stubborn, hard worn, but loving spirit.  We won’t forget the embarrassing things he did and said in restaurants.  We won’t forget the way he asked the same questions over and over – he was just looking for a connection.  He was difficult to please, but he would fight to the death for the ones he loved.

I don’t really believe in any sort of predetermined fate.  I don’t necessarily think that people die for a reason or that bad things happen for a reason.  Who wants to live in a world where pain is calculated and planned by some higher power, a world where the right crystal ball could tell us when we’d feel sad?  But, without a doubt, some good may come out of our greatest losses, our greatest pain.  When my father died, a long stream of events led to my break up with a serious boyfriend and my eventual relationship with John.  Do I credit my father’s death with finding me the right husband? No.  But I don’t know where my life would have taken me without that loss, and I know that it would not be here.  And I love my life.

Papa survived six years in four different concentration camps.  He lost his mother, father, and 8 siblings in one of our world’s most horrific periods of history.  He was liberated from his near-certain death at the end of World War II and eventually made his way to this country, where he struggled, stole, labored in a meat market, but eventually married and had two children.  One of those children went on to have four more children, one of whom I married.  And so, I am here in this beautiful, wonderful gift of a life.  And I know that I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for a terrible, horrible, painful event that stole the lives of thousands.  Was it worth all the pain and loss so I could be happy?  Certainly not.  But sometimes, good comes from evil.

I thank you Papa, for this gift.  If you had not fought for survival, we would not be here today.  I would not be writing this about you.  You always wished you had more children, you always felt you had not done enough.  And yet, you were responsible for so much good, so much happiness, so much life.  And for all of our happiness, I thank you.

And I hope you left us knowing how much you were loved.

Everything at Once

Things I have started reading in the last year (emphasis on started, none finished):

• The Mind and the Brain: Neuroplasticity and the Power of Mental Force by Jeffrey M. Schwartz
• Positive Peer Culture (Modern Applications of Social Work) by Vorath & Brendtro
• White Like Me: Reflections on Race from a Privileged Son by Tim Wise
• EMDR: The Breakthrough “Eye Movement” Therapy for Overcoming Anxiety, Stress, and Trauma by Shapiro & Forrest
• Black Like Me by John Howard Griffin
• Out-of-Control: A Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT)- Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy (CBT) Workbook to Get Control of Emotions and Emotion-Driven Behavior: Drug-Alcohol Abuse-Bipolar-Border… Personality Disorder-Depression-… by Ph.D. Melanie Gordon Sheets
• Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR): Basic Principles, Protocols, and Procedures, 2nd Edition by Shapiro
• There are at least 5 or 6 others waiting to be opened.

Things I have actually finished reading in the last year:

•  The Art of Racing in the Rain: A Novel by Garth Stein
• Beyond Consequences, Logic, and Control: A Love-Based Approach to Helping Attachment-Challenged Children With Severe Behaviors by Heather T. Forbes
• Lessons from the Lion’s Den: Therapeutic Management of Children in Psychiatric Hospitals and Treatment Centers by Nancy S. Cotton (mostly)
• Perhaps a smattering of others I can’t recall right now.

I think this is a snapshot of my life – trying to do it all at once.  Rather than focus on one thing, I divide my attention and end up with no real gains.  It does not help that I currently have two jobs, one of which requires me to assign reading to students and the other that requires me to read so I feel like I know what I am talking about. 

In the past year, I have considered getting a PhD, quitting my job for various other career options, becoming trained in EMDR (or forensic social work or DBT or any number of other career-related trainings), and the list goes on. 

Even as I turn on my computer, I immediately begin to look up 10 different things at once, forcing my computer to work at a snail’s pace.  I find myself feeling perpetually dissatisfied, scattered and unfocused.  Oh, and exhausted.  And yet, I can’t imagine myself suddenly settling on one book, one are of interest, and forgetting all else. 

So, I wonder, it is a sign of an interesting character that I read 10 books  at once over the course of many months?  Or is it simply an indication that I wil lforever fail at achieving more because it I will never be able to decide what I love most?

Promises

I promise…

• to write more, here and elsewhere, but mostly here.
• to work out more and eat less.
• to do something with my career, something that will make me less jaded and more inspired.

These are things I want to do.

Chocolate Labrador

This year we purchased $200 chocolate for Easter.  $223.06 to be exact.

It didn’t start out that way.  John and I have never purchased Easter candy for one another and had no intention of doing so this year.  But Wheeler had other plans.  While we were at church yesterday, Wheeler devoured our guests’ two bags of chocolate chips, egg candies, a container of macaroons and some other miscellaneous Easter sundries.  He left behind some shreds of chocolate chip bag and a soggy candy box (cardboard not to his liking).

Upon calling the emergency veterinary hospital, I learned that this much chocolate is “highly toxic” to our 70 pound lump of stupid.  I was instructed to give him a tablespoon of peroxide to induce vomiting and bring him in right away.  As I cried on the way to the hospital with the dog, feeling responsible for not protecting him from dangerous foods, John said, “This is just one o those Marley moments.”

One gallon of chocolate scented vomit on the car seat and a $223.06 veterinary bill later, our very black, chocolate-scented Labrador, alive and well and clueless about his brush with deadly chocolate, is safe and sound back home.

The doctor warned us that the medication he received may sedate him and that his stomach would likely be irritated.  He spent his entire Easter Sunday behaving so poorly in front of our guests that I was in tears again by the end of dinner.  Sedation?  No.  Irritated stomach?  Not likely.  Still stupid?  Yes.

Bad Hair Life

My mother just recently sent me some baby pictures of family members for a project I was working on for my nephew.  Maybe I’ve always known this, but my mother’s choice of a photo of me seems to reinforce the fact that I have always had some bad hair:

Bad Hair Life

I didn’t learn how to tame the beast until college, and it’s still a struggle.  I wonder if my children will also be subjected to a life of out-of-control hair.

Things…

Things that happened at work this week:

• Received a thong in a plastic bag attached to an incident report in my mailbox.
• Chased a child barefoot, in the dark, across the parking lot (I really need to work out  more).
• Subsequently assisted in restraining a child in the parking lot.
• Lost power in my office for 24 hours due to water dripping into the electrical box, again.
• Reported a staff member for child abuse.

I could go on, but really, no need.

So, to recap, this week’s…

Spit count = 0

Physical abuse by client = 1

Times I was called a bitch or other derogatory names = 0

Number of bizarre/banned items given to me = 1 (thong)

Good week so far!

Remember

“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” ~Martin Luther King, Jr.