I still think of you occasionally when I pay the bills, I think of you when I clean the catbox, I think of you when I clear the spam, I think of you it’s the Get’a’super-sized’rod’ ones that make me think of you and laugh I want to send them to you every time I still think of you occasionally Get’a’super-sized’rod’ and poo and bills
A physician says to me, “You might have had more friends and been more successful in your career if you had been put on medication a long time ago.”
I think, “You f—ing bitch.” Nothing shows on my face. The doctor face is pleasant on the surface and the stone face that guards my feelings is deeper. I could show you the snakes and you would turn to stone but I would go to jail.
Your words don’t go away. They fester, a deep deep wound. I ask my other doctor, “If my only symptom of pneumonia is my mood, no white count, no fever, how would I know if I had pneumonia if I were medicated?”
I think back. Age twenty five with belly pain, emergency room, CT scan and then a sigmoidoscopy. I couldn’t eat, it hurt so bad. The emergency room offers me valium. “No,” I say, “my father is an alcoholic. I won’t take that.” I am sent to counseling. The counselor, smug, blonde, polished, wants to send me to her husband, a psychiatrist, for drugs. “No,” I say, “my father is an alcoholic. I want talk therapy not drugs.” I am very very afraid.
Things get better. I tell the counselor thank you. “You can’t stop now,” she says, “You must continue the counseling. Or you will have problems later on.” I go once more. She says I must keep coming. I speak to a family friend, a PhD psychologist, who encourages me to say no. I cancel. No regrets.
I am not an alcoholic. I don’t smoke. I don’t use pot nor CBD. I never tried cocaine or meth or opioids or crack. I can tell an addict by their charm: the sick people are not charming nor the people in for maintenance. The moment a person tries to charm me I wonder what they want.
The physician is wrong and cruel besides. Valium is addictive and is still overused. I could have taken the path of psychiatric medicine but I chose not to.
I will find another doctor who is less stupid and cruel. They do exist. I know, because I am one.
you are angry you say
I don’t think those are the right words, I say
not angry? you say
bored, I say
BORED you say
Yeah, I say
Well, you say you don’t love me
You say you won’t change
You say you changed once, in the past
You say you won’t go in a church
You say you did that
You say you won’t go in a casino
You did that
My first thought about the church
My first thought about the casino
Is that is clearly where I can go
If I want to avoid you
My second thought about the church
My second thought about the casino
is ICK. Why am I hanging around
someone who doesn’t love me
someone who doesn’t plan to change?
My sister and I talk about the people who don’t change about the people who remain the same about the stubborn who bury their heads
We notice them shrinking as the world changes around them the things they are willing to do the people they are willing to talk to the places they are willing to go get smaller and smaller and smaller
You dream of a small cabin in the wilderness
your brother shows up and an attacking bear
in another dream I am well and busy and happy
May all your dreams come true
if you really want them to
I was looking at the rock in the center when I took this. But now in the photograph, it’s the circle around the rock that interests me. An interesting metaphor: what are we missing when we focus on one thing or one person? All the surroundings?
Refugees welcome - Flüchtlinge willkommen I am teaching German to refugees. Ich unterrichte geflüchtete Menschen in der deutschen Sprache. I am writing this blog in English and German because my friends speak English and German. Ich schreibe auf Deutsch und Englisch, weil meine Freunde Deutsch und Englisch sprechen.
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