Snow’s contrast, contracts canines
Domestic and wild.
Snow’s contrast, contracts canines
Domestic and wild.
Caught between needing to stifle his sobs, and consumed by terror of being found he shuddered, tears sliding silently down his face. The door creaked open. He heard the rattle of a heavy chain. Should he stay?! Should he try to run?! What if h- WHACK! The End.
Desperate with an incessant and senseless fear of death
each of these mortals toils and quests
to find the storied fount of youth
and loses count of the days spent pushing fantasy
up that hill they cannot mount.
They awoke in early morning; she to the pains of early labour and he to the realization that the wet flurries of the night’s storm had froze over and the driveway was a skating rink.
“I ought to have shoveled last night!” he cursed aloud. “I ought to have put down salt!”
“What if the midwife and the doula can’t make it? What if we’re alone?” his wife panted between contractions which were growing in frequency and strength.
However, the midwife and the doula had seen the forecast. They had prepared ahead. They came in plenty of time, because they were needed, and because they could.
How am I to make sense of the world? How shall I guess the path to the one true answer? I step forward in faith and find only darkness. Dabbling in the arts is likewise unilluminating. I only know that which is wrong! In those shadows I must seek the way to truth. I stab blindly at the dark hoping I will be lucky. A glimpse of the right way is revealed, shaping my pondering. Praying and playing came to naught; it is only through reason that the truth from error is finally wrung.
Every singer has a song called The River
I should write a River Song of my own
I should write a post about all my favourite blogs
And compile a report of all your relevant research
I’ll collate a video collection of your artistic creations
I should build my “to be read” list of all your best thoughts
And dream, and dream, and dream
I should be dreaming all your dreams.
Not autobiographically, I heard someone say “a stocking full of pain” and this is what happened.
Wishing you the worst this Christmas
I hope your stocking’s stuffed with coal
I hope you’re tired of all the bustle
And crowds and family take their toll.
Wishes for the worst of the Season
May all your Christmas fears come true
Hoping Christmas morning finds you
Wishing I were there with you.
I offered you the best this Christmas
Gifts of all my love and care
It’s the worst that you’re alone at Christmas
And I hate wishing that I were there.
But if you won’t accept my best for Christmas
Worst wishes are all I have to share.
I started working in our local vaccine clinic back in March. I don’t think I’ve ever posted here about that experience; I’ve filled a paper journal though!
Today is my last scheduled shift. I might pick up shifts on weekends to come because while vaccination isn’t the ONLY thing needed to get out of this half life living, it is a NEEDED thing. As a single person who lives alone, I want us to move past this stage of recovery. I need us to.
Part of why I haven’t posted much is we sign that we won’t speak to the press haha and what if the press reads my blog, what if what if, and then they say according to this public blog, here’s what’s happening at clinics (woah, stop those conspiracy thoughts, there’s nothing like that happening at the clinics). Anyway, I overthink things as a hobby.
But as a psychotherapist who’s very interested in humans and how they be, working at a vaccine clinic is actually fascinating. As a psychotherapist with moderate ADHD who is genuinely and affectionately interested in people, there’s a lot of opportunity to observe, think, corelate, theorize, predict, wonder, and marvel. All while doing my job, fear not, fear not. It actually improves job performance. When it’s your job to process people through any point of the system, it’s good to build and refine theories on how they will react. Smooths out their experience.
Anyway, I think I’ll do a series of blog posts about what I’ve thought about while screening for COVID symptoms, searching for people in the COVAX system, and providing people with their vaccine receipts.
I’ll end this one with my reasons for why I started working at the clinics. One reason was I did need a source of income. I also needed a legitimate reason to get out of the house; my walls were closing in too much. I needed to relearn how to be near people, especially strangers and crowds of them. I wanted to be part of the COVID battle. I wanted to experience donning and doffing PPE for work. I wanted my dog Valentine to learn how to be OK with my leaving the house for several hours and learn that I always come home. I wanted to be INSIDE the system to see it from the inside and better understand what was going on. I wanted to be PART of something.
I have done all this. Truly my only reason to continue is I live in the worst region of Ontario for COVID cases, we’re possibly heading into a new wave of our own, and we are at risk of not re-opening until months from now. I know they can always call in the Army to work the clinics. Until then, they need staff to do the work and I am already trained.
(also known as St Patrick’s Day, 2021)
One year and six days after the proclamation of the COVID-19 global pandemic, I was immunized against the disease. Most days in that time period felt like an eternity. It is an incredibly short time to develop test and roll out a vaccine against a novel disease though!
But Kate! You’re not THAT old! It’s true. I wouldn’t otherwise qualify, but I have accepted a position as a part time admin clerk at the vaccine clinics and immunization is required prior to starting. I’m guessing that’s so people don’t go catching COVID AT the clinic!
But Kate! Didn’t you just quit a perfectly good job because you’re crazy busy with the end of grad school and everything? True, true. I did. There’s a few reasons I applied to the vaccine clinic job. One is I need to practice leaving the house for longer periods on a regular basis and this seems like the safest way to do that. I also need to get used to being in a room where there are bunches of people all talking or moving around and just doing the things people do. It’s been over a year and being near groups of humans is dizzying. I want to reacclimatize to in-the-flesh humanity before sitting with it in the therapy room.
Valentine also needs some practice. He has no idea that humans normally spend long periods of the day away from the house. He’s never had to try to not pee or to stay entertained for five or six hours on a regular basis. I’m going to be concerned at first and I don’t want to start sitting with clients post-internship, wondering how my dog is doing. I want a more sure footing than that.
And up to now, my experience of the pandemic has been hiding from the pandemic. It’s been the right thing to do because outside of dog walks and groceries, I don’t have a lot of reasons to leave the house. I don’t know what it’s like to wear a mask for more than half an hour or so. I want a more active role in the story. I want to be a part of getting vaccines into willing arms. I want to be sitting up close to watch the coming dawn.
*a friend posted about Year Two of the Pandemic and is sank in hard and real. She goes by the day we were told to go home alone and stay there; I’m going by two days prior when they deemed COVID-19 a pandemic. I found an ugly online clock to count by. Do you know a better clock?
Use My Soul a Screaming Head to Make
Thanatology Quiz Question: What do you think about rites, rituals, ceremonies and funerals? In my work, I am noticing very few church funerals, more funeral home funerals and even more … no funeral at all. Ever given any thought to what you would like at yours? If you have a funeral, who is your funeral going to be for? Share your thoughts on rites, rituals, ceremonies and funerals in the context of yours ….
My Answer: Barring my having a late-in-life lasting romance, it will be my children choosing what to do with my death and memorial and they know that I believe funerary rituals are to help the living to grieve. The funeral instructions in my mother’s will were simple: if you must have a service, keep it small. Nine months after her death, my children and I hosted an afterparty for our hometown community theatre which we and my mother were all members of; attendees were encouraged to drink red wine and complain about the show (tongue in cheek and lovingly of course) as my mother would have (though she was earnest and not very loving about it). My children know I believe green fields should be for planting and playing and that I want my body (once harvested for any life giving or science learning) to be dealt with in the most environmentally sound way which pleases them. If I ever have sufficient funds just rolling around in my pockets, and if the artist still offers this, I would like to have my ashes turned into a Screaming Head, and my funeral be a folk festival.
The mornings are brighter; the days, longer. Hope steals into my life.
My last entry was dark. I think it is important to note the dark and I think it is worthwhile to sit in the dark when you know you have the strength to stand and turn to the light. Leave some breadcrumbs, both ways.
I do have some resolutions for the new year. Let me speak your name. I have intentions for 2021. Anyone with a past in sales is accustomed to goal setting. Several of my notable goals will be achieved in 2021 because of work I did last year. I have additional goals for this year. I have stretch goals, too. Stretch goals are there for additional challenge and additional reward. You won’t get fired if you don’t hit your stretch goals, but you’ll be rewarded if you do. I have Pandemic stretch goals. I have Holiday stretch goals. With my CRB days gone, rewards might be harder to generate; though actually, the attainment of these goals manifests its own reward.
Resolutions are not stretch goals – they’re straight up targets. Not that I can get fired from the job of living my best life if I don’t hit my targets. It’s important always to recognise that these targets are flexible, editable, subject to change. I do not know where I will be working or living at the end of 2021; this makes visualising harder. I will trust that my family, social, spiritual, financial, and artistic lives will take care of themselves without goals or resolutions.
It is the end of the year, in the way that we mark time and define years in Canada. I’ve always marked the turning of the year, while also believing that time is an invented construct and essentially meaningless. Holding and celebrating opposing points of view is how I do life.
By the time I finish writing this I hope to have thought of a photo to take that somehow summarizes how I feel in this moment. I thought of taking a picture of the truly excellent pizza I had DoorDash bring me, but by the time I had this thought, the pizza was no longer intact. Yes, I ordered in dinner this evening. We’re asked to do so, to help support local business. We’re asked to buy our drinks from local producers – my Milky Milk Stout is from TWB. We’re asked to stay home, which is pretty easy when DoorDash delivers and I can play an online escape room with my family. Doing the right thing is so easy, eh?
I mean, it is if you have privilege. If you work from home and have sufficient funds to pay people to cook food and bring it to you, it’s so easy to do the right thing. I tried and tried to think of light new years thoughts but right now people with ample privilege are predrinking before new years gatherings, and the callous, selfish misuse of privilege enervates me. I don’t KNOW this is true, that revel rousers are gathering, but whenever we’re asked to not gather, cases of COVID 19 go up anyway. In 2020 I put down my rose coloured glasses and because I’m in my fifties, I can’t remember where I put them.
I am enjoying my pizza and beer. I will enjoy an online escape room, and I will marvel at the fabulous technology that makes it possible. We are so blessed. We are some of us so blessed.
Posts are appearing denouncing 2020 and anticipating 2021; I do not feel this. There is no magic to the new year. Tomorrow, the CBC will report on the toll of unfortunates who did not live to see the turning of the year. As I type this someone in Canada is dying of a preventable disease. Still, I will make merry, if quietly and alone. I have always been skilled at appreciating the little things and enjoying the moment. This year that became more difficult – not because the moments weren’t there, honestly, there is an ever present abundance of beautiful moments – but because in 2020 I became much more aware of the tapestry of suffering these moments adorn.
In 2021 it won’t be magically easier to live as a BIPOC citizen in our country, nor in the chaos state below us. Women will still be raped and abused in shocking numbers. Opioid deaths will keep making news but somehow this news will not effect change. Generations in Indigenous communities will still wonder what it would be like to have clean tap water.
2021 will also bring vaccinations, and stories of people helping each other heal and recover. Everywhere, life is full of heroism. The Earth will keep spinning and summer will return and it will be safe to sing and dance once again. 2021 will hand us back our baskets of all we have been missing, and smile, and tell us it is safe to be the way we once were.
I want to hold each item in that basket and ask myself if it sparks joy. Will this relic of the beforetimes bring joy to my life in the After, or will it only distract me from the truths 2020 exposed to those not living them? With great power comes great responsibility they say. With great privilege comes great obligation. We have learned that the responsibility and the obligation are by choice only; nobody requires you to be a good person and there are rewards for discarding any sense of requirement.
I’m simply a changed person and the things in that basket might not fit. I am a changed person from before starting grad school; that isolation and that education changed me. The isolation of the pandemic has changed me that much more. I am perhaps simply more myself and I feel changed because I had been so accustomed to my many social masks. If we have not spoken for a while, we may need to be reacquainted when all of <<this>> is over. Some time next year, maybe.
It’s been a year since I dropped all my fucks; has it ever been a year. Not that I DNGAF about anything. I donate monthly to a fund supporting the legal costs of Black citizens in Toronto. I strive to minimize my environmental impact, and I am putting my all into building a career of helping people suffer less. I just might not start shaving my legs again.
That’s the lightest note I can muster. Stay home. Shop local. Be kind. I love you.
Can we tell where our journeys begin? Did this journey begin on my first day of Grad school, excited, nervous, and unsure of where to park? Was it during the application process, with me attempting to generate a sample of academic writing after being out of school for over two decades? When I quit the bank, when I graduated with a BSc in Psychology, or when I asked my childhood therapist “So is this what you do all day, just talk to people?”
No beginning and no end… ah now where is that from? Yes, yes – it’s a Hawksley Workman song – lalala “don’t dive shallow, in deep dark waters…”
No end because they need to accept my application and that takes months. No end because I have one more term of school, because I need 225 more client hours to drop the “Qualifying” from the title I’ve just applied for. No end because I want to grow in this career until I die. Are we going to get literal here; are we going to get metaphysical? There is never an end when your work lives on as hope and happiness that will radiate, radiate, spread and grow. There is no end, there is no beginning. No shallow diving here.
It’s a significant trail marker. I made it this far. I’ve got the next bit of the trail mapped out, waiting for Christmas to come and go, a breather in the expanse of middle ground. Time for some metaphysical GORP and holiday cheer.