Karma Chameleon and the smell of wet dog

Kindergarten (or pre-school...but same difference)
Sitting in the passenger seat next to my mom, I would look up at the sunny sky through the windshield at the same exact spot (about 20 seconds before she pulled into the stone covered parking lot)....and sneeze. No, I didn't have a cold or an allergic reaction. I just wanted to sneeze. It was a ritual for me. I forced these sneezes for as long as the weather permitted.

I remember back talking a teacher on one particular day and learned never to do that again after I got a fresh bar of soap stuck in my mouth to teach me a lesson. I believe a teacher might get his or her ass sued for doing something like that nowadays, but hey, this was the 80's....a time when watching "All My Children" with your teachers during lunch and dancing around the room to Culture Club's "Karma Chameleon" was the norm. I also had a crush on Boy George. I thought it was both cool and confusing that he looked like a girl. Turns out, I liked gay men back then and didn't know how to articulate it yet.

I hated nap time. Too many restless bodies in one room trying to fall asleep on their blanket on the floor. As if the blanket made the floor as comfy as a mattress. Puh-lease. Fortunately, my grandparents came to the rescue. While everyone else had to take a nap, I got to go to what was then referred to as 'tooty flute' lessons, which was basically a very simplistic and plastic instrument version of...you guessed it, a flute. There was a handful of us children that would pretend to play something that resembled a song as we skipped around in circles in a boring, lifeless room. None of the notes we played on our tooty flutes sounded good. It was just a bunch of noise and yet, it was the most pizazz that lifeless room had seen all week. I wasn't a fan of the tooty flute as much as the squishy cookie cutter shaped ham and cheese on white bread sandwiches my Narnie made for me. I lived for those sandwiches, bread so soft that it dug into my teeth and stuck to the back of my mouth. Between the uncomfortable floor and daydreaming about sandwiches, who can take a nap in kindergarten?

6th grade
I did not have any romantic potential with boys in the 6th grade. I was still trying to overcome the Ugly Duckling phase. I enjoyed too many slices of greasy pizza with the family at our favorite pizza joint, Chesapeake Pizza....the only torrid love affair I had yet to experience. That same year I was rewarding myself with a taco salad from Taco Bell when mom and I weighed ourselves at Weight Watchers, excited to discover we lost 3 pounds in the overall 30 left to lose.

On top of being the overweight nerd girl, I also did not have the perfect smile. I was wearing braces and some other metal contraption at the bottom of my mouth. I sure could have used a Vicodin prescription back then for the pain I was in when that was installed.

My friends were also sketchy during this time period. There was Kim Hodges across the street. She was very religious, especially about playing piano and her devotion to New Kids on the Block. She had every conceivable magazine picture of them that had ever been taken....from Tigerbeat to YM to Teen magazine. You name it, she had it. All over her walls. All over her ceiling. I bet she is embarrassed about this sick obsession as a 30 year old woman now. Too bad I have no idea whatever happened to Kim Hodges. Imagine the case study it could have provided.

Then there was Brooke. She had a mopey brother named Jessie who liked to wear surfer label clothing, even though looking back in retrospect...he didn't know the first thing about surfing, nor the social skills to pursue such an ambitious sporty endeavor. I liked hanging out with Brooke. Sometimes I would spend the night at her house, funny considering she lived next door to me. We would listen to The Bangles or help her comfort coat wearin', chain smokin' "Granny" with her crossword puzzle. "Now Brooke....!" she could frequently be heard scolding with a raspy undertone. The family dog Daisy, however, was the most delightful member of the household. Those were the neighbor friends. There were also the school friends.

6th grade alternated between Ms. Norman and some other teacher whose name I can't recall. Although Ms. Norman was the nicer of the two teachers, I was torn between which class I dreaded most for different reasons. Teacher Whose Name I Don't Recall was obese, mean and unattractive. All I recall about that class was learning about Ponce de Leon, that Coronado guy, some Aztec and Mayan history, and a cop coming to talk to our class about the dangers of alcohol and drugs during our lame D.A.R.E. (Drug Education Resistance Education) course. Norman's class offered me the chance to share desk space with 3 other people. They couldn't be just any ordinary kids either. No, I was stuck with Stinky and Drama Queen.

Shannon O'Leary started off as a friend and as time went on, more of a foe...at least to my nose. Sweet girl, but she lived with like 20-30 dogs. I'm not sure if she didn't shower either or if it was just the sheer magnitude of being surrounded by 20-30 different dog odors that had her coming to class smelling like....wet dog. It was so bad that it made me nauseous to sit near her. I finally had to pull Ms. Norman out of the class and gently confide in her as to the cause of my olfactory and digestive distress. I'm not sure what she ended up saying to Stinky, but I remember the smell just went away one day. Sometimes you just have to speak up if you want the smell to go away.

Jessica was a chubby girl with chipmunk cheeks, blond hair usually worn in a ponytail, and many family issues to boot. I would occasionally let her see my answers when we had to do assignments during class time. She complained about how miserable it was at home. I felt sorry for her and letting her cheat off me was the least I could do. Drama Queen was so upset one day that she threatened to run away. When she was absent from school for a few days after that threat, I remember thinking she really went through with it. I reluctantly told my mom about the scandalous run away from home plan on our way to Chesapeake Pizza (I told you, it was a torrid love affair with the pizza that year). A part of me wished she had run away, at least for a little while. I wanted to hear the juicy details of where she had gone and what she'd seen or done on this run away mission, assuming she came back. It's unclear to me now whether she was truly troubled by family or perhaps suffering from something like Bipolar disorder or pathological lying. Is it any wonder my future as a therapist and storyteller was paved well before adulthood?

You know you're a "grownup" when.....

the idea of going out on a Friday night requires more motivation than a sense of adventure.

you start referring to those 7-10 years younger than yourself as "kids."

you feel like you're the oldest person at a sports bar and just want to leave the crowded atmosphere.

you're attracted more to personality (intelligence, kindness and sense of humor) than physical looks.

you wonder if the person you like is married and look for a wedding ring.

the person you like is divorced, has kids, and you still want to date him/her.

you run into your crush at the grocery store instead of the bar.

you would rather sacrifice fun for sleep than the other way around.

you find yourself having lower expectations of people.

you consider what it would be like to change your career someday.

you're buying wedding and baby gifts for your friends, wondering when you will be the one getting married and having children.

social and political issues become more important to you......and you actually do something about it.

making your parents happy becomes secondary to your own happiness.

your birthday feels like every other ordinary day.

you are the only one in the room who knows all the words to an 80's song.

Yes, I am a grown-up.

Vivid dreams

For some reason, I've been having very vivid dreams the last two weeks. Like the night of the election, I remember not sleeping well on my mom's futon (it wasn't comfortable)....but of the sleep I got I had a dream where there were maybe four people gathered around each other in a little circle. A guy was holding this massively huge snake (a boa constrictor?), it's length coiled around the man's arms, neck, stomach. The group was laughing and having a great time. I don't think they even saw me standing about 8 feet behind them. I was petrified and screamed out in fear, even trying to scream in my sleep that came out as a weird noise that woke me up from the dream. That's all I remember. Then a few nights after that I had a dream that I was answering an ad to possibly move into a new house and went to check the place out. There was a guy living there and I was excited about his bedroom being right beside mine, that we would be roomates. I remember loving the kitchen. It had tons of counter space and all these culinary appliances I had never seen before. It made me want to just get in there and start cooking up a storm. The place, overall, was grand.

Last night I had a bizarre and somewhat scary dream. I arrived at my friend E's house. I was excited to see her and reconnect, as I had not seen her since she got married. I was happy for her marital bliss and wanted to hear all about it. She proceeded to tell me she had a sexual experience that she called "cake" and asked me if I knew what it meant. I paused, trying to think of what I was going to say because I didn't know what it meant and also didn't want to sound nieve by admitting as much. But I decided to be upfront and admit, that I didn't know. What's "cake?" She apparently said it was having sex with two people at the same time. As she started to tell me about it, we had to leave her house for whatever reason. I had to go home, I think.

I got on the wrong bus, had to get off the bus after I realized it (and my old coworker Annie was on that same bus, weird) and wasn't sure what to do. E. was suddenly there again and next thing I know, she and I are both on this flimsy looking thing that looked like a cross between an ironing board and a surfboard. She was laying on one and I was laying on one.....and we're thousands of feet above the sky. It's a sunny day and I can see the water, tons of city buildings below. At first, I thought it was cool and fun, this "magic carpet ride" in the air of sorts. We're dishing girl talk and I'm excited that I'll make it back to the south end of Seattle faster than if I had tried to figure out another bus route!

But then.....the thing we're both on starts nosediving and tilting in different directions. I'm getting queasy, nervous that I'm gonna throw up. That feeling quickly turns into extreme fear of "Am I going to die?!" because no matter how much I clutch the flimsy thing I'm laying on, I feel like I'm falling off and going to tumble to my death below. There's no security. E and I are screaming and I'm pleading with god to help me. I'm so scared, my heart is beating a million miles a minute and I'm pretty sure this is it for me. A minute later, as we fast approach the ground....we land calmly and safely on the ground. We're still alive, untouched and unharmed.

"Friending"

I thought I was the only one who had these thoughts and feelings, but as it turns out I'm not. My mom didn't even know I was going to write about this today when I was hanging out with her earlier this afternoon. I laughed when she unknowingly mentioned the same thing to me.

What about you, dear reader? Have you ever crossed paths with a stranger that you were attracted to and wanted to ask out for a "friendship date?" I've had a handful of encounters with strangers lately that have stirred this feeling within me. I want to do the friend equivalent of dating: "friending."

It first started last month when I was on my way home from work. It was a rainy night. I'm pretty sure it was the same night I had to hospitalize a suicidal client because I didn't leave work till about 7:00. The windows on the bus were all fogged up and Young, Friendly Woman Reading A Book that I sat beside made a comment about not knowing exactly where her stop was coming up because the windows were foggy, thus it was hard for her to see. We exchanged a few pleasantries, including her revealing she also wasn't familiar with the area because she had just moved to the area. I perked up at hearing she was 'new.' I should have seized the moment and told her that I was a newbie too, but I think I was too tired and stressed out from my day at work to make the effort. She seemed nice and different from the typical "Seattle freeze" people I typically encounter though. For a split second, I wish I could befriend someone like her.

Coincidentally, I saw YFWRAB on my morning commute last Monday. It was an arduous journey that day, as various passengers commiserated about us being stuck in traffic because someone on the Aurora bridge was threatening to jump. There she was, dressed casually in jeans and talking on the phone. Whomever she was talking to was someone she was on her way to meet, as she told the person where she currently was on her commute. I wondered if she was on her way to some political activity, as she donned an Obama button and clutched a 'green' bag over her right shoulder. She stepped off the bus at a stop right before the Aurora bridge. Why do I keep running into this woman when suicidal situations are going on too? Is there a sign in all this?! As the bus took off and I looked at her through the window, I wished I could be friends with her. Why? I couldn't tell ya. She just seems...friendly, interesting, intelligent.

Then yesterday I interacted with a few men while doing errands who triggered the same feeling for me. I walked into Sip N' Ship to mail two books to a friend of mine. As I approached the counter, the guy working there was talking to a middle aged man. The way they were talking indicated they were friends, or at least acquaintances....making plans to do something later. Middle aged man leaves and I have Cute Postal Guy's full attention. He was very pleasant, asking me how my weekend was going and was very helpful in giving me the best bargain for my buck. Something about his personality gave me a yearning to be his friend too, and it wasn't just his looks because I think he might be gay.

An hour later, I'm in the checkout lane at the grocery store putting all my shit on the black assembly line conveyor belt. A thin, attractive man with slightly spiky hair who appeared to be in his early 30's pushed his cart behind me on register 6. There was 3 feet of space between where he and I had placed our collective items. Being ever the observer (and voyeur), I peeked at his vegetarian selections. He jokingly asked if I had enough room for my stuff and I played along with a witty repartee. Again, I was in "friending" mode. He followed me to the customer service desk....like me, to get a roll of quarters.

I'm going to invent a "Friending" bus route and/or shopping day, for those of us strictly seeking interesting people for friendship. It could be an easy and nonthreatening way to get to know someone that you really deep down just want to blurt out: "I really want to be your friend!"

"Friending." So innovative that I've just coined the term. And hopefully the concept.

Well, one can dream.

Writing exercise

After posting a few thing I wrote in years past on here, I thought maybe it was time to write something new.

Friday night after work, I wandered into Borders with my 30% off coupon and $5.00 off rewards thing eager to buy yet another book to my ever expanding collection of books. At first, I looked at the new books section. Nothing caught my eye. I walked upstairs and asked the bookseller behind the information desk when the Dido cd would be coming out. Not until November 18th. So much for that. I head over to the religion, philosophy, and psychology section. Again, nothing catches my eye....and frankly, I'm not in the mood to read psychology books seeing as I think about psychological things all day at work. I need an ESCAPE from work, not a reminder. A lightbulb goes off: creative writing. A short, older woman with glasses (a bookseller) is talking to a scholarly looking man who appears to be in his fifties in the History section. They converse for a few minutes, as I stand 8 feet behind them unnoticed for the next 5 minutes. When the woman realizes I need help, she hurries over and I ask her if they have a creative writing section because I cannot find it. We start to walk towards the section, a feeling of deja vu stirs within me of the days when I was the one leading the customer to their desired literary object. I notice she is pointing out 'writing style' and 'publication.' Did she not hear me when I said creative, not mechanics? As she is scrambling around trying to show me she was indeed listening (because creativity and mechanics of writing are apparently mixed in together, who knew?), there they are staring back at me. In all its creative glory, one of my inspiring muses from years past, Natalie Goldberg's books. Perfect! I had forgotten she had a new book out, one that couldn't be more apropos: "Old Friend From Far Away: The Practice of Writing Memoir." I scooped it up, trying to control myself from hugging the damn thing as if it were indeed an old friend whom I haven't seen in years.

What is the point of this anecdote, you wonder? Well dear reader, as part of my whole goal of getting the creative juices flowing and having more of a passion to write again after feeling a fizzle.....I am going to be brave with my creativity and try some of the writing suggestions from her book on my blog here. For fun, for reflection, and to get the proverbial ball rolling. It may sound great. It may even sound like crap. But at least I'm writing again. :)

With that said, here's the first one.....

Tell me what you will miss when you die.

How can one articulate into words the depth, the magnitude of the human experience of being alive? I don't even know where to begin, but here it goes. I will miss being holed up in my apartment on a rainy afternoon, listening to music that brings back memories from different times in my youth. I will miss the comfort of warmth, wearing my favorite sweater or wrapping myself up in my dark blue blanket that carries the lingering scent of me on it. I will miss the sounds and smells of coffee brewing in the still morning hours before the sun rises, the anticipation of that first sip when my lips touch the curve of the top of the mug. I will miss the feeling of being in a virtual postcard, walking amongst scattered autumn leaves along the sidewalks that look as if some technical stage crew in the sky poured them and let them fall in just the right way to perfect the concept of beauty. I will miss water filling in my eyes, being moved by any and all emotion: anger, sadness, joy, inspiration, fear, gratitude, empathy. I will miss holding a book in my hands, my eyes enveloping the contents. I will miss the rush of a new romance and the curiosity of the unknown. I will miss the musky scent of all the men I've been attracted to in my lifetime. I will miss being turned on by intelligent discourse. I will miss the unique and distinct laughter of all the 'favorite' people in my life. I will miss road trips to Michigan in the dead of winter when my body was numb from the frigid temperature, but I never felt more alive. I will miss spontaneity and surprising others, myself included. I will miss physical affection---intimate kissing, hugs, full body massages, sex. I will miss being comfortable in my own skin. Close friends, my parents, my teachers, my lovers, clients I really liked, cuddling with sweet dogs. And FOOD! Green bean casserole, Nicole's chocolate chip cookies, hankerings for avocados, Garcia's margaritas and off the wall (both the witty and the deep) conversations with my two favorite Chicago men. The excitement of having something to look forward to and the memories of all I've accomplished, where I've been. I will miss witnessing progress in the world, in humanity. I will miss photography. I will miss the kindness of strangers. I will miss flirting and being playful. I will miss inside jokes. I will miss the smell of seaweed and saltwater in the air, sand stuck between my toes underneath my socks after a hot summer day at a Florida beach. I will miss the hours of time it would take me to list the infinite number of things I will miss that my brain cannot think of in this moment.....which is to say, I will miss the experience of all that goes along with being a living human being in all its idiosyncracies.

Favorite places

(Photo taken by me, October 2007)

Continuing with the theme of things I wrote years ago, here's one I wrote about my favorite places on 9/1/03. (It's interesting to see how my favorite places have changed in the past five years. Maybe I'll write a current favorite places blog soon....)

My favorite places are not that of distant, exotic lands. They are all a piece of "home" to me. These places are more important to me for the people I connect with and for the comfort of feeling "at home" no matter how far I am from the house I live in at the time.

Camping and hiking at Lost Maples, Texas, picnic meals in the crisp, autumn weather in the woods---reminds me of home in New England. Quiet and Walden-like. Clearwater Beach in Florida and seafood at Leverock's with Dad and again with Mom. Drives through Wimberly to visit Jennie or watch Eliza Gilkyson play at Cypress Creek Cafe. You can see all the stars out there in the pitch black of night, cruising down the winding roads of Wimberly while jamming to music on the radio and talks with Nicole.

Driving along the roads of the west---Utah, California, Wyoming in all its beauty, natural in its green fields and rocky chiseled mountains. Reno and other parts of Nevada reminding me of family closeness I had for 6 months after I graduated college. Ladd, Juliana, Elijah. Jeff's visits to Reno and hanging out at Harrah's in Lake Tahoe. I won us two bets on the Roulette table that bought us dinner that night.

Walking around the block to Uncle Don's house for a tuna fish sandwich, Fritos, and maybe M&M's or highly addictive salty pistachios to munch on while we had long talks at the kitchen table, my surrogate father in an "uncle" disguise. And now, talking to him on the phone comforts me and brings me home to the days when my grandfather imparted his words of wisdom to me. I feel like he's talking to me again when my uncle talks with me.

Breakfasts and brunches in restaurants late at night or in the late morning on the weekend in my grandparents' apartment in Derry, New Hampshire. Eggs, toast, and the artery clogging greasy bacon was my childhood favorite. Sleepovers and swimming in the pool till my fingers turned prune-like. I lived in that pool it seemed, even when the chlorine was green from some chemical problem the pool had.

Now my breakfast meals out are fun times with Eve and the occasional quirky Nate. Clarke's on Belmont is great for camaraderie. Stella's Diner off Broadway is a Sunday morning hangout to debrief after Eve and I have hung out with Brandon and Paul the previous night.

Tuck's, a dive bar with character that reveals the personalities of its inhabitants. Nostalgia felt in the tunes it plays and the memories it brings with the guys we know.

The sights of Portland, Oregon last time I saw Tracy, my old high school friend. I felt at home, reminiscing of our lives over the past 8 years with such an enduring friendship.

The campus of Southwest Texas State, another home of sorts with all the experiences and friends it provided. Finding Nicole again. And meeting Carla in boring Sensation and Perception class, a Psych requirement for my major. Going to the gym with Carla, my "personal trainer" and motivator to workout. Nicole's apartment my second home from my own apartment. Chillin' out watching movies and going to Austin for dancing with Nicole, Jennie, and Carla. "The square" in San Marcos, socializing and getting buzzed with the Swedish guys or Nicole and Jennie's neighbors at The Oaks.

Bookstores always follow me around with that feeling of my special place to be. Maybe it's because I grew up in a virtual library or quasi-bookstore home with Mom's endless shelves of books for me to peruse in fascination and/or curiosity, a thirst to fill my need for imagination and knowledge. My overall favorite bookstore is hands down, "my" store on Michigan Ave in Chicago---Border's with its kooky employees who I have come to know as coworkers posing as my other little family with their own lovable odd idiosyncrasies. Some even remind me of my own family---Cheri is what I imagine Kristen to be like in some ways, a little sister. And Brian G. takes on the physical and comical characteristics of my brother Alex. I am hardly ever depressed when I am around these people---I have found my intellectual niche, very comforting.

The lake down the street from me at Belmont Harbor is where I go to run away from my problems, stress, and shed my old self (cellulite). I love to watch people and the dogs playing or sniffing around the park. The ducks floating along the water, carefree and calm. The ice on the lake in the winter creating a beautiful sight that resembles a broken sculpture.

Tuesday's Child is where I go to be a child again and re-live days of innocence and simplicity, when the small stuff was what mattered most....when you weren't afraid to do what you felt in the moment, hugging your friend and telling him or her "I love you!!" with no hesitation or fear of the consequences.

The longer I live in Chicago, the memories it has given me and continues to give me leaves me feeling like I am more and more in my element, feeling more like a home that is mine and only mine----a favorite place I created and molded from scratch almost 2 years ago. My current favorite place.

"Character" sketches

While working at a bookstore in the booming metropolis of Chicago, I got to know some interesting 'characters' (ie, my quirky coworkers)...two of which I befriended (can you guess which ones?) and the others I haven't seen or heard from since we stopped working together one day.

I concocted a description of some of them back in April 2003, maybe as a way to give me ideas for fictional characters if I were to ever write a novel. :)

1. Phil---white guy with short, curly black hair, late 20's. Wears black-rimmed glasses, as well as red "festive" shirts. Smokes pot every night to relax and fall asleep. Supervisor, works in the art and photography section. Goes to Columbia (an artsy school). Has a cat who likes to look out the window of his apartment, only reads fiction, wants to move outside of the US one day, insists his parents could use couple's therapy, has a sister, doesn't like Christianity (nor Nativity scenes at Christmas time), a gay man who doesn't want to live the typical gay lifestyle.

2. Brandon---white guy in his late twenties, green eyes. Reads the New York Times Monday through Friday and Newsweek on the weekend, enjoys using big words in casual conversation with others, a journalism graduate student at Northwestern, sometimes answers his phone saying "yo!," claims he's "just a white guy," once tutored kids. Physically attractive to most people (men and women). Can be seen sauntering quite a bit and mumbling witticisms, mutters softly when others ask him questions about himself, claims to be a 'common man' who drinks Old Milwaukee beer at yuppie bars like Sheffield's, admits to trimming his chest hair. Proud to be gentlemanly and chivalrous with women. Frequents a bar that serves free wine every Tuesday nights, twirls his black curly strands of hair as he talks or reads the paper. Has been known to eat very routine meals consisting of a sandwich, carrot sticks, yogurt and a banana, and drinks water alot. Thin to average build, wears Gap and/or thrift store clothes that don't always match, once got excited when someone complimented his $3 "Waldo" sweater, doesn't want to be like everyone else. Hates the suburbs. Makes jokes about masturbation. Once went to a Miami Vice themed party, has an occasional 'lonely' Friday or Saturday night. Liberal. Used to work a "boring" information systems analysis job. Sometimes wears artsy black rimmed glasses, lives off Addison in a condo, originally from Indianapolis. Made out with coworker Claire at a party. Had an ex-girlfriend who was a painter. Always listening and observing others. Would like to work for the Chicago Tribune or New York Times someday. Compliments (or corrects) words one uses in conversation with him, has lived in Chicago for 5 years and only goes home for the holidays. Not materialistic, though opinionated about certain fashion faux pas (such as not wearing white socks with dress shoes). A self-proclaimed "stoic." Works out at Bally's. Birthday is in December.

3. Meredith---20 year old white girl with lots of colorful tattoos, long black hair. Likes to wear black and thrift store clothes alot. Has many male friends. Often looks tired, eats salad alot from FoodLife in the Water Tower building on her lunch breaks. Lives with her sister, sister's boyfriend and another guy. Hates to sleep naked and has an oral fixation. Likes to drink and party. Good listener, gives encouraging pep talks to others. Got kicked out of her last apartment. Close to her dad. Smoker. Has a fat cat named "Tommy." Has been told she looks like Courtney Love, Norah Jones and Britney Spears.

4. Stephanie---Early twenties, half-Asian, half-white, originally from Colorado. Lives near the Loyola campus. Sarcastic and blunt. Has many theater friends, intelligent, interested in journalism and almost applied for law school. Considering going to medical school. Studied abroad at Oxford. Has a habit of falling for the wrong guys. Likes to go to the movies. Sorority girl in college. Works at Timothy O'Tooles too. Takes cab rides home after late night shifts. Adventurous. Has family in Hawaii, has been vegetarian for 2 years. Shamefully admitted to owning Cher's Greatest Hits, well-liked by coworkers but believes herself to be a 'bitch,' always looks hit, down-to-earth, can't stand pretentious people, at a crossroads with what to do with her life.

5. Eric W.---24 year old thin white guy with glasses. Friendly to everyone. Wears a baseball hat most of the time, frequents bars a few times/week, can be quite funny when drunk, clueless to just how many girls like him, good listener, would like to be a teacher someday, originally from Ohio, considering going to grad school. Used to live in Texas. Close to his family. Has run in the Chicago Marathon. Easy-going. Is in love with "let's just be friends" Kristen and won't give up hope that one day she will one day realize they should be together. Buys a new cd every Saturday night after work. Also works a 9-5 office job at an insurance company, likes to go to the museum, see obscure movies and do things that are different. Admits he tends to pursue women, but feels they don't pursue him (and when they do, it's not a challenge for him). Nicknamed "E Dubbs" and eats cold food alot because he doesn't have a microwave at home.

6. Michael---27 year old white gay man who claims to be the 'woman in the relationship' with his boyfriend. Down-to-earth, liked by all, witty, and intelligent. Neat and clean freak (likes to Swiffer his apartment). Lives with 3 female roomates off the Montrose brown line el stop. Once lived in Italy while working as an R.A. Originally from Indiana. Went to Loyola. Just started working at Illinois Institute of Art. Likes Trader Joe's. Can always be found cooking and eating delicious meals. Great cook. Reads fiction, as well as the Economist magazine and Italian newspapers. Sometimes smokes when he drinks. A churchgoer. Likes Star Trek, Harry Potter, and Lord of the Rings. Got laid-off at a former job and was unemployed for a year before finding a job at the bookstore. Likes to relax on Sundays. Watches BBC. Did volunteer work at a museum. Likes to try new things and places. Wants to teach someday, thinking about graduate school. Has lived in Chicago for 5 years and has two brothers (one who lives in Montana). Likes to discuss movies. Liberal.

7. Andrea---white, tall, 26 yrs old, overweight, red hair, wears glasses, smokes. Supervisor. Has been with boyfriend for 7 years, who once gave her a potholder from Target as a "fun" surprise gift. Originally from St. Louis, Missouri. Funny. Claims to not have much of a sex drive these days. Likes guys who have a baby face look. Mother died of cancer years ago and she doesn't get along with her father. Alcoholism in her family. Likes ice cream sundaes. Dislikes wearing jewelry, except for the occasional necklace. Drinks Coke alot. Buys clothes from "the fat lady store" (ie, Lane Bryant). Used to work with kids at the YMCA.

8. Brian G---white, tall, 29 years old, easy-going, reminds me of my brother Alex, slightly overweight. Likes "Six Feet Under." Has been known to go out drinking with various coworkers. Lived on the west coast. Would like to live in Washington or Vermont someday. Frequently wears the same sweatshirts and green camouflage pants. Liked by all. Has a long-term girlfriend named Sarah and lives in a not-so-good neighborhood. Sometimes sleeps for 12 hours at a time. Jokes that he may have family in the East since he and his family members found pictures of other women that 'weren't Grandma' in his grandfather's "treasure chest" after his grandfather died. Cute and funny. Supervisor. Originally from California. Owns a car that breaks down alot.

9. Braettie---white, early thirties, red hair, earring in middle of her chin, acne scars on her face, wears eclectic clothes, prefers to wear men's pants because she feels they fit better/are more comfortable. Great laugh. Sarcastic and moody. Hates Disney. Listens to Yo La Tengo music. Originally from Austin, Texas. Married to a musician named Angel. Dares to be different. Loves Belfast, Ireland more than touristy Dublin. Once wore a nametag that said "Prudence." Doesn't like working with people much. Can't tolerate stupidity. Likes funny Irish stories. Creative. Writes and likes non-conformist art.

10. Nate---white, 20 years old, tall, thin, wears funny shirts and baseball hats. Has been told he looks like the Naked Chef. Student at University of Chicago (political science major). Bought his girlfriend Maureen a guitar. Originally from the suburbs of Chicago. Has family in Indiana and Ohio. Seems close to his family, whom once had a Corgi. Nicknamed Katie "Lawson" and "Ship's Navigator," though he never explained why. Odd sense of humor. Intelligent, yet socially immature. Likes to have argumentative discussions in his classes. Vegetarian. Doesn't drink or smoke. Rarely takes himself seriously. Tells funny stories. Hangs out with Meredith and Brian R alot. Wears good smelling deodorant that smells like cologne. Doesn't have cable tv. Frequently stays up till early morning hours and sleeps only a few hours before getting up.

11. Brian R---white, 21 years old, medium height, black curly hair, shaves his head in the summer, originally from Chicago. Plays basketball. Watches Seinfeld, Simpsons and South Park. Jokester with everyone. Lives at home with his parents and sister. Has a friend he calls "Buddy Holly" (real name is Freddy). Ran after a girl to ask her out. Tells funny stories. Hangs out with his 25 year old friend "Crazy Julia," along with Nate and Meredith. Has perfectly shaped white teeth when he smiles. Laid-back. Once told Katie she should be the natural laugh track for his future tv show.

A cup of coffee

(Written April 30, 2006)

"What are you doing tonight?" she asks curiously, as she debates whether she will ask him if he'd like to grab a cup of coffee now that they're off from work. She decides she won't ask him, as she's always the one initiating their spending time together and is to the point where she really wonders if he cares for her or not.

"I don't know. Probably just hang out, watch some movies with my friends tonight. I was thinking about going to get a cup of coffee though. Do you want to go?"

"Sure," she answers casually, but on the inside slightly surprised and relieved that he wants to spend time with her. They have been friends for almost three years now and she has had an unexplainable thing for him from the beginning (Little did he know until 8 months ago...).

"Just give me a few minutes to read the last chapter of this comic book and then we'll go."

"Ok. Where should I meet you, here or upstairs?"

"You can just wait here...."

"That's fine. I'd like ot sit down for a few minutes anyway" she replies, as she plops lazily on the couch-like black leather chair a few feet away from him.

She has had a long day at work. You see, for about a year now, she has been working six days a week, Monday through Saturday, at the crack of dawn (literally) at a methadone clinic and continues to give a little bit of time to her favorite bookstore in downtown Chicago on Saturday afternoons. Although she is exhausted by Saturday, she isn't quite ready to let go of the supplemental income, the intellectual stimulation in the air, and of course...him. So she keeps going, yawning all the while, but happy because she can't imagine her life without his presence...not quite yet.

"Are you ready?" He gathers his beige messenger bag, stuffing the comic book deep into its pockets, then flapping it shut.

"Yeah, let's go."

It's early evening and dreary with light rain falling as they gaze out the window. Juan has an umbrella that he prepares to open as they step out into the damp, misty air. He exchanges brief small talk and goodbyes with two of their male coworkers who are leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette and making chit-chat. "Ok, bye, see ya later."

Juan offers his umbrella to Katie. She has her own, but tells him it's all disheveled from trying to use it in the horrendous rain/wind storm the previous day. The gentleman that he is, offers it to her and won't take no for an answer.

"Alright. Thank you," she says sheepishly as she opens it up and attempts to hold it over her head against resistant winds. "Actually that's ok. The wind is pretty bad and it's too much effort to hold this thing in the wind..." and gives it back to Juan.

They talk a bit as they walk one block over to the Starbucks on Chicago Ave. They go inside and stand in line behind six people who are waiting to place their orders to the baristas.

"You gave me a reality check back there, Juan. You've made me aware that maybe I need to be more positive. It's easy to get stuck in a rut and get negative about things, but I realize I have a lot of good things in my life."

As they had been shelving books close by each other in the travel section at work, Juan had made an observatory remark that Katie doesn't seem as happy as she used to be in the past. She had asked him if he meant that she doesn't seem appreciative of what she has (because she is), but he just wants her to see she's got a lot goin' on for her.

Inching closer to the front of the line, he reveals to Katie that he too had been feeling less than positive until about a month ago and that while he doesn't look any different, people at work have been responding to him differently, complimenting him, and getting him to be more social.

"I'll have a tall nonfat latte please" Katie tells the friendly cashier, handing the woman her Starbucks giftcard.

Juan orders a grande vanilla latte and while they wait for their drinks to be made....

"I do have one positive thing to tell you--"

"You have lots of positive things" he interrupts her, misunderstanding what she is about to say.

"No, I know. I mean, I have an example of one positive thing that happened this past week at work. I'm starting to get more creative in working with my clients, doing sessions with couples and family members, because my boss is giving me the freedom to do different things, so in a way, I guess I'm getting to do some family therapy kind of stuff after all."

They grab their drinks from the counter and head over to put some sweetener in their coffees.

Katie continues sharing insights and ponderings from the last few days regarding change. It fascinates her how everyone falls on the continuum of change, some slow to change and others change fast before your very eyes.

"I've learned there are three kinds of people. There are walkers, runners, and jumpers," Juan begins.

"What is that, Juan's philosophy?" she jokes playfully.

"Yeah."

"So which one are you?" Katie inquires curiously, eager to hear his answer.

"I'm a walker."

"And me?"

"You're definitely a runner."

"What is a jumper then?"

"Jumpers are people who have everything going for them. They're the ones who graduate two years earlier than everyone else, that sort of thing."

"Hmmm." Katie ponders and again is reminded of why she has not been able to let go of her feelings for this guy over the past year, despite knowing almost without a doubt they they will never be more than friends now or anytime in the future. Flirtation and intimate conversations are as close to 'couple' like behaviors as they will get.

Sitting at a corner table by the window, they talk casually about life and things that only make they laugh and smile. He's still bitter about his ex-wife Lisa. It has been years since their stint of a marriage, but he has yet to let go of the hurt and allow himself to love and trust again. Katie had tried, but the pain and fear inside him is much stronger than all the love she can give. He wants to step outside that comfort zone and take a risk, but all he can do is hold back. She realizes she needs more than he is able to give. Despite her past yearnings, she is slowly feeling like loving him for the kind, wonderful person and friend he has been in her life the last three years.

At one point, Katie looks at Juan and thinking back to him comment earlier about his not looking different, she now tends to disagree...he does look different, healthier even. His hair has grown a bit more, so it looks slightly darker. His facial complexion looks clearer and he is smiling away as she stares at him thinking about how he looks to her. She keeps it to herself, however, as she doesn't want him to be self-conscious, nor him to know she is studying his appearance with her eyes.

An hour goes by and it is time to go. Juan is off to meet up with his new friends, Jasmine and Michelle, who live near him out near Midway airport on the south side. Katie is exhausted from her long week of counseling the various addicts that walk into her office in the wee hours of the morning.

"What are you going to do tonight?" he asks her.

"I think I'm just going to hang out at home tonight and relax since I went out last night..." Katie responds.

He walks with her to the bus stop and turning towards each other, give a sideways hug. Katie puts her arms around him with warmth in gratitude of their friendship, while Juan limply puts one arm around her. Katie is a little hurt by his lack of enthusiasm, sensing his somewhat distance nature, but brushes it off.

"Bye Juan."

"See ya later..." he trails off. Katie scurries off to catch the #145 bus that has just pulled up at the bus stop in front of Water Tower on Michigan Avenue.

She sits on the bus, content now. Not because she is going over and over in her mind the events of the past hour with Juan, but because for once, time spent with Juan doesn't cross her mind.

My Secret Vice

(Written May 1, 2006)

Once in a blue moon, I crave a cigarette. I'm not addicted to nicotine, nor do I want to stop completely. It's more of the ritual of it--wanting a cigarette if I'm stressed to the bone or chilling in a social situation with other smokers. Why is it a "secret" vice? Not everyone I know has seen me smoke and would never guess that I sometimes partake of ciggies. Even Andrew, a guy I dated, never knew I smoked. I think the only people here in Chicago who have seen me smoke are some Borders people and Melissa (when she was still here). Sometimes I feel guilty or physically shitty afterwards, but not always. I will rarely buy my own pack though, as then, I would just smoke regularly. Of course there was a time I was smoking frequently....when I was in high school (stupid). I was hanging out with Stephanie and Doug too much, as well as other Kingwood smokers. Then there was late nights at Denny's, bored out of our minds because what else is there to do when you're 17-18 years old in a drab Texas suburb?

Comparing yourself to.....yourself?

Last night I was going through some photos to post and organize online, some of which were of myself taken either alone or with friends. I found myself really looking at my features, how I looked 'back then' as opposed to now. In most of the pictures, I thought I looked attractive...thinner even. It made me wonder if I really looked better and more attractive in those pictures than I am now or if my mind is just playing games with itself to mess with me psychologically. Does anyone else do this (have you ever felt this way?) or am I crazy?

Maybe it's also a matter of my not being happy with the way I look these days, as I have very little time with my work schedule and commute to exercise. I need to do something about it because I feel really gross and not as healthy or confident as I do when I am able to workout regularly. It's more than physically though.

It also permeates into my creative talents and abilities too. I find myself comparing my writing now to my writing from the past. I feel like my writing isn't as juicy and interesting as it was when I was living in Chicago. My imagination felt more vivid and quirky, possibly due to living in a highly stimulated city?

One would think a writer's works would become more original, less dull. Then again, look at some of the great writers of our time who churned out their "great American (or European,etc.) novel" at a ripe twenty-something age, only to disappear into obscurity thereafter. How can one go backward from greatness? If it's a process of evolution, wouldn't it only get better? Or is it having expectation of the outcome that threatens our aptitude for joy, creativity and success in our endeavors?

Last weekend when my friend K. was visiting, I was telling her how I felt the most creative and quirky with my expressing that side of my personality when I was working at the bookstore. I wrote in a journal regularly, wrote entertaining and descriptive character sketches of different 'characters' (ie, actual real people who I thought were odd and interesting to make characters out of for a possible story one day: coworkers, customers, homeless regulars), and I always had something to write about. I wrote letters and emails to people regularly, papers for school, jot down thoughts I happened to be pondering or experiences I had. It was a good balance of using my imagination and my intellect. I was also in grad school, so maybe being in both an academic and literary environment helped balance these aspects of myself. Still, it boggles my mind.

Sometimes I wonder if my creativity would be more pronounced if I didn't have to be as engrossed in my therapy work. It's as if most of my creative and analytical faculties get channeled into that to where there's not much left in my brain. It would be so nice if I could do counseling work part-time and then do my writing and photography as my other 'part-time' gig....

Just to demonstrate what I'm talking about as far as things I have written in the past, I am going to gather some things I've written in years past and post them here as I come across them. I want people to see writings that have only seen my eyes, my pre-blogging years. May the Katie from Chicago past help inspire the bloggin' Katie present....

October pictures I've taken

Back to back, eyes to eyes

In class today, my professor had all of us do a very revealing exercise. I'm still thinking about the meaning...

He chose a partner for each student and told us it wasn't a sitting exercise. Everyone had to stand in front of their partner (there are about 30 students total in my class). My partner was a guy named Kyle, someone I've only seen in class once or twice....basically a stranger to me. I know nothing about the guy. I didn't even know his name until we briefly exchanged a "Hi, my name is...." with one another as we stood facing each other before the prof gave us further instructions. We were told to turn around and lean against our partner, so that our backs touched.

"Close your eyes. Pay attention to what's going on....are you comfortable in the position you're in? Notice how you both respond to each other/how it feels..."

(At first, I noticed I wasn't leaning as closely as I could....standing more upright, slightly distant from his body. But then, as the prof mentioned being comfortable...I noticed I wasn't and shifted to a more comfortable position. I became more at ease and actually liked the feeling of my partner and I 'supporting' each other in this leaning posture. I could also sense him breathing in and out, the warmth in the space between our backs. I know that probably sounds weird...and it was, but it was also nice).

This went on for maybe 2 minutes, our eyes closed the whole time.

The prof then said "When I say 'now,' I want you to turn around and make eye contact with each other for at least 40 to 60% of the time. "Now."

My partner and I turn around, standing with maybe about 3 feet between us. We make eye contact. I'm looking into his eyes, he into mine. The first 10 seconds was attainable for me, no problem. Any longer than that (consistently) became difficult for me. I felt uncomfortable, like I was being intrusive. I had to look away a few times, smiled and almost laughed. Or if I stared into his eyes, after the 10 second-ish mark I found myself looking at some other part of his face like a freckle or two below his brown eyes. This exercise lasted a minute or two, but felt like eternity....like we just looked deep into each other's private psyches or something. After it was over, Kyle said to me "Thank you for that." He said it in such a neutral way, however, that it was hard to tell whether he was joking or serious. I honestly couldn't tell....hence, I said nothing in response. (I thought he did better at the eye thing than I did. I'm not sure whether he was uncomfortable or not....but it didn't seem like it!)

The prof then had us sit back down and have a class discussion about the thoughts and feelings we experienced while doing the exercise with our partner. It was interesting to listen to diverse perceptions across the board. One woman said that she had actually done this exercise before for some Tantric class and that the eyes part of the exercise actually made either she (or her partner, I can't remember which) cry. Another student said he just found himself going through the motions of the exercise simply because he was instructed to do so, nothing more.

Many people seemed to feel some kind of positive energy (even 'communication' via responding to partner's body language) while doing the back part....and mixed feelings while looking into their partner's eyes. I was actually quite surprised by the fact that some people felt comfortable with the eyes part. Or maybe I just wished I was one of them. I told my prof that I felt like I was being intrusive while looking into my partner's eyes (to which my partner agreed by saying "It was intruding," but said it in a neutral tone and did not elaborate on his experience other than that). My instructor asked if I normally have a hard time making eye contact with people. "No, not at all. It was the length of time that made me uncomfortable..."

It started to make me wonder if I have some issues with intimacy, or more specifically....made me wonder if my level of discomfort is average or below average that of what is considered a 'normal' level of anxiety in regard to this kind of 'revealing' type of communication.

I remember learning some interesting things about nonverbal communication in a speech class I took during my undergrad college days....that 75% of what we communicate to others is through our body language. Eye contact norms vary depending on the culture. In the U.S., I think the average person can only sustain eye contact with another person for about 4-10 seconds before it tends to get uncomfortable/cause anxiety in one or both individuals. So maybe it doesn't have to do with intimacy (at least not totally), but going against the grain of cultural norms?

In any case, it was a cool learning experience in regard to nonverbal communication with a complete stranger. Would it be drastically different with someone I already know well (and/or that knows me well)? Easier? Scarier? More comfortable or less comfortable? What if it were a lover as opposed to a friend? A coworker as opposed to a family member? Someone I don't like much as a person?

Furthermore, is the response even dictated by relationship (or lack thereof)?

Law enforcement involvement with mental health

I got this interesting article in a work email today and had to share it on my blog. It's incredibly refreshing to see law enforcement (Seattle PD, Crisis Intervention Unit) getting involved from a more solution focused approach to mental health treatment....a truly systemic model. You know the saying "It takes a village to raise a child?" Well, here ya go.....

Seattle police unit reaches out to the mentally ill

Two officers dedicated to helping people get treatment, and heading off crises

By SCOTT GUTIERREZ
P-I REPORTER

The former social worker on Ravenna Avenue Northeast used to help the vulnerable. Now, she's the one who needs help.

When she's delusional, the 66-year-old can be violent toward neighbors. In two years, her neighbors have called police a dozen times.

As Seattle Police Officers Scott Enright and Suzie Parton pull up one afternoon in September, they can barely see her home behind a wall of overgrown blackberry bushes. They wonder if she will be calm, confused or even safe.

She has physically attacked one neighbor and dumped cat box filler through another's sunroof. One night, she pounded on a sleeping 3-year-old's bedroom window, beckoning the child to come outside.

"That was super-scary for that family," said Parton, part of the Crisis Intervention Unit, which specializes in working with the mentally ill.

The woman isn't sick or dangerous enough to be detained for psychiatric help. Yet, when she's been arrested, her mental problems made her incapable of facing criminal charges.

With resources limited for the mentally ill, police often are the first to get called when someone is having a psychiatric meltdown. In a unique approach, the Seattle Police Department dedicated two officers to cases such as this one, hoping to prevent crises before they turn tragic.

Part cop, part social worker, Enright and Parton look for solutions for people who commit crimes because they are undiagnosed, off their meds or lacking access to services. They coordinate with social workers, probation officers and mental health professionals, hoping to get unstable people off the streets and into treatment, or jail.

"Getting them the treatment and social services they need meets a public safety need, which is what we're about," Enright said.

They focus mostly on misdemeanors, hoping to intervene before mental problems cause someone to commit more serious crimes. Many offenders have more serious records and a history of drug or alcohol abuse. Some cases don't result in arrests, yet the person is a constant source of 911 calls. Sometimes, they look into noncriminal matters that might otherwise slip under the radar, such as neighbor disputes that exhibit odd behavior.

"A large part of our work is threat assessment," said Sgt. L.G. Eddy, who heads the unit. "Sometimes we find when they go out and chat that there is way more to it than what got reported that day."

Among cases they've worked on:

A naked man at Westlake Center who was arrested more than 20 times in a year, costing taxpayers about $50,000. The officers met with the man's caretakers at a state-funded group home and pressured them to pay closer attention. He's been under control since.

A schizophrenic man who frightened neighbors by repeatedly shouting from his balcony.

A North Seattle man whose rants toward his mother prompted the officers to dig further and discover a "freaky" arsenal of weapons in his bedroom, including clubs with metal spikes, samurai swords and playing cards fitted with metal razor edges.

"I think our intervention prevented some real newsworthy violence," Enright said. "But obviously you can't know what you prevented because you prevented it."

Still, the officers emphasize that people with mental illness aren't any more violent than the general population.

"But they get a lot more attention when they do something violent," Parton said.

Enright and Parton form an investigative arm of the unit, which started in 1998 as a training program to teach patrol officers better techniques for defusing confrontations with mentally ill people who are aggressive. It followed two tense situations in 1996 and 1997, including an 11-hour standoff with a sword-wielding man downtown, which officers resolved peacefully.

Eddy pushed to expand the program by dedicating an officer who would serve as a liaison to social services and Mental Health Court . In 2001, Parton, a veteran hostage negotiator who has a background in social work, was the first to join. Enright, a former motorcycle officer and Anti-Crime Team member, was first assigned four years ago.

Having the specialized unit and training doesn't compensate for a lack of publicly funded resources for people who are in need of mental health care, Eddy said.

"All the police training in the world is not going to take care of this issue," she said.

In the near future, the officers could be teamed up with county mental health professionals, who hold the authority to decide when someone should be involuntarily committed for 72-hour emergency psychiatric help. The project is one of many the King County Council approved last week as part of a $50 million plan to expand services for the mentally ill and reduce mental-health related incarcerations by 30 percent. The money will come from a one-tenth of 1 percent sales tax increase.

By accompanying officers on calls, mental health workers could see how someone is behaving in the moment and not after he or she is in a controlled environment, Eddy said.

The officers' cases generally are referred to the city's Mental Health Court , which was the fourth in the nation when it was established in 1999 as a means to treat the underlying disorders behind some criminal behavior.

Unlike a traditional adversarial system, the court is set up so that all sides work toward rehabilitating the client. A defendant who is eligible agrees to enter an intensive, closely monitored two-year treatment and housing program.

"These officers take the extra time and effort to learn how to better deal with these clients," said Russell Kurth, the public defender assigned to Mental Health Court .

The officers often consult him on the best way to bring someone in and move quickly to find someone who broke a court order or missed a hearing, Kurth said.

For the officers, it's satisfying to see when they arrest someone who turns his or her life around through the court.

Enright points to the man who amassed the weapons in his bedroom.

"I still see him every once in a while. He's still on probation and really doing well," Enright said. He noted, however, that a court order prevents the man from contacting his mother, which was tough for the family.

Parton was working last month to untangle the case of a newlywed who had for years successfully coped with bipolar disorder. A few months ago, she fell apart, and when her family tried to take her to the hospital for a mental exam, she tried to run.

With no other options, the woman's mother called police. The officer who responded tried to stop the daughter, who threw a punch. The woman, who had no prior criminal record, is now charged with assault and spent weeks in jail when she needed treatment, Parton said.

"Sometimes I just want to answer 911 calls," she said. "You want to have a happy ending, but sometimes in this work, you can go weeks without one."

A ticket to Mental Health Court isn't automatic, especially if the person is deemed not competent to stand trial because of his or her illness. In a majority of misdemeanor cases, that means the charges are dismissed and the person is released.

That frustrates the officers, who think the state's competency laws should at least provide supervision for someone who committed a crime and is released. People with competency issues can be civilly committed, but only if the state can prove that they are an imminent danger or gravely disabled, and that there is no alternative. As a result, patients are committed in only a small percentage of cases.

The officers say that creates a revolving door of "frequent fliers" who are back out on the street with no treatment.

"I appreciate that we're in America , and I appreciate civil rights. But I think people need to have the opportunity to get better, and when they're not in their right minds, I don't think the choice should always be, 'Don't put them in the hospital,' " Parton said.

Changing the state's involuntary commitment law to mandate treatment for those with a significant history of violence was one of several recommendations from a task force appointed to examine the state's mental health system. The task force was convened after James Williams, a repeat violent offender with schizophrenia, killed Shannon Harps on New Year's Eve.

King County is discussing other options such as a "crisis diversion center," where police could take someone who can't be detained for referrals to services.

Back at the Ravenna Avenue home, the former social worker isn't home when Enright and Parton arrive, although her back door is wide open. Her shopping cart is tipped over into a bush.

Trash, mostly dozens of empty Lean Cuisine cartons, flows out the door onto the back porch. The woman has no plumbing and is known to use buckets around her yard as toilets, Parton said.

On a prior visit, Enright was forced to handcuff her after she assaulted a neighbor. She had forgotten by the next visit.

Living alone and with no immediate family, the woman was worried about her roof. Enright climbed up for her and took care of it. "He inspected her gutters, and that was it. She just loves him now," Parton said.

As the officers call out the woman's name, another concern emerges. Vandals have recently begun picking on the woman. Someone recently broke in and left a message in graffiti on the kitchen wall: "Do you feel me crazy lady?"

"I don't want her to become a victim," Enright said.

They decide to enter the home and trudge through the garbage. They peek into a bedroom and stop. Splashed across her walls and pillows is a dried, brown substance that resembles blood.

The officers don't see or smell a dead body, but fearing they might have entered a crime scene, they back out. Enright calls for assistance from a patrol sergeant, and once he arrives, they re-enter. They find an opened bottle of barbecue sauce on the bed.

Enright and Parton breathe a sigh of relief, but wonder if the stains are another prank on the woman.

A week later, they learn from neighbors that the woman came home. So, they plan to visit again and are working with Adult Protective Services as the city begins proceedings to appoint her a legal guardian.

"Last year, we were more concerned about her neighbors' well-being," Enright said. "This year, we're more concerned about her well-being."

Con-sensual?

When alcohol is involved, sexual activity between two people can become very questionable. Sex WITHOUT alcohol can be complicated enough, but add alcohol and hazy judgment? This does not make for a good scenario, especially if blackouts are a factor. Don't worry, I'm not talking about myself; it's something I heard today that really bothered me.

In any case, hearing about this particular story made me realize how much of a double standard it can be if you think about it and even more confusing to make sense of in a society already full of misogyny. Makes you wonder.

If a man and a woman get totally drunk, and the man blacks out later to find out he doesn't remember having sex with the woman....it's more likely perceived as a poor judgment call, but we don't question whether the man could have been drugged and raped, right? But when it's the other way around, we are alarmed and wonder: was it consensual? And is it really consensual if she can't remember that she consented?! Is it rape if she consented, but may have not been coherent enough to be aware of whether he did or did not wear a condom (because he was probably on the verge of blacking out himself)? Or was it a manipulative, sadistic drug-induced setup the whole time?

Ramblings of a therapist

Today I realized that I need to do more for myself, at least as far as self-care goes. I am constantly taking care of everyone else; my need to be nurtured tends to come secondary a majority of the time....and that's just not right. I'm not sure how that translates in my life exactly, but I'm working on exploring that more. Maybe it means more spontaneity.....like doing something I really want to do on a whim. Having this realization today, I decided to do something I haven't done in awhile: have some Thai food, my favorite ethnic meal. It was delicious. :)

I had class today and while alot of it was quite common sense to my level of education and work experience, I am always able to extrapolate some kind of newfound knowledge, insight,etc. What did I glean from today's discussion? (Aside from realizing I need to take care of myself more....)

The attachments we form in childhood with our parents are more significant and incomparable to that of any other social relationship from then on. If that attachment isn't there early on, an unhealthy form of attachment to a substance of some sort (drugs, gambling, food, ad infinitum...take your pick of the proverbial non-human variety) is more likely to occur. One is more apt to have increased insecurity and an inability to form intimate relationships (aka, healthy attachments in adulthood, specifically in regard to romantic relationships).

It never occurred to me that choosing a substance in a way is a SUBstitute for the absence of a significant bond of attachment. The substance becomes the 'relationship' of attachment. When seen in such a systemic framework, it becomes clear how an addiction can become so seemingly impossible to let go off from one's life. It's a safety net, a security.

If someone told you that in order to make a change in your life, you had to let go of your relationship to your parent(s)....the only attachment(s) you've ever truly connected with, how would you respond? Just how open or resistant might you be to change?

Working with issues: my own and others

Last week, you may recall I mentioned that I would be posting a short paper I have to write for my Chemical Dependency and the Family class. I basically had to write one page about a distressing quality (aka, personal issue) about myself that could impact or interfere with working effectively with a chemically dependent family. It was difficult to write only one page, seeing as I'm so verbose and all....but here it is.....

Setting high standards for myself has typically worked out favorably for me, at least as far as reaching my goals. Growing up the daughter of a cop and a teacher, a love of learning and a strong work ethic were instilled within me at a young age. I always went the extra scholastic mile, and it showed. I graduated from undergraduate college with honors and went on to get my master's degree in counseling. While this worked well for me in academia, it was a whole different ballgame in the counseling arena of chemical dependency.

It wasn't until I started my first official counseling job working as a substance abuse counselor at a methadone maintainence clinic that I realized how much this quality about myself caused me distress. It also made me ineffective in my work with addicts. My perfectionistic, overachieving standards many times left me feeling like I was working harder than them. I was tired, stressed out, and miserable. I think it also made me less relateable as a person. If I couldn't go with the flow and make mistakes, how could they feel they could do the same in their recovery? I had to release my need for control. I also had to give up thinking that if I worked real hard to help a client, it automatically meant they would magically become sober and make positive changes. If only it were that easy for addicts!

Interestingly, I noticed my work became more effective as I worked on modifying this quality within myself. Sessions with clients became more relaxed, sometimes taking on a life its own. What started off as a distressing quality in the past has morphed into something valuable in the present. Working with a chemically dependent population has impacted my ability to be more patient (with both myself and the client) and more effectively meet clients 'where they're at.'

Ski lifts, stab wounds, and a new boyfriend?

How can dreams (and/or nightmares) have so much influence on our mood when we wake up, assuming we remember them? Ok, maybe not you...but this is certainly the case for me. Maybe because I'm such a visual and emotional person? I don't know.

My dreams have been pretty intense and stressful the past few weeks. In any case, not a good feeling. Two such nightmares:

1. My mom and I were at some ski resort place. We were standing near ski lifts (ya know, those 'chairs' that whisk you away up into the sky to where you need to need to be dropped off for skiiing) and I felt pressured to make sure we got on the ski lift. But it wasn't easy. The ski lift was far away or stuck to where it couldn't just scoop us up real close. I looked at my mom and she had this look on her face like she was really counting on me to pull this off. We must have had somewhere real important to be (haha)! I realized I would have to jump pretty far....and wide. We were at a high altitude already, which meant there were several feel beneath me. If I didn't jump the right way and catch onto the ski lift, I would likely fall and die. Yet, I never got a feeling that I had any choice in the matter. I HAD to get on this ski lift and I had to get my mom on there with me. So scared beyond belief with adrenaline coursing through my body, I jumped. And we made it onto the ski lift. End of dream.

2. I'm inside an empty house, alone. I walk around because I can hear something and naturally, I feel the need to investigate (this is where in hindsight I must sound like one of those dumb people you see in scary movies that decides to snoop around a house and has no clue they're about to be killed....still scared, the person leisurely roams around the house). As I come around a corner, I peer into a room and straight ahead of me I see a woman (whom I recognize in 'real life' as M, an intern at my work) and a man. They are standing in front of a window. The room is lit by the sun. Their backs are facing me; they don't see I am there. The way they are standing makes me wonder if they are initiating sex with each other....when it dawns on me that as he is standing behind her, he proceeds to STAB her in the back five times. The bizarre thing though was that it almost seemed fake, more fake than in a movie. She hardly reacted. I had to really look (I felt more freaked out than she did). She had five small puncture wounds on her back, just barely bleeding. I started to walk away and find someone. Just then, I hear other voices. I am relieved that someone else is there to help. But when I gaze into the kitchen, I can see my coworker S. with a few other coworkers taking groceries out of plastic bags. They are oblivious to my presence. I suddenly don't know which is worse: M being stabbed or me feeling like I am invisible to people, like a fly on the wall.

Can you see why sleeping hasn't been all that fun for me lately? :) This morning was the first time in awhile, however, where I woke up from a good dream. I don't remember the details as vividly as the nightmares (how typical). All I do know is that the British guy was in my dream. Hahaha. No matter where I went, he was tagging along with me. It was as if I couldn't get rid of him. At first I tried to rationalize his presence as coincidence, that we just happened to be going to the same places. I slowly started to realize he wanted to go everywhere with me, like he was my boyfriend. In this case, I hope a dream becomes more than 'just a dream.'

Twilight Zone?

The recurring theme of my thoughts this whole week: "Am I in the Twilight Zone?" It's been a strange week with people, personally and professionally. No matter how much I think I have a particular person figured out, they will do something to surprise me. This is especially true in regard to relationship dynamics. No matter how much I can logically remind myself that my connection with someone can both wax OR wane (because let's face it, interpersonal relationships with others can be confounding)....every time it happens, it's as if it's happening for the first time. It's like I have relationship amnesia.

There are those relationships where I feel connected to someone for a long time and then something happens and then one day it's just not there. I get depressed, wondering what the hell happened and if I will reconnect. Or if it's lost forever. Sometimes I wonder if I will connect with another human being as strongly as I did this person I just 'lost.' Then something strange will happen: A relationship I've had that has felt uninteresting and superficial will somehow morph into this beautiful thing, also from an abstract place I cannot comprehend. Instead of depression, a deep sense of love comes over me, almost euphoric.

Then there are others that are somewhere in between there, the most confusing of all. A particular relationship of this nature can be exhilarating, frustrating, satisfying, meaningful, twisted, seemingly fucked up in their own right, pleasantly unpredictable, unpleasantly unpredictable, and quite the paradox of normality. Yet, the minute people stop surprising me this way and evoking such emotion within me.....now THAT will be the real Twilight Zone.

Heroin addiction

I happened to catch this on Oprah tonight (it's also to be featured on ABC's Nightline at 11:30). A dangerously prevalent issue....one close to my heart (in the previous 3 years of work I did with heroin and opiate addicted individuals). I had to share this here on my blog. I tried to find actual video footage of either/both programs, but to no avail. If you find Oprah or Nightline and get a chance to watch tonight's episodes, please do. If not, I have attached the following informative article. Refreshingly, it doesn't sugarcoat drug addiction as Hollywood can tend to do; it's raw and very real. People need to be educated on this increasingly pervasive problem, the disturbing reality of heroin addiction.....

(Picture at left: The Richland County Sheriff's Department regularly confiscates drug paraphenalia from drivers who inject heroin on their way back from buying the drug in Columbus, Ohio. ABC News)

Pregnant and Addicted to Heroin

Expectant Mother Is One of Many Addicts in America's Heartland

By LISA LING and KATIE HINMAN
RICHLAND COUNTY, Ohio, Sept. 29, 2008

Merry Doerr has spent her whole life in the American farmbelt, a rural pocket of green tucked into the middle of Ohio. She's close to her family, living with her mother and 4-year-old daughter.

With her blond hair and blue eyes, Doerr embodies the classic American look -- and says she grew up with classic American values.

"When I grew up, my mom had raised me in Christian beliefs," she said, "and I knew ... right from wrong based on the Bible. I was a cheerleader. I had a lot of friends."

But life is different now. Doerr, who is five months pregnant and preparing for her second child, is not like other young mothers. She's a heroin addict.

"I wake up at 4 o'clock in the morning, dope sick with my stomach in cramps and sweating," she said, describing the symptoms of heroin withdrawal. "I have to get up out of bed at 4 o'clock in the morning, and go and use. And then I go back to bed and I wake up a few hours later and have to go use again."

Doerr said she uses heroin to keep that pain at bay.

"This is what I need to be normal," Doerr said. "You know I have to do dope every day to be normal. If I didn't have my dope this morning, I would be laying in bed right now thrashing around and vomiting. I wouldn't be able to function. I need [heroin] to function every day."

'Snowing Heroin' in Rural Ohio

It turns out that in the rural heartland of Ohio, halfway between the big cities of Cleveland and Columbus, heroin is everywhere.

"I would say it's up to epidemic proportions as far as the heroin," said Dane Howard of the Huron County Sheriff's Office. "Everywhere you go, it's like it's snowing heroin."

People here say heroin is indeed blanketing the main streets of tiny towns such as Plymouth, Ohio, where Doerr grew up. Doerr's mother, Patti Case, a schoolteacher, said so many people in their town of 1,800 were addicted to heroin that she moved her family, hoping to distance her daughter from the problem. But they found that the problem stretched across the region.

"There's probably not a family here, not just Plymouth but the surrounding area, that hasn't been touched by heroin," said Charlie Doan, chief of the Plymouth Police Department. "I think a lot of that started with Oxycontin."

In the mid-1990s, OxyContin, the highly addictive prescription pain killer, was being widely abused in rural communities like this one.

"About a decade ago, OxyContin got a strong foothold here in this whole region" said Howard. "The dealers drove the price up."

Cheap and Easy

As the street costs of OxyContin rose to about $80 per pill, drug dealers introduced heroin, which provides a similar high for less money.

"Nightline" heard the same story over and over from addicts who started on painkillers and ended up hooked on heroin.

"I started out snorting Vicodins or Percocets," said one former heroin addict, who now works as an undercover informant for local police. "[I] eventually went to Oxycontins .[Heroin] was a lot cheaper and a lot better high than the Oxys."

The informant is now clean and asked that his identity not be revealed.

He assists police by cooperating in undercover drug buys. "Nightline" rode along with him and the police to Columbus, about an hour and a half away, where he buys black tar heroin directly from what he and police say is a network of Mexican dealers.

"The guys I get it from sell it in what's called balloons," he said. "Some of the guys sell it in actual balloons, but the guy I'm getting it from today, he wraps it in tinfoil. They still call it balloons because that's the street name. Typically, people get seven to 10 of these balloons for $100, or $20 apiece."

He later slipped into the dealer's car, and bought $100 worth of heroin while driving around a leafy, residential neighborhood in broad daylight. The informant said when he was actively using drugs, he would make this trip at least once a day, buying enough drugs to support his own habit and also to sell to other heroin addicts in his town.

'It's Like a Plague'

Doerr has been making that trek to Columbus for years. In fact, when ABC News first encountered her in July, she had just come back from a trip to Columbus with her on-and-off-again boyfriend. They have been shooting up together since they were high school sweethearts in Plymouth, Ohio. He asked us not to reveal his name.

"I mean, when I'm not using drugs, I'm a totally different person," he said. "Really, I mean when I'm on dope it's just like, it twists me inside out, and I just become a totally different person. I'm ruthless, I'm conniving, I'm a cheater, I'm a liar I'm ..."

"A thief," Doerr chimed in.

He said, "It's become an epidemic," describing the heroin abuse in his hometown. "It's like a plague, seriously. People I went to school with are no longer around, dead [or] in prison." He said he knows 17 people who have died from using heroin.

Later, the two shoot up, mixing a hard chunk of heroin with water and boiling it down into a dark, brown liquid that filled their syringes. Doerr struggled to find a vein that hadn't already collapsed, and as she looked for one, she showed us the bruises that cover her body, evidence of her seven-year heroin addiction

But she said she wanted help. And soon after that, Doerr was treated at a Columbus hospital in a detox program specifically designed for pregnant addicts.

The hospital got her off heroin using the drug methadone -- which is accepted as a safe method for pregnant women, and their unborn children, to wean their bodies off a narcotic. But there is no methadone clinic back at home for her to maintain that treatment.

The next time "Nightline" met up with her, in August, she was shooting up again.

Doerr said she resorted to heroin because she can't quit cold turkey.

"It's like food to my baby," she said. "It's like food everyday. That's why I'm saying it has to have it everyday. Just like I do.

"The fact that I've been using for seven years, each time you get strung out and each time you go through detox it gets worse and worse," she says. "And the fact that I'm using, you know -- the amount that I'm using a lot -- I've cut back half of what I was using. I was using six balloons a day. Now I'm using maybe three."

Detox Facilities Hard to Find

Total detox, Doerr says, is unbelievably difficult.

"I might make it to the second day and I'm just spazzing out and panicking. And the second day I'm trying to find a fix. I can't do it," she said. "People say, 'Well, if you love your daughter, you will shape up.' It's not really a question of loving my daughter. I'm a mother. I love my daughter as much as any mother could love their daughter. It's a matter of loving myself enough and doing what I have to do, you know? It's not a matter of how much I love her."

Doerr often contemplates if her decision to raise Riley, her 4-year-old, was wise.

"Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't have given her up for adoption," she said, crying. "Because she has to see me come in and out of her life, and it's not fair. It's not fair. And it gets harder the older she gets. ... As a parent nobody wants that for their daughter."

Doerr's mom, Patti, has custody of Riley, and cares for her while desperately trying to find help for her daughter. But help is hard to find in the heartland.

Despite the rampant heroin abuse here, there is no detox facility in the entire county, meaning most addicts must wean themselves off of the drug at home. Experts say while heroin detox is painful, it's not usually dangerous in the way other drug withdrawals can be. So emergency rooms usually turn down heroin addicts looking to detox, because hospital supervision is rarely considered medically necessary.

For most addicts, staying clean after detox requires a long-term rehabilitation program. And many of those programs require insurance, something few addicts have. As a result, jails have become makeshift detox centers. "When I get out I'm going to try and stay off it," said one Richland County Jail inmate in Mansfield, Ohio. "Because this is the longest I've ever went without using it. I mean I've tried to quit several times but I never went past a week, if I even made it that long. I've been in here since June 4. It's been over two months." [This] is the longest I've ever been clean," said Sue Mills, another inmate who had been without heroin for eight days since getting into jail. "They don't have any methadone clinics here. They don't have needle exchange programs. You can't buy needles in Richland County. So it's a neverending cycle of sharing needles and hepatitis. It's just a nightmare."

It's a nightmare not just for the addicts but also for local law enforcement, which is overwhelmed by the crime heroin has brought to their communities. They've seen it affect all kinds of people. "It could be the person that you know played football in high school," Doerr said. "It could be the person next door. It could be, you know -- just everybody is strung out, you just don't know anymore. You hear everyday stories of, oh, this person, so and so is using drugs. You know mostly you hear about mothers talking to mothers, just so many of their kids. So many people my age are strung out. But even people my mother's age in their 40s are strung, too, it's caught them too."

'I Have No Life Right Now'

Doerr said she is desperate to break free of the grasp heroin has on her.

"I have no life right now," she said. "I try to maintain a halfway normal life where I go and get what I need and I come back and I take care of my daughter. But even now I'm not fully here.

"I am sick much of the time even when I have dope. I'm sick all the time. I sleep all the time," she said. "Seeing myself clean is not out of sight yet. [And] I can't lose that. If I lose that then I have nothing."

For information about how to help those suffering from drug addiction, please visit the Partnership for a Drug-Free America.