if I close my eyes and blink, I may be graduating again. but not so fast…
in my dreams I am still in California, I am still in Boston, I am still playing badminton.
in my dreams I don’t know where I am.
how did I get here and where am I going and am I really still in school?
the time flies like ‘squitos in july and some days I feel lost, while others I feel found. I miss these pages
I am happy to report that day two of med duty went much better. It helped that there was another volunteer on the shift, but my skill level also increased exponentially. I have learned the kitty-pill-technique. And it involves confidence and fast actions. I came away with much fewer scratches today, and oddly less hives. One of the employees in the med room also brought her dog to work, so it was great to have a puppy to pet and love on. Wilson, my little love, was still in the back room as well, so we got to play and he got to give me many holes in my fingers from his itty bitty kitty claws.
But perhaps the most interesting part of the morning was force feeding Loretta. Loretta hasn’t been eating and is getting a bit to skinny bones. Solution: syringe + gerber babyfood (chicken flavored!). Force feeding a cat takes quite some time and some patience, also some gloves. But together we made it through. I found that a routine of feeding followed by facial massage worked best and resulted in some purring. Afterward I gave her a cat version of a sponge bath and cleaned her cage. All in all it was a good day. I’m sure gonna miss these fellas next week, I’m surprised I didn’t take Wilson home already.
scratches and hives.
Today was my first official day volunteering at the SPCA. There are not a lot of “fun” jobs you can do until you have put in an initial 12 hours. This makes sense. They want people to know their way around the large facility and they want people who are dedicated. However, this means that the jobs that are available are limited: cleaning, laundry, poop patrol, filing papers, meds, etc. I would have signed up to file papers, but that would defeat the goal of interacting with animals. So I signed up for med duty.
Med duty is interesting to say the least… feeding the pups their pills is no big deal. Get a little duck meat, or rabbit meat and make a meatball-pill sandwich. Yum! Kitties, on the other hand, apparently don’t like meatballs or duckballs. So they have pills that need swallowing and syringes that need squirting. Now, getting one small kitty to swallow some pink liquid in a syringe is not to difficult. However… getting three different kitties to swallow their liquids while the other two try to escape from the cage is a bit trickier. Same goes for the pills. One small kitty, no problem. One grown kitty with real teeth, problem.
Needless to say I ended the morning with a good amount of scratches up my arm. In addition to which, my cat allergies decided to kick in, so I had hives on my elbowpits, arm, and neck. I looked like a bit of a mess. But I need my 12 hours, and I wont let any kitties get in my way! So I’m back at it tomorrow, and maybe with some photographic evidence.
Things that now make me happy:
Yes, I understand that most of those items are materialistic or food related. But life has come to that while I am living in a city where I only know about 3 people. My goals for the week are to find an awesome coffee shop to add to the list and to learn how to run in 100 degree weather.
Some goodbyes are always a little harder than others. Sitting in a rocking chair with a four year old on your lap, licking melting popsicles together was especially difficult. Today I cleaned out the remaining dust from the last year I spent living in a seminary dorm, hidden from the world. After Frank finished with the room inspection he asked if I needed a moment, I probably should have said yes.
I have moved into a state of nomadicism, even though that is not a real word. Need your contact solution? better remember which bag you packed it in. Want to wear that new dress? well too bad, it’s in a box out of your possession. It’s strange, as a person who has traveled the world you would think I was used to living out of a suitcase. I guess it really never was for me though.
Perhaps it is all of the uncertainty. Or the lack of routine. Maybe it’s the stress from having a million and one things to remember and get done. But right now, I think it is mostly the saying goodbye that is the hardest. Leaving California was easy, I wasn’t happy there. But here, I have a home and friends. No, correction, I have many many good friends and have loved living in this city. How do you leave all of that for an unknown? How do you leave happiness for a question mark? Well, I guess this feels kind of like a calling if I could use that word. I felt like saying “no” to this opportunity would be nothing less than foolish.
So my car is packed. My boxes gone. My life is about to change forever. But I do not say “goodbye” Boston. I do not say “goodbye” to my friends. I will say “see you later.” Auf Wiedersehen, until we meet again.
There are boxes of boxes in my room on my floor. Literally. I can count the days until my things disappear, hopefully to reappear in the same shape I left them. I can count the days until Colby and I venture South for our next adventure. I feel like I have been saying goodbyes for months now… I’m hoping they are rather “see you laters.”
Life can be such a strange journey sometimes. You may never end up where you thought you might be, and you often don’t really know where you are. I’m learning the lesson of letting go. Letting go of things and of expectations has helped me learn how to be in the moment better. How to be present.
With each bag I drop off at Goodwill I feel a little lighter. But with each box I pack, the memories feel heavier.
According to Wikipedia, Memorial Day is a day to commemorate all of the soldiers who have died in war.
I just found out today that in the last two years more soldiers have died from suicide than have died in war. And don’t blame it on PTSD, apparently “of the 112 guardsmen who committed suicide last year, more than half had never even left American soil.”
So please tell me again, what exactly are we fighting for?
Final final… Final master’s final… Final master’s final exam at BC completed!
The exam went something like this:
1. Empathy is:
a) a blue sea monster that strikes at dawn
b) a good quality to have as a therapist
c) a balding man
2. Career counseling is best when it:
a) ignores the needs and rights of clients
b) is performed outside in a circus tent
c) considers women, minorities, and disabled populations
3. When working with a client with a disability it’s best to:
a) treat them like any other client while considering any unique work circumstances they might face
b) suggest they just stay at home, people with disabilities shouldn’t work
c) refer them out, since you could never understand what they’ve been through
Yeah… so I think I passed the exam. You can call me master Jennifer from now on ;)
Our words are perhaps as, if not more important than our actions. Words have the power to both reduce someone to less, as well as to fill someone with more. How easy is it to remember someone for the last hurtful thing that they said? despite perhaps years of love. Words can cut into us, deeper than we are often aware. Yet in this digital age of facebook and twitter we throw our words around so carelessly. Often unaware of the repercussions.
Tonight, in our last class my supervisor of two years had every classmate say one positive thing about everyone else. It was a difficult task. But powerful. Ironically, out of all the words she could have chosen for me, she said “positive.” Ten years ago I would have never used that one word to describe myself. Perhaps even two years ago I would not have viewed myself through that lens. And yet today, two weeks from graduation, I understand.
I try to choose my words carefully when I am working with a client. I hope that this practice will continue to carry over to my daily life. Because I am aware that both the cuts and the scars in my heart, have been caused by words. The immense joys and the intense sorrows, brought on by words. I write, because I believe in the power of language. And I choose to lift others up, as I have been lifted.
