therapist

Did you ever notice that "therapist" is spelled, "the rapist?" I was just wondering.

My physical therapy started yesterday. My therapist is a 12 year-old girl named Anna. Anna the Barbarian. I had visited the surgeon on Monday and he gave me the go ahead to begin therapy because my movement is good for someone two weeks out. Well, it hurt. It hurts still. It hurt anyway, so what's the problem? It felt good, in a masochistic kind of way, to feel blood flow in the area of my shoulder and neck, but still... Damn.

So, on Monday, I applied for 5 jobs. Got a call back from one within 15 minutes of faxing it, complete with a near offer. The money wasn't what I want, so I had to pass. Two more responses throughout the day. But I should note here that I couldn't work yet if my life depended on it -- that I don't want to work for a couple more months -- I was just testing the waters. When I moved up here in spring of 2004, I intended to be off work for 6 months and then reach out and pluck the perfect job from the low hanging branches of the job tree. They would see my resume, think, "My God, She's Here!" and offer me buckets of cash. It wasn't so easy as all that. After 6 months off I began applying and experiencing rejection for the first time in my life. After a month of that, I scrambled and took a job as a social worker for less money than I've seen in awhile. So now, I'm a little nervous, two years older, and my body a wreck. A wreck. And I don't want to wait until the last minute. But my dilemma is this: What if somebody offers me a great job?

I have spent the better part of my life just saying YES to the next thing, and it has worked out pretty well so far: Yes to the boys, yes to motherhood, yes to whiskey, yes to heroin, yes to more heroin, yes to NO more heroin or whiskey, yes to education, yes to homeownership, yes to the sweetest marriage proposal, yes to this life. So, yes has worked out fairly well for me. I'm gonna stay with it, only be choosy about the job thing. I don't settle easily or well. Like I mentioned a few posts back, I don't like to do what I don't like, so the job must have some appeal.

In my world, we are considering a weekend at the coast to spend with my outlaws -- my ex-never-were-really-inlaws, but the closest family I've been part of since mine went to shit which was a long time ago. My son's father's family. He is dead--my son's father. I danced on his grave. But I love them. My ex-mother outlaw has been more of a mother to me than my own. My ex-outlaw sisters closer than my own sister, sadly. So, we will locate a place to stay where Sid and the girls and maybe Marky can hang with us. cool.

Sid -- He'd die left to a weekend alone. What a baby. We got him a new toy at a yard sale, a stuffed dog, not lifesize, but bigger than usual. I'm not confident of the wisdom of buying a pitbull an animal-shaped thing to thrash, but at least it wasn't a baby doll. Anyway, we got him this dog. He thrashed it around for awhile, but not like usual. Ordinarily, toys are consumed in a matter of moments, thus the need to shop at yardsales and Goodwill.... Sid's ritual is this: Each morning, he listens for the sound of the furnace revving up, then he gets off the sofa to lay in front of the vent until he is toasty. So yesterday morning, we get up. The heater comes on. We walk into the living room and Sid has placed his dog in front of the heater vent and he is laying on the loveseat watching this dog. His friend. He is such a failure as a pitbull.

The boat search continues, and we are looking for a bike for Lorretta. I appreciate her aversion to gears. She is my best friend for a reason.