Abigail's April Scapegoat
Sometimes I want to use a bunch of "bad" words, all together, and very loudly. Preferably with no one around to hear. Perhaps I should come up with some other way to express frustration. Besides throwing my car keys on the ground as hard as I can (I don't have one of those fancy electronic button key things, so this isn't particularly damaging to anything). Besides... I don't know besides what. I guess I'll just settle for trying to cool off by writing (might go over better than physical or vocal exercise seeing as I'm in the library right now).
It's the end of the semester. Everything is coming due (besides all I've already turned in). Time is, um, disappearing. So, I squeeze in observation hours of Speech Language Pathologists (SLPs, for short) at work. This means that after spending five and a half hours working with too many one-year-olds, I rush from work to the place the SLP will be working. The time between finishing work and starting observations (if the SLP is right on time) is 30 minutes, during which I drive and eat. Then I observe. And then today, I followed it up with my sign language class lab. During which our helpful lab instructor... helps us communicate, but is not informed of the particulars of our assignments. In fact, for over a month, our lab instructor thought we were in ASL I, not ASL II, which means we lost over a month's worth (maybe 6?) of lab sessions to start preparing for our group project, which she still doesn't know too much about. Note to self: if someone says, "I will ask for you," nod politely, be hopeful, but still go ahead and ask yourself. Or you will be where I am right now, about to write an e-mail with my questions to the teacher and hope that, despite his not answering my last two e-mails at all, this time, he will answer promptly. Why do I take classes????!
But I was supposed to be cooling off, since expressing anger at teachers just might not help my cause at all. And sure, maybe if I was a super-hero student, I would have asked all these questions before instead of assuming that such seemingly basic information would be provided without being requested. Now, I am a depressed, anxious, irritated student frustrated by feeling asked for something without being given enough direction to give what is being requested.
Kind of like getting told by my boss that I need to have more help in the classroom when I know that the other teachers are also very busy. I got help... right along with eight more toddlers. I think I would have preferred no help and no more toddlers, but since when do we get what we want at lunch time in a child care facility. What a ridiculous thought.
And the thirty-five dollar question (that's my co-pay for three more months, after which I can join the ranks of the uninsured - wait, let me stop before something sarcastic and political comes out. And everything coming out right now is tainted with sarcasm, so the only thing I can easily prevent is politics). Back to the thirty-five dollar question: at my Psych Dr. appointment tomorrow, will he get the priviledge of seeing Abigail the sarcastic and angry?!? Because, with all my sarcasm and frustration, I'm holding the medication to blame! At least if that is the real problem, I can just stop taking the stupid med. If, on the other hand, that isn't the answer, I might be stuck with this mood for a good while longer. Of course, when have I kept the angry/irritated mood for too long... I usually turn out of it, deeper into depression if not elsewhere.
And now I've lost my train of thought. Let's blame that on the medication, while we're at it. Let's name this medication Abigail's April Scapegoat. Sounds good. Maybe if I'm angry with the scapegoat, I can fake a good mood for the sign language teacher. Maybe if I fake a good mood, he will get back to me faster. Hey, I can always hope.
While blaming the scapegoat, I'd like to bring up a crazy spelling/writing problem. It's been happening recently. For example, I was taking notes of my observation, like a good little A student. but I kept writing the wrong word! Skipping a letter, or even writing a whole different word that just starts with a few shared letters with the intended word. There should be a name for this. I'm apparently growing a disorder. No, wait; it can't be a disorder and be blamed on the medication, can it?
Let's not forget the latest in Abigail's Fight Against Sleeping In. When talking with a friend, I remembered how I switched from drinking coffee (I didn't like the taste and it took too long to prepare instant coffee) to eating candy, since sugar seemed to wake me up at least as much as the yucky coffee. So, since moving my phone alarm clock around the room wasn't enough to get me awake in time to get to work in time, I placed candy by my bed. Surely I would wake up for the pleasure of a piece of candy, and then the sugar should kick in and I should be able to get to work on time. Well, it is kind of working. I haven't been late to work yet. However, this morning, I found myself falling back asleep before I even finished the candy in my mouth. As in, I'd wake up to a mouth full of candy. Really? It's like I'm one of the over-tired one-year-olds who can't stay awake for all their lunch. They look kind of cute, sleep-eating until they are too deep in sleep for that, at which point they slump peacefully in slumber. Or not-so-peacefully. I'm sure they prefer their cribs. Well, at least that's an amusing thought to finish my amusing but disconcerting tail of wake up woes.
Now, with my partially functioning brain (the rest rode off on a certain scapegoat), I think I will try to politely, clearly, and urgently e-mail my professor.
It's the end of the semester. Everything is coming due (besides all I've already turned in). Time is, um, disappearing. So, I squeeze in observation hours of Speech Language Pathologists (SLPs, for short) at work. This means that after spending five and a half hours working with too many one-year-olds, I rush from work to the place the SLP will be working. The time between finishing work and starting observations (if the SLP is right on time) is 30 minutes, during which I drive and eat. Then I observe. And then today, I followed it up with my sign language class lab. During which our helpful lab instructor... helps us communicate, but is not informed of the particulars of our assignments. In fact, for over a month, our lab instructor thought we were in ASL I, not ASL II, which means we lost over a month's worth (maybe 6?) of lab sessions to start preparing for our group project, which she still doesn't know too much about. Note to self: if someone says, "I will ask for you," nod politely, be hopeful, but still go ahead and ask yourself. Or you will be where I am right now, about to write an e-mail with my questions to the teacher and hope that, despite his not answering my last two e-mails at all, this time, he will answer promptly. Why do I take classes????!
But I was supposed to be cooling off, since expressing anger at teachers just might not help my cause at all. And sure, maybe if I was a super-hero student, I would have asked all these questions before instead of assuming that such seemingly basic information would be provided without being requested. Now, I am a depressed, anxious, irritated student frustrated by feeling asked for something without being given enough direction to give what is being requested.
Kind of like getting told by my boss that I need to have more help in the classroom when I know that the other teachers are also very busy. I got help... right along with eight more toddlers. I think I would have preferred no help and no more toddlers, but since when do we get what we want at lunch time in a child care facility. What a ridiculous thought.
And the thirty-five dollar question (that's my co-pay for three more months, after which I can join the ranks of the uninsured - wait, let me stop before something sarcastic and political comes out. And everything coming out right now is tainted with sarcasm, so the only thing I can easily prevent is politics). Back to the thirty-five dollar question: at my Psych Dr. appointment tomorrow, will he get the priviledge of seeing Abigail the sarcastic and angry?!? Because, with all my sarcasm and frustration, I'm holding the medication to blame! At least if that is the real problem, I can just stop taking the stupid med. If, on the other hand, that isn't the answer, I might be stuck with this mood for a good while longer. Of course, when have I kept the angry/irritated mood for too long... I usually turn out of it, deeper into depression if not elsewhere.
And now I've lost my train of thought. Let's blame that on the medication, while we're at it. Let's name this medication Abigail's April Scapegoat. Sounds good. Maybe if I'm angry with the scapegoat, I can fake a good mood for the sign language teacher. Maybe if I fake a good mood, he will get back to me faster. Hey, I can always hope.
While blaming the scapegoat, I'd like to bring up a crazy spelling/writing problem. It's been happening recently. For example, I was taking notes of my observation, like a good little A student. but I kept writing the wrong word! Skipping a letter, or even writing a whole different word that just starts with a few shared letters with the intended word. There should be a name for this. I'm apparently growing a disorder. No, wait; it can't be a disorder and be blamed on the medication, can it?
Let's not forget the latest in Abigail's Fight Against Sleeping In. When talking with a friend, I remembered how I switched from drinking coffee (I didn't like the taste and it took too long to prepare instant coffee) to eating candy, since sugar seemed to wake me up at least as much as the yucky coffee. So, since moving my phone alarm clock around the room wasn't enough to get me awake in time to get to work in time, I placed candy by my bed. Surely I would wake up for the pleasure of a piece of candy, and then the sugar should kick in and I should be able to get to work on time. Well, it is kind of working. I haven't been late to work yet. However, this morning, I found myself falling back asleep before I even finished the candy in my mouth. As in, I'd wake up to a mouth full of candy. Really? It's like I'm one of the over-tired one-year-olds who can't stay awake for all their lunch. They look kind of cute, sleep-eating until they are too deep in sleep for that, at which point they slump peacefully in slumber. Or not-so-peacefully. I'm sure they prefer their cribs. Well, at least that's an amusing thought to finish my amusing but disconcerting tail of wake up woes.
Now, with my partially functioning brain (the rest rode off on a certain scapegoat), I think I will try to politely, clearly, and urgently e-mail my professor.
Abigail, I know you're anxious and tired, but your funny sense of humor still shines through. I love your story of "Abigail's Fight Against Sleeping In."
ReplyDeleteI hope your appointment with your doctor went well. I, too, get tired so easily. Today, I felt like I could barely push myself forward. So many things can contribute to being tired. I hope your doc is able to help.
Soon the semester will be over. Keep reminding yourself of that. You will get through this.