Flight of the Wendy Bird

A few months back I began to prepare for the completion of my graduate degree by searching for open employment opportunities, but I found myself profoundly unmotivated to update my resume or make active efforts to embark upon my career.  So, as a method of forcing myself into the waters I applied for the very first job opening I encountered working with my preferred population.  To be quite honest, it was a job I didn't want. It represented a step into the pool for me.  It pushed me to update my resume, and practice my application responses.  I was still in school and completing my clinical internship.  My availability was remarkably limited which removed all the pressure of the process.  In fact, I made a point to note that my lack of availability in at least three separate locations throughout my resume and application submission.  If I were looking to hire, I would have thrown my cover letter out.

I was, of course, astonished when I received a call to arrange an interview.  She described a rigorous interview process that involved a 30 minute writing activity and a case consultation.  Having never experienced such an intense process, I rationalized that this would be good practice.  Again, I didn't want the job.  The pressure was low.

Before I knew it I was called for a second interview involving a mock case presentation and participation in clinical rounds.  I started to feel nervous.  I still didn't want the job, but I was becoming intrigued by the process and I was afraid I was wasting the agency's time.  Knowing I wasn't going to take this job, I decided to just relax and enjoy the experience.  So, when I found myself seated at a table with 12 skills trainers, therapists, program managers, and clinical directors, I didn't really flinch.  I answered every question honestly; revealing my strengths and exposing my weaknesses.  I was comfortable and unconcerned.  This is why, when a loud and energetic man jokingly asked me what my favorite cartoon was, I didn't even bother to let him finish asking "why" before startling him with my response.

I explained that I loved most cartoons, children's stories, and super hero tales because of the allegories inherent within them, but that one stood out among the rest: Peter Pan.  I went on to state that I truly believed this story was a beautiful metaphor for what it means to grow up.  I monologued for nearly 10 minutes about the narrative of a boy without a mother who battles adults as he refuses to grow.  The room became silent as I went on and on about the captivation of Wendy as she is pulled between a world where she has to grow up and one that won't let her.  I wound down with an explanation of Wendy's ultimate decision to have one foot in both worlds.  Crickets chirped, but before the awkwardness set I verbally lunged forward with excitement. "OH!" I started, "and did you guys know that the author of Peter Pan had failure to thrive syndrome?!"  With this exclamation, I surged onward with a lecture about J.M. Barrie's traumatic childhood, and his stunted physical development.  I explained how the novel was a tribute to his deceased older brother who's reputation forever shadowed him in the eyes of his emotionally abusive mother.

All 12 faces stared speechlessly at me as I finished my soliloquy.  My individual discourse had left the entire panel with no apparent segue for completing the interview.  Amused with my socially awkward tendency, I did the only thing I could do.  I called it for them.

"Obviously I could go on and on about this topic," I said.  "I love children's stories, and I appreciate their ability to give insight to the human condition.  So...great question!"

Now, three months later, I call that confounded panel of professionals my coworkers.

Working On It

Image found here

Right after I accepted the job that got me started down this path, and shortly before I actually began doing it, I had a rather significant freak out. I remember it distinctly.

I was sitting in my cleverly designated "office" (also known as my parents' dinning room) anxiously fiddling through HR paperwork. Like the good-little neurotic employee I planned to be, I had logged into the company email remotely to set up my account preferences so they would be ready in two weeks when I actually started. Excited, I realized that I had already been added to the team e-mail list. The curiosity tagged the over-achiever in me, and I clicked the first of several messages open. What I discovered was an overwhelming amount of information about deadlines, time frames, and expectations all cloaked in some kind of agency jargon that made no sense to me.

Shit, I thought. I don't know how to do any of this!

Then I did what any responsible and mature 23 year old woman does. 

I ran crying to my mommy.

Through broken breaths and heaving sobs, I frantically described for her what a massive mistake I had made. I told her I wasn't ready. Like a crazy person I speculated about my imposter status. I rationalized that I had wanted this job so badly I had actually tricked several experienced mental health professionals into thinking I knew what I was talking about.

Likely bewildered, my mother patted my back. She looked me in the eye and frankly told me to put on my big girl pants and get over it.

"Of course you don't know what you're supposed to be doing!" she shook her head with exasperation. "You haven't done it yet. That's what training time is for." She explained that I hadn't tricked anybody into anything, and that all new jobs have a learning curve. Then, she abruptly instructed me to calm down already.

Honestly, I walked away from that interaction feeling like my mom had no idea what she was talking about. I mean, she hadn't seen those e-mails. She didn't fully understand the magnitude of my predicament. Now, several years later, I'm not so sure.

I find myself in a rather similar state of panic over ineptitude in my current position. I wake up nearly every day thinking to myself, what have I gotten myself into? Most of the time I'm convinced I have no idea what I'm doing. More often, I think about how I seem to have fooled each of my supervisors into thinking that I do. On more than one occasion I've actually practiced a "coming clean" type of speech that will explain my actual ignorance to this group of highly educated individuals.

It's definitely not a good feeling, but when I think back to other times I've had these sensations I'm reminded of my retail job in college when I fretted excessively over just what particular style to fold the t-shirts in. I also think of my first actual job at a movie theater, and the shame I felt when the manager accused me of misrepresenting my (very real bike race) concessions experience because, to him, that meant knowing how to work a pop tower. The common thread here does seem to be new jobs.

Perhaps what's even more important is that I eventually learned to work that pop tower and I am now an expert shirt folder. Also, those deadlines and time frames where concerning treatment issues that would eventually become so important to me I went to grad school so I could make a serious career out of them.

Maybe the freak out is all just part of the process. Maybe that irrational panic and absolute conviction that I'm an imposter is just proof that I'm ready to learn. And maybe, just maybe, my mom was right after all.

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If you yourself have ever found yourself afflicted with a similar case of the unnecessary worries, read this woman's blog.  It helped me a LOT.

 

Dear Grad School,

Not to be overly dramatic or anything, but this semester may just kill me.

Hold on. Let me clarify by explaining that it feels like you are cutting away little pieces of me each time you outline another expectation or time commitment.

Well...can we be honest for a moment? Can we just do that? Be real with each other for one little sec? That's basically what you are doing.

You're asking me to apply myself in ways I never have. Which, of course, I will. And, since I am passionate about my purpose for doing this, and I am entirely committed to the end goal, I'm going to put everything I have into each of these tasks. But, do you really understand that? We're talking about all of me. Every last piece. It's all going to pour out of my body as I provide you with everything. But, you're not even going to stop are you? You will just keep on asking for more.

So, what else is left?! Not much. I hope you've sharpened your carving knife, because the only other thing I can think of is to provide you with bite sized chunks of myself. Would you like me to start with the vital organs, or would you prefer intact appendages? Better yet! Maybe you would just like to begin by dusting off that Hoover in your office and sucking out my soul. Whaddya think?

But first, at least give me this weekend. I'd like to take some personal time. I think I'll hunt for a nice burial plot, maybe prepare my own obituary. I mean, I think I owe that much to my loved ones. After all, they will be wondering where I went when I suddenly disappear into a monstrous stack of research papers and never ending To-Do lists. Because seriously that's how it looks like this whole thing is going to play out.

Anyway, since it looks like I won't have time for either in the coming months, I'm off to stock up on sleep and gorge myself on healthy food. If you decide to change your mind and go easy on me, you'll find me at the local coffee shop. Should the stress have rendered me unrecognizable, I'll be the haggard looking one huddled in the corner, rocking in the fetal position while murmuring incomprehensibly about gestalt theory, assessment inventories, and countertransference.

Resentfully Yours,

Mindy

The Essay

I learned on Friday that my grad school application has been moved on through the next step in the process.  They want me to come in for an interview.  I'm incredibly excited. I worked so hard on my essay, and put into it everything I could. This essay robbed me of time, and resulted in the return of some anxiety issues that I thought I had completely resolved.  Turns out, soaking myself of every fiber of my writing ability and desire to improve was worth it. Now would be a good time to share it with all of you (assuming there's any of you).  *You may recognize bits of it from a previous blog.

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One of the children I work with is a 4 year old boy.  He is the sweetest kid once you get to know him.  Unfortunately, because he is scary, many people do not get that chance. He scared me when I first met him, and I have known him to scare away countless reasonable adults.  His terrifyingly destructive, abusive, and assaultive tantrums frequently require three adults to contain. He exhibits a high anxiety level by chewing on his fingers, banging his head against walls, punching himself in the face, and falling to the ground with alarming power. He also perseverates.  He fixates on colors, objects, characters, stuffed animals, and insects. In the time I have known him, he has been obsessed with the color blue, spiders, fire trucks, and Spiderman.

His Spiderman fixation is of particular interest. He knows Spiderman’s crime fighting techniques, and frequently attempts to use them, as a coping mechanism, in every-day life.  However, aside from being an endearing way to manage his fears, this little boy is demonstrating some remarkable insight about his own condition.  Without knowing it, he has chosen the most appropriate superhero to identify with.

Spiderman is really just an ordinary person in a costume. He is fallible; with faults and strengths just like the rest of us. However, his body is capable of extraordinary things, it is astonishing, but it is also frightening. For Spiderman, these tasks are superhuman feats intended to scare away literal demons. For this little boy, they are superhuman tantrums that inadvertently scare away his caregivers. Spiderman copes with this ability by developing a costume which allows him to anonymously fight off assailants.  He hides behind a mask.  For this little boy, tantrums are his proverbial mask.

Undoubtedly, Spiderman does great things. He saves people, and helps improve the world.  Most love him, and celebrate his extraordinary ability while he hides behind his mask.  However, when the mask is gone he fails to stand out.  It is different for this child.  He does have a support system who loves him when he is not hiding behind his tantrum mask, but he cannot accept it.  In contrast, this boy’s mask isolates him. He frightens others and himself. He sees himself just as most people do.  They see him as being the  psychological demons he fights.

In my experience working with maltreated children and disadvantaged families, I have encountered a number of children like this little boy. These children are plagued with serious psychological afflictions.  They are tasked with the normal and expected stressors of being a kid and growing up in a complex world, but are also burdened with scary pasts, unstable homes, inconsistent caregivers, and disabling diagnoses. Things are not easy for these children. They release anxiety through harmful and destructive behaviors.  They seek care and nurturance by screaming and throwing chairs, and avoid strong feelings by intentionally ignoring those they can rely on. They attempt to tell you what they have been through by engaging in indiscriminant and sexualized behaviors.  

After everything that has happened to these children, they exhibit an alarming amount of insight and unwitting self-awareness. Whether it is the little boy I previously discussed, or the reactive four year-old who played out his attachment issues with me and explained “I don’t know how to like you,” these kids seem to know deep down, just how different they are. Not many people see that, but I do.

For nearly two years I have worked in the milieu as a Child Development Specialist (CDS) at Morrison Hand in Hand Day Treatment, and of the many things I have learned there is that I am good at this.  I am able to see kids for who they are, and not what they do. I approach my clientele from a developmental perspective, and find creative interventions to facilitate their success in a variety of situations. For example, the boy with the “Spiderman complex” often refused to clean up or participate in group activities until I suggested he sit on “the S for Spiderman” in the alphabet carpet.

Another one of my personal strengths is that I truly hear the children that I work with. I listen to their words, and I understand that they are trying to communicate what their limited life experience will not let them. I hear the five year old with PTSD and Fetal Alcohol Effects tell me “sometimes I say things, and then I say other things,” and I understand that when he says “it makes me feel mad at my brain” he has realized that he thinks differently than his peers do. In addition to the above mentioned strengths, I feel I possess a strong sense of empathy, compassion, and unique understanding towards those I work with.  

It is this ability to understand that has inspired me to pursue a career in the mental health field, as a therapist specializing in work with traumatized and attachment-challenged children. I have enjoyed the work I have done thus far immensely, but I feel that I can do more. I would like to further develop my knowledge of information pertaining to this field. It is my hope that a graduate degree in counseling will give me a comprehension of clinical models, and therapeutic interventions that I can implement in my future practice.  Another of the areas that I feel needs further development is my knowledge regarding available resources both universally and in the local community. I believe that studying counseling at Pacific University will guide me on this path, by affording me access to those resources, and helping me reach my goals.

Pacific offers courses which will bolster my comprehension with a strong knowledge of relevant theories, practices, and clinical models. By asking students to complete community internships, Pacific will also help me build upon the strong foundation of experience I have obtained thus far. I am particularly interested in this program because of the emphasis on evidenced-based practice.  This emphasis fits with my previous experience in the field and coincides with my belief that it is ethically wrong to offer treatment without the supporting facts of its effectiveness. I have a drive to learn, and have always sought out research regarding my clientele and proven supportive interventions. Currently, I attend a minimum of twice monthly trainings on a variety of topics such as attachment, adoptive processes, and the affects of drugs and alcohol in utero. Also, I regularly peruse the mental health section of book stores for supplemental knowledge. Also, in my work as a CDS, I have encountered numerous situations which have sparked a desire for education. 

One situation, in particular, seems especially applicable. After his entry into the program, one of my clients began to respond to my support and interactions erratically. He expressed an apparent preference by seeking me out often, turning down other staff, and calling out my name when I was unavailable.  When I was able to work with him, he reacted to my redirects and encouragement with an extreme level of aggression, dysregulation, and emotionality that was unlike his reactions to most adults in his life. It gradually increased to a point where I was unable to have any successful interactions with him, be they directive or non-directive. Because of this, I became curious about what particular process was causing such a distinct response.

 Of my own volition, I began to research early childhood attachment. What I found was a wealth of knowledge about Reactive Attachment Disorder in traumatized children.  I brought this information to the team – including, myself, a clinical manager, a psychiatrist, and several family therapists- and the diagnosis was applied to the child’s treatment plan.  I also used the information I obtained from case studies and academic research to implement rituals and routines which facilitated development of a more secure attachment.  Ultimately this helped the child to begin to overcome his reactivity towards me.

I believe the above scenario is just one example of why I am a match for this program, and will thrive with the continued education I know Pacific provides. It is rare that an individual is driven to work with such a daunting population, and many exhaust themselves and move on after a very short period of time.  I am unique in that I have grown through various positions, and remained interested in this particular group. I may be overwhelmed at times, but I find support in those I work with, and am always further inspired to learn more and help my clients overcome their disruptive and disabling psyches.  I enjoy working with these children, despite situations that can seem hopeless or overwhelming. I am aware that there are a limited number of resources available for such populations, and would like to help expand those resources by becoming an expert in this area.  It is my hope to be accepted to Pacific, so I can begin to realize this dream.

I Guess It's A Monday?

Location: Home
Mood: Melancholy

I guess I'm having a day that most people would label as a typical Monday. I just feel really stupid today. However, I'm not entirely sure that "stupid" captures the enormity of how I feel.

It's like my brain is cloudy.

All day I was confronted with these situations that I should have been able to handle, but I struggled. With each and every situation...I struggled. It started almost right away too.

This morning I THOUGHT I was awake. Then I arrived at work, and two of my coworkers were go-go-go almost right off the bat. I was instantly overwhelmed. It wasn't that they were discussing anything too stressful, or something that I could not handle. It was that my brain simply could not keep up.

Then, the kids arrived, and my work day really began. Granted, these aren't normal kids, and that makes the work harder than average. However, it was as though I couldn't do a damn thing right. If a kid made a simple request of me, I would respond by staring at them for a couple of beats before I reacted. When a child began acting out in a way that required my immediate attention, I was able to physically respond, but I was unable to mentally respond. Throughout the entire day, I continued to make stupid mistakes. It was like my brain was soaking in molasses or something.

After the children left, I had a serious to-do list to to tackle, and all I could do was wander around helplessly. I was aware of the things that I needed to accomplish, but I couldn't make myself function successfully. On top of that, my day was riddeled with mental stutters, verbal slips, and a general lack of comprehension.

I just feel like I can't do anything right at this point. I guess that is probably not true. I'm sure that there is SOMETHING that I can do right. However, at this point I am not convinced.

Tomorrow I will have a sharper mind and faster reactions! I can't handle two days of feeling like I am inept.

I'm Never Leaving The House Again

Do you ever have those days? You know what I'm talking about. Those days where you wake up, and everything just seems to be working against you. Those days where you realize at some point that you just want to scrap the whole afternoon and go hide in your room. Right around 12:30 this afternoon I realized that I wanted to just call "DO-OVER" and re-start.

How do I even begin to tell you about this day?

Well, you need some back story. It all begins last Thursday. I was at work. I missed a call from someone at a local child welfare office. They wanted to schedule an interview for me. I work Thursdays and Fridays, and have very little time to return calls. This is especially true on Thursdays. I work from 8:30am-5pm. At which point I drive like a frantic crazy woman to get to my next job which begins at 5:30pm.

I really want to work for child welfare. So this past Thursday I thought it would be a good idea to return the call as I drove from job 1 to job 2.

BAD IDEA. I was completely frazzled. I hadn't worked out what I was going to say. I left a message for this woman that made me sound like a bumbling idiot. I don't remember the exact message, but it went something like this:

"Hi...uh..." (I had hastily written the woman's name down. I couldn't read my writing, and it was a big long name. So I paused for a second as I tried to drive and decipher what on earth this name was). "...um...Ms. Bridenheagenshsmendhaer" (that was me mumbling her name) "This is Melinda Murray returning your call about the..." (missed my turn) "...interview. I'm sorry I missed your call. I was actually at work all day, and I will be at work all day tomorrow. I'm very interested in coming in about this job." (Coming in about this job??! Really?!) "I guess you could call me back." (I guess you could call me back?) "I'm free most other days of the week..." (At this point I have realized that the message has made me look like I am suffering from some form of mental retardation and it is best to just end it all). "I will...uh...try to reach you again tomorrow after 5pm. Again this is....Melinda...Murray." (OH MY GOD MINDY! FAILURE! THIS IS AWKWARD!! BAIL!! BAIL!! BAIL!!) "Sorry this message is so awkward." *Click* ---> and yes I actually said that last part.

Now, if you're thinking what I was thinking: I know!! What is wrong with me?!

At this point I am assuming that they are never going to call me ever again, and I have lost my chance. Fair assumption? I think so.

On Friday, I received a call from someone else in this office. The original woman, with the unpronounceable name doesn't work on Fridays, but they wanted to touch base, and tell me they are only doing interviews on Monday. I think this is my chance to redeem myself. I'll call her when I get off work.

She wasn't there. I left a less awkward message. However it was still strange. It was me explaining that I can come in any time on Monday, and if someone could please call me at their earliest convenience. I told this new woman (whose name I wrote down very carefully) that I would make any time work in my schedule.

All weekend goes by, and I receive no call. I have lost my chance at this job, but I'm not really surprised. This has been a seriously awkward game of phone tag. No one, but me, could pull this level of awkwardness off.

Then, Monday comes around. I get up early, and I go to the gym. Now, I NEVER take my phone to in with me, but for some reason I did this Monday. I'm still not sure if this has worked to my benefit.

It rings.

I answered, frazzled, and out of breath. It is the same office, different person (this is three people I have been awkward with now). They have one interview slot open Tuesday at 11:30. I say "yes I will be there." However, I have no pen, so I don't ask for the address or anything.

More information you need to know about me. I HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE, being late. This usually means that I am EMBARRASSINGLY early to things.

Today rolls around. I get up early. I get ready. I find the address to the office. I set my resume and application to print. I perfect my outfit. Surprisingly, I look pretty good. I get ready to leave (allowing enough time to be there 20 minutes early). I go to the printer to gather my papers. The damn thing was out of paper! I have to find some. That takes about 10 minutes.

I leave. There's a smog advisory, and it's hotter than Hades out. However, everyone seems to think that driving is a good idea. So, all the morons of the world are out, and driving at a slow and leisurely pace. PLUS there's construction everywhere. (Thanks for the jobs Obama, but today it's not really working for my schedule). I get to the address I have written down, five minutes late.

OMG I'm late.
OMFG, the place doesn't exist! I'm at the wrong place!

At this point I am thinking. "Just go home Mindy. You have completely botched this whole thing from the very beginning. There's no point in attempting to save it. Just go home, curl up in a ball, and cry for a few months." BUT, This week I'm testing the boundaries of my comfort zone. So, I call my mother, and she finds their phone number. I call their office, and tell them that I'm lost.

I'm sure they are thinking "this lady is a complete fool." I would be. Why are they wasting their time with me? Why have they gone out of their way to bring me in for an interview when I have yet to demonstrate one redeeming quality? Actually no. I have clearly demonstrated my ability to socially flog myself and come back for more. How appealing.

They debate whether or not they should continue with the interview. I'm not speculating. They actually told me this is what they were doing.

By some strange grace of god they decide to let me come in a half an hour late (because that is how late I will be at this point). I thank them, but am seriously wondering if I should let me come in a half an hour late.

So, I drive in the opposite direction for 15 minutes, and pull into the parking lot of a Walgreen's. They have told me they are located at the corner of Powell and 122nd, and all I see here is a Walgreen's.

Kill me now.

Every fiber of my being is now screaming "GO HOME!" My anxiety issues are kicking in BIG time, and I hate myself for being this late.

Really it's amazing I didn't just completely loose it there in the middle of Rockwood. BUT, I held it together, and discovered this weird little hole in the wall marked "Child Welfare." I take a deep breath, and walk into this building.

There was no front desk to check in at. Really there wasn't much of anything. It was like a big empty room with a conference room attached.

I scream internally. My inside voice is shouting "TURN AND LEAVE, TURN AND LEAVE!"

A few people look up at me and stare. I'm sure they are wondering who this nicely dressed, but clearly frazzled young lady is. I wish I knew, people. I wish I knew.

After what feels like hours, but is really only seconds, a nice man comes out and says "are you Melinda?"

OH THANK GOD!!! YES I'M MELINDA!!! SAVE ME NOW!!

Normally, I advise against following strange men around after entering vaguely marked offices in the middle of trashy east P-town, but at this point I had NOTHING to loose.

So, I swallow the blue pill and follow him down the rabbit hole.

The interview lasted about 10 minutes, which isn't advisable. However, I felt like it went okay. Against all odds, I think I pulled off this interview.

When it ended I practically ran out of there in my heels. I had to make a quick stop at the grocery store, and then I was home free. Literally. However, even that didn't go as planned.

When I went to the store, I was followed around by two trashy looking teenage boys in over sized tie-died shirts. They don't know I saw them, but they were stalking me. Then, as I was leaving, my gas light came on. Which is beyond my comprehension, because I had a quarter of a tank this morning.

I make a quick stop at a nearby gas station, and I think "you deserve an Icee Mindy." So, I go in to pay only to discover that this is apparently the one gas station mini mart on Earth that does not serve Icees.

PERFECT.

Well, I've gone in, so I've got to get something. I get a pop. The lady doesn't take my credit card. Of course you don't. I make it work. I get in the car, and now I can't get out of the parking lot in the direction I want to go. I have to drive around in a ridiculous 4-block circle just to get back on track.

I think that the heat has actually seeped into my brain. The temperature is making a brain omelet inside my head.

Finally I make it home. The interview location was 15 minutes from my house, but I managed to get stuck outside, lost, confused, upset, and frazzled for three hours!

As I mentioned earlier, it is hotter than the fiery pits of hell here. On second thought, that might be where I am. I woke up in hell this morning. God that explains EVERYTHING!

Fun Story Time: Warning it's about a potty-type situation.

Mood: embarrassed


If you know me at all, you know that I have a ridiculous fear of rats and mice. Pretty self explanatory. I hate their tails. Their beady little eyes. Their teeth. The fact that they are disease-ridden. You know that they all just want to bite you, and give you rabies and god knows what else. I can’t talk about this right now I’m getting all stressed out.

You may also know that I have a totally irrational fear of toilets. Weird I know. I can’t totally explain it. I think it stems partially from a blacked-out potty training trauma. Also, I’ve always secretly suspected that the upstairs bathroom at my house is haunted. So much so that when I was little I was scared to go to the bathroom at night. When I was too old to pee my bed, I would usually hold it till morning and sprint down the hall first thing. When I either couldn’t hold it, or managed to convince myself that there was no such thing as ghosts {probably} I would use it but I would NEVER flush at night. I was convinced the loud flushing noise was a demon roaring at me from the depths of hell (or the plumbing system...whatever). This last point was further exacerbated by a little movie called “Look Who’s Talking Too.” Say what you want about that film, my psyche, whatever, but there is a talking toilet scene in that film that scarred me. Later in life I would say it was out of courtesy to my parents. " I didn’t want to wake them", I'd say. Don't believe that line. This fear, as I said, is totally irrational, and as I can’t avoid it I use the bathroom regardless.

Anyway, the two fears may seem like they'd never meet, but you’d be wrong. They actually come into contact with one another on an almost daily basis. When I was in middle school I heard a story on the radio about rats living in sewers. I’m sure you’ve probably heard this old wives tale, but the story was about a woman who discovered a rat in her toilet. *Alright I’m getting nervous.* This woman did not just discover a disease infested rabid rat in her toilet by stumbling upon it one morning before doing her business. Oh no. This woman discovered the rat WHILE doing her business. Oh god! Yes, that’s right. It bit her. Right in the tuckus!! OH GOD!!!

Needless to say, I have never really been the same. Although I know it probably never happens, I still have a hard time getting past the nervousness that is me KNOWING a rat will be biting me on my ass this time.

It’s never happened.

So fun story time now:

At work I have all kinds of issues with using the bathroom. These issues are unrelated to my irrational fears, but are no doubt exacerbated by them. These stories are for another day and another time. The story I want to tell you about is how I thoroughly embarrassed myself at my place of employment this week. I went to the bathroom, and I set up the toilet with one of those sheets (what are they called?).

In case you’re wondering, I don’t do this anywhere else. I don’t mind the germs. But, for some reason, I'm worried about them at my work.I know. I’m weird.

Anyway, so I put the sheet down, and then I do my business. I’ll spare you the details. Except that you need to know, if you don’t already, that it was freaking hot this week. So I was kind of sweaty. When I stood up afterward the sheet came along with me. It stuck to my sweaty legs.

Well, naturally I thought this was it. The big one. Obviously a disgusting disease-ridden beastie was attacking me! So, yes… I screamed.

I hope you enjoyed that little story. The end is not as spectacular… thankfully. There was not anyone outside in the hallway. Or maybe there was, and they heard me scream and ran away. Who knows. But regardless of who heard me, I feel like an idiot. It was a toilet protector people!

Hope you enjoyed that.

Oh. Side note: If you youtube search “Look Who’s Talking Too toilet” you get a bunch of Jonas brothers videos...Explanation please?

1 comment

Monica Heistand wrote at 11:39pm May 29th, 2009

I love you mindy!! that is hilarious!!!!!

I Don't Know, I'm Not Proud of It, Please Stop Asking Me

Location: Alpenrose Velodrome.
Mood: tired


I went to an event that my parents put on each year. It isn’t really an event. Basically before the beginning of each track (velodrome) season, they have everyone come out and help them clean up and repaint the track. The weather was supposed to be nice, so I figured I’d go. Who knows, maybe I’d manage to wrangle myself a boyfriend.

As usual, everyone that knows me wants to know what I’m doing with my life these days. I’m still looking for a career, but I think even if I’d found one I would be sick and tired of being asked about it. It’s like when you hurt yourself. As soon as people see a cast it’s all they want to talk to you about, and you get irritated with telling and re-telling what happened to you. But, I haven’t found a career. I’ve got a job, and I’m still looking. I live at home with my Mommy and Daddy. Thank you very much.

I know that people mean well. I know that they are just trying to strike up conversation. I’m not too upset with them, but put yourself in my shoes. I feel like I should be wearing a sandwich board that reads:

“Hi, How are you? I’m alright Oh, I’m still looking (for a job). I’ve put in over 600 applications since June. I have a part time job making $9.50/hour. Putting that Bachelor’s to good use.  Yes the economy sucks right now. No I don’t really want to hear your personal take on the economy, but you’re going to tell me anyway so I’ll listen.  I live with my parents. I’m ready to move out. To save us some awkwardness, I’m going to look for a reasonable excuse to exit this conversation now. It was nice talking to you. Peace.”

Okay, it would have to be a rather large sandwich board, and I’m a small person. But I think it would save us all a lot of trouble.

1 comment

Nicole Pexton wrote
at 9:37pm April 19th, 2009

Yes! I have been known to run and hide from people who might have this conversation with me in public places.

What happened to talking about the weather?

New Jobs

Location: Work
Mood: annoyed

I hate new jobs. Can’t stand them. I wish it were possible to start a new job at the “I’ve worked here for over a year” point. I always feel like an idiot when I start a new job. Even when the job is really simple. Every job has it’s own way of doing things, and you always need to ask how to do things. For instance, I worked retail. My first day on the job they asked me to fold some shirts. I asked them how to fold the shirts. They looked at me like I was a moron. I’m not stupid. I know HOW to fold shirts, but I assumed that they had a specific way they wanted me to fold the shirts. They did.

This new job that I’m working is no exception. It is a bit worse actually. Whenever I work I’m by myself. It’s usually pretty boring. However, occasionally there is something I need to do or a question I need to answer, and I don’t know how to do it, what the answer is, or who to ask. I just feel dumb. The worst part is, the residents  look at me like I know what I’m doing. Then, when I don’t know what to do they seem to react as though I don’t know anything at all.

It’s not the worst thing in the world, but I’m ready to reach the point where I actually know what I’m doing.

Oh, did I mention that the woman who trained (and continues to train me through notes) barely speaks English? I don’t speak Russian, so it’s all a bit confusing.

Living for Hope

Image found here

Location: Home
Mood: hopeful
 
I experienced something truly great last night.

In my lifetime, Americans have seen a lot of things happen. Some of them horrible, and some of them good. But last night was the first truly awesome thing that I have ever taken part in.

I am, of course, talking about the election of Illinois Senator Barack Obama to the highest office in the land.

There was no doubt in my mind that he would win the popular vote. However, having witnessed the 2000 elections, I’d be lying if I didn’t mention that I was nervous for the potential of dangling chads, Governor relatives, and conspiracy at the polls.

In the beginning, with only two states, McCain was ahead, and I was nervous. Then Obama seized a lead, and I began to feel the excitement. Shortly after that, McCain picked up a few more states, and the nervousness snuck-up on me again.

Then, around 8pm (Pacific Time) ABC news announced the closing of the western pools, and the Nomination of Barack Obama. Part of me didn’t entirely believe it.  And then John McCain appeared on my screen. He delivered one of the greatest speeches. No doubt, it was one of the greatest speeches that I have ever heard, probably second only to Obama’s acceptance speech later that evening. As he ventured onto the stage, and began to speak I was enveloped by the enormity of his words. My father wisely pointed out “if his entire election had been anything like this speech he might not have lost so hugely.”

For the past week, I have actually been temping with Multnomah County Elections, and I was scheduled to go in to count ballots at 10pm. I was delaying my departure because I did not want to miss Obama’s acceptance speech. There was something in the air, and I just knew that it was going to be great.

Of course, the news cut to Obama walking on stage at the exact moment that I was putting my coat on. I quickly ran outside and tuned my radio to NPR, a station that I normally try to avoid (Talk Radio makes me car sick). As I drove into Portland, I was completely moved by the words of President Elect Obama. On a few occasions I welled up just at the significance of his words and his election.

When the speech ended, I continued to listen to NPR. This is entirely out of character for me (as I mentioned, NPR makes me car sick). I think that this was mostly because I just did not want the moment to end. Over the chatter of the news, I heard a bang and looked up to see fireworks light up the Portland Sky.

Suddenly, I realized that there was some honking and yelling. I quickly turned off my radio and learned that all the commotion was a celebration on the streets of Southwest Portland. Cars were honking their horns and people were cheering and hugging on the streets. At this moment, it really sunk in for me. I was living through one of the greatest moments in American history. I was experiencing something that people all over the nation were experiencing. The entire country was elated at the selection of the first African American president.
I reached the elections facility, and parked my car. As I walked the block and a half to the building, I passed people cheering and singing. I stood across the street from the building, and watched as people knocked on the windows giving thumbs up to the the staff inside. I crossed the street, as cars were honking and celebration filled the air. After I began to work, a band set up in the middle of Morrison blvd (the street Multnomah County Elections is located on) and began to play. It was as if all Portlanders lost their calendars and thought it was New Years Eve.

It was truly bizarre to be a part of the election at such an historic moment in time. It was especially bizarre spending the entire night/morning counting ballots when the country had clearly already come to a decision.
In any event, I have never been more proud of my fellow man. When I arrived home, at 9am, I fell fast asleep. My mind was at ease. Sure, I am anxious and hopeful, but after a night like last night I am confident that the American people have made the first step in a good direction. I am so filled with pride, and excited for what is to come.

Way to Go America, and congratulations President Barack Obama!

Working

Mood: mellow

I started a new job yesterday. Yes, ladies and gents, I am now a temp. It’s gloriously boring. I’m working for US Bank. I show up at 5:30am (soooo early). When I get there, they give me some stacks of bills. I then sort through the bills, and organize them into several smaller stacks. Then I bind them with rubber bands, and ask for another stack. It seems that monotony will be my life for the next 5 weeks.
I’m not really sure exactly why the temps need to show up so early. I am actually not really sure why anyone needs to show up that early. Obviously someone somewhere had this idea, but it doesn’t make much sense. I mean, at the LATEST we’ll be done by 4pm. Yesterday I was done at 1pm, and today I was done just after 11am.
I got a letter from Lane County Child Welfare in Eugene yesterday. I called them today, and I have an interview on Friday 10/31. It’s a group interview, and that’s a bit unfortunate. I am not a fan of group interviews.
Well, that’s all for now. I’m gunna go work out.