I found myself walking half my trip home after dropping The Kid off with an over-zealous but harmless Jesus, who wore an APEC-ish fluro-yellow shirt. Whether it was a uniform for anything in particular is anyone’s guess, but ‘tis the season to be clearly visible at all times, lest the wrong person with a suit whispers into his lapel…
He didn’t have anything in particular to report, just wanted to know what my name was and how things were going. While I normally would’ve been quite abrasive, I’d woken up this morning with a non-denominational chirpiness and figure I’d engage in conversation. Of course, I was just a swift kick away from removing his face in the event he tried any unsavoury shenanigans, but that’s a bit of a well-conditioned fear of everything. Pre-emptive strike?
So. We were walking down the street when he said that he’d seen me walking before and that I always look sad. While that actually surprised me, I told him that that wasn’t the case. I went further to ask him what he’d think if he saw people walking down the street grinning like Cheshire cats for no apparent reason, and he just laughed. It was a bit of an eager laugh – which I wasn’t expecting – so I laughed harder and faker than usual. It was awkward.
We crossed the bridge together and he even stopped with me when I ran into an old friend I used to drink with, and waited patiently and quietly for all of 2 minutes while I did the catch-up chat. I thought that was weird enough, seeing as we hadn’t discussed anything personal and were barely acquaintances, let alone stop-worthy. Suffice it to say that I did not introduce him to my friend; I actually never got Jesus’ name but he got mine even if he got it wrong. Anyway, We weren’t mid-sentence or mid-point, so what the shit? Is it weird that I think that’s weird?
I secretly thanked real-Jesus that it was Market Day in the street mall, as it gave me an excuse to stop and start and chat with the stall owners I regularly buy my fresh and *organic produce from. The conversation went thusly:
“Okay, I have to do some grocery shopping now.”
“Okay.”
“See you later.”
“Great!”
“What?”
“Nah.”
Umm. What the hell just happened?! I can’t help but feel less enlightened for the experience, not to mention that little bit more creeped out about Jesus.
*Organic’s the way of the future, yo; nobody wants a daughter so full of pesticides / hormones that she grows She-Wang. Seriously.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Monday, September 3, 2007
M/Tks!
There’s a lady at work that’s driving me absolutely up the wall. Ahhh! I swear that unless something Earth-shattering happens with this lady in the future, this will be the one and only whinge-fest dedicated to her. I’d also like to point out that I am admittedly an office dork and enjoy my fun. When it’s appropriate. On the defensive, I’m not picking on this lady… if you don’t have anything nice to say – blog it.
It seems to be a common problem these days; younger staff members who outrank older staff members. I didn’t think I had a problem with it – I respect all staff members and would consider myself a consummate professional in my current position. I know I scored this job on a wing and a prayer and take pride in my work, appearance, and behaviour especially whilst on the clock. I make sure that all tasks are completed in an efficient time-frame, and accuracy is something that comes with the territory, what with Medicare and NATA-esque audits at random. I’m a mess personally, but a bit anal-retentive at work. Justifiably so, as my end-shift is particularly prickly.
I was slowly training Practice Management (Worker’s Compensation, Basic Accounts, Practitioner Liaison, Medical and Dental Insurance, et al) until my Practice Manager (aka CrazyLegs) tripped over her husband skiing down a slope in Falls’ Creek, but some of my regular duties take responsibility for the entire day’s and entire practice’s actions. End Of Day banking, sterilisation, notarising grievances, logging births and deaths, immunisation, DVAs and Bulk-Bills (being private practice, the latter are mainly ex-staff, staff, family, associates, and friends) are the non-bane of my existence, and even the more mundane tasks like changing the linen and making sure the practice is in order (like checking that there aren’t any acupuncture needles laying about / cleaning everything the child with Scarlet Fever licked) allows me to collect my thoughts and wind down from work and ease into the evening-shift of motherhood. I wouldn’t have it any other way, as I enjoy a full-plate.
Actually, I lie.
This woman, M/Tks (which stands for Many Thanks, apparently) is a complete shitface.
After 6mo of full-time INTENSIVE training (3mo more than everyone else!), she somehow still manages to turn everything she touches in the practice into balls. She’s now a casual, but I still dread the days she’s on – I hit the ground running on those days, and spend the greater part of my shift undoing her “work”. The worst thing is, everything we handle in the practice runs on a Chain Of Custody process, and guess who has to explain the errors to each practitioner (including the practice partners and my two superiors) at the end of each night? Yep, me. Do you think I can make sense of half the mistakes this woman makes? No. Does it make me look like an idiot? Yes.
I can handle mistakes, but only for so long. When you repeat the same mistake numerous times, or ignore common-sensical procedure like looking in a tray clearly marked “Mail” if you’re looking for outgoing mail, rather than ring Australia Post, then it pops over to the unfunny side of dumb. Giving someone long-winded directions to the premises so obscure that they end up in an industrial alleyway on the other side of town looking for a building that looks like it might have at least FOUR (4) “toileting” facilities on each floor… I cringe every time I see her open her mouth.
Personal gripe: Her catch-phrases are “Spit chips!”, “Wacky-doo”, and “Derrrrrrrrrrrrr!”, “Silly Sausage!” and talks about really personal issues at random… even moreso than myself! She likes to tell people about the one time she went swimming in the ocean and was stung by jellyfish, and likes to whisper to patients as if they were close friends. She also (and I am positive some of you will love this!) blames her mistakes on her being both blonde AND female. Which is quite possibly the stupidest, irritable, and most transgressional excuse for women and blondes alike. Honestly, what a shitface.
And her attitude! Oh, sweet Jesus on a crabstick! She’s saccharine to the practitioners, but a total bitchfacewhorebag to anyone significantly younger than her (myself and most of the naturopaths who work in the Dispensary who practice elsewhere), and anyone close to her age. Which leaves Flock Of Seagulls (late 30s) as the only person to not have to deal with M/Tks’… M/Tks-ness. I can handle mistakes if they’re rectified, or at least explained to me in a way that isn’t sarcastic or condescending, but that seems to be the only way she can talk to me. I’m not the only person this happens to, but it’s been pointed out to me by one of the partners that I’ve been copping it the most. I was oblivious to it up until recently, chalking it up to her being bitter at technology evolving in the time she was raising her five now-adult children. After doing some quick abacus-work in my head, she’s had approximately ten years to work it off and get back in the game. Go figure.
Her messages are also incredibly cryptic, almost like a semi-retarded l337-speak… M/Tks, as I mentioned before, means “Many Thanks”. Apparently. “Late” can be anything from “L8” to “Lte” to “Lat”, and “Patients” is clearly supposed to be abbreviated as “Ptts”, but that’s only IF she hasn’t misspelt it as “Patience”. She also has trouble with her spelling, but that’s forgivable – we have so many practitioners writing scripts for so many different ailments and requests for tests that sound fictional. The Therapeutic Goods Administration like to confuse all with announcements of prescription drugs that are being introduced and removed from pharmaceutical shelves with names that differ greatly in chemical make-up but only differ in product name by a couple of letters.
She says she has problems at home. Everybody does. She was told not to bring her issues into the workplace, but we almost have to exit the building to make room for the gigantic chip on her shoulder. I’ve even gone so far to avoid conflict as to request to have her report directly to Flock Of Seagulls instead of me, as she has a much sunnier disposition compared to me and has a harder time getting the irrits.
This resulted in FOS giggling to me that M/Tks was terrified of me. She has every reason to be. I know that there are a lot of people that operate on a different frequency, and that’s fine. M/Tks is an over-ripe, half-gnawed cumquat, and I’m a short-tempered co-worker with even less ptts than I had to start with.
It seems to be a common problem these days; younger staff members who outrank older staff members. I didn’t think I had a problem with it – I respect all staff members and would consider myself a consummate professional in my current position. I know I scored this job on a wing and a prayer and take pride in my work, appearance, and behaviour especially whilst on the clock. I make sure that all tasks are completed in an efficient time-frame, and accuracy is something that comes with the territory, what with Medicare and NATA-esque audits at random. I’m a mess personally, but a bit anal-retentive at work. Justifiably so, as my end-shift is particularly prickly.
I was slowly training Practice Management (Worker’s Compensation, Basic Accounts, Practitioner Liaison, Medical and Dental Insurance, et al) until my Practice Manager (aka CrazyLegs) tripped over her husband skiing down a slope in Falls’ Creek, but some of my regular duties take responsibility for the entire day’s and entire practice’s actions. End Of Day banking, sterilisation, notarising grievances, logging births and deaths, immunisation, DVAs and Bulk-Bills (being private practice, the latter are mainly ex-staff, staff, family, associates, and friends) are the non-bane of my existence, and even the more mundane tasks like changing the linen and making sure the practice is in order (like checking that there aren’t any acupuncture needles laying about / cleaning everything the child with Scarlet Fever licked) allows me to collect my thoughts and wind down from work and ease into the evening-shift of motherhood. I wouldn’t have it any other way, as I enjoy a full-plate.
Actually, I lie.
This woman, M/Tks (which stands for Many Thanks, apparently) is a complete shitface.
After 6mo of full-time INTENSIVE training (3mo more than everyone else!), she somehow still manages to turn everything she touches in the practice into balls. She’s now a casual, but I still dread the days she’s on – I hit the ground running on those days, and spend the greater part of my shift undoing her “work”. The worst thing is, everything we handle in the practice runs on a Chain Of Custody process, and guess who has to explain the errors to each practitioner (including the practice partners and my two superiors) at the end of each night? Yep, me. Do you think I can make sense of half the mistakes this woman makes? No. Does it make me look like an idiot? Yes.
I can handle mistakes, but only for so long. When you repeat the same mistake numerous times, or ignore common-sensical procedure like looking in a tray clearly marked “Mail” if you’re looking for outgoing mail, rather than ring Australia Post, then it pops over to the unfunny side of dumb. Giving someone long-winded directions to the premises so obscure that they end up in an industrial alleyway on the other side of town looking for a building that looks like it might have at least FOUR (4) “toileting” facilities on each floor… I cringe every time I see her open her mouth.
Personal gripe: Her catch-phrases are “Spit chips!”, “Wacky-doo”, and “Derrrrrrrrrrrrr!”, “Silly Sausage!” and talks about really personal issues at random… even moreso than myself! She likes to tell people about the one time she went swimming in the ocean and was stung by jellyfish, and likes to whisper to patients as if they were close friends. She also (and I am positive some of you will love this!) blames her mistakes on her being both blonde AND female. Which is quite possibly the stupidest, irritable, and most transgressional excuse for women and blondes alike. Honestly, what a shitface.
And her attitude! Oh, sweet Jesus on a crabstick! She’s saccharine to the practitioners, but a total bitchfacewhorebag to anyone significantly younger than her (myself and most of the naturopaths who work in the Dispensary who practice elsewhere), and anyone close to her age. Which leaves Flock Of Seagulls (late 30s) as the only person to not have to deal with M/Tks’… M/Tks-ness. I can handle mistakes if they’re rectified, or at least explained to me in a way that isn’t sarcastic or condescending, but that seems to be the only way she can talk to me. I’m not the only person this happens to, but it’s been pointed out to me by one of the partners that I’ve been copping it the most. I was oblivious to it up until recently, chalking it up to her being bitter at technology evolving in the time she was raising her five now-adult children. After doing some quick abacus-work in my head, she’s had approximately ten years to work it off and get back in the game. Go figure.
Her messages are also incredibly cryptic, almost like a semi-retarded l337-speak… M/Tks, as I mentioned before, means “Many Thanks”. Apparently. “Late” can be anything from “L8” to “Lte” to “Lat”, and “Patients” is clearly supposed to be abbreviated as “Ptts”, but that’s only IF she hasn’t misspelt it as “Patience”. She also has trouble with her spelling, but that’s forgivable – we have so many practitioners writing scripts for so many different ailments and requests for tests that sound fictional. The Therapeutic Goods Administration like to confuse all with announcements of prescription drugs that are being introduced and removed from pharmaceutical shelves with names that differ greatly in chemical make-up but only differ in product name by a couple of letters.
She says she has problems at home. Everybody does. She was told not to bring her issues into the workplace, but we almost have to exit the building to make room for the gigantic chip on her shoulder. I’ve even gone so far to avoid conflict as to request to have her report directly to Flock Of Seagulls instead of me, as she has a much sunnier disposition compared to me and has a harder time getting the irrits.
This resulted in FOS giggling to me that M/Tks was terrified of me. She has every reason to be. I know that there are a lot of people that operate on a different frequency, and that’s fine. M/Tks is an over-ripe, half-gnawed cumquat, and I’m a short-tempered co-worker with even less ptts than I had to start with.
Therapo
Which do you fear most; judgement or punishment?
That was the question my therapist asked me to go home and ask myself, taking into consideration the long list of things I constantly beat myself up over.
My first thought was that the answer had to be a fear of judgement. I can handle pretty much anything thrown at me, even if it feels like I’m drowning. Punishment doesn’t mean much to me in the sense that I can atone or apologise without sincerity, as I’ve done many times before. Hell, anyone can. It’s hard to work through in my mind let alone on a computer, but when I think about the notion of judgement vs. punishment, judgement feels far more final, permanent. Once someone’s made a judgement on something or someone, it’s difficult to change. Unfortunately, I’m constantly changing and in the process, making mistakes.
As I was running over time (thank Jeebus for Bulk-Billing, a definite perk of working medical) going through my stream-of-consciousness, my therapist stopped me and asked a couple of very valid questions that I had not even factored in: Who is anyone to judge me? Who am I to judge myself? Only God can judge me, etc.
Okay. So I consider myself an Agnostic so didn’t care too much for that last statement she so casually threw in there, but I have a lot to think about with the two questions she asked. I don’t know what anyone else is going through, and in the way she put it, my convoluted perception of everyone watching and caring about how I live my life… well, I felt a bit awful because it was/is nauseatingly self-indulgent. As much as I don’t like having the mirror pointed back at me, she had a point. Damn her and her qualifications from working and studying for so very many years, she had a point. Wench.
All of this is part of a process that we are going through together. We’ve determined that as much as I don’t like to say it aloud, I actually do hate my mother. My end-goal is to forgive her. My first goal is to forgive myself. Part of both is to delve into the things she’s done, the things I’ve done, the motivation behind action and reaction, etc. I’m prone to sabotaging relationships for fear of people getting too close, and am in many ways extremely comfortable with being alone, despite hating the feeling of loneliness. I carry a lot of guilt and shame that hasn’t made sense for a very long time, and I am dedicated to finding a little bit of that inner-peace before I turn my mother’s hate and my hate for her onto my own daughter.
So. While I think about that between sessions, tell me which you fear most if you *had* to choose; judgement or punishment?
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