Constipation

For some reason, the transliteration toolbar on my blog decided to take over this morning and everything I was typing was appearing in Hindi. Which was really exciting, except I didn't know what I was saying. Maybe I just should have kept going. Maybe that woud have been the lesson today. To just let your words go. I mean, we think we say things, but who knows how they are really being heard?

Communication, right?

I don't know how to reply to the comments yet, but there's one posted on Mysteries--about Becky Doisy--thank you, if you're reading this. You're right...but remember, this blog is all fiction.

Okay, it's shohetsu. Have I talked about this before?

Barry Gifford (who might or might not be a really good kisser) wrote a book called A Good Man to Know which is roughly about his father--and he explains in it that shohetsu (sp?) is a Japanese form of biography which gets at the spirit of the truth, if not the exact actual facts.

I'm supposed to go to Ernie's this morning to have breakfast with the anesthesia attending, but I'm blowing him off. I decided that if it's okay for Jay to send erotic fruit poetry to old girlfriends and meet them for drinks and lie about it, it's okay for me to eat greasy fried eggs with doctors. Okay, so I guess I've really decided that it's not okay and I'm just going to sit in the peace room in the basement and blog and fucking suffer. Our actions tell the truth, don't they?

My heart is true.

Yesterday was Memorial day. I worked eight hours of it. I've been working on Tong-len (sp?) And I probably need some help with it because all it's doing is making me sick. I can't seem to release any of the energy. Tong len is when you breathe in the suffering of someone and take it upon yourself, then you breathe out something good in it's place. The problem is...I can't seem to breathe anything good out. It helps like hell with my patients, I don't know whether it's because it actually works, or because as a practice it forces you to pay attention to what your patient is feeling. It's so easy to turn them into task lists--it's safer emotionally. But you can't really treat people humanely unless you put yourself in their shoes, or, better yet--put yourself first in their heads, then in their breath, then in their belly, etc. What I am finding is that every single person is infinite, as is their suffering.

Okay--so I got really constipated. And because I'm a nurse, and crazy, I convinced myself that I had ovarian cancer, or maybe colon cancer, or maybe a prolapsed uterus.

And because I work with other crazy nurses, they were right on board with all of this, looking things up on UptoDate. ("Maybe it's your liver" Regina suggests. "Maybe you just need to take a big crap" Wiz interjects.)

Well of course, 2 cups of coffee later....

"Everything go okay?"
"I know a lot more about hockey than I used to, and I think I just gave birth."

As Seido says, if your nose is covered in shit, that's all you'll smell.

Watched Breakfast at Tiffany's with Lilly, Jay and Nick. As Holly Golightly is running through the rain, crying, looking for the cat, Nick says, "Psycho...."
"Exactly," Jay affirms.

What a mean fucking world. What on earth has happened? Babbitts everywhere...even my own.

That's my 1/2 hour. Be gentle, everybody.