Immaturity

Oh dear...

I actually giggled opening the syllabus for Anal_Psych. (Of course, this is for the Jung course. Analytic Psychology.)

I had a discussion about Foucault on the bus yesterday. The woman next to me said: "Excuse me. I couldn't help but notice that you're reading Madness and Civilization..." This helped to make the bus ride bearable, because we had The Exuberant Bus Driver. TEBD insists on announcing everything that is remotely close to each and every bus stop. There is a bus stop at every frigging corner! ("Fifth Avenue and THE Birmingham Bridge. Soho. THE Sunhine Daycare Center, ACTO building. Access to THE Southside, Southside Works. Be careful out there, folks. Enjoy the weather.) It's better than the nasty bus drivers, but I had a headache, had a long morning, and was not up for a solid thirty minutes of that.

The kitty is in an advanced state of bliss, because I shared my can of tuna with him.

My habitat

I've been doing a lot of my qualitative research readings today. I'm mainly into performance ethnograhic stuff, so I've been reviewing a lot of the ethnographic literature. The reading has got me thinking again about really detached modes of research.

So, what would an ethnographic account of the doctoral student look like?

(In ten minutes or less. You must return to work in 10 minutes, Self!)

The doctoral student sits on a red futon that is strewn with several books. She sits with a laptop on her lap, and is wearing a striped bikini top and green shorts. Around her, on the floor, rests an almost-empty Gatorade bottle, a coffee cup, and a bottle of water. A black and white cat sleeps next to her. In this period of observation, she has not engaged in any human interaction. (She did, however, give the cat some of her organic tuna helper.) Her face is largely expressionless as her attention shifts between the books and the laptop. She is engaged in some sort of dance between them. She does not seem to be happy, and she frequently looks at the clock and sighs. The doctoral student lives an isolated existence. She occasionally turns and strokes the cat. She sometimes puts a contraption on her ears that plays music and she sings to herself.

I hate comps! I want to be outside, damnit!

Self-supervision

Our summer supervisor gave us an article on writing poetry about sessions instead of traditional session notes. So, avoiding comps as always, I've been thinking about my own alternative supervision styles.

I like to think about what animal a client represents for me, and what I can learn about the client by thinking about the animal.

With some clients, I think of a song that reminds me of him/her, or a particular singer.

What would it be like to go to supervision and do a performance piece based on the therapy?

Hehe, Patrick, you just wait until I present on Friday ;)

Camping and Comps

The quintessential comps summer moment:

Sitting on a rock in the middle of a creek reading Judith Butler and snapping pictures of my highschool friends catching crawfish.

Other than a few moments -- such as angrily waiting outside for my ride who was well over an hour late -- camping was really nice. The torrential rain of the week before did make it difficult to start a fire the first night, but no big deal. My lungs are revolting because I deluged them with pollen, but it was well worth it. I am drinking vinegar tea with honey (the nastiest concoction on earth) but it helps to clear my lungs.

I'm picking up the pace on my reading, so I should get back to it. I've been giving myself too many breaks -- looking at a friend's new apartment, playing chess with my sweetie, camping for three days, planning two separate hiking trips for the fourth of july weekend... but, without breaks, I become overwhelmed by theory.

Camping preparations...

I bought a little rainsuit last night. I have never owned a little rainsuit, but it's going to rain all weekend. So, a little rainsuit it is! I guess that rain might be better than sun for me...I got burnt walking home from a coffee shop yesterday. Utterly pathetic. My poor Irish skin hates the outdoors!

Comps prep is...well....coming along? I need to pick up the pace when I get home, I really do. *Sends self stern vibe.* I 'm in okay shape, but I have a class next month, so I need to get ahead. Hear that, self? You Must Get Ahead!!!!

Random facts about my clinical position paper

-So far, my entire works cited page contains authors whose last names begin with F. (To be fair, I have only inserted a few actual citations at this point, and have mainly just made margin notes to myself that this is Miller, this is Lacan, etc.)

-Strangely enough, I have more men listed in my clinical examples than women, who primarily show up in my cultural diversity section. Why? Could this be because the psychoanalytic subject is male?

-I have discovered that it is utterly impossible to write a paper that three faculty members will approve of. Therefore, my goal is to write a paper that at least one is likely to assign an A.

In other news, I attended a family reunion this weekend. I learned some interesting facts:
-My grandma (well, great-aunt, but I called her grandma) eloped! She ran off to West Virginia to marry a German guy, which was apparently scandalous in my Purely Irish family. (This is funny because she used to interrogate me regarding the nationality of all of my friends, and frequently gave disapproving clucks.)

-It is not surprising that I found it to be difficult to master the art of moderate consumption of alcohol. There were competitions, and one woman seriously tried to "catch up" to those who had started earlier. She's in her 70's. "I can drink more than you can" became the phrase of the day.

-I have a distant relative who is a priest. He has written several books on being all holy.

-And my favorite piece of advice: If I have kids, I need to quit my job or.....my child will pull out all of his hair!

20 Ways to Avoid Working on Comps (all blog-owner tested!)

1) Blog!
2) Give self a pedicure.
3) Try to brush the cat until he stops shedding.
4) Make a commitment to the environment and start walking EVERYWHERE, even if it takes 2 hours.
5) Obsessively check ratemyprofessor.com.
6) "Study with a friend" at a coffee shop.
7) Go through ENTIRE COLLECTION of articles from the whole doctoral experience, and refile according to various categories (ie., EP, psychoanalysis, qualitative research...)
8) Clean the apartment, mess it up, clean it again.
9) Take a break to meditate in order "find inspiration".
10) Go camping! (Not tested yet -- stay tuned!)
11) Go to the zoo.
12) Decide that it would be "a good exercise" to transcribe all recorded sessions.
13) Watch Dr. Phil, just to scoff at his "faith-healer" style.
14) Read the entire Sunday paper.
15) Get in touch with long lost friends.
16) Change to bar shampoo which requires extra time and rinsing with vinegar.
17) Schedule clients with awkward amounts of time in between.
18) Rediscover the joys of chess, and start playing nightly.
19) Decide to do some "extra reading" to prepare for teaching in the fall.
20) Spend several hours exploring and recording various jokes about psychotherapy.

Elevated from Heather's LJ

I was helping Heather to prepare for her upcoming move (and offering moral support should we find anything that crawls), and she showed me an old entry from her live journal circa 2003. She, my roommate, and I were taking a course called Identity and Fulfillment. This, my friends, is the kind of review that got all of us into graduate school.

Heather: Alright, it is time to go curl up with my Identity and Fullfillment and Philosophical Roots of Psychology notebooks. Studying for I & F will be a pain in the ass, as it seems the test is going to be very vague. I believe the questions may look something like this: If Kenneth Gergen were a donut and Paul Tillich were a protein bar, which would you eat and why? Kristen will understand this, but I think you can all appreciate a professor whose tests are absolutely ridiculous. I suspect that Kristen, Jess, and I could draw pictures all over the test and still get an A since we carried that damned class all semester.

Me: Clearly, the question is a trick. Although Paul Tillich is currently a protein bar, he still has the power to self-actualize and become something else. He has been limited by his choices up until now which have led to his current being-as-a-protein-bar. Still, he may later choose to become a protein shake, or perhaps a protein POWER bar. Nevertheless, he will never escape the anxiety of knowing that he is a being-towards-being-eaten. He should become Lutheran. Gergen the donut, however, is only a donut because he has been socialized as such. Due to multiphrenia and social saturation, he is no longer sure that he is in fact a donut. His lack of a center is beautifully illustrated by the physical hole which marks the center of his being. He has been overcome by the variety of messages concerning himself. He can no longer distinguish whether he is a yummy snack, or a heart attack inducing fiend. Is he a breakfast food or a study snack? A donut or a glazed pastry? Gergen the donut is confused, and experiences anxiety from his confusion. Yet, this donut CAN escape his anxiety. As soon as he surrenders the notion of a core self, he will be free. To hungry people, he can be a yummy snack, but can flawlessly present himself as a heart attack inducer to those with high blood pressure. He can be eaten whenever people so desire, and answers to both 'donut' AND 'glazed pastry.'The second half of the question can be neatly reduced: is it preferable to consume an anxious Lutheran protein-based food, or a calm sugary sweet? Although Lutherans can be abrasive, it seems unethical to eat one. Additionally, anxious foods may cause indigestion in he-who-eats-him. In conclusion, I would prefer to eat Gergen the donut (or is he a donut?) rather than Tillich the protein bar.

Heather: Alas, I suppose then that by your definition, Gergen would be the happiest (Gergen the donut) in a box with eleven other donuts rather than presented as a single donut? And how would this apply to Tillich? Would it struggle between being tasty like a candy bar or be a more individualistic taste, sacrificing tasting good to be healthy? Oh, the humanity...

Productivity debates...

I went to the zoo with people from the program, their spouses, and kids on Saturday. A day of productivity lost, but well worth it.

Yesterday I met my new supervisor...I was afraid that she might be wanky or something, but she wore yoga pants and a t-shir.t I can handle that. She and I sized each other up, each with one of her toy poodles in our laps. I feel like I'll be able to work with her (as opposed to the one external supervisor that I had last year...). The whole process felt a little bit weird, although really valuable. It was a supervisory blind date. Will I like her? Will she like me? But, I felt safe with her, and the clinical conversations that we had were useful rather than patronizing. Very nice.

I MUST increase my productivity. Heh, anyone read "Are you there God? It's me, Margaret"? It reminds me of her little "exercises". Wow. Random association. I absolutely refuse to miss out on the upcoming camping trip. I love the woods and have been having extended hiking and roasting marshmallow fantasies. I would definitely be down with missing the family reunion, but it's something that I Really Should Do.

It's fun getting together with people from this group in high school. A lot has changed. I regret not spending more time with some of them...basically, that comes down to regretting choosing to spend time with the person who was literally cruel to some of them (so that she wouldn't freak out more) instead of telling her to behave or shove it. But, I was young, right? :)

Umm...time to eat spring rolls and read hooks....

Overscheduling

Now that summer has gotten into full gear, I have managed to hit that lazy combination of over and under scheduling.

Some days are over-scheduled with lots of work to do. I run, run, run, and come home exhausted.

Other days are underscheduled. Like Wednesday. I had nothing to do all day but work on comps. And I started around 5pm. Ouch.

I'm hoping for a productive day...I have clients and supervision on campus, but with major breaks in between, then I'm going bowling with one of my college roommate's tonight. Tomorrow, I'm meeting my brother for breakfast, and babysitting in the evening. That leaves me with plenty of time to get some work done. Sunday, I'm going to my new supervisor's house to see if we like each other (it's like a supervisory blind date!) and then providing moral support while Heather cleans out her cupboards.

And next weekend, there's a family reunion in Ohio, and the weekend after, I'm going camping with some people from high school.

I have to say that I'm enjoying my slightly slower schedule, even if i'm not taking full advantage of my work opportunities. I'm walking everywhere which I adore, and spending time with people. My husband and I have reincorporated playing chess, taking long walks together, and occasional Dave and Andy's trips.

All that said, I'm still neurotic as hell.

You might be a doctoral student if:
-You take your laptop and a spare battery on a rustic camping trip.

And finally, a survey. What do YOU think an application for psychoanalysis might look like?

Bad day

Yesterday kind of sucked, particularly when I picked up a pot that was touching a pot that was on a hot burner. I burnt my hand (not badly, can't even tell this morning), flung the pot which knocked stuff over before landing in the garbage can. That's a five minute glimpse of yesterday ;).

So, I was brushing the cat yesterday, and he was doing his customary dance: Arch back into brush, purr loudly, flop to floor, continue to purr loudly, vibrate with pleasure, then suddenly catch sight of the brush and viciously attack. At this point, I turned to my husband and said: "See, the classic "good brush/bad brush!"

I'm on campus all day as I have an early morning and late evening appointment. I plan to go to the bank, figure out what the hell is up with payroll, and read like crazy for comps.

I was glancing over my reading list this morning. I have this smorgasboard of stuff. It's this almost entirely random mixture of authors and texts. I guess that fits with my learning objective (exploring the psychoanalytic notion of self with a poststructural view of self), but geez!

Okay, so we start with my foundational texts, where I have Freud's Intro to Psychoanalysis Lectures, Lacan's Mirror Stage as Formative of the I Function, and Bruce's theoretical book on Lacan. Those all flow. Then, just because, I have Levinas' Ethics and Infinity.

So far, we have psychoanalysis and Levinas.

Then I move to my my cultural reflections texts. From the previous list, you'd think I'd have post-Freudian stuff. No. I have Butler: Gender Trouble, Derrida: Speech and Phenomena, Fanon: Black skin/White masks, Foucault: Madness and Civilization and hooks: Talking back: Thinking feminist, thinking black.

Hmm...so, am I pscyhoanalytic or poststructural?

Then, moving on to my qualitative research texts. I have a bunch of articles on performance ethnography before randomly throwing in Finlay's book because I loved her class when she came here (good reason, right?), and Gilligan's Women's Ways of Knowing becauase it's cool.

Hmmm....

So, my self-created comps list is a mixture of psychoanalytic, post-structural, performative and random texts.

Wish me luck ;).

Sick

Ugh, I'm getting sick. Or, I am sick. You know. But, at least it's summer. And I handled my couple's intake with sickness just fine last night. Yup. I slept a ton last night and am aggressively hydrating,e tc, to try to avoid my trademark bronchitis. (2 month long bronchitis, copyright 2004).

I am extremely opposed to internet therapy for various reasons. However, I think I could provide Blog Analysis. Here's the deal: I read your blog for several years, and point out the themes and trends that I notice. I think this comes from peeking in on the blog of someone that I was friends with for nearly a decade. Thus, I've read her blog on and off through highschool, college, and now the years after. It's all right there, you know. "Did you notice how you're always miserable and become convinced that you'll finally be Truly Happy when you start the next life phase? And that in each new stage you're happy for a few months before you decide that everyone in your life is making you miserable and you'll be Truly Happy when you start your next life phase?" Or perhaps there could be some software program that identifies themes that recur over more than two years. (Obviously, I'm kidding. But I do think that we should all look over the written history of our lives once in a while and notice what we're doing over and over and over.)

I'm feeling vaguely down today, which usually happens when my lungs are revolting.

I babysat for the last time yesterday for two months. He's such a sweetheart, and his parents told me that he called out for me in his sleep the other night. So sweet! Two months of no "Kissy! Aqui!" of him calling me over to sit next to him, or calling: "Kissy! Puppy!" asking me to read him "Snuggle Puppy", or dancing with him doing silly spins.

I can't believe that I'm taking comps. I feel ready and all (I mean, ready once I do all the reading, etc.), but it actually feels like it's gone so quickly. I've technically been at this school for 6 years now. I really grew up here, arriving as a fairly screwed up 18 year old and taking some time to sort myself out. Six years later, things aren't perfect, but I have my little family that I love and a career that makes me happy.

There are times when I have these weird flashes back to freshman year -- sitting in the Union with Heather smoking all afternoon and taking pictures of the disgusting greasy food containers. Or finding my roommate freaking out on her bed after she overdosed. Or getting drunk at my brother's house and puking out the car window on the way home. And the "Magical Turkey" that used to dance on the freshman hall. Oh, and the time the freaked out Very Catholic Boy found a pair of my underwear in the washing machine and couldn't speak to me for months. Or the Even More Catholic Boy who cried about his love for the church on our first (and only!) date. And, finally, the hallmate who used to run around like a headless chicken bumping into walls when she was angry with her roommate.

So, now, 6 years later, it's strange to still be here, teaching, taking classes, and doing therapy.

I randomly read this article on the psychology of clothing yesterday. I have to admit that I have a strange collection of clothes that I will never wear again but that remind me of things. Of course, there's my wedding gown, probably the most symbolic item I own. It's extremely normal to keep it. But then there's the bloodstained sweatshirt that I have had hidden away for 10 years now, reminding me of the day when I was so scared that my friend's slit wrists wouldn't stop bleeding. There's the striped shirt I bought in the 6th grade that I still wear sometimes. And then there's a ripped cammo tank top that I keep similarly tucked away to remind myself.

I guess I should get back to work, although I'm not extremely productive when I'm sick...