Monday, August 11, 2008
Comments?
Does anyone know where my comment thinggie is on my blog? I can't find it. I played with settings and now stuff is funky. I accept that I'm stupid. Now someone tell me the answer.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Humble Pie
I am a social worker. Like many professions we are governed by a code of ethics and we take an oath. It’s long, so I’ll just give you the gist. It a little diddy that goes a lil’ somethin’ like this:
“…The primary mission of the social work profession is to enhance human well-being and help meet the basic human needs of all people, with particular attention to the needs and empowerment of people who are vulnerable, oppressed, and living in poverty. A historic and defining feature of social work is the profession's focus on individual well-being in a social context and the well-being of society. Fundamental to social work is attention to the environmental forces that create, contribute to, and address problems in living…”
M’kay. So that’s my job and I guess I take it seriously or whatever. They call it a “helping profession.” Oh. So I guess I help people. In theory. But what about being helped? I must say that until recently I never really thought about it. I mean, why would anyone help me? For starters, I don’t need help. Further…well I can’t really imagine who’d want to help me. I’m very…average, and have been proven to be easily dismissed and disposable by people who I was sure cared for me. Cue the violins, right? Wrong. I’m actually a very content human being who really doesn’t think about that sorta thing unless asked to do so.
I have a point, I swear.
This leads me to my story. I must preface this with saying that I am seriously embarrassed to talk about this. It’s far too sharey. But I’m working on my humility, which ties into this story, so here goes.
Those of you who know me know that I am in my final year of graduate school. I decided to take a summer course. Like many I rely on student loans to get through school and when things go wrong with them…well as I have recently learned, that can be a bad thing. Not, “oh man there’s nothing on but Two and a Half Men reruns” bad. but like, “Oh man. My period is three weeks late” bad.
I’m going to make a VERY long story short so I can get to what matters here. My school fucked up my summer loan package so badly that my loan are now four weeks late and I am told won’t be here for another 6 days. It’s been a rough couple of weeks. I’ve been out of food for a while and so have my pets. We’ve actually been sharing what’s been left of my food. I’ve told a couple of close friends and was over-heard by one of my co-workers talking to my best friend from home, practically in tears. Now before this sounds like a pity-party, let’s get down to what’s really going on here.
This is not a story about my temporary poverty or my not so sharp financial aid dept. at school. So, starting about a week ago a few people found out about how bad this whole thing has gotten (for me. There are people in this world who are far worse off and it is not temporary, as my situation is. That is important to note.). And in the past week, this is what has happened:
Last week a co-worker dropped a month CTA pass on my desk and $15.00 and said in a deep Bosnian-war surviving-mom voice, “take this and don’t say a word. You will buy some food.” I peed a little. She’s scary and sounds like Dracula…and is one of the most loving humans I’ve ever met. My birthday was 2 days ago and the Saturday prior friends took me to eat and refused to let me pitch in a nickel (good. I don’t have one). On my birthday I got into work and there was a gift on my desk and a birthday note…and cookies. A different co-worker handed me money and said, “I didn’t have time to get your gift. Take this. Go buy pet food. It’s your birthday, you can’t say no.” Then my co-workers took me to lunch near my house, stuffed me and sent me home…I worked only two hrs that day. The night of my birthday my friends (one of whom is a relative of an ex and doesn’t even need to acknowledge me, let alone spoil and love me) got me pizza and cup cakes and watched my favorite dvds with me while we stared at the most perfect birthday gift ever, that they got me. Yesterday, my co-workers found another lame-ass excuse to take me to lunch despite my protests. My friend Anne sent me a birthday card with a note in it that made me feel for the 1st time in as long as I can remember that I might be worth being loved even though I fuck up so, SO much. I feel confident in saying that she is my friend and she loves me. And I don’t feel weird saying that. Yesterday my friend Donna took me to the movies and got me my favorite movie snack for a post-birthday, friend-date. Tonight my friend Kim took me for birthday drinks because she missed my birthday. But here is the kicker…I got a sudden knock on my door tonight and when I opened it there was my friend MSG and her gf with bags of groceries for me and my pets. Like, for real.
I didn’t ask a single one of these people to help me. I didn’t expect any of them to care that I felt frustrated and fearful. They just…helped me. I spend a lot of time thinking about who doesn’t love me and I risk missing the people who do. I don’t really think this was that good of a story, but it’s a true story. People helped me b/c they wanted to and because maybe some people think I matter. I didn’t know that. I hope I deserve it. So that’s my story about humble pie. Maybe it was more for me than it was for you. And yes. I cried when I wrote this. Maybe I’m getting old. I’m not sure what I think, but I do know that I’m catching myself in the middle of almost knowing something. I’ll let you know when I figure out what that is. Maybe it’s just a matter of trying to maintain whomever it is that those people think I am that compelled them to want to make me feel safe. Ok. I’m out of thoughts now. I’m going to bed. Wait. One more. I don’t remember the last time I told someone I loved them who’s not a baby or an animal. I…yeah. That’s all I got so far.
**POINT OF INTEREST: I was not drunk when I wrote this.
“…The primary mission of the social work profession is to enhance human well-being and help meet the basic human needs of all people, with particular attention to the needs and empowerment of people who are vulnerable, oppressed, and living in poverty. A historic and defining feature of social work is the profession's focus on individual well-being in a social context and the well-being of society. Fundamental to social work is attention to the environmental forces that create, contribute to, and address problems in living…”
M’kay. So that’s my job and I guess I take it seriously or whatever. They call it a “helping profession.” Oh. So I guess I help people. In theory. But what about being helped? I must say that until recently I never really thought about it. I mean, why would anyone help me? For starters, I don’t need help. Further…well I can’t really imagine who’d want to help me. I’m very…average, and have been proven to be easily dismissed and disposable by people who I was sure cared for me. Cue the violins, right? Wrong. I’m actually a very content human being who really doesn’t think about that sorta thing unless asked to do so.
I have a point, I swear.
This leads me to my story. I must preface this with saying that I am seriously embarrassed to talk about this. It’s far too sharey. But I’m working on my humility, which ties into this story, so here goes.
Those of you who know me know that I am in my final year of graduate school. I decided to take a summer course. Like many I rely on student loans to get through school and when things go wrong with them…well as I have recently learned, that can be a bad thing. Not, “oh man there’s nothing on but Two and a Half Men reruns” bad. but like, “Oh man. My period is three weeks late” bad.
I’m going to make a VERY long story short so I can get to what matters here. My school fucked up my summer loan package so badly that my loan are now four weeks late and I am told won’t be here for another 6 days. It’s been a rough couple of weeks. I’ve been out of food for a while and so have my pets. We’ve actually been sharing what’s been left of my food. I’ve told a couple of close friends and was over-heard by one of my co-workers talking to my best friend from home, practically in tears. Now before this sounds like a pity-party, let’s get down to what’s really going on here.
This is not a story about my temporary poverty or my not so sharp financial aid dept. at school. So, starting about a week ago a few people found out about how bad this whole thing has gotten (for me. There are people in this world who are far worse off and it is not temporary, as my situation is. That is important to note.). And in the past week, this is what has happened:
Last week a co-worker dropped a month CTA pass on my desk and $15.00 and said in a deep Bosnian-war surviving-mom voice, “take this and don’t say a word. You will buy some food.” I peed a little. She’s scary and sounds like Dracula…and is one of the most loving humans I’ve ever met. My birthday was 2 days ago and the Saturday prior friends took me to eat and refused to let me pitch in a nickel (good. I don’t have one). On my birthday I got into work and there was a gift on my desk and a birthday note…and cookies. A different co-worker handed me money and said, “I didn’t have time to get your gift. Take this. Go buy pet food. It’s your birthday, you can’t say no.” Then my co-workers took me to lunch near my house, stuffed me and sent me home…I worked only two hrs that day. The night of my birthday my friends (one of whom is a relative of an ex and doesn’t even need to acknowledge me, let alone spoil and love me) got me pizza and cup cakes and watched my favorite dvds with me while we stared at the most perfect birthday gift ever, that they got me. Yesterday, my co-workers found another lame-ass excuse to take me to lunch despite my protests. My friend Anne sent me a birthday card with a note in it that made me feel for the 1st time in as long as I can remember that I might be worth being loved even though I fuck up so, SO much. I feel confident in saying that she is my friend and she loves me. And I don’t feel weird saying that. Yesterday my friend Donna took me to the movies and got me my favorite movie snack for a post-birthday, friend-date. Tonight my friend Kim took me for birthday drinks because she missed my birthday. But here is the kicker…I got a sudden knock on my door tonight and when I opened it there was my friend MSG and her gf with bags of groceries for me and my pets. Like, for real.
I didn’t ask a single one of these people to help me. I didn’t expect any of them to care that I felt frustrated and fearful. They just…helped me. I spend a lot of time thinking about who doesn’t love me and I risk missing the people who do. I don’t really think this was that good of a story, but it’s a true story. People helped me b/c they wanted to and because maybe some people think I matter. I didn’t know that. I hope I deserve it. So that’s my story about humble pie. Maybe it was more for me than it was for you. And yes. I cried when I wrote this. Maybe I’m getting old. I’m not sure what I think, but I do know that I’m catching myself in the middle of almost knowing something. I’ll let you know when I figure out what that is. Maybe it’s just a matter of trying to maintain whomever it is that those people think I am that compelled them to want to make me feel safe. Ok. I’m out of thoughts now. I’m going to bed. Wait. One more. I don’t remember the last time I told someone I loved them who’s not a baby or an animal. I…yeah. That’s all I got so far.
**POINT OF INTEREST: I was not drunk when I wrote this.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
