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Parenthetical therapies.

So I checked out a potential new psychologist today. She seemed pretty cool; nice southern accent that reminds me of an old coworker I don't see nearly enough of these days.

Today we got through my (riveting) developmental story (aka, origin story) and some other basics; next week we hope to cover goals and major issues in better depth. I'm sure that overview satisfies everyone's curiosity.

I'm also hoping (ie, need to get my ass motivated) to email that ADD coach from earlier in the semester. She seemed pretty sharp and even the little I actually made use of her helped. And as the semester has worn on I can feel my time management skills (lack of) eroding my serenity and stuff.

All the same, school itself is going pretty well. Most of my papers and exams have been gratifying, mostly, and where they've been lacking I can pretty clearly see my lack of focus contributing (furthering my want of an ADD coach).

In other news, my friends and I signed a lease last night for a house we'll start renting this summer. It's ludicrously close to campus--about a 6min walk to central campus. Marcel will be joining us in this (little) house. I'm pretty sure he's down for it. He's down for anything involving food and snuggles. God, I wish men were that simple.

Speaking of, I was dating a guy and it was pretty good, but we realized we were better as friends. Each of us is also at a very transitional point in our lives, so trying to develop a relationship is probably unwise anyway (as if it weren't frustrating enough already). It kinda sucks, but he's an awesome guy and I'm glad we could avoid spoiling a good friendship by forcing a romantic element.

I've started writing poetry again. It feels really good. If I were more into the whole "My higher power has a plan for me..." I'd probably say that writing was somewhere in that plan. I know I'm a competent writer (some tell me I'm even pretty good) and I enjoy it. Writing poetry has been wonderful; kind of a mix, though, of confusing thoughts and beautiful words at times, but enjoyable to engage. If you're curious what I've been writing, you can check it out over on the other blog.

Work has been treating me well, but I wonder if it's about time I move on to something a little less...minimum wagey. That would be pretty sweet. Having more than merely negligible sums in my bank account would definitely be pretty sweet.

We'll see how that goes. For now, I guess I'm wandering away again. Laters.


Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Sarracenia 'Palmerpink.'

So I posted the other day about my rekindled carnivorous plant obsession—I mean, hobby. I mentioned, in passing, that I had "discovered" a possible cultivar, so here's the lowdown on what that means and what I meant.

The term "cultivar" is short for "cultivated variety," and signifies that a particular plant is so desirable and interesting that people want exact copies of it rather than simply seed from it. Some famous American pitcher plant (Sarracenia) cultivars include the legendary Adrian Slack, the massive Leah Wilkerson, and the classic Judith Hindle.

Part of how these come about is that, unlike horses x donkeys = mules and certain other hybrids, Sarracenia hybrids aren't sterile and can be crossed and recrossed without limit. Further, random chance can create crazy combinations of genes such that even hybrids between the same species—heck, even the same parents—can demonstrate quite the variety. More on that elsewhere.

Depending on how easy…