This “blogging everyday” experiment promises to be interesting–to me anyway. I don’t know what the other two or three readers will think. The thing is, once my work schedule kicks in, there’s not much to report between blog entries other than “I went to work.” Okay, so this is bullshit, I know. Who ever said blogging is about “reporting” anyway? There are always an infinite number of waves swelling, rising and crashing against the wall of my skull. I can jump on my board and ride until the cows come home, and believe me, those fuckers are never coming home. Stupid cows.
So, I came in from work last night and my wife asked, “How was work?” and I said, “Uneventful.” It’s all relative, of course. One of my patients found out yesterday that his father was critically injured in a car accident. The boy had just recently been told this man was, in fact, his biological father, and now he faces losing his Dad to death. So the evening was “uneventful” only from the narrow perspective of me. Of course I felt for the kid and spent time talking with him, doing my best to help him deal with the situation. But I suppose I’ve gotten so used to the horror stories that I only register something as an “event” if it’s outside the usual routine. For those of us who work in psychiatric hospitals, it can be surprising what one considers “routine.” Which reminds me of another horror story…
What’s that? Do I hear mooing?