{photo source}
I'd really prefer not to think about it, thanks. {Which is nothing more than a horrific understatement. But we'll get to that.}
Term started today. Woke up excited, despite being knocked down flat by the flu for the past 48 hours. Tried to take a nap, even, and couldn't, I was just so geekily eager to get my notebooks in my schoolbag and get my super special OHSU bus pass out. Almost forgot ~ almost ~ to text Shoes and wish him good luck starting his own term (he teaches a class in his profession at the community college). Nope. Today was All About Me. It was almost better than Christmas. In theory.
This term I'm taking such fantastic, fascinating loveliness such as Social Research, Human Behavior in the Social Environment and End of Life / Palliative Care. Social Workers talk about these things, and of course, as the elderly population booms, more and more sw's will be needed to aid them in their respective transitioning.
Except.
This social worker is absolutely, without a doubt, 100% petrified of that part of life. Big, bad "D" word. And rarely admits it. In fact, I was driving to the Vineyard Town over Thanksgiving and almost had a panic attack thinking about it. I wanted to badly to pull over the car and get out to get some fresh air, but I'm not sure I could have even have pulled that off. (And all because Olive Kitteredge, in my book on tape, said to her husband, "We've changed." Got me thinking about my age, what I still want to do, and what it will be like to Rage against the dying of the light.)
And then. All of a sudden, felt like Olive Kitteredge herself was sitting on my chest.
This class? Not so much about helping others before first assessing out own beliefs about death. Incredibly appropriate. Also, incredibly not ready to start writing my own advanced directives (which is a big part of our grade).
This, of course, made all the more complex by the fact that I do have spiritual beliefs that do call for an afterlife. The backstory to that, however, is that I've always just hoped against hope that heaven really does exist. I've always been terrified it doesn't. Believe in God? Check. Believe that God is good? Check. Believe in heaven? Whimpering crickets in the corner.
Olive, stay off me during the term, ok? I have enough to deal with without you plunking your bossy self down on me.
I'd really prefer not to think about it, thanks. {Which is nothing more than a horrific understatement. But we'll get to that.}
Term started today. Woke up excited, despite being knocked down flat by the flu for the past 48 hours. Tried to take a nap, even, and couldn't, I was just so geekily eager to get my notebooks in my schoolbag and get my super special OHSU bus pass out. Almost forgot ~ almost ~ to text Shoes and wish him good luck starting his own term (he teaches a class in his profession at the community college). Nope. Today was All About Me. It was almost better than Christmas. In theory.
This term I'm taking such fantastic, fascinating loveliness such as Social Research, Human Behavior in the Social Environment and End of Life / Palliative Care. Social Workers talk about these things, and of course, as the elderly population booms, more and more sw's will be needed to aid them in their respective transitioning.
Except.
This social worker is absolutely, without a doubt, 100% petrified of that part of life. Big, bad "D" word. And rarely admits it. In fact, I was driving to the Vineyard Town over Thanksgiving and almost had a panic attack thinking about it. I wanted to badly to pull over the car and get out to get some fresh air, but I'm not sure I could have even have pulled that off. (And all because Olive Kitteredge, in my book on tape, said to her husband, "We've changed." Got me thinking about my age, what I still want to do, and what it will be like to Rage against the dying of the light.)
And then. All of a sudden, felt like Olive Kitteredge herself was sitting on my chest.
This class? Not so much about helping others before first assessing out own beliefs about death. Incredibly appropriate. Also, incredibly not ready to start writing my own advanced directives (which is a big part of our grade).
This, of course, made all the more complex by the fact that I do have spiritual beliefs that do call for an afterlife. The backstory to that, however, is that I've always just hoped against hope that heaven really does exist. I've always been terrified it doesn't. Believe in God? Check. Believe that God is good? Check. Believe in heaven? Whimpering crickets in the corner.
Olive, stay off me during the term, ok? I have enough to deal with without you plunking your bossy self down on me.
Posts
ugh.. I have to do an end of life and palliative care class as well. Those are classes I do not look forward to.I am not sure if I am taking it this semester or next but the profession that I am in REQUIRES it.
I can def do something the week of the 11th. Weekend would work better for me (I have class on Wednesdays) Let me know what works for you. I am out of phone minutes until the 8th so you can text or facebook me. LOVE YOU!!!
Oh Lisa, I will do a major *sigh* for you. Your work load makes me feel like I'm going to have a panic attack.
Is this Olive Kitteredge crafted by Elizabeth Strout? I have yet to read but was looking at the book over break.
I hate when characters pop up in annoying places, such as say... in your morning shower, whispering in your ear, "She ransacked her mind but there was nothing in it." Dang you Oates, dang you!
Lisa... I love reading your blogs. Reminds me that there is more to life than just the day to day battles I'm in at the moment ("no... you cannot pee standing up mister because you can't hit the target yet!" or "Do I use my tide bleach pen or spray and wash on that hot pink cheerio stain on the baby's onesie")... Seriously, I love reading about your academic musings (actually makes me miss being in school). The major characters hopping on my chest at the moment tend to utter things like "red fish, blue fish" and "can we fix it? Yes we can!"... someday... I will hear academic voices again.