all about me
It's my second day off and already I'm panicking that time will run out before I do all the things I want to do. I'm already behind schedule - I was supposed to (according to my imaginary calendar) get blood drawn for routine tests yesterday but Qwest closed early and then today they told me I had to come in without having eaten. Argh. Also, the museum plans I had made for today fell through cause the silly Neue Galerie isn't open Tuesdays. Or Wednesdays.
Today I saw my therapist again after a 3-week break. Among other things, he had gone to some kind of psych bootcamp, on "attachment," and told me about some studies he learned about, conducted with babies and their mothers. Apparently, the way that women talk about their childhood is reflected in their baby's behavior toward them by 12 months old. The women who spoke most naturally about their childhood, most matter-of-factly and who had clearly grown to accept whatever may have happened during their childhood had babies who most clearly demonstrated healthy attachment: they cried when their mothers left the room and were happy and comforted when they returned. Those women who held that their childhood experiences and relationships didn't matter and weren't relevant to their lives had babies who tended to ignore their mothers. He asked me what I thought. I said that those feelings (about one's childhood) probably showed in one's relationships with other people beside one's baby. I don't remember my mother talking much about her childhood to me, except a rare anecdote or a general description of how things were. Apparently in my very early life she was a great mother, according to friends and family. Very involved with me, always playing with me, making things, being with me. When my memory kicks in though, around age 6, she wasn't like that at all. I was already afraid of her.
Then I got a pedicure at the nail place around the corner. It's $11 and includes a foot and calf massage, which was so dreamy. I'm getting more of that tomorrow when I go to Juvenex Spa, which I totally recommend. It's women-only until 7pm and you can hang out in the steam room or take a shower or sit at the bar and drink tea in addition to any services you're actually paying for. It's really pretty, almost magical, even though it's on the fifth floor of a narrow building in Koreatown.
The irony here is that now that I have lots of time to write in my blog, there's nothing much exciting going on. I wish I could have posted during my job search about those twists and frustrations and pleasant encounters, but naturally I couldn't. I will, however, write up one particular job pursuit separately soon; I've never been through such hell looking for a new position.
Apropo of nothing, I have become an avid user of DailyLit. You subscribe (currently free) and select a book from their library of about 800 books, most of which no longer have a copywright, i.e., classics. You select time of delivery and then you receive, on your Blackberry or other PDA that has email, an installment every day to read on your commute. At least that's the way they've positioned it. The installments are so short that I've read one in maybe 3 minutes, and you have the option of clicking to receive the next installment right away, which isn't possible if you're in the subway. Oh well. I'm working my way through Mark Twain's autobiography, Life on the Mississippi. Turns out that "mark twain" is a boat-piloting command. I've read 12 chapters so far and all of it has been about the minutiae of being a pilot on a boat going up or down the Mississippi. It's getting a little trying at this point, but I'm hanging on.
gertrude
Today I saw my therapist again after a 3-week break. Among other things, he had gone to some kind of psych bootcamp, on "attachment," and told me about some studies he learned about, conducted with babies and their mothers. Apparently, the way that women talk about their childhood is reflected in their baby's behavior toward them by 12 months old. The women who spoke most naturally about their childhood, most matter-of-factly and who had clearly grown to accept whatever may have happened during their childhood had babies who most clearly demonstrated healthy attachment: they cried when their mothers left the room and were happy and comforted when they returned. Those women who held that their childhood experiences and relationships didn't matter and weren't relevant to their lives had babies who tended to ignore their mothers. He asked me what I thought. I said that those feelings (about one's childhood) probably showed in one's relationships with other people beside one's baby. I don't remember my mother talking much about her childhood to me, except a rare anecdote or a general description of how things were. Apparently in my very early life she was a great mother, according to friends and family. Very involved with me, always playing with me, making things, being with me. When my memory kicks in though, around age 6, she wasn't like that at all. I was already afraid of her.
Then I got a pedicure at the nail place around the corner. It's $11 and includes a foot and calf massage, which was so dreamy. I'm getting more of that tomorrow when I go to Juvenex Spa, which I totally recommend. It's women-only until 7pm and you can hang out in the steam room or take a shower or sit at the bar and drink tea in addition to any services you're actually paying for. It's really pretty, almost magical, even though it's on the fifth floor of a narrow building in Koreatown.
The irony here is that now that I have lots of time to write in my blog, there's nothing much exciting going on. I wish I could have posted during my job search about those twists and frustrations and pleasant encounters, but naturally I couldn't. I will, however, write up one particular job pursuit separately soon; I've never been through such hell looking for a new position.
Apropo of nothing, I have become an avid user of DailyLit. You subscribe (currently free) and select a book from their library of about 800 books, most of which no longer have a copywright, i.e., classics. You select time of delivery and then you receive, on your Blackberry or other PDA that has email, an installment every day to read on your commute. At least that's the way they've positioned it. The installments are so short that I've read one in maybe 3 minutes, and you have the option of clicking to receive the next installment right away, which isn't possible if you're in the subway. Oh well. I'm working my way through Mark Twain's autobiography, Life on the Mississippi. Turns out that "mark twain" is a boat-piloting command. I've read 12 chapters so far and all of it has been about the minutiae of being a pilot on a boat going up or down the Mississippi. It's getting a little trying at this point, but I'm hanging on.
gertrude
posted by Gertrude at 6:00 PM
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