There is nothing to make your day like voicemail from your therapist. Honest to god, I’m starting to wonder if it’s time to ask for another therapist… but then I’d have to break a new one in.

I called this morning to let her know I would NOT be able to make my appointment this week. (Monacita has a job interview on Thursday, and as she’s still on her narcotics, she still can’t drive. There’s great irony in the fact that I’m driving her to an interview. A great irony I’m trying not to dwell on. But I digress.)

Anyway… Today’s call is also something of a follow up to LAST week’s call, when she left me a message asking me if I could move my appt half an hour one way or the other. “I have a client in crisis, and I need to fit her in…” Okay, I understand that, and I can be flexable. I also don’t have a lot scheduled right now, except for what Monacita has planned…. oh christ, I’m a soccer mom.

Er… where was I? Oh, right, Flower Britches. So I called her back last week, leaving a message that said, “I can do any time during the day, and just please call me back and let me know what time you want me to show up.” She didn’t call back, but I didn’t really care, I figured she hadn’t heard from all involved parties yet.

Over the weekend Monacita reminded me about the interview that happens to co-incide with therapy. So I called this morning, and left a message for Flower Britches, letting her know I wouldn’t be there. And since I still hadn’t heard about the “client in crisis,” I figured she could have my spot. And I made the mistake of mentioning that idea in my message.

So I just found voicemail on my phone informing me that it was just fine, she’d found room for the client, and while it was sweet of me to offer, I didn’t have to give up my appointment.

*sigh*

Now, I know this doesn’t seem like a big deal, but one of the things I’ve discovered is that I have communication issues. Over the last few years I’ve had many conversations with my mother where I thought we came to a definite decision, and later on she’ll be irritated because I didn’t get back to her to confirm. I figured that was just a normal parent/child communication issue, but when I started paying more attention, I noticed that it was happening with other people… including my therapist. This annoys me. So I’ve been trying to go out of my way to use definite statements and to try and confirm that we’re on the same page at the end of conversations. I try to make my voicemail messages clear, especially when it comes to scheduling. And I was damn careful of how I phrased the message I left her this morning.

So to have her totally misunderstand my message was… irritating. Not to mention that in the course of her response, she specified three different dates and times, intimating that each was my ususal therapy time. Even if I hadn’t had to call back and cancel my appointment, I would have had to call and find out when it was.

When Monacita calls and leaves messages like this, she gets good results, why do I get the therapust that can’t listen or schedule?

Good lord, where do I start?

Last weekend? Explaining all that took most of my hour long therapy session this week. (I broke Flower Britches a few times too. I know I’m not supposed to take pride in this fact, and I certainly don’t do it on purpose, but I have to admit that I always kind of feel like “I won” when I make her lose her cool, and start giving advice. Whenever I ask her about various things, she always responds by saying that it’s always better if ideas originate from the patient. It frustrates me, because I ask for her input when I don’t have any ideas, and I need something to start off with. But it also means I’ve hit some major button when she starts giving me advice. I managed to set her off three times in one hour today. Like I said, it certainly wasn’t intentional, but I really can’t help but feel that I “won” therapy today.)

No, last weekend is too involved to fully explain… The short version?

Can it even be condensed into a short version?

Let me see: Dumb Ass (AKA Polly Prissy Pants) managed to shove a board out of the fence part way, and get into a fight with another dog through said fence. She lost. So far it’s cost Monacita and I about $700.00. But there are still two vet appointments left to go!

Monacita’s friend Wilde (former resident of the henceforth named 3rd world village, or just Village (read: home)) had a pace maker/defibrillator put in. This simple, painless, outpatient surgery required two rounds of surgery, has caused him considerable pain, numerous inexplicable (and never before seen) side effects, and has left him completely unable to use his left arm because they’re afraid he might accidentally pull the wires from his pace maker out of place before they’ve had time to “set”. Monacita and I will be taking him to his 9:45 AM doctor’s appt tomorrow because he can’t drive. (Neither can Monacita. Her doctor informed her that she couldn’t as long as she was on the narcotics. But that’s neither here nor there.)

Cisco came home from New York and moved in with Mom. I have not yet finished moving out. Oops.

Araceli announced that she is moving her 80+ diabetic parents from Las Vegas to here. As in, in the house. As in there will be 5 people and two dogs under this roof, two of which basically need full time medical care. I drove her to the airport this morning. She’s gone to sell the house, sell all their crap, pack up what’s left, and move them home. She’s done almost no prep here. This is going to be SO ugly when she gets home. Thinking about this is also why I’m up at 4:30 in the morning.

This is not going to be good. I remember when Wilde was here. There was only one of him, and he was able to walk around, didn’t have an oxygen tank, and could cook for himself. And even having him was enough to make the house feel crowded.

But this pales in comparison to the fact that apparently Araceli’s father is the traditional Hispanic patriarch of the family: in other words, he does NOTHING to help, expects EVERYTHING to be done for him, and apparently has no trouble telling you what he wants.

Apparently I’m going to be practicing setting boundaries beginning with the second half of April.

Or maybe this woman from Kelly Scientific will come through, and I will actually have a job.

I don’t even quite dare to hope for that one.

“Look, Jane, Look!” Dick said. “I am living with existential dread!”

Jane sees Dick living with existential dread.

You & me both Dick.