Okay.  You know that stupid test where you determine your porn name by adding your childhood pet’s name to the name of the street you grew up on?  Well.  I lived on many streets but one really works well for this, and so without further ado, I present to you my porn name:

Midnight Beaver.

Yes… Midnight Beaver.  Midnight being a black cat (I was so clever as a third grader) and we did in fact live on Beaver Street, which is in Abbotsford.

What’s yours?

Last night I had a really great talk with my dad.  We were watching There Will be Blood and while swapping DVD’s (it’s too long for one), we got to chatting… which turned into talking… which turned into three hours of dissection of some things that are going on in his life right now.  I know I’m very lucky to have a dad who is also a great friend to me, and someone I can  engage with on a mostly adult to adult level.  And he’s great to talk to - lively, interesting, smart, argumentative to a degree, funny.  It’s never boring.  I love him a lot.
But it’s still complicated.  Because to a degree I’m still the kid, and even if I see something more clearly than he does, I can’t say so.  You can’t tell your dad what to do.  We talk, and I don’t keep my thoughts a secret, but I don’t always say them as strongly as I’m thinking them.  Because there are multiple duties in play: the duty to be honest, the duty to support your loved one, the duty to respect the rights of others to direct their own lives, the duty to keep the lines of communication open.  He’s stood by me when I did some boneheaded things and stayed silent, the supportive silent that makes it possible for you to admit your mistakes with only minimal shame.  He never says he told me so, and neither do I.  We know each other too well for that kind of stuff, and again, I know I’m luckier than most on that score.  He’s a man I admire and respect and strive to emulate in my dealings with others.

So I stay silent because the straight route is not always the best one.  Because people’s feelings direct them and you have to understand that and respect it.  Because we can look at each other and both know there’s trouble coming but he has to try.

But it’s still hard to sit back and watch the train wreck unfold in slow motion.

This process of learning to do therapy is so interesting. But also stressful. Currently I’m struggling with not fitting in - I don’t fit in with the majority view of how therapy should be done, what it should target, how to measure the outcomes. This is a very anxiety-provoking way to go about being a student, because it’s hard to justify my position when I am so clearly a beginner. What gives me the right to disagree on fundamental issues with experienced, educated folks when I am just an egg? I’m not just making shit up mind you… there is a gang out there that sees things as I do (and in fact are my teachers in spirit if not in person), but even as a group we’re a minority.

So far in my practicum, I’ve been working in a general, somewhat atheoretical manner utilizing psychodynamic principles to make case conceptualizations (explain what the heck is going on and why) and interventions, combined with some person centred attitudes and even a bit of cognitive behavioural therapy for certain problems. It’s all rather unfocused though in general I’m pointing at dynamic work - and in fall I go for my first major intensive training session in the type of therapy I plan to do (a form of psychodynamic therapy). At that point, I plan to switch from my current hodge-podge style of work to that style. A style which none of my supervisors will use or even know about in most cases. And might not agree with.

So in fall I guess I’ll be in the uncomfortable position of being a renegade therapist - working under the radar doing an intensive and emotionally provocative type of work while immersed in a culture of unemotional, intellectualized therapy. I will have access to a supervisor in my style, but that person is not one of my official supervisors - those being people who will give me grades and decide if I “pass” grad school. In other words, I can be sure of being appropriately trained in my method but not of having my work accepted as good by the folks in charge.

Yeah.  A bit nerve wracking to think of.

But I am committed. Today in group supervision a case was presented that was a real stumper - a certain suite of unusual somatic symptoms combined with complex emotional machinery… and even my supervisor, who is a woman I respect a great deal and am learning simply loads from, was at something of a loss to understand the picture. But not me! I felt like I had the Rosetta Stone in the form of the explanatory model of ISTDP, which is built around somatic experience and the physiology and dynamics of emotion. In this case that seemed hard to pin down using more general dynamic models I saw clear signposts and material to work from. This style has a way to conceive of and tackle the client’s problems.

Which is not to say it’s the be all and end all. Of course it isn’t. I generally see differing therapy styles as metaphors - the more I learn and the more I try, the more I see that underlying the plethora of differing schools and explanatory models are some very similar, overlapping, and identical concepts. What cognitive behavioural therapists call core schemas are the same as a psychodynamic therapist’s object relations, an attachment therapist’s internal working models, an Adlerian therapist’s style of life. All of these imply the existence of an unconscious and are getting at basically the same thing - something inside us that we’re not necessarily aware of that nonetheless directs our behaviours, thoughts, and feelings. Common sense agrees with this too.

ISTDP is no different - it has overlap and commonality with many other schools of thought. So why learn it? Because it has a special angle on the problem that sets it apart in some ways. And it makes sense to me. Many of the values implicit in the method (adult to adult interaction, respect for the individual combined with contempt for their pathology, avoiding dialogging with the defense, among others) resonate with me.  When picking your metaphor, pick one that you can groove with.

Plus, I was brainwashed early in my career as a psychotherapist by someone who practices ISTDP, and who can resist the allure of the method that got you excited about the field in the first place?

And, can you imagine how boring it would be to practice CBT and spend all your days trying to logic people out of their feelings?  How tedious!

I make a very good caesar. And now, in honour of that, I shall make one.

It has a certain inescapable logic, doesn’t it?

Husband and I went out for a bite after my class tonight.  A couple friends joined us after the eating portion of the evening, and though I would have enjoyed staying for more talk of college basketball (I am easily amused when tired), I was exhibiting the signs of exhaustion and needed to come home.  Today has been quite a bit like being hung over.  You know how that is - you wake up after a night of drinking and you’re all physiologically disorganized.  The balance is off, the eyes are bleary, you can’t make sense of how to put on your socks.  Everything feels weird and just a little off.  Well, that was me today even after my good morning nap.  Now that I’m old (28) I can’t seem to cope with this tiredness thing very well.

So now I’m home, and in a state of post-prandial tummy distention that, combined with the general lack of sleep, means I’m not long for this world.  It’s jammy time.

So I survived the EEG - and let me say that it was a rather unpleasant experience. Not as unpleasant as, say, having a limb amputated - but not as good as cookies, either. The opening moves were actually quite interesting, as my skull was measured and marked a number of different ways in order to plot where the electrodes would be placed. It was all downhill from there.

The process is probably too boring to relate in detail here, but I will say I hope I never have to go through it again.  There was one part that involved a very intense light being strobed into my eyes from about three inches’ distance, and at various rates (hertz? whatever), that was intensely awful and caused a lot of cringing and squinting and tearing-up.  The part where I had to hyperventilate for several minutes was pretty sucky too.

Ultimately I left with paste in my hair and sucker marks on my face from where some of the electrodes were placed.  I look like a very small but rather angry octopus was attacking my head.   Which is kind of funny, and the best part of the whole affair.  I can now officially say I have sensitive skin because the EEG technician, a woman who pastes electrodes to people’s skin for a living, declared, based on those sucker marks, that it is so.

I didn’t manage to stay up all night, but did keep the sleeping down to about two and a half hours, with the aid of a trashy novel and some bad TV.  I officially feel bleary, slouchy and exhausted.  And you know what sucks?  Now I have to get dressed and go out in to the cold and dark to make my way to the hospital.

I should get a bloody medal.

You can tell because I never update my blog. I’ve been too busy being consumed with jealousy that SOME people get to have dogs but I DO NOT. I have friends who have this zany little Boston Terrier, which I would slice up, dip into ice cream, and eat if I weren’t a vegetarian, because he’s too cute for words. Even though he has serious bug eyes and a partially missing penis sheath, which means you can often see and/or feel his actual weiner. Okay. Why do these people deserve a dog more than I do? How can I persuade my landlord to let me get a dog? Preferable a big one… with lots of hair for trapping dirt and water from outside… yes, I begin to see why my efforts at persuasion have failed so far.

So, other than obsessively researching dog breeds (even though I generally as a rule disapprove of breed-ism for the ill health effects and would probably buy a mutt), I’ve been doing some school stuff… but only a little. I registered for next term today and, by the end of the summer? All my classes will be DONE. HOLY FUCKING CRAP. Then it’ll just be eight months of practicum and an exam and I’ll officially be a Master, which is how you can all address me at that time.

I’ve been doing next to no cooking, mainly because it’s hard to get motivated to shop when I’ll be in Chilliwack half the week and I never know if Husband will eat at home or out in my absence.  Tonight though I’m making a cauliflower and lentil curry, as well as asparagus and artichoke pasta for dinner.  Yum!

The house is a shambles and though it is sort of tidy, it is grimy and dirty underneath all that tidiness. Kudos here to Husband, who has been noting my despair at the mess and has been doing dishes for me unasked. It makes all the difference sometimes to just have at least one room that isn’t gross.

Speaking of Chilliwack, one of the great things about scoring the fall practicum is I can end my current Chilliwack practicum early. It’s a good site and I’m learning just butt-loads of stuff there, but it’s kind of crappy doing the commute. It’s strange because I like all parts of the process: the quiet early morning drive, the practicum itself, the time to visit with my family, the opportunity to miss my husband and enjoy our reunions. But somehow all those nice things combine to produce stress and discomfort and I will miss it, but not miss it at all. The Chilliwack stuff ends at the end of May.

I’ve been doing a little reading, in particular a work of moral philosophy about animal rights. Say what you will about animals, those philosophers can sure construct an argument! I’m loving the careful, logical, comprehensive way the author does it. One gets the impression that very few stones have been left unturned, and those that are are plainly identified. It’s honourable arguing. This is my first foray into philosophy (undergrad logic classes aside) and I am very impressed.

I’m also rewatching one of my favourite crime drama series, The Wire in the Blood. It’s about a psychologist and his involvement with an English police department. Unlike most portrayals of psychologists/psychiatrists in media, this one does not make me and Husband immediately vomit over the gross inaccuracies (another reasonable one is Dr Wong on Law & Order SVU). And it’s quite grisly, which I always enjoy. I have to get my gristle somewhere now that I don’t eat meat. And speaking of psychologists, I’m also rewatching Cracker, which I deeply love. Shows like these give me hope in this day and era where you can see that paltry excuse for crime drama CSI on TV at any hour.

And finally, this coming Thursday I get to go for the first of my nerve problem tests, a sleep deprived EEG.  I’m not really sure what is involved except the instructions I got were at great pains to reinforce that must have clean hair.  Apparently they’ll be attaching things to my scalp and measuring… something.  “Brain waves” let’s call them.  Anyway, I’m supposed to get no more than four hours sleep the night before, but since I’m an overachiever I’ll try to stay up all night.  Anyone want to come over and watch movies and help keep me up?  I’m total suck at that, and usually hit the sack by 11.  It takes hard work and dedication to stay up all night.  I’m not sure I can go it alone.

So this morning some fucker phoned me at 8:30… to offer me a spot in their practicum program!  Did I say fucker?  I mean most glorious and awesome person EVAR!  Then, about 20 minutes later, I got another call - the other university I applied to offered me a spot too, and sweetened the offer with some rather flattering comments about my placement relative to other applicants.  It was hard to tell them no, I accepted at Phone Call 1, because even though the site looks better there, who wouldn’t want to go work somewhere where folks think you’re just the cat’s ass?

Anyway, my ego is now so huge I’ll have to lug it around in a wheelbarrow for the rest of the day.  I can’t say how thrilled I am to be offered these two spots, and of course to be starting at Mountaintop U in September.   It’s really something to be chosen for things.

Now to begin my machinations to score a parking spot…

So far this morning I have stubbed my toe, dropped my breakfast on the floor, and missed the opening of Law and Order.

Might as well go back to bed.