Out of the maze

Visiting the shrink yesterday, I learned she plans to retire next summer. Just my luck: it took a decade to find a psychiatrist who was half-competent and not abusive, and within less than two years I will lose her. Not that she's a perfect fit—talk therapy isn't her focus—but at least she helped identify a suitable medication, and she is professional, empathetic and reassuring, and frequently offers useful advice. Yesterday she expressed more interest in my creative endeavours than the job search, which surprised and ingratiated me. It has been hard to find a doctor who believes me when I say writing is the most important thing I do for myself.

And it's not that I always depend on her—for half the year I only see her once every two or three months—but at times like this I like to check in once a month, just to keep on track. So I hope she manages to sell her practice, or at least refer me to someone of similar quality. It could be an opportunity to find someone better, but I'm dubious. She is practically the only shrink in private practice in Guelph, and I haven't heard any other recommendations. I don't want to fall back into the situation of relying on my GP, who has been excellent in all other regards, but useless with respect to mental health.

Yesterday was rough. I had the strong impression my mind was a maze, and I was a rat stuck into it. The walls are long and featureless. Sometimes I come to a junction, with no clue which way to turn except from experience, which gives me the vague feeling I've been here and made the same mistakes before. I don't even know where I'm going.

One thing has changed for the better. The volunteer work imposes some structure on my time, in fact it lifts me right out of the maze.

I worked an extra shift at OOTS last night, and with different people. Dave dropped in, a longtime friend and colleague who helped launch the library. Afterwards he gave me a great compliment, expressing how competent I am at following through with library procedures. He said he intends to mention this to the collective, the volunteer group that manages the library. I'm in my element there, and apparently it shows. This startles me. I have not had a job I enjoyed this much before, or where I received appreciative remarks from co-workers.

And I can even do it when I feel depressed, because working in that environment with those people lifts my mood, and I look forward to it. This feeling is unfamiliar to me: to know clearly what is expected of me and not feel overwhelmed by it.

We had heard the Rude Native is hosting a queer bar night on Thursdays, so after closing, Dave and I went out for a drink and chatted about life until two other acquaintances arrived at 10. Hardly anyone else came out, but I left at 11:30 happy and invigorated.

I had to scrape ice off the car. I won't talk about that, or the snow that caused whiteouts yesterday and persisted to this morning. Other friends across Southwestern Ontario blogged about it with various degrees of cheerfulness, but it didn't hit me that way. It doesn't help that my new camera is unavailable. Regardless of the weather, my mood had lifted by the time I came home.

It has persisted into today. Hopefully I have turned that corner. I suspect the light box is helping, as did thoughtful notes received Wednesday evening from ghostsandrobots and zombietruckstop. I'm ready for a weekend without commitments, time to dedicate to my own projects. I plan to take my notebook out somewhere later this afternoon and work on the novel for a while.

I found this bracket fungus on a stump beside our neighbour's deck at the cottage. I was intrigued by the intricate pattern of dark indentations on its surface, which looked like fingerprints from a distance, perhaps left by Joyce's tiny grandson, Mac. On closer inspection they weren't fingerprints, but I don't know what. They could be tiny teeth marks, as if a squirrel tried laboriously to gnaw off a mouthful. The second photo behind the cut gives more context for the first one.



( not quite so close )

Weekend

Guelph Studio Tour and Guelph Arts Festival are on this weekend. Also I'm thinking of visiting The Robin's Nest, newly reopened in Cambridge, on Saturday evening. It's at 1260 Bishop Street North. Anyone interested in meeting for either of these outings?

My job

From thefridayfive:

1. What job do you have, and why do you like/hate it? I'm a volunteer at Out On The Shelf. I like having a set of procedures to follow, knowing what is expected of me, and knowing my work is appreciated. The library is more orderly than my personal life, and it's a relaxing place to spend time. I also enjoy the spontaneity of responding to visitors' requests and enquiries. It feels good to offer a valuable service: a resource library for queer adults and youth, and a safe place for them to come and hang out. It's run entirely by volunteers, and the other staff are committed, literate, enjoyable people.
   
2. As a kid, what did you want to be when you "grew up?" The first field I remember investigating seriously, in about grade seven, was botany. During high school I wanted to become an architect. But I have been trying to write novels since I was in grade two. Writing was always the thing I wanted to do most, but it was never presented to me as a viable profession.
   
3. Is the job you have now anything like what you imagined as a kid? I liked helping in the library in elementary school, and practically lived there in high school. I have always liked libraries, but never considered working in one until recently.
   
4. Do you have a five-year career plan? To be working part-time in a bookstore or library, and deriving income from freelance writing for magazines and newspapers. I would like to have published a novel.
   
5. In order to get the job of your dreams, is there anything you wouldn't do? Why? I will not work in a rabbit warren or large hierarchical organization where I have no choice but to write what other people tell me to write, where creativity is dead. I've already gone crazy that way once.