The Psycho Therapist

This dream snippet from last night

2007-05-11T00:58:00.000-07:00

This dream snippet from last night, obviously motivated from the odd exchange with the Starbucks Counter Girl (detailed below, yes, you'll have to scroll down) completely slipped my mind until moments ago when a patient mentioned ordering a "White Russian" over the weekend. Jung would be so happy: my own personal scarab tapping against the window. Heh.

In essence,

I am with a group of therapists who decide to dine at the restaurant of a new hotel. We sit down, order drinks (I get a "White Russian", something I would never get during waking life) and begin small talk. The server brings our beverages, all of which are fine but mine. I attempt to explain the dilemma to him but repeatedly fail; he insists there is nothing wrong with my drink. I show the glass to my colleagues and advise them of what they should be seeing. They seem to understand but I sense some kind of resistance which is puzzling. I continue to try engaging the server in the hope he will eventually understand. He does not and walks away with a major 'tude.

I am amazed no one is following what is going on. The drink contains large pieces of asparagus, white rice and thinly sliced red peppers--not even close to vodka, Kahlua and cream/milk.
Not even close.

Not. even. close.

Mindless drivel-sharing for a Monday.

2006-03-08T00:57:00.000-08:00

Good lovin' gone bad after a fabulous fun-filled weekend attending various festivals and hangin' with friends not seen in a coon's age. On misunderstanding, miscommunication, language barriers, semantics and bullshit.

Me: Hi, I'd like a decaf espresso, please, with soy milk.
Starbucks Counter Girl: (blank stare)
Me: Do you have soy milk?
SBCG: Yeeaahhhhhh...
Me: Okay, that's what I want.
SBCG: Hmmm. Espresso and soy milk.
Me: Decaf espresso. Do you have decaf espresso?
SBCG: (blank stare)
Me: Is your espresso also available in decaf?
SBCG: Yes.
Me: Good. That's what I want.
SBCG: Uh, um, okay. How many do you want with that?
Me: How many do I want?
SBCG: Yeah, like one or two.
Me: D'you mean shots? How many shots of espresso do I want?
SBCG: Do you want one or two?
Me: Oh, I want two, a double shot.
SBCG: Hot or cold?
Me: Hot.
SBCG: I really don't know what you want.
Me: (now wondering about this chick-a-dee) I want a double shot decaf espresso with soy milk.
SBCG: Latte or Machiato?
Me: Latte, latte. (thinking we're on to something).
SBCG: (shaking her head looking at me as if I am from another planet and with more than an edge of blame in her voice) I don't know what this is or how to charge for it. (hands empty cup to girl making the coffee)
Me: It's a latte. Think of it as a latte. A latte with soy milk.
Starbucks Coffeemaking Girl: (looking at the scribble on the cup trying to decipher what SBCG has written so she'll know what to make) I...what is this...(turning to look at me) Do you want a double latte with soy? Is that what this is supposed to be?
Me: Yes.
Coffeemaking girl: Oh, simple. (smiling)

My best friend was in the bathroom and missed the first part of the dialogue but was in line to catch the end. I didn't know she was there to hear any of it. When I turned with coffee in hand and saw her, I walked up and said, "You see?". She burst out laughing. You so had to be there.

Auto Accident

2005-08-20T00:54:00.000-07:00

There has been an auto accident and a woman is injured. She is semi-conscious but bleeding profusely. I do basic first aid and the paramedics arrive. They ask me "What do you want, doc?" I bark orders, get stabilizing devices, hang IVs, "throw me an arterial cut kit" and perform minor surgery there in the street.

I have seen it in my mind. I am lying somewhere. He is holding me in his arms. Behind him, through a gauzy haze, I sense a crowd watches. I know I am dying.

I look into his eyes, pale blue doors I have entered many times, and I smile. I am so glad he is here. I am so glad it is him I will see last. I can't think of anything more I could want. I am deeply comforted.

He searches my eyes, never leaving their gaze. Every truth we've shared is making itself known. I feel his thoughts and staggering compassion. I know this is right, it has always been right. And it had to be him. Again.

_________________________

I like trees because they seem more resigned
to the way they have to live than other things do.

--Willa Cather