Anxieties

It's silent out here way behind Cleo camp, save for the constant thrum of airplanes rushing off to Vegas or Denver or some such ski-bunny getaway. I decided to take my thermos of hot chocolate and find a spot of sunshine to try to gather myself on my last break of the week. I'm not eating anything, yet the little grey mohawked camp robbers are swarming, and seem staunchly confused by my presence.

I'm having a hard time focusing on my pen and ink long enough to clear my head and say what I have to say. I know in my heart right now I am preoccupied by the chance of a reunion after a long month and a half, and the small potential for a booty call. God, did I really just write that?! I think deeper I am apprehensive about this trip east which is more than rapidly approaching. I am confused even by what to call it, like is Maryland still home? Oregon felt more like me than Columbia ever did, and I think Colorado could if I gave it the chance. I've been telling people mostly that I'm going to visit my parents, and leaving it ambiguously at that. I'm nervous about face to face communication with Mom and Dad since my new found commitment to honesty and full disclosure. I'm afraid of regressing, as I usually do when I return, and just falling back so quickly into old patterns. I'm worried I can't quite take the intensity and invasiveness that I invited by doing so much work lately on our relationship. I think thats a big hurdle in my relationship with both parents, historically and continual--that I crave the connection and understanding but get intimidated and exhausted by the daunting process, and shut down before I get anywhere. Its easier to give them what they expect than to take the energy and time to give them the truth. I want more than that from this visit, but I'm questioning whether I have the emotional endurance to make that happen.

I'm really surprised by how unaffected I was this shift by Vanessa and the whole suicide watch. For some reason her story didn't get to me the way I'd feared it would. I guess maybe I've developed more of a personal boundary and professionalism than I'd thought. I think maybe it might have been different had I been with her for the first few nights in the field, but this week her drama has struck me as sort of ridiculous. In fact my lack of empathy of certain points has sort of disturbed me a little bit. She hasn't resonated with me as much as I thought she would, and I guess I'm still trying to figure out why not. I get being so depressed that moving is a struggle, but with her a lot of it just seems like a ploy for attention. I want to have compassion but I've struggled to put myself in her place when shes throwing herself on the ground and sobbing in the snow. It has been interesting to start to piece things together with her as far as student archeotypes and patterns go. She's a lot of Amy and a sprinkle of Erin for good measure. I've been the most successful working with her this week when I've been super direct bordering on harsh, or when I've got her talking about totally random things. Anything, really, as long as its not how sick in the head she is. Thats that borderline thing that Emily warned us about--they get overwhelmed exploring their emotions and get swallowed up completely in the process.

I'm anxious and excited about having the whole next month off from work basically. Anxious mostly just about paying bills entirely out of my next paycheck, probably not getting paid again till mid March after that first shift back out. Curious, I guess about how I'll adjust to full time town living for awhile, whether I'll miss the stars and how badly. As much as my attention tries to fight it, I do get into a good rhythm of things out here, and tend to feel a little lost in town without such a pattern and order to my days. I wonder what it will be like to wear real clothes consistently, since I have a grand total of about two wearable pairs of non-work pants. OK so maybe three on a good day. To eat off a plate with real utensils and some semblance of table manners. To be in a real city, a couple of them, in fact. To be out of the desert longe nough for my skin and my body to heal, and ease this endless cycle of cracking and burning. I'm excited to take a step back from this work and have the space to recompose myself, and anxious that I'll miss being out here. I wouldn't say I'm tired, but eight shifts solid is a long chunk of time.