S'more

For reasons not worth going into, I just had to call good old Murgatroid, so that story is on the top of the mental stack again. I should say she was rather sweet, for what it's worth.

What I thought of immediately when I was talking to her was the one moment of connection I can remember having with anyone at that place. It was totally superficial, but it stuck out because basically I was either collaboratively complaining with the other people who hated the place (which doesn't nourish the soul) or just failing utterly to connect with anyone. Like there was this woman who had just had a kid named I think MiKayla or whatever the approved name that year was, and she would do things like write thank you notes to the office in sort of proto LOLcat baby-speak, first-person for baby gifts, and we just looked at each other like "are you nuts?" a lot.

Anyway the one moment of connection involves a confession: I have enjoyed certain novels of Dan Brown. Worst prose stylist in history, but good with the suspense! Shamefully, I have read most of what I guess I will go ahead and call his oeuvre. Oh, so wait, though. Uninteresting back story: there was this guy who worked as a clinician and supervisor at the Clinic at Fuckaway, and his mother worked in some accounting position or something like. We'll call them George and Estelle because Estelle had the accent and more or less the exact demeanor* of Estelle from Seinfeld and George was accordingly a pretty miserable guy like his televisionary counterpart.
Sad/diagnostic fact: it took a lot of effort to remember their actual names, and the last name isn't coming.

This story is getting really "and then I found five dollars" really fast so I'll end it as quickly as possible and get on with what I meant to write about. So I'm in the lunch room and people are talking about Dan Brown and George and I are the only ones who have read, uh, which one is it...all same book...Angels and Demons? And we're trying to talk about the ending and people are freaking out at us on grounds of "no spoilers!" and we end up doing this rather elaborate intepretive dance to express which part we just found beyond the pale in terms of willing suspension of disbelief and we laughed together and it was maybe the single instance of friend-like interaction I experienced on the Fuckaway Peninsula.

The other thing about the lunch room is that people discussed clients there. In front of support staff, who jumped into the conversation. In front of anyone who was around. I was stunned, because my second year placement had been a setting where people were stright about those boundaries. And Aunt Slappy, if you have been following this story, would jump right in a lot and say "oh I know her for years now. That one is real trash, a real piece of garbage." This was the tone of things.

I mention this because I think it's one of the things that led up to my real shellshock experience there. Which I guess I'll make another entry, because this is already a snack and it probably need not be a meal.

*You brought 'er...