Some haiku’s

I thought of these recently just in daily life.  Turns out haiku’s help me to laugh at my life. I thought I would share.  Some are about clients, some are made by clients, and some are just the musings of my brain.  I’ll probably do more of these so.. here you are:

Wake up Haiku

Alarm goes again,

I will not press snooze this time.

Why is waking hard?

I hate a client:

Mary sucks asshole

I really want her gone soon

Why, oh why? Dear, God.

Porn Ban

Stop watching porn loud.

You are disturbing roommates.

Why do you do that?

Traffic Haiku

I am in traffic.

Going to be late, again.

I’m always so late.

She’s faking

Amy cannot speak.

Back to psych ward you go, now.

Dissociated.

Haiku Haiku

Haiku therapy.

Therapeudic, oh they are.

Haiku haiku, yea

Death Haiku

I despise my life.

Death is so prefferable.

Suicide later.

Do as I say…

I say, “Clean your room.”

While my house is disguting.

Hypocritical.

Stop that

Running in circles-

You are a little hamster.

Complaints from downstairs.

In the car

Here, there, here again.

I am like a ping pong ball.

Driving back and forth.

Bad dog mom

My favorite dog,

I really should walk his ass.

Baxter is his name.

Pee stick

A pregnancy test

just makes your period come.

Until it doesn’t.

This is my life

Drama forever-

recovery residence

Never disappoints.

The best converations

Morning cigarettes

On the back porch with the girls

With coffee in hand.

Discipline

I should sleep now

Appointment in the morning.

Youtube more urgent.

Moving haiku

Moving is awful,

Packing is real terrible.

Let’s procrastinate.

Is that rude?

This session is tense.

But I will poop my pants soon.

Can I interrupt?

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To be sober, subtly sick….

To be sober, subtly sick, and a supposed role model for newly recovered addicts is a bizarre thing.  I realized this the other day while watching a youtube video, driving in traffic;  my phone between the thumb and forefinger of both hands, and my ring, middle, and pinky fingers on the two and ten position of my steering wheel. This is my favorite modality for distracted driving. A advertisement for  .Blog came on, and a curious thought popped in my head: “I could write a blog.  How hilarious would it be if I spelled out my most hypocritical moments, completely anonymously for the world to see.”  That thought quickly shadowed by, “God, what a time suck, and who would read the pointless drivel of my mind anyway.”  

Yet here I am, writing this.  Who knows if I will ever post it or if it will see the light of day. I’m really not good at the follow through.

I happen to be a fairly sick individual.  I don’t think it is in a way that’s abnormal or that my depravity is any worse than most of the population.  I just happen to be working in a field where a light and a mirror are held up to every single aspect of your life.  The level of mindfulness that I work hard to maintain doesn’t go away when I leave a session with a client.  Instead, I am lurking there as the observer to my thoughts and behaviors.  So I just happen to be a tad bit more aware of my particular brand of crazy- and how is completely contradicts with what I am teaching the women I work with.

Try this on for size:  The moment I had the thought of writing this blog, I was driving through traffic  on the way to Taco Bell- distractedly driving- and starving after not eating all day.  Not only do I preach about the importance of meal planning and self care, but I had just left a group I was facilitation for eating disorder clients. As a prey to my own impulses, I pulled through the drive-thru, ordered two meals, and twelve of those disgustingly delicious cinnabon delights.  I shoved it all in my mouth hole as fast as humanly possible, and sped home to get that nasty shit out of my stomach.  Let me tell you, cinnabon delights do not taste as good coming back up as they are going down.  Sickly fucking sweet.  You learn interesting ways to mood alter when working with clients who have process addictions.  So I wiped my mouth, washed my hands, and walked over to tell a client off about vaping in their apartment with my vape in my hand and a cigarette pack in my back pocket.

I slept easy that night.  The hypocrisy of my daily life doesn’t bother me much, as I know that I am trying to get through this life just the best I can, and I’m no worse off than any other sick mother fucker on planet earth.