I’m not sure how to take or even if I can take any more drama in my life.

I really do feel bad for Beth. In fact, I’m kind of devastated. She has taken an incredible amount of shit from the Psych department during her first year as a Psych resident. I understand that Beth can be frustrating to work with since she is somewhat scattered, but nothing that she has done justifies the treatment that she has received. She is an immensely talented physician and is respected by so many in the medical community that it is almost incomprehensible how the p.o.s.’s in the residency program can behave the way they have. I have absolutely no respect for these losers, and really would like to call them out as gutless worthless scum bags.

Beth is the type of person that truly identifies herself by her profession. At some point in her career, I think she was able to take a great deal of satisfaction and fulfillment from being a doc. And then it went away. And it hasn’t come back, thanks to the ill-thought out decision to go back to a residency. Oh well.

Not that I haven’t had employment issues, and that my career wasn’t on the rocks. It sucked, and yes I was pretty depressed. Beth has told me several times during my little drama that she couldn’t take it any more and that I had to go see a professional. So I did. Three pros to be exact, and none of them were particularly interested in what I had to say. The last one basically told me that I wasn’t mentally ill enough for her to bother with. Nice.

So here we are again, Beth is devastated and I’m stuck holding the bag. Our house is a disaster, as her hoarding and my negligence has caused an untold amount of shit to collect in every room of the house. I’m not allowed to throw anything away without Beth’s approval, but she never, repeat never, has the stamina required to actually address these issues. Anytime I bring it up, it turns into a me-against-her scenario where all I’m trying to do is somehow control her and impose my time frame and sense of urgency on her. Maybe I’m being too sensitive, but c’mon, our life is a shambles and I’m not allowed to do anything about it.

The financial burden of both of us bouncing around various jobs is also starting to build. Beth went on a monologue last night regarding how she has worked so hard but not be anywhere “ahead”. Well, look out in the driveway, look at the water and electricity bills we have to pay because one of us never turns anything off, look at the giant credit card bill that was run up during an employment sabbatical, and look at all the HUGE vet bills we have racked up this past year. Let’s see, there is also the issue of insurance on the X-3 almost doubling this year because one of us has accidentally driven into two different stationary objects. Hmmm, not getting ahead? Well, DUH!

I love the hell out of Beth, but I can’t take this much longer. I am so totally overwhelmed by her neuroses that I almost don’t even fit in our house any more. And I’m not going to get any relief from this issue until Beth gets done with the residency crisis. Will there be other crises hot on its heels which will prevent her from facing some of the issues waiting for her in our home? Stay tuned. If I was a betting man, however, I’d say don’t hold your breath.

Peace.

It’s 7:30 AM, and as usual, I’m running late for work. The Friday schedule requires attendance for four hours which fulfills the social obligation of working 40 hours per week. Productivity, live it.

The morning light gives away any secrets that the day may have. It’s about to be the end of summer, as July wanes and August waxes, and the heat of the day is already forcing the moisture in the air to move up, forming tall cloud ships. The city looks fresh, the temperature is tolerable, and the background roar of the start-of-the-day traffic is somewhat muted by the morning air.

My motivation has once again slipped, as I contemplate another day of un-fulfilling engineering. I know I’m new here, but as today ends up my second week on the job, I’m feeling uncertain and, here I’ll whisper, bored. Bored. There I said it out load this time. Bored. It’s no surprise that things start off slow at a new job (remember SMA?), but given all of the angst capital that I spent at PB, I’m not real happy about the questions regarding my career knocking on my office door so soon after I arrive.

The drive has taken on its own shape this morning. No talk radio on the drive this morning, replaced by tunes stored on the Pod. Music has become less of a presence in my daily life, as liberal talk radio seems to be more of a time sink than music. Inane talk from the hosts and the callers blends in with the roar of the AC in my office, and allows me to assign part of my brain to pay attention to what’s being said.

The drive continues. There is a memory stirring. It moves and stretches and gradually paints a mental picture of morning drives spread through the decades. There are the drives to work with Doug in the car, preparing for another day hoping for no break downs from our almost psychotic boss. Beautiful morning drives ripe with the opportunities that life provides when you are 22 years old. Morning drives through towns in Oregon as I haul ass to another week working on the coast, where the sounds of the Pacific blend into the background of electric saws and hammers. Oregon towns that are only remembered as wide roadways lined with the usual detritus of the 1980’s economy. Used car dealers, hardware stores, cafes, and 7-11’s. I wonder if this memory is of anything that really exists or is it made up of a conglomerate of the other wide roadways I have driven in the AM through the course of my life.

I remember how driving through ‘burque was fun, and how it occasionally became an effort to be loathed due to a way too familiar routine. I remember how driving through new towns kindled the sense of adventure and discovery of a young man in search of someplace to land. In search of someone to hold and love. In search of a livelihood that would pay the bills but would allow him to fully participate in a continuing adventure. This adventure included establishing a sense of self that would allow him to grow, to fight, to win and lose, to make money, to spend money, to risk his life playing, to risk his life working, to finding his first true love. So long ago, and the memories have faded.

The urban roadway this morning has started to become a reflection of the many drives made and the thousands of miles witnessed from behind the wheel. The road, at its best, becomes a stream of life that passes him bye in a detached observational way. The curb cuts, the driveways on either side of the road represent all of the unseen opportunities that beckon perpendicular to the direction he is going. I drive with somewhat of a purpose, as its Friday, and I need to go to work for four hours to satisfy my vague commitment to a career.

Peace.