January 31, 2015

Will Work for Food

It was another busy week at work, as usual--as a matter of fact, the last couple of weeks have been the most stressful since I've started. Working closely with foster kids is enough to get anyone worked up--the more invested in their cases you become, the more your blood boils when you begin to really think about what these little guys have gone through (and often what they're still going through). Point being, I needed a good weekend--but somehow my two closest Fayette-friends coincidentally had weekend-long plans, which rarely happens. At first, I began to think about how I should maybe make more friends; I'm certainly the few close buddies type o' gal. But I had to remind myself it's healthy to have a significant period of solitude every now and again, a sabbatical from socializing if you will. So after catching a happy hour brew (a Hoopty Porter alongside savory beer cheese queso) with one of said friends before they were off Friday afternoon, this is precisely what I did.


I hated cleaning when I was younger--no, hate is too mild of a word. I would've rather shaved off my own skin bit by bit than pick up my messy room as a child (and most people would guess that's still how I am with my car, but as I tell my kiddos, my car is my office). To be honest, if it's something that needs to be cleaned, I still despise it--but I've found that it's an excellent, productive activity to be mindless with after a long week of work. So this is what I did Friday evening, boring as it sounds--granted, it may or may not have been due to my dog getting trapped in my housemate's room, and trying to claw through the door (and the window--he's a smart cookie).


Since I was so good, I decided I should have a treat myself day next.

January 25, 2015

Hello, friends.

I was on the phone with my mother this morning. I hadn't really spoken with her in weeks--since I'd been home for Christmas. Sure, there was a text here and there, but nothing significant. She delved into recent stories of the new semester (she's a high school teacher and a nana who's somehow taken charge of raising my nephews, but that's another post): the heartfelt words and stories from her students in ALE, the freezing camping trip she endured over the weekend for the boys to get their scout badge, the childhood friends she had recently ran into while visiting Grandma. Several times she would ask me, "well, what's been going on--besides work and school, obviously?"

And I would have to tell her, that's it. There's nothing else to say. 

I work full-time with foster kids, and I'm steadily going back to school, two classes at a time, to earn my Master's in Clinical Mental Health Counseling--and in Arkansas, they don't joke about their CACREP standards. Between both of these responsibilities, there's rarely a quantifiable amount of energy left--and what is left is spent mindlessly absorbing Netflix, throwing scraps of tennis balls for my demon-dog to fetch, or convincing my nearest and dearest man-friend to teach me how to fix something on the 1950s farmhouse I bought a few months ago. 
the cleverly placed blanket on the wingback hides Kafka's separation anxiety

So naturally, I'm very busy, and even more so, I'm very tired. But I am very proud of what I'm currently working on. My career is incredibly fulfilling (if not infuriating at times), not to mention I work alongside an amazing treatment team, and with some of the world's most compassionate, self-less families. And this keeps me sane and motivated enough to continue my education so I can earn that LPC and move on up in the world (and in my non-profit world, any upward motion is appreciated).