"He has the grace of a hippopotamus and a penguin's love child."

Still the Ludi Romani. I figured I should explain what the Ludi Romani is, exactly. They were games, with races (games in the Circus Maximus) for last four days, and they had dramatic performances (a rarity in Rome-- they, like Americans, preferred comedies and satires). It would start with a solemn procession, then chariot races and footraces. And no one really had to work. Well, the rich people didn't. THere should me more 15-day-long holidays in modern culture, don't you think?

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I made a bazillion phone calls this afternoon, but my bills are paid and the credit cards are canceled, at least. And I have an appointment at Health Services. I'm going to get the Gardasil HPV vaccine thingy. Mummy's been pestering me about it.

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Also, I had my first Orgo lab today-- not a real lab, just an intro. Because most of our equipment is crazy expensive, they've given us keys to "our drawer," where we have a full set of everything and no one else uses it. Thus, they can catch us if we break something. And make us pay through the nose for it.

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The other night I was talking to Ryter about future careers and he mentioned that his psychiatrist told him the money's in child psychiatry. This devolved into a mini-debate, because I find most modern child psychiatry to be akin to plastic surgery.

Both are sometimes needed, badly. There are children (by which I mean under 10) who are actually mentally ill, for whom early intervention is a godsend. Also, some children have post-traumatic stress disorders or autism or some other issue that is beyond normal pediatrician and parental care. At the same time, accident victims are often badly disfigured and require reconstruction, or children are born with deformities that require correction.

And yet, just as most people who go to plastic surgery actually need self-esteem, a supportive social network, diet, exercise and maybe counseling, most children who are sent to psychiatrists these days need parents.

ADHD, "depression," lack of motivation, imaginary friends-- parents assume that if their kid isn't the same as every other kid or different in a brilliant/precocious/cute way, he needs therapy. ADHD? Most kids diagnosed with ADHD are just hyperactive with short attention spans. Maybe they need a little Ritalin, if it's a problem in class. Don't get me started on depression. Kids are impressionable. Usually depressive tendencies can be countered by loving, attentive parents who still know how to give their kid space, and maybe a change of schools. Usually they just need to make some friends. And if my children DON'T have imaginary friends I'm gonna worry that they're being creatively stunted somehow.

Ryter argues that sometimes kids just need to talk. You know who I talked to when I was a kid and upset or hurt? My mom. She was my confidante and adviser and counselor. Yes, teenagers are rebellious and don't talk to their parents. Nothing I say here applies to teenagers. Teenager-hood is 5-8 years of PMS, essentially. If that's not enough to send you into therapy I don't know what is.

BUT. The truth is, if your kid needs therapy because they "need to talk," you aren't being a good parent. A good parent makes sure their child knows that they aren't judgmental, they will listen and be there, etc. No kid should be afraid to talk to their parents for any reason. Note I said "kid," because no one expects a conversation that starts out with "Mom, I think I should go on the pill" to end well.

Kids have problems that seem huge to them, but small to us. They're problems a parent can handle (some exceptions, naturally-- "Mommy, the priest touched me in the private place" won't end well either).

I'm not saying that there shouldn't be child psychiatrists, clearly. I'm saying that I could never be one (for reasons besides the obvious "couldn't be any kind of psychiatrist"). Because while I could treat the truly ill children, if I got some moron parent in there looking for an ADHD diagnosis to explain why their kid doesn't listen to them, I would tell them that I won't treat their kid until they take a parenting class, got some counseling, and took some time off work to play with the child. I doubt that would go over well...

I remembered something odd today...

Fifth day of the Ludi Romani.

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So I was reading Fark and I saw an article about how kids don't have the "astronaut" or "ballerina" fantasies adults think they do, but just want to grow up to be happily married.

I read it it and I just thought, Well, yeah. I mean, when I was a kid, which was not all that long ago, honestly, I occasionally entertained the idea of being a famous ballerina, or singer, or Nobel Prize winner or whatever, but most of the time I just pictured my future as marrying a rich businessman and having like twenty kids (3 natural, rest adopted). I'd work as a teacher when my kids were older, but just to give back to the community and all, because my husband would naturally be supporting me with his bazillions (Incidentally, that's about how much he would have had to be making to support my little orphanarium there).

Obviously I grew up and realized that a) Most businessman-types are either jerks or at least unlikely to marry women with no social skills, as they are often socially adept themselves as a necessary aspect of the job and would not particularly appreciate a wife who spills the bisque on their clients; b) Contrary to family lore, it is not "just as easy to love a rich man," as rich men aren't really common; c) In the modern world, it is a foolish or very, very trusting woman who does not continue to maintain her own finances apart from her husband's so she is independent enough to survive a divorce (and I would never, ever take alimony-- child support is one thing, alimony is welfare for WASP women-- I don't care how much I hate the guy); d) teachers not only get paid crap, they also are TREATED like crap; e) Who the hell has twenty kids besides crazy Quiverfull people?

But yet, even once I grew up a bit, I wanted to be a doctor with a husband who had the kind of job that meant that he would be there for the kids while I was doing weird hours. So I still wanted the husband, and the kids. I just wanted a career too, and way fewer children. Then my self esteem plummeted and I pictured my future as a doctor, living alone with lots of cats but traveling with Doctors Without Borders when I could.

Still, I think every kid wants to have a family. Expects it, even. It's not until reality sets in that you have variations, people who DO NOT WANT KIDS EVER and people who may want a kid, but mostly just want to focus on their job. Mind you, reality sets in at different times for different people-- I'm pretty sure Vivacia (who claims she NEVER WANTS KIDS) was five going on forty-- but my point still stands.

I'm not sure where I was going with this. I think I just wanted to share that I used to want to have twenty children. God. Innocence of youth and all that. *shudders violently at concept*

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I have heard the phrase "biological variation" so much between Ecology and Biostats today that I swear I am going insane.

"I cannot go to school today," said little Peggy Ann McKay...

Oh, I talked to the doctor yesterday. My bones are fine. Take that, inner hypochondriac! Now shut up!

When I was little I was a total hypochondriac, terribly so. I was the kid who read up on flu symptoms to get an excuse to miss school. In my head, I'd turn some gas into stomach cancer and aches and pains into... well, I'd find some rare condition for it to be. I wanted to be sick, hurt, damaged... I wanted the attention and the privileges I associated with being sick, and I figured that the pain would be okay on account of everyone telling me how brave I was, what a good patient I was... Mind you, my mom probably would have switched to "Buck it up, kid, you'll survive" after the first 24 hours, but I was young, these ignorances must be forgiven.

Anyway, I outgrew that, along with my childhood biblio-kleptomania and my violent tendencies (mostly). But it's still there, a little, it's just in the back of my head, suppressed by my common sense and the guilt I feel every time I feel like I'm inconveniencing someone. The trouble is, I can recognize if I have actual physical symptoms, but I can't always tell how bad they are, so a couple years ago when my chest was so tender that I couldn't lay down on my stomach without crying in pain, I went and looked up possible explanations, and all I could come up with was breast cancer or an infection, both of which are fairly serious... and hardly ever affect otherwise healthy teenage girls. But I had myself totally convinced I was going to die or at least have to get chemo before I went to the doctor and she informed me that it was a perfectly normal condition where the tissue is a little lumpy and there's some inflammation. I think I was a little bummed that I wasn't going to be some abnormal example of how statistics can go wrong, though.

This probably was closely tied to my general attention-grubbing as a kid. It's kinda funny that for so long I was so determined to be noticed, any way possible, and now I can't look a person in the eyes when I have to talk about myself. I'm brief and I talk very quickly if I introduce myself-- most people know me by the first syllable of my name, as the rest of it gets lost in my effort to shift the attention away. I went from being the girl who teased her hair and died half of it white to play Cruella DeVil for a chorus performance to being the girl who can't manage to say her own name in an introduction.

Anyway, I'm still a hypochondriac, but only mentally. I'm constantly trying to explain my slightly problematic personality traits as mental disorders, when in fact they're probably not even that big a deal to anyone but me. I mean, I've pretty much figured out that I'm shy and that I get panic attacks in crowds and social situations. But I'll hear about say, narcissistic personality disorder, and I'll think, "I want attention sometimes, maybe I'm a narcissist!" (This is funnier if you remember that I have the self-esteem of a particularly disgusting old penny that's been on the sidewalk for weeks). The worst disadvantage of this is that hypochondria is a mental disorder itself (albeit a common, minor one) so I can be a hypochondriac about having hypochondria, and never know for sure if I'm actually a hypochondriac or if I'm just being hypochondriacal about my hypochondriac tendencies.

Wow. Six versions of the word "hypochondria" in one sentence. New record?

You Are 32% Hypochondriac

You can deal well with being sick - even if your symptoms are a little scary. You're occasionally prone to worry about your health, but only when you have pretty strange symptoms.

Are You a Hypochondriac?

To sleep, perchance to dream

Today is the festival of Felicitas, the goddess of good luck. It's also my brother's birthday and the day after my grandfather's birthday. This explains a lot.

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I had the weirdest dreams last night. I didn't sleep well- the room was stuffy and overheated, and I'm used to a slightly more comfortable bed. I'll get over it. But the dreams were really weird.

I was in Italy again, or rather, in the dream I was dreaming I was in Italy- I knew it was a dream, but at the same time I was exploring like it was real, and I marveled that I was having a dream that enabled me to explore new parts of the country despite never having been there myself- it didn't occur to me that I was making it all up. I kept getting lost, and I was trying to find my way back to St. Mark's (so I guess I was in Venice) but at the same time, I didn't really care that I was lost and I was happy to wander about aimlessly looking for the cathedral. This was weird because even if I don't have limits on my time I always freak out when I get lost. And yet, I was perfectly calm about the whole thing.

Then I was back working at the old daycare, the one that I went to for kindergarten and after-school care and then worked at myself when I was older. I was serving juice to the kids and then someone told me that there was going to be a reunion, of sorts, with the kids who were in the after-school care. I continued to serve juice, and coffee, to the people who came in, including the funny man that used to supervise us until his wife made him get a real job, and also the guy I had a crush on for seven years who turned into a jerk when he became the star of the swim team, and the guy I thought was a jerk for eleven years who turned into a nice guy when he learned that having two X chromosomes doesn't mean you have half as many synapses firing. This was weird because the daycare is a recurring theme in my dreams- working at it, at least. But I usually don't dream about being a kid there myself, or visiting as a former student- just as an employee.

I don't know what the first dream means- if I never have it again, probably nothing. The second dream, though, I can see where it's coming from. Yesterday I was talking to Mimi about that study at Mclean Hospital and how it made me think of my degenerate youth. She said that I should think about how that kind of childhood affected who I am today, if it did at all. I was trying to think of how my early life of crime and violence shaped me, but I wasn't certain of anything. I think dreaming of two people who I thought of one way when I was younger and then very differently when I grew up is my brain's way of gently reminding me that I'm not the same person I was back then.

Or maybe we need a fan in this room at night.

I hope the Christians are wrong, or I am toast

Today was the trip to Mclean Hospital in Belmont to earn $275 by answering questions and giving a little bit of blood. It was... interesting. Shrewd went with me, since a gut instinct combined with years of experience was telling me that I'd get lost on my own. So at 8:30 this morning, we headed out, stopping for some breakfast on the way out of town. The drive was one hour long. My appointment was at 10:30. Dunkin' DOnuts does not take an hour to toast two bagels and make some hot cocoa and chai tea.

I blame Shrewd.

Anyway, we sat and talked in the car by this really pretty pond and laughed at the geese who landed on the ice and seemed rather startled that it was not water. We shouldn't have laughed, though, the poor geese are probably incredibly confused by the earlier warm weather that is just now turning chilly. Still... it was pretty funny. We watched bluebirds in the trees.

Shrewd dropped me off fifteen minutes early, as planned, since we figured might as well- we weren't doing anything productive. Then she went off to Brandeis, which is pretty close to the hospital, to check out her suite and, apparently, turn on the heat so there might actually be some heat when they get there on Sunday.

So I waited for fifteen minutes in the lobby at the Admissions entrance, and then I waited ten minutes in the lobby at the Admissions entrance, and then finally the interviewer came and got me and led me through the catacombs beneath this hospital to her office, which was a three minute's walk away, and honestly, I'm so glad she didn't have me meet her there because there is NO WAY that would have gone right.

The interviewing itself was long, yes, but it wasn't too bad. They asked a bunch of questions about my history with depression, and my family situation, and how I respond to situations; there was a lot on my personality and some on what I was like as a child/preteen/etc (Well, etc if I'd ever been anything but child, preteen, now). I didn't even cry when I was talking, which was nice for a change. Then they took two test tubes' worth of blood and I was free to go. Shrewd picked me up at 1:45 at the entrance she dropped me off at and we headed out to get sushi at this restaurant in Waltham. It was good sushi, if expensive. One person's lunch should never cost $18, period.

Then I went to work, which was pretty boring except I got two Star Cards, which basically means that they're acknowledging my mad retail skills. I got one because I've worked in every area of the store- Men/Kids/Toys, Women, Accessories, and Housewares. I got the other because of "excellent merchandising technique" which means I put the stuff on the shelves in pretty arrangements. I was quite proud. Most likely too much so.

Anyway... One thing I noticed at the interview was that when she was asking about my childhood... I sounded like such a horrible child. For starters, I was incredibly violent as a kid. I fought with my siblings all the time. And yet, I never fought with anyone besides my brother and sister. I was also a pathological liar, I skipped school by pretending I was sick so I could laze around in bed all day, and I stole books from teachers. Never anything else, just books. When I was eleven Mummy noticed that I had books from teachers and ordered me to gather them all up, so we could return them to the school at least, if not to the individuals to whom they belonged. I did, and put them all in a box- or rather several boxes, there were like 150 to 200 of them.

Honestly, I think I had hit six of the seven deadly sins before puberty. Wrath, certainly, with the fighting; greed with the theft; sloth with the staying home from school; gluttony- I never got happy meals because I always could eat the adult sized version, this is probably related to my current weight issues; envy of like, everyone, mostly my sister's intelligence; and pride in things that I probably shouldn't have been proud of, like my "singing ability" which I thought was fabulous despite the fact that I inherited my grandmother's sense of pitch- and she can't manage Happy Birthday.

For the slow students, the missing sin is Lust. Shrewd says this is good, since it means I'm not Freudian. I've covered that since puberty, though, and as an adult I'm pretty sure I only indulge in that and envy with enough regularity to go to hell for it. I'll probably go to hell for other reasons, though, like not being Christian...