I Lack Maturity

Many years back, I wrote a blog post in which I detailed the grossest things I’ve done in my life (up to that point, at least. I’m sure I’ve outdone myself since then). While I figured the post would be read by my usual audience of ten, it has proven to be the most widely-read of anything I’ve ever written, with several thousand views. Yikes.

This post will be of a similar vein, in that it’s confession-based, but rather than relaying a lifetime of disgusting acts, it will focus on my struggle to access the maturity one expects from an adult – the very same lack of maturity that leads me to pull over, crying with laughter, to capture a sign like this:

Dear Dirty Church: That is none of your business.

…or this:

😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆

Chronic maturity-deficiency has had an impact on my professional life, as well. I would detail all of the inappropriate comments I’ve made as a counselor over the past 20 years, but I think that would take the rest of my life. Instead, I’ll stick to one particularly telling story.

This happened about ten years ago when I was living in Oregon and worked as an advocate for students at a workforce development program. A new student saw the Oakland Raiders sticker on my car and decided it would be a good idea to come to my office to tell me: “The Raiders suck! Go, Ravens!”

[Side note: Because I don’t live at the bottom of a well, I realize the Raiders suck. I’ve known this for a long time. When people say, “Boo, Raiders!” it just seems redundant. Yeah, no shit. Boo, Raiders. They’re awful. But they’ve been my team since the 1900s and their sticker’s on my car, so there it is. Until I get a new car, they’re my team, and seeing as I have no money, that’s gonna be a while.]

Hence, an NFL-based rivalry began between that student and me. And here’s the story of the day it ended.

Every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, the staff at this program would gather in closed offices for case management meetings. Unless they had to be present at a specific meeting, students knew not to disturb staff during these times, because really important things were being discussed, like (if students were present) long-term life goals and short-term action steps, or (if students were not present) staff members’ drunken escapades, funny pet stories, and recipe exchanges.

On this particular Tuesday or Thursday, the Raven fan had been acting like a little shit all day, likely because the Ravens had won and Raiders had lost the previous weekend. (What a surprise.) And because I found myself with about 8 minutes of free time before case management began, I decided to pay him back for being a self-righteous butthead.

I don’t know anything about photo editing software, but I do know about Google Images, copy machines, scissors, and tape, so I did a search for “dead raven,” found a photo of a raven smooshed in the middle of a road, and printed it out. I then printed an image of the Raiders’ shield, cut it out, cut a slice through the raven’s back, stuck the shield through the slice, and taped it into place. Finally, I made two copies of my beautiful, finished image: a Raider shield murdering a raven.

I took one of the copies, folded it into quarters, and handed it to the Raven fan’s English teacher. I asked her to give it to him when silent reading commenced, knowing that I would be closed in my office at that time.

About five minutes into my first case management meeting, the Raven fan burst into the office, brandishing my brilliant piece of art. “This is so messed up!” he yelled.

“We’re in case management,” I informed him as my colleagues’ eyes grew large with confusion and concern. “You need to leave.” Tearing the page in two, he shot me a furious glare and wheeled around, but before he could cross the threshold, I added, “Oh, I did want you to see one thing.” I pointed at the wall behind my desk, where I’d tacked up the second copy. “Now you can stare straight at this every time we meet!”

The Raven fan spluttered in the open doorway for a moment, then cried, “I can’t believe you’re my therapist!” before he shot out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Winning, folks. Winning.

The moral of the story? The worse your team is, the more adeptly you should hone your low-tech photo editing skills.

Also, always make copies of your work.

Lost My Mojo, Yo

I haven’t been writing. The act of typing those words made me feel a bit sick, but I guess self-reflection is important, even (or perhaps particularly) when it induces nausea.

Writers are supposed to write, ideally every day. I haven’t done that for weeks. My discipline has been derailed. It’s not for a lack of projects or ideas. I’m awash in those, yet I haven’t opened an in-progress manuscript since…okay, I just checked. June 3rd. 🙄 Ugh.

When I ask myself why this is happening, plenty of excuses stand at the ready. The world is a mess, so I can’t focus. My job involves too much computer time, so when I’m off the clock, I don’t want to stare at a screen. Doubts about why I write at all tug at my gut, poking my insecurities. What’s the point? It’s a waste of time. Find something useful to do.

Of course, it’s pretty shitty to be stuck in this place. I’m disappointed in myself. I fear that I’ve fallen too far off course to self-correct. I consider my unfinished work, cringing at the thought that it will remain that way.

Sometimes, when I’m in a rut like this, I engage in a mental exercise I call Be Your Own Client. If I were counseling myself right now, I imagine I’d say: “Accept the slump. It’s okay. It’s not permanent. If the inspiration to write isn’t there, do other things to support your writer self. Read. Go outside, explore, make discoveries. Spend time with loved ones. At some point, you’ll write again. It’s inevitable. The need to write is at your core. That hasn’t changed, and it won’t. So give yourself a break.”

Okay, that actually helped. I suppose a longtime counseling career has its benefits.