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epitome of incomprehensibility
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I wrote to someone I know from choir about counseling. I'll call her LC.
We're not close friends, not a lot in common, but friendly - the right sort of vibe for this thing, I think.
She's been teaching at a centre for people with intellectual disabilities, but right now worked only on a substitute basis. She told me this on Monday, the first day of choir, during break.
I sympathized but didn't think I could do anything. But I kept thinking (while I was supposed to be focused on singing). I thought my job looked good compared to the strain of being on call and not even getting much work. I thought how the mental health and disability accommodation sectors are often underfunded, and how that might lead to LC being partly laid off even though she was good at what she did.
Then I thought that my job wasn't thatgood after all - or at least thought about how N. had been condescending and mean at times (see bad_boss_day). I thought about how I needed to be more organized, not only at work, but also outside of work so I could do more job applications (see CV) and creative writing. I thought how the counselor CK from the Office of Students with Disabilities had helped me in getting things done on my Master's project, even if it was only "Just read your email and see if your supervisor sent you anything - don't avoid it" and lent me her iPad to check the said email.
(Props to her - eternal gratitude - kudos, credit, crudites and dip. She was more help than my profs. I still remember her full name, and I'm not a person who remembers names all the time.)
Then, I thought that I might ask LC from choir if she could do something like this: counseling to help with organizational skills. With me. Once or twice a week.
It seemed unlikely. Probably she'll say she can't do it, I thought. Maybe she's only specialized in teaching people with Down's Syndrome.
Choir finished and people were putting chairs away. I glanced at her as I picked up my bag. She didn't look at me and I was afraid to speak. Once I'd gotten my coat, I saw she was still there, waiting for another person's ride, and I got up enough courage to ask.
She said yes; she said she has experience in this area; she said she charges about 2.5 times less than the psychologist-counselor I know charges. It was more than I'd hoped for. (Grateful, I also told her she wasn't charging enough and I could pay her more. That's how I negotiate, apparently. The Art of the Deal. Elect me.)
Of course, after she'd gave me her email address and I'd gone home, I was scared of emailing her. That night would seem too soon, too desperate. The next day, Tuesday Sept. 5, was the start of work. Too workful. Wednesday - well, nobody's happy on Wednesdays. Bad luck. Thursday seemed better, but I slept in too long in the morning; in the evening I was too anxious. Friday, today, I wrote a draft in the morning, and finished and sent it tonight.
What did I write? Nothing too literary. A hello, and "Sorry for the delay in getting back to you. I'm trying to figure out my schedule. As we spoke, I'm looking for a counseling/consulting session every 1 or 2 weeks in order to help me deal with ADHD and getting organized esp. outside of work. This will hopefully help me get better at things like dealing with anxiety, applying to new jobs, and submitting my creative writing work." Then my availability and closing greetings. Exciting things.
I'm not super happy with my wording. It might seem like I'm putting the responsibility on her shoulders. Also, I sound stilted. I sound like I did in concept_of_lunch today - robotic, essayish. But I hope the think works out. And I need to remember that life is interesting and sometimes delightful, that both good things and terrible things happen regardless of my level of organization.
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