joe forwarded me an article about the aquarium explosion in berlin this morning. we stayed at the hotel it flooded back in 2019, and had ill-advised cocktails under that dire cylinder, just before getting on a ship. do you think 1,500 fish in the road look the way you'd imagine they would? it's something you'd never forget. i wouldn't compare anything that happened to me to that much death in a very public way but in my heart i think of coming here to talk about what the last while has felt like and i think the fish are in the road, the fish are in the road. i can't imagine not coming here, but i don't always know what i'm ready to haul into the air.
we got really terrible news about steve this week; after some fairly extensive diagnostics, our vet thinks he has some kind of cancer in his large intestine and a rectal mass, probably a tumor, that she couldn't remove without a lot of risk and difficulty. he's lost a lot of weight and is essentially incontinent, but is also essentially himself, or at least what i understand his self to be, and so we did not take his doctor up on her offer to have the euthanasia discussion with us on tuesday. trying to decide how to show up most responsibly for a little nonverbal animal i both love dearly and don't want to anthropomorphize is my personal hell, as you probably know, and it is a hard time. i gave steve my toothbrush the other night, just let him purr and chew at the minty-ass bristles and god knows what fluoride does to a senior cat with likely terminal cancer. i turn my sweatshirts inside out before i put them in the hamper where he sleeps, both because i know they're going to end up smeared with blood and shit and because he loves the smell of deodorant, he loves all human smells, he's such a little roommate.
have i talked about how not drinking feels like not having any skin? i'm glad i stopped, it was indeed subtly and occasionally not so subtly desaturating my life, but oh how the fish are in the road. i've done so much work this year and am fiercely proud of what i'm finally getting to tackle in my professional writing, but i don't think i had any real idea of just how raw i would feel. or any idea at all, really. i wouldn't have told you i was partially numb, quite the opposite. i'm also fiercely proud of finally talking to a proper therapist, and finally talking to another proper therapist with joe; poor old doctor omnibus is a psychiatrist who wouldn't be expected to field my feelings even if he wasn't an old boot. though it is nice to be able to multitask, i miss being able to sleep.
Showing posts with label omnibus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label omnibus. Show all posts
03.31.20
in the hours in which i don't sleep i have started thinking about doctor omnibus, the octogenarian navy vet who was my psychiatrist for a decade or so. he was fond of saying that none of the things that mattered to me would feel important when i was eighty; he also said "tell me how you want to feel and we will make you feel that way" rather a lot, because he was a psychiatrist and not a psychologist or a psychotherapist. from where i sit, psychiatrists are master aeronauts: theirs is to stoke lanterns and fling ballast rather than to sit through gastrointestinal soliloquies about my social anxiety. we parted ways a year ago, but that is a story for another time.
he told me when i first met him that he had parented his daughter...eccentrically, and that they were no longer in touch. he told me a few sessions later that his only vacation spot is a dead forest on the oregon coast, and the fact that his happy place is an offshore stick garden of ghost trees has always been one of my favorite things about him.
so: doc om is estranged from his progeny and while it's silly to imagine that one knows anything about one's former caregivers' lives, i feel pretty sure that he's alone somewhere. does he have an apartment near his apartment-office on central park south? is he now on an air mattress next to the DSMs and pirated comics he warned me again and again that i was never to touch?
radical empathy's a helluva drug. i'm still worrying about my janky homemade mask's potential repercussions for the elderly folks receiving groceries from me across the street, but i'm also re-gnawing local calamity hangnails: who's checking on joan didion? this time, the first time: who's checking on doctor omnibus?
in the best of all possible worlds, he realized that he needed to get the fuck out of new york city a month ago. he made a terrible phone call and is now desperate to escape grandchildren he didn't know he had. he's ditched his old-man moccasins and the tide is pushing sand up under his yellow nails. i would check on you at your office number, doctor omnibus, and i know that you would think less of me if i reached you.
he told me when i first met him that he had parented his daughter...eccentrically, and that they were no longer in touch. he told me a few sessions later that his only vacation spot is a dead forest on the oregon coast, and the fact that his happy place is an offshore stick garden of ghost trees has always been one of my favorite things about him.
so: doc om is estranged from his progeny and while it's silly to imagine that one knows anything about one's former caregivers' lives, i feel pretty sure that he's alone somewhere. does he have an apartment near his apartment-office on central park south? is he now on an air mattress next to the DSMs and pirated comics he warned me again and again that i was never to touch?
radical empathy's a helluva drug. i'm still worrying about my janky homemade mask's potential repercussions for the elderly folks receiving groceries from me across the street, but i'm also re-gnawing local calamity hangnails: who's checking on joan didion? this time, the first time: who's checking on doctor omnibus?
in the best of all possible worlds, he realized that he needed to get the fuck out of new york city a month ago. he made a terrible phone call and is now desperate to escape grandchildren he didn't know he had. he's ditched his old-man moccasins and the tide is pushing sand up under his yellow nails. i would check on you at your office number, doctor omnibus, and i know that you would think less of me if i reached you.
08.03.17
conversations with doctor omnibus {omnibus without borders}
there are at least three DO NOT TOUCH signs on the bookshelf in doc omnibus's shared reception area. the half-empty shelves against the back wall of his office are strewn with off-brand comic books about spiders and tsunami evacuation pamphlets. as of next year i'll have been seeing him for a decade.
doc: you'd have been a good lawyer.
LMO: [laughing] my dad used to say that.
doc: this is what i'm talking about!
doc: you're the parent.
doc: do you hate your kids sometimes, sure, but you don't tell them that.
doc: you decide what comes out of your mouth.
doc: you're too permeable.
doc: you need to decide what you want to do and do it regardless of how you feel about it.
doc: you're finally old enough.
doc: [rifling through papers] i can't find anything, this is your fault.
LMO: i know, i figured.
there are at least three DO NOT TOUCH signs on the bookshelf in doc omnibus's shared reception area. the half-empty shelves against the back wall of his office are strewn with off-brand comic books about spiders and tsunami evacuation pamphlets. as of next year i'll have been seeing him for a decade.
doc: you'd have been a good lawyer.
LMO: [laughing] my dad used to say that.
doc: this is what i'm talking about!
doc: you're the parent.
doc: do you hate your kids sometimes, sure, but you don't tell them that.
doc: you decide what comes out of your mouth.
doc: you're too permeable.
doc: you need to decide what you want to do and do it regardless of how you feel about it.
doc: you're finally old enough.
doc: [rifling through papers] i can't find anything, this is your fault.
LMO: i know, i figured.
11.01.16
conversations with doctor omnibus {heroes}
doc: so what's new.
LMO: not much. i'm writing a book! i mean, hopefully.
doc: [...]
LMO: i'm going to germany. to berlin, next week. i'm sure you've been there; any advice?
doc: don't go.
doc: so what's new.
LMO: not much. i'm writing a book! i mean, hopefully.
doc: [...]
LMO: i'm going to germany. to berlin, next week. i'm sure you've been there; any advice?
doc: don't go.
05.27.16
conversations with doctor omnibus {love is like a bottle of gin}
in googling around for my psychiatrist's number—i see him twice a year and seem unable to keep his contact information handy—i found notes from other patients on his germophobia, stances on smoking and falling in love (both childish), curtness, and possible sociopathy. they endeared him to me, to be honest; we've been scowling at each other for something like eight years now. there's history.
LMO: remember the time you told me to volunteer at a hospital? i actually did—i mean, i volunteer at a hospital. a bird hospital.
doc: birds? birds are fantastic!
LMO: i know!
doc: people worry too much about their moods. it's like alcohol, you figure out the correct dose.
doc: moods are like skin. most people's are not perfect. it's an organ.
doc: moods are like shoes. they don't matter.
LMO: [halfway out the door] are your dogs...related to each other?
doc: i don't know. [pause] i give them all...mafia names. tony and dominic and vinnie. well, vinnie died.
LMO: i'm so sorry. [pause] i had a cat called charles bronson.
doc: there you go!
in googling around for my psychiatrist's number—i see him twice a year and seem unable to keep his contact information handy—i found notes from other patients on his germophobia, stances on smoking and falling in love (both childish), curtness, and possible sociopathy. they endeared him to me, to be honest; we've been scowling at each other for something like eight years now. there's history.
LMO: remember the time you told me to volunteer at a hospital? i actually did—i mean, i volunteer at a hospital. a bird hospital.
doc: birds? birds are fantastic!
LMO: i know!
doc: people worry too much about their moods. it's like alcohol, you figure out the correct dose.
doc: moods are like skin. most people's are not perfect. it's an organ.
doc: moods are like shoes. they don't matter.
LMO: [halfway out the door] are your dogs...related to each other?
doc: i don't know. [pause] i give them all...mafia names. tony and dominic and vinnie. well, vinnie died.
LMO: i'm so sorry. [pause] i had a cat called charles bronson.
doc: there you go!
11.12.15
conversations with doctor omnibus {ghost forest edition}
doc: what's new?
LMO: i'm still freelancing. and i'm going to italy tomorrow.
doc: [halfhearted shrug]
LMO: what's new with you?
doc: at my age? nothing. what would be new with me?
LMO: have you read anything good lately?
doc: i don't read.
LMO: surely you read.
doc: what would i read?
LMO: novels, nonfiction?
doc: isn't what i do here nonfiction?
LMO: you've been to italy, i imagine.
doc: never. i have no interest. look this up: N-E-S-K-O-W-I-N. on your smartphone. look it up now.
LMO: [taps at phone] oregon! that's where your daughter lives, right?
doc: i don't know where my daughter lives.
LMO: it's beautiful, this beach.
doc: it's very hard to get to, and there are no people there. that's where i go. there's a ghost forest, two thousand years old, it's coming out of the ocean now.
doc: what's new?
LMO: i'm still freelancing. and i'm going to italy tomorrow.
doc: [halfhearted shrug]
LMO: what's new with you?
doc: at my age? nothing. what would be new with me?
LMO: have you read anything good lately?
doc: i don't read.
LMO: surely you read.
doc: what would i read?
LMO: novels, nonfiction?
doc: isn't what i do here nonfiction?
LMO: you've been to italy, i imagine.
doc: never. i have no interest. look this up: N-E-S-K-O-W-I-N. on your smartphone. look it up now.
LMO: [taps at phone] oregon! that's where your daughter lives, right?
doc: i don't know where my daughter lives.
LMO: it's beautiful, this beach.
doc: it's very hard to get to, and there are no people there. that's where i go. there's a ghost forest, two thousand years old, it's coming out of the ocean now.
01.14.15
conversations with doctor omnibus* {better living through chemistry edition}
doc: anything new?
LMO: well, i got laid off!
doc: that's a good thing.
LMO: i mean, i think so.
[...]
doc: why wouldn't i be comfortable with xanax?
LMO: i have friends whose doctors are uncomfortable with prescribing it.
doc: are you comfortable with vulgarity?
LMO: sure.
doc: fuck 'em.
*he might be eighty now.
doc: anything new?
LMO: well, i got laid off!
doc: that's a good thing.
LMO: i mean, i think so.
[...]
doc: why wouldn't i be comfortable with xanax?
LMO: i have friends whose doctors are uncomfortable with prescribing it.
doc: are you comfortable with vulgarity?
LMO: sure.
doc: fuck 'em.
*he might be eighty now.
07.18.13
conversations with doctor omnibus* {omnibus on the road}
doc: not that you'll remember this because you won't come in then, but i'll be out the week of august 12th.
LMO: oh, are you going somewhere fun?
doc: the coast of oregon.
LMO: your daughter lives there, yes?
doc: she won't come and visit me because i said something she didn't like.
LMO: what did you say?
doc: i said, 'you were born on third base and think you hit a triple.'
LMO: sometimes daughters need to hear that.
doc: [...]
LMO: she'll get over it.
doc: [laughs merrily] like i care!
*have i ever mentioned that he's seventy? he's seventy.
doc: not that you'll remember this because you won't come in then, but i'll be out the week of august 12th.
LMO: oh, are you going somewhere fun?
doc: the coast of oregon.
LMO: your daughter lives there, yes?
doc: she won't come and visit me because i said something she didn't like.
LMO: what did you say?
doc: i said, 'you were born on third base and think you hit a triple.'
LMO: sometimes daughters need to hear that.
doc: [...]
LMO: she'll get over it.
doc: [laughs merrily] like i care!
*have i ever mentioned that he's seventy? he's seventy.
08.21.12
conversations with dr. omnibus {omnibus syllabus edition}
doc: you need to get away from what's in your head.
LMO: what does that mean?
doc: you need to take action.
LMO: i'm not hamlet.
doc: i don't think i ever had to read that.
doc: you need to get away from what's in your head.
LMO: what does that mean?
doc: you need to take action.
LMO: i'm not hamlet.
doc: i don't think i ever had to read that.
08.26.08: doctor omnibus
like millions of manhattanites and actors playing manhattanites in movies before me, i went to talk to a therapist yesterday. i am not unwell in any sweeping sense of the word: on the contrary, thanks to the combined effects of physical fitness, relationship zen, and not being in my early twenties, i'm happier and more centered than i've been in years. that said, i really do dread meeting new people and being the center of attention, which can be a problem when, you know, one works in the media. i scrolled through my insurance company's list of providers and found someone with an office in midtown and an earnest profile (i think he might actually have characterized himself as "tough but warm," which seemed charming at the time). he was also ex-military, which...i should have given a bit more thought.
DOC: when my daughter was little, i sent her to one summer camp for a week. then i pulled her out and moved her to another one. after a week there i pulled her out and moved her to another one. know what she learned?
LMO: [horrified silence]
DOC: to adapt!
[...]
DOC: what you need is total immersion. you need to volunteer at the front desk at a hospital.
LMO: i've settled into my misanthropy.
DOC: you're supposed to save that for when you're eighty.
[...]
LMO: i was an ENFP for twenty years. isn't that long enough?
DOC: you could always just try having a couple of kids.
LMO: [horrified silence]
i'm sure it's no picnic to psychoanalyze me, given that by seeking advice i was placing myself in just the sort of problematic situation for which i was seeking advice. that said, this guy really was singular: i felt like i had to be a caricature just to keep up. of course, when i complained to joe that i'd been accused of overthinking, he sniggered quite uncharitably. so much for conjugal solidarity.
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