Dislocations

I have had a crazy busy week -- client stuff coming out of the wordwork, some of it very generative, some of it a little "help me, it's MESSY here." Panicking about getting back into my schoolwork with an impossible deadline breathing down my neck. And I'm at F's, stickhandling client stuff, trying to scrape together some holiday shopping, staying reasonably fit in this crazily warm weather.

Found myself yesterday sitting on the floor of the hallway outside the library, blundstones kicked off, talking on my cell to a client-who-needed-soothing for an hour and a half while people threw me amused glances. Hard to keep impersonating a med student in the library when I'm actually doing client work. I told my colleague D yesterday that sometimes it feels like I'm running my life from the back of a van down by the river.

Dislocations all around me, though, some of which make me cock an eyebrow. The entire institution whose library I use to read/work when I'm here is an entirely NO SMOKING zone. This results in the crazy image of people in scrubs, little head coverings and all, standing across the street, smoking and talking on their cells, at the entrance to... a huge cemetary. (A cemetary across the the hospital? Ironic enough to start with). I really wanted to take a picture of the smokers, but thought that would be a little too voyeuristic, tracking them beaten back as far as they can be.