Filling Out Forms
My solution to when “employment” came around
Before all of you leave, I can explain why it is necessary for my teeth to star in this blog post. Many years ago, when the earth was young and there was a tad more normality, I was startled by the unexpected appearance of one of my roommates while drinking tea. The exact mug from which I am currently drinking now hit one of my bottom teeth with unexpected aggression. I received no sympathy for the chipped tooth I received from the incident. The chip can be found on the right mandibular central incisor. Yes, I Googled that for any dentists who are also here for the stories of a mentally damaged girl. Bow to my dedication.
Now. There are two problems here. The first is that my extra large mug had made a clear attack against me and now that I am recalling the incident, I am looking at it with irritation. It does seem sorry. I may replace it with a larger mug I saw in a shop which sells stationary primarily, amoung other things. Such as crockery. And those little plastic dolls with large heads which are collectibles and cover every major popular franchise. I shall now be doing more Googling. (Surprisingly good music plays in the elevator) Alright, I’m back. I fell into a wormhole and it was really difficult to come out of it I have learnt that they are called POP! dolls and there are many. It is taking immense self-control not to speak about them. As I may or may not have mentioned, the tooth was chipped. It was a slight annoyance, and my tongue did run over it. It was not the type of chip which could simply be ignored, it was a flaw in my precious anatomy which needed to be seen to. Now, you see, even if something requires attention, I have a strange sort of procrastination problem which often leads me into bad situations. What I’m trying to say here is that I left the tooth for 6 years until my mother announced that I had a dentist appointment and I thought “ah how convenient, I shall have a full right mandibular central incisor once more.” And so, why do I speak of the practice of dentistry?
It is the forms. I was filling out the form, and all was going smoothly until we got to the “occupation” side of things. I realised I had no occupation. 28 with no degree and living with my Mother. Cue therapist: and how did that make you feel? Um. Goddamn terrible. My friends are doctors with families and spawnlings. I mean. Children. And I am devoid of male companionship living with my mother with no degree at the age of 28. This, you might absolutely see in a movie, but its sort of at the part where there is that necessary dip after a Golden Age arc. After which they steadily build their lives up and everything ends up okay. Unless it is Joker and the dip actually makes you insane. But the results of which are homicidal, loved by audiences and Oscar-winning for Joaquin. My situation is none. I felt. Shame.
Shame. I had no career, I was still being sent money by my Father who wishes to retire, my younger sister lives with her boyfriend in an actual house. It is double storied, and they have cats. I remember when family luncheons were, actually, quite pain-free. Aunts and Uncles would ask me how medical school was going, and I would be able to speak about it with them. Many were doctors themselves and so we were able to share ideas. I felt pride. I saw a future for myself that I wanted very badly, and even if it hurt sometimes, that was okay. Maybe I would even get a hold of my mental health. Become a specialist. Not leave the country because there are people here who are in greater need than many in a lot of the world. When I became very depressed and began my stays at clinics and hospitals, it would make its way up the family gossip tree, but it was fine right? Depression was an okay word to say, I suppose. As long as she was getting help, she’d be right as rain after a good clinic visit.
Now I am the one they don’t quite talk about anymore unless in whispers. And maybe you’ve felt this too.
And so I had forms to fill out. And a strange idea came to mind. It all started a few weeks prior when I was sent a picture of one of those quotes which we have all been exposed to at some point or another. Those meaningful quotes found positioned in front of the person they are attributed to, who are usually depicted in grayscale or sepia. It is usually Einstein. And quote never fucking belongs to him. WHO COMES UP WITH THIS STUFF? Are they made in the same place as Hallmark cards? The fish climbing trees. The definition of insanity. Why must Einstein’s decomposed body be burdened with a stack of fake quotes? Why must this world be burdened with a fake Einstein? Now, the difference here is that it was sent to me by a person of extreme intelligence who is also one of my best friends. These quotes are documented, and for this I am glad. This quote was sent to me at the height of my Oscar Wilde obsession, and only fed the flame.
This was a serious matter. It was a young Stephen Fry saying the following:
“Oscar Wilde said that if you know what you want to be , then you inevitably become it — that is your punishment, but if you never know, then you can be anything. There is a truth to that. We are not nouns, we are verbs. I am not a thing — an actor, a writer — I am a person who does things — I write, I act — and I never know what I’m going to do next. I think you can be imprisoned if you think of yourself as a noun.” — Stephen Fry
Oh my God. A great mind in a great mind. There was no better quote. Additionally. This. This quote was my ticket out of “occupation”. All I had to do, when it said “occupation” was use this quote. In the current societal climate, no-one could question it. A plan was formed. As my medical aid covered ridiculous things such as physio and acupuncture instead of leaving those sessions for my goddamn mental health, there would be more forms to fill out. Yes, my right shoulder is in pain occasionally and gets stuck in one position every now and then but it’s not like they can fix that aside from the small possibility that they can. You see, it’s that second part which is going to end up with me filling out more forms. And I am prepared. I shall bring many small copies of that quote printed out in my bag (with the sepia Oscar Wilde included) and a mini stapler. When it says “occupation” I will say “see attached document. No secretary of a psychotherapist can confine me in a noun. I shall not be trapped.
I told my friend about my ingenious plan. He found it amusing but then asked why I don’t just put “artist”? I’ve sold paintings and drawings so it is not false. Yes, I suppose I have. But seeing as drawing the smallest and simplest sketch at this moment in time brings me such immense fear that I can barely get by for 30 minutes and blocking a severe panic attack before I dissociate out of my body and all the way to the ISS. No. I do not want to put artist. I do not want to put unemployed despite being unemployed. I did not want to put anything, honestly. So I just put the word “verb”. Because I forgot my stapler. And that quote is actually the thing I would really like to put under “occupation”, even if somehow fulfilled some dream and made something of myself. Even if I had an occupation, I would still probably bring the stapler to the first appointment.
The secretary can deal with the semantics.
Song of the day: Stockholm — Atlas Genius
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