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Jul. 11th, 2006 12:23 pmI almost started a fight with my parents this morning not even because I feel the urge to disagree with them but because they are semantically inaccurate. This is the level to which pedantry rises when the natural academic is removed from his native habitat. We also argued about the state of monkey souls over the weekend in re PotC2, but that's another story for another time.
As a condition of continuing to live in this house and of receiving funding for the move to Chicago (to the tune of about $3k, so I'm still not sure if it's worth it) I am required to attend therapy because I am "defiant" and "a nonconformist". While I own to the latter, the former baffles me a little. I end up feeling rather like a character in one of those moral hygiene educational films that MST3K used to show, the kind where you can spot the bad guy because he listens to jazz and wears a beret.
Anyway, after I laid out the conditions in an orderly fashion (I will attend therapy plus perform several other minor hoop-jumps, they will help fund the move to Chicago, and at Christmas we'll reasses) Mum sent a reply email agreeing fairly affably to the contract but adding, as an appendix, that she hoped I didn't think therapy was some kind of punishment for doing something wrong, because it wasn't.
Now, correct me if I miss a link in the chain of logic, but I have been a defiant nonconformist, which is wrong, and to force me to be a compliant conformist I am being coerced financially into spending an hour a week in a small room with someone I don't know, performing a task I dislike.
I mean, that's basically the definition of punishment for doing something wrong, yes? It's not much punishment since I've been in and out of therapy from the age of eleven onwards and am fully aware of how to handle therapists, but still. Let's use our vocabulary properly!
But it's not worth fighting over, and besides it doesn't cost anything through Mum's work, so whatever. Relatedly, while trying to find out which therapist in her program is closest (I have to drive myself, as well, so I may die before reaching my first therapy session, which is some comfort) I have located a Mystery Spot on Google Maps. From about four-bars of magnification it appears to be a small park labeled "Alligator Hole" but when I zoom in the park's name changes and the "Alligator Hole" caption disappears. As with Cheesequake State Park, I am deeply interested in how any park comes to be labeled Alligator Hole, and feel as if I must investigate this further.
As a condition of continuing to live in this house and of receiving funding for the move to Chicago (to the tune of about $3k, so I'm still not sure if it's worth it) I am required to attend therapy because I am "defiant" and "a nonconformist". While I own to the latter, the former baffles me a little. I end up feeling rather like a character in one of those moral hygiene educational films that MST3K used to show, the kind where you can spot the bad guy because he listens to jazz and wears a beret.
Anyway, after I laid out the conditions in an orderly fashion (I will attend therapy plus perform several other minor hoop-jumps, they will help fund the move to Chicago, and at Christmas we'll reasses) Mum sent a reply email agreeing fairly affably to the contract but adding, as an appendix, that she hoped I didn't think therapy was some kind of punishment for doing something wrong, because it wasn't.
Now, correct me if I miss a link in the chain of logic, but I have been a defiant nonconformist, which is wrong, and to force me to be a compliant conformist I am being coerced financially into spending an hour a week in a small room with someone I don't know, performing a task I dislike.
I mean, that's basically the definition of punishment for doing something wrong, yes? It's not much punishment since I've been in and out of therapy from the age of eleven onwards and am fully aware of how to handle therapists, but still. Let's use our vocabulary properly!
But it's not worth fighting over, and besides it doesn't cost anything through Mum's work, so whatever. Relatedly, while trying to find out which therapist in her program is closest (I have to drive myself, as well, so I may die before reaching my first therapy session, which is some comfort) I have located a Mystery Spot on Google Maps. From about four-bars of magnification it appears to be a small park labeled "Alligator Hole" but when I zoom in the park's name changes and the "Alligator Hole" caption disappears. As with Cheesequake State Park, I am deeply interested in how any park comes to be labeled Alligator Hole, and feel as if I must investigate this further.
