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Got a call at 2 pm today (just before I was about to head out to my DBT session) from a complete stranger who'd found my name via the net as Winnipeg's "PR Witch" and wanted me to minister at a Pagan friend's funeral this coming Saturday. Being a complete masochist, I accepted the challenge.
This will be the first funeral I've ever officiated as a Priestess. *sweatdrop* Fortunately I've got a pretty good grip on exactly what I'm going to do and have run it by the family, who approves of my plans. I'll be meeting with them on Friday afternoon to go over the final script for the service -- along with Robin, who has kindly agreed to be my assistant for the event. Her job will consist of lighting candles on the altar at the appropriate times, carrying some of my stuff, and generally acting as moral support for me in a room full of very sorrowful strangers. THANK YOU, Robin, for agreeing to help out at such short notice!
Hopefully Holly will be able to loan me her lovely grey robe with two free-flowing front panels, which would be perfect for this occasion. Otherwise I'll have to go emergency robe/dress hunting on Friday afternoon, thus running myself to an even bigger frazzle.
Which brings us to... Hardy Boys. As previously mentioned, Daniel turned in the last 6 pages just in time to run me right up against the Full Moon ritual last night (which went extremely well, given that we only had four people total in attendance). And now Jim wants the entire book -- including 25 or so pages of corrections because Daniel couldn't be arsed to draw the figures properly in the first place -- finished this week. I'm going to see how much work I can get done tonight and tomorrow during the day, and figure out from there whether Jim is going to get a "sorry, no can do" letter or not.
Yesterday afternoon's appointment with Dr. Enn (and an attending resident) at the Health Sciences Centre was nerve-wracking, a two hour dig into every aspect of my depression and my personality. At the end of it they put me back in the waiting room, somewhat shaken, while they conferred, then called me back about 15 minutes later to share their diagnosis: Borderline Personality Disorder, chronic atypical depression, and yep, treatment-resistant as all get-out. Dr. Enn is going to recommend rejigging my medication load in a few different ways to try to get it under control; he says there IS hope, since he's seen people who've suffered for decades find that magic combinatio and stabilize in the long term, which I was beginning to despair of ever finding. Electroshock therapy is a possibility, but it's a fair ways down the list of options right now.
Bah. Off to paint Hardy Boys and consider exactly what words I'll be using in Saturday's service. I love having a brain that can multitask visual and verbal problems simultaneously.
This will be the first funeral I've ever officiated as a Priestess. *sweatdrop* Fortunately I've got a pretty good grip on exactly what I'm going to do and have run it by the family, who approves of my plans. I'll be meeting with them on Friday afternoon to go over the final script for the service -- along with Robin, who has kindly agreed to be my assistant for the event. Her job will consist of lighting candles on the altar at the appropriate times, carrying some of my stuff, and generally acting as moral support for me in a room full of very sorrowful strangers. THANK YOU, Robin, for agreeing to help out at such short notice!
Hopefully Holly will be able to loan me her lovely grey robe with two free-flowing front panels, which would be perfect for this occasion. Otherwise I'll have to go emergency robe/dress hunting on Friday afternoon, thus running myself to an even bigger frazzle.
Which brings us to... Hardy Boys. As previously mentioned, Daniel turned in the last 6 pages just in time to run me right up against the Full Moon ritual last night (which went extremely well, given that we only had four people total in attendance). And now Jim wants the entire book -- including 25 or so pages of corrections because Daniel couldn't be arsed to draw the figures properly in the first place -- finished this week. I'm going to see how much work I can get done tonight and tomorrow during the day, and figure out from there whether Jim is going to get a "sorry, no can do" letter or not.
Yesterday afternoon's appointment with Dr. Enn (and an attending resident) at the Health Sciences Centre was nerve-wracking, a two hour dig into every aspect of my depression and my personality. At the end of it they put me back in the waiting room, somewhat shaken, while they conferred, then called me back about 15 minutes later to share their diagnosis: Borderline Personality Disorder, chronic atypical depression, and yep, treatment-resistant as all get-out. Dr. Enn is going to recommend rejigging my medication load in a few different ways to try to get it under control; he says there IS hope, since he's seen people who've suffered for decades find that magic combinatio and stabilize in the long term, which I was beginning to despair of ever finding. Electroshock therapy is a possibility, but it's a fair ways down the list of options right now.
Bah. Off to paint Hardy Boys and consider exactly what words I'll be using in Saturday's service. I love having a brain that can multitask visual and verbal problems simultaneously.
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