Oh, I Remember Your Paper



Thank god.

As it wasn’t in the heap of papers on her desk.

Nor, from what I can tell, any where co-mingled with my fellow cohorts or classmates.

I didn’t mind to tell you the truth.

I was just relieved to hear that my professor remembered my paper.

I had an abject moment of horror thinking that perhaps all that work I did right up before leaving for Paris was at a loss, that she never got the paper, that I would, in effect, have to do it again.

Which was just pure silliness.

If she hadn’t have gotten the paper I would have just pulled up the e-mail on my phone and sent it to her right in front of her.


She did get the paper.



She really liked it.

“Oh, I remember that paper, I gave it a strong A, if not an A+”

Damn Gina.


That was just such awesome news to hear and really nice too, considering that I got an A-on my first paper.

An A- and a strong A, if not an A+ in addition to the amount of interaction I have with the professor feels like an A for the course.

Of course.

I still need to make it through Psychodynamics II.

But it feels like a really positive way to start the semester and the class.

I felt really engaged with material today.

In fact.

I felt really good in all my classes today, I felt like I showed up, I was of service, to my class, to the discussion, to myself.

I had fantastic self-care, homemade food, lots of tea, quiet time, a moment to make a quick phone call and check back with a lady bug I just started working with, and adequate sleep.

Not the best sleep.

Not the most sleep in the world, but good enough sleep.

Just like the idea, the theory of the good enough mother, wherein I got what I needed to do basic survival.

I don’t think I want to subsist on “good enough” sleep, but it will do for now and I’m getting through the weekend.

And in such a lovely manner, I am more at home, more comfortable, more able to be present.

I am prepared.

I am grateful to be a good student.

I am also grateful for good professors and material that makes me think on my feet, that engages my mind, that I see myself making intuitive leaps and jumps, making connections between subjects, finding gold in the dross.

I am using my brain and motherfucker.

It’s sexy.

I felt really alive today.

The anxiety about what I am doing and why I am doing it has faded.

I’m doing this because I am a natural at it, I can be of great service doing psycho-therapy, or at least I believe so, I am doing this because I’m supposed to.

When things feel like this, when the poetry and the dream come together and there is a moment of recognition, a moment of realizing the integration of literature, my lush love and verdant yearnings for the poetic can be intermeshed with the helping arts, because this is what I am, then I am acknowledging at my basic most base level of being.

I am an artist.

And this is my art.

The art of empathetic listening.

The art of being there with the person.

The art and nuances of love of creating a holding space for that love, the letting go of my misconceptions about the value of my experiences and what it means to be a poet or a writer or an artist.

The co-mingling of dreams and words and love.


I get to do this?

I get to navigate this ocean of emotion and feeling and sail the high seas of dream work and intersectionality and explore the liminal space between.

The space where there is God.

I get to do this?

Rock the fuck on.


I acknowledge.

I am good at it.

I am going to get really good at it.

Most important, though, is not the ego massage, but the message, the medium, that is what I am, I am just a medium for the light and the love, a mirror reflecting back to you the love of God.


I doubt.

Very, very, very much.

That I will begin my modality dancing around in my office high on some sort of love light and E.T. phone home mentality about universal love and Godliness.

That’s just not my schtick.


I am sensitive and I am insightful and I have developed a strong intuition that I am relying on more and more.

In my life, in my studies, in my person.

That open connection to my God, to my higher power, of my (mis)understanding.

Do not ask me to explicate what it is I believe, suffice to say it is a holding space that I can rest in, a place of being carried, a warm place, soft, held, loved, lit, a glowing internal compass of love.

I cannot do it justice and my capacity for words and language will never touch that inexplicable “lightness of being,” only that there is a deep knowing, a charge, a reflection in the mirror of my soul that I cannot see, but I can navigate towards, always, my face towards the bright light of that sun.

I am a honing device.

A machination for love.

I am the vessel.

I am full of (shit) love.

But you know.

I have to have some balance here, some recognition of the hard work that it has taken to get here and also some fun, some acknowledgement, some small sign that I am on the right track, doing the right thing, being as helpful as I can be.

I guess an A+ on a paper is a good indicator!

“My only concern is,” my professor said, looking at me with bright eyes that lanced out beyond the smudgy murky fingerprints smeared over the lenses of her glasses, “is the application of this in a clinical manner, that you don’t forget these things.”

And she listed them off, the things to be aware of, the pitfalls of applying the theory, what had to be looked for to be of service to the client.

It was not my paper she was concerned with, I got an A+ on that, it was for my further work, for what she aptly identified for me without meaning to, my clinical work.

She wanted to warn me about proper use of the theory in clinical work, for what she assumed I will be pursuing.

That felt like high flattery.

My professor sees something, she mirrored me, and I saw myself there, despite those dirty spectacles, bright and shining, a beacon of art and learning.

This is what graduate school should feel like.

Of course I’m just high on the interaction.

It’s good to be validated, to be seen.


I’m not going to down play it too much.

Because it feels really god damn good.

I just got my second A+ of my graduate school career.

And I’m still in my first year!

Thank you very much.


PS. One of my fellow students found my paper in with hers.  The A+ has been confirmed and is now leaving the building.


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