Gosh. All this 'last day' kind of thing.

"This is the last time that I'll get off the PATH at Christopher Street and walk down Christopher to the subway at West Fourth Street on my way to work." That kind of thing.

Today was also the last day for one of our two psychiatric social workers. Never liked her, but I could never quite put my finger on it. Well. Today the source of my misgivings became abundantly clear. We threw her a party. She glanced at the cake, grabbed her gift without opening it, and sort of waved with all five fingers over her shoulder like Liza Minelli in the last scene of 'Cabaret' as she was on her way out the door. All of the psych majors I knew in college were seriously messed up. There is something of the 'physician heal thyself' thing going on in that profession. Or maybe it's the Wounded Healer principle. Whatever. The other psychiatric social worker we had, who left last Spring, was just so off the scale on the Drama meter. Every little thing was a cataclysm. I know people who operate the other way: they find a quarter on the sidewalk and it's like winning the lottery; seeing some Meg Ryan movie is a religious experience. That flavor of overly-dramatic is great to be around. Love that. I always feel as though people like that are living in technicolor and I'm in black-and-white. But anyway.

After La Social Worker bid us a fond farewell ("Alright, gotta run! Bye-B-*SLAM*) on her way out the door, staff bounced back and declared that the cake, in fact, was in honor of my last day. I love staff. They're the best.

Time for me to get back to my Departure Memo. Only 40 more items to cover (I've done 2) and I'll be done. Uhn.

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