Hiatus
Dr. Ding is soon off sunning herself and learning about spirituality and shit in Laguna Beach, CA. I will return on 10/6/07, so y’all have lots of time to get caught up on old posts.
Tell all your friends to write to AskDrDing! All queries are kept as anonymous as possible, which means I won’t publish your name or your email address.
Toodles, my poodles!
P.S. Does it seem like Dr. Ding takes a lot of vacations? Well, it’s true. I don’t want to be 90 years old thinking “Well shit, I can’t believe I forgot to visit Laguna Beach, CA to learn about spirituality and shit back in 2007, right before Halliburton bought out TSA and made it impossible to travel anywhere without your clothes partitioned into exactly 12 quart-sized Ziploc baggies. Damn. Well, maybe someone could just show me some postcards of the Jersey Shore and waft some incense my way. That’s just as good, right?” or “Well hell’s bells, I made a pile of money and never remembered to enjoy it. And now all I’ve got to show for it is this blank photo album because I never went anywhere or did anything but bust my ass at work, which, of course, resulted in a major case of Therapistcus Flatbuttimus. Fuckin’ A.”
Dear Dr. Ding
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Oh Dr. Ding:
I have lost two family members within the last 5 years. One I was close to, she was my older brother’s ex-wife, and I’m taking her death pretty hard because she was like an older sister to me when I was younger. The other was an uncle I didn’t know well at all, but his death is ripping my family apart because no one knew he was sick with cancer or had even heard from him in like 6 months. Every time I talk to my parents they’re just in shock and beating themselves up because no one got a chance to say goodbye. I almost feel like watching their pain is worse than mine about my ex-SIL.
I was “downsized” at work three weeks ago, which is a mixed situation because the pace was crazed. I can’t say I miss the job itself, but it was decent as jobs go. At least I have some freelancing work lined out, but no benefits/401K, so I’m stressing about when my Cobra runs out. On top of all this, I just found out that a guy I dated for a few months about a year ago just got married to someone who looks just like me. I know it’s stupid, but this last one is what’s keeping me awake at night. When I’m not crying about my ex-SIL, I’m obsessing about my ex. I should be looking for a new fulltime gig but I feel like curling up in a ball and crying. Anything instead of this awful feeling. I’ve been eating a lot more starchy foods too, but I think that’s not my biggest problem right now.
I feel lucky that I have good friends. They have been supportive of me through these last few weeks, which have been hard. I don’t know what to do next. How do I get the grieving over with? I read your posts on grieving and I know it’s what I need to do, but aaagh. I’m so tired. Exhausted. Are there shortcuts? (I think I know your answer)
My friends all say I need to give myself time to bounce back from my losses and that the fact that my ex married my lookalike is mere coincidence. I don’t know. I think that it’s more like synchronicity, but I’m not familiar with that concept except that it says coincidences have meaning to them.
I feel I’m on the verge of something. A breakdown? (Joke!) A major career change? It’s just a feeling I have. I’m afraid to make decisions right now.
Ideas?
Lost in Atlantis
Dear Lost:
Christ on a cracker, woman! You’ve got a lot going on. Let’s make a list, and proceed accordingly.
- You’re actively mourning the loss of your ex-SIL.
- You’re having to contend with your parents’ mourning, which in effect is vicarious grief.
- You just lost your job.
- You just lost your benefits.
- You just realized your ex has moved on, which is another loss.
- You’re exhausted.
- You have this nagging feeling that there is some kind of meaning to your experiences that you’re not seeing.
Dang. No wonder you’re asking Dr. Ding if there are any shortcuts to grieving! No wonder you feel like lying on the sofa, watching daytime TV, obssessing about your ex, and eating Spaghtetti-Os straight out of the can. Grief does strange things to the physical body, and exhaustion is a common experience for people like yourself who are experiencing multiple stressors in rapid succession.
Your friends are pretty wise. Of course your life just hurts right now, and if you were hurting over just one or two things, you’d probably be “bouncing back” and not writing me. But see #s 1 through 7 above. You deserve to honor your own feelings for a moment, before you rush out and get another rat race-type job.
Take stock. Can your full-bore job search wait for a few weeks? Days? A month? I’m assuming you’re still afloat financially and don’t have kids to take care of, or serious health problems to consider. Give yourself a time limit, but be sure you give yourself time. If you allow yourself to be emotionally honest in the here-and-now, you will save yourself a lot of time and agony later on when the same old issues resurface. Put more poetically, embrace your demons so they don’t bite you in the ass. Because they always will.
Your grief is your grief, your parents’ grief is their grief. As hard as it is, try not to get too wrapped up in their feelings right now. Offer support, make sympathetic noises, but if you find yourself getting really wrapped up in their pain to the point where you’re not sure if it’s theirs or yours, ease back. Don’t pick up the phone or agree to visits quite so readily. They’re hurting too, but you don’t have to do their hurting for them or try to take care of their feelings.
Did you have a chance to attend your ex-SIL’s funeral or memorial? Have you visited her grave site or left flowers? Made a donation in her honor to a worthy cause? Lit a candle or said a prayer for her? It may sound cheesy, but these rituals evolved for a reason; they connect us to something greater than ourselves, and ultimately remind us that love is what is eternal. Love is stronger than death, but this is notoriously tough to remember. Death rituals help us make sense of the losses that feel overwhelming and engulfing, and they allow us to move through difficult emotions more fluidly by providing literal markers along the way. If you haven’t already, try commemorating your ex-SIL’s life in a way you feel would honor her.
Although your job loss is a problem in some ways, you’re very wise to recognize that it’s also a possible blessing in disguise. In every crisis lies an opportunity for change and betterment.
God, I sound like a fortune cookie. But believe.
Ignoring my predilection for Chinese food for the moment, it sounds like your last job, and possibly the ones preceding it, was a clusterfuck. It’s a technical term. Trust. Unless you’re working in a literal life-and-death environment or, say, launching a rocket into space, there’s no reason to be exhausted by one’s job. Of course, even in the most satisfying of jobs there are going to be days that suck air at 400psi and leave you feeling like a wet sock, but if you’re drained and exhausted more days than not, for more than a couple of months running….something’s gotta give. I suspect you could use a change of venue, or perhaps you need to change your approach to work altogether.
Sometimes people don’t pay attention to those nagging thoughts like “Hmmmm….why are all the plants dead in this office? Why isn’t anyone shaking my hand? Is that guy in the tight pants for real? Did that HR lady just roll their eyes at my application?” When you do venture out on interviews, make sure you pay attention. Get some books, do a little research on the process of career change. If money’s tight, go to the liberry. Sometimes the job itself isn’t quite as important as the ease with which you can communicate with and relate to your work peeps. After all, you’re going to be spending 40 hours a week with these folks, so it’s important you’re not filing widgets with a bunch of folks you deem psychic vampires and malcontents.
The boyfriend thing; this one’s the dealbreaker, right? Just when you thought you’d gotten over the demise of that relationship, fucking whammo Batman, he turns around and marries your body double. Your instincts are good – that’s really unoriginal of him. But not unheard of. And it most likely has something to do with you and your Doppelganger resembling his mother than it does you having some sort of unredeemable personality flaw that renders you unfit for pair-bonding, which Dr. Ding suspects is your concern here.
Lie around on your couch. Watch crappy re-runs and ESPN kickboxing semifinals. Eat a couple pizzas, get it out of your system. But also make sure you start getting some fresh air and sunshine, a little exercise, and keep up with your friends. Gradually start adding some routine back into your life, which has been thrown into chaos by your losses. But don’t be in a hurry.
The Irish have a saying: those who take time to mourn, take time to heal. There can be no healing, in other words, without the grief. It’s a necessary thing, and not to be feared. If you embrace it, you can dance with it, but if you run away it will chase and eventually catch up with you. Let the feelings come, don’t resist. Breathe through them; oftentimes feelings of grief, if not expressed, seem to cause breath-holding, feelings of chest constriction, and in some cases, can even interfere with healthy lung function.
Last, you mentioned synchronicity. No easy answers there either, sista! I’m fresh out. The kicker with the whole acausal connecting principle thing is that the meaning of the synchronistic experience has to be determined by the individual. In other words, I don’t know why you’re having this nagging feeling that a sea change is brewing in your life, or what it portends for your future. But you do. Do you have a philosophy of life, a kind of spiritual belief system perhaps? If you do, use it. If you don’t, you might consider getting one.
I sometimes joke that at least 50% of my job duties take the form of permission-slip writing. It’s hard to give oneself permission to take a risk or make a change, but it’s a helluva lot easier than waiting around for someone else to tell us that we’re headed in the right direction. And fuckall quicker. You certainly don’t need my permission to take up aquaerobics instructor training or to apply to business school. But I’ll give it to you anyway.
So, Lost, you’re not as directionally-impaired as your name would imply. You need to slow down, let those feelings come through, no matter how icky and sad, and take care of yourself first. This means taking some time to give your life and your goals therein some serious thought. Nothing provokes clarity regarding one’s purpose in life quite like the loss of a loved one. Being gobsmacked by mortality is a sobering but potentially empowering experience. Dr. Ding is glad you’re looking at your situation not just as a series of negatives, that you’re insightful and introspective enough to ask some tough questions.
Image: click here for source credit.
O Zephyr Winds……

Dr. Ding is officially thrilled.
Her childhood idol, the mighty mighty Isis, is now on DVD.
Hells yeah!
An early comic book nerdette, I adored those mid-1970s TV superhero shows like Shazam, Wonder Woman and Oh Mighty Isis! It was Isis, however who inspired my 3rd grade Halloween costume, which basically was a white tennis dress hand-made by my mother, which I wore paired with vinyl platform go-go boots and some serious attitude. Added to black eyeliner and gold braid festoonery, there I was, The Goddess Incarnate.
They just don’t make television superheroines like they used to. Where are they hiding? When do our young girls get to see ancient and powerful female deities out there fighting evil by cracking open multiple cans of whoopass? Zena was cool, and of course we can’t open a dialogue on this subject without mentioning Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but I’m talking about something a bit more rooted in history and legend.
More to the point, I want to be my own superheroine. I’m working on a novel currently with a padonkadonk-whipping heroine so I can live out this fantasy sans go-go boots, which were pretty itchy if memory serves.
As a professional afflicter of the comfortable, I’d really like to see more women (and men, too) become the hero in their own life. Taking charge. Speaking truth to power. Setting goals and staying on course. Not getting distracted by stuff like crappy relationships or death rays or eating disorders. Daring to dream. Believing in themselves.
Are you with me?
Dear Dr. Ding: the Case of the Gas Station Empanadas

Ed. note: the following is culled from a random, mashed-up sampling of askdrding@gmail.com’s inbox queries from the last 7 days.
Dear Dr. Ding:
What is your favorite “cheat” food?
Also, would you please like to deposit the sum of One Million British Pounds Sterling into my good-as-Viagra penis enlarger for the low low price of $19.99? Fortuitiously, I cannot withdraw these monies from my longstanding and reputable firm’s offshore account, good madam. For it seems that you and your affiliates need cheap Vicodin? $1.99 a bottle, most assuredly? I invite you to try this all-natural male enhancement.
Signed,
WantToGrowABiggerMember
Dear Sir or Madam WantToGrowABiggerMember:
I don’t really cheat, because I am not on a particular diet. However, I do eat about 6 smallish, carb-balanced meals a day, and on Saturday nights I particularly enjoy eating a really great meal in a restaurant, including cocktails and dessert . I have, however, quite recently discovered that the nearby gas station sells empanadas that are truly wondrous. I have to count them as basically two meals and try to only eat them on days when I’m going to be very active or working out hard, because they are chock-full of fatty, hamburgery, deep-fried goodness. The gas fumes make a lovely counterpoint, much like a fine wine.
I’m not certain if you’re asking me to grow my OWN penis, or simply drug myself into some sort of semi-lucid state where all the penii out there look gargantuan. In any case, please just overnight me the Vicodoodles. Your constant phallic spams are giving me the rheumatiz and the lumbago.
Thanks ever so,
Dr. Ding
More Fun With The Autumnal Dingster

Allright peoples. My favorite Polish Prancer (“….a prancer for money/she’ll do what you want her to do…”), Brennski, just sent me an email using the word “Rocktober” instead of October. And here’s what I want to know.
Sorry, there are no polls available at the moment.
Mata Fucking Hari I Ain’t

Chilluns.
Years and years ago, when Dr. Ding was but a wee doctoral candidate working her sturdy and unthanked ass off at a drug treatment facility as the Assistant Program Director, I was told by my then clinical supervisor that I really needed to learn to be “more mysterious.”
Shrinky say what?
Yes. He informed your eponymous blogmistress that she should try to “cultivate an air of mystery” about her person, so as to seem infuckingscrutable to staff, peers, and patients alike.
I sat and stared for a moment, considering his advice in my sleep-starved, Marlboro Menthol Ultra-Lited mind. Mystery, eh?
Needless to say, I was but an impressionable youth, eager to win the approval of a very senior psychologist, and so I dutifully tried to cultivate said air of mystery about my person. I tried to shut up. I tried to listen thoughtfully while avoiding eye contact. I tried to offer far fewer ideas when asked. I even wore scarves, people. Scarves. But when you’re from the Midwest, opinionated, extroverted, and hailing from an ethnic background whose cultural persona is about as subtle as a rubber crutch, it’s a losing gambit to try to appear aloof and fascinating.
That was the last time I tried to do something that I felt fairly certain wouldn’t fit my temperament. I’m all for taking risks, trying new things, pushing the limits of one’s comfort zone, but some things are just better left alone.
So, dearest readers, although from time to time you may not always get what I’m saying in these pages, rest assured; Dr. Ding is shooting from the hip.
Mata Hari I fucking ain’t.

























