Brisk Nurse: The Concept

Brisk Nurse is a  bossy, sensible woman who's available to ride to the rescue when I'm feeling overwhelmed.  She is clipped and brusque, and I kind of hate her, but sometimes I feel no choice but to send for her. Yesterday,  I invoked her so I  could gain some control over my internet use.  "Get the computer out of your studio," she lectured me. "And put it somewhere where you have to stand to use it."  Then her lips settled into a thin, satisfied line.   

The Brisk Nurse concept is based on  Peter Feibleman's memoir about playwright Lillian Hellman ("Lily: Reminiscences of Lillian Hellman," 1990).  He writes,

"Ever since I'd known [Hellman] she had an imaginary companion, an elderly woman whose name, God help her, was Nursey, and the two of them often got into fights before noon when Nursey told Lillian to mind her  manners or put on another dress or have some sense about what she was writing.  Nursey was a boring old crank but she meant well and she had been there so long I was used to her..."

Hellman actually spoke in different voices, depending on whether she was Nursey or herself; Feibleman was hearing these arguments through a wall.   I myself have not gone that far.   Brisk Nurse bosses me around, but only in my brain.  Also, BN is middle-aged and does not necessarily mean well.

The problem with Brisk Nurse is that what she prescribes never sticks.  I  always hope she'll whip me into shape, but it's all external bullying and never gets to the root of the problem.  My social worker friend Claudia says that  Brisk Nurse is my super-ego (society's rules and regulations) beating up on my ID (my inner two-year old).   My ego stands aside and watches, and then, thank God, steps in and reasserts control.

Which happened this morning.  I set up my computer at the kitchen table rather than in my studio.  Brisk Nurse has crawled back in her cave, starched white uniform and all.

Sitting rather than standing, and at the kitchen table