I did make it to meet the new (not dead) shrink yesterday morning. Just as I assumed I would, I dragged my over abundance of life's baggage (My suitcase would definitely exceed FAA size limitations) into the room with me and proceeded to sift through many of the larger parcels, just to give her background. I didn't make it to the end of the hour before I couldn't hold the giant ball of wet teary snot filled tissue anymore and had to put the softball sized wad of paper mache bodily fluids into the waste can not once but twice before the final toss on my way out the door. My sinuses were remarkably clear for the rest of the day and I am wondering if maybe just crying for a solid hour each week is therapy enough for me.
After an entire hour (how bizarre it was to bla-bla-bla one sided for an entire hour) of outlining my almost every misery and explaining over and over again each stressful situation and how I need to stop feeling so responsible for every (freaking) thing (and I do very much see how pathetic this was of me which is why I am sharing with you) I started to feel like maybe I had laid too much on the therapist all at once. Seriously, I actually worried for a minute that she would go home and be depressed after hearing all of my personal life battles in the very first hour and I kind of apologized for any distress I might be causing her with my difficult history and trying present. Oh yes I did. L for loser right? How clear is it that I need therapy when I worry about over burdening the therapist? No wonder I find myself back in therapy.
Then I showed up all (cry much?) puffy to grab grandma out of the OFH and take her to yet another colon rectal surgeon. To make a LONG story less painful it was an hour drive, nearly two hours in the waiting room (during which, out of utter frustration and anger like I haven't experienced since I was still speaking the scumcle, I entertained multiple weapon and bombing the nurse's desk fantasies) The late running doctor (who did not apologize for being 2 hours late) thinks we should do "the procedure" now because she is absolutely gonna prolapse again and this way she can do it with a scheduled appointment and be in and out in a day. If we let it get bad we'll have to take her to the ER and she'll end up being hospitalized for a few days. Made sense. I got it. Then I had an hour drive back home, grabbed the kids from school, dropped grandma back off at the OFH and spent the afternoon with my babies.
You should know that Evan must have witnessed someone spraining their ankle recently because he claims to do so daily these days. He does some kind of movement which is remarkably similar to Elaine (minus the clapping),
but only when he knows I am watching. When he doesn't know I am watching he's fine. So if you happen to see Evan and he looks as if he is having neurological problems, it is (as long as I am present) another one of Evan's bizarre attempts to get more attention. He doesn't believe me that he can accomplish this long standing goal by being helpful and sweet even though I inform him of this miraculous method every other day. It's going to be a very long puberty folks. L for long. Luckily I am back in therapy!
The last thing I did before posting that lame excuse for a post last night was photograph a basketball game for the paper. For some reason, maybe it was all the AM crying, or maybe it because my spinal fluid was flowing from the previous days cranial sacral therapy, or maybe I was still on an adrenalin high from all the weapon fantasies in the waiting room, but when the nasty ref who kept frigging standing in front of me (probably because I am so desirable- they don't do that to men-but the man I am often photographing near is 6'5" and looks like Gerard Depardieu, so I wouldn't mess with him either) turned around and gave me attitude I gave it right back to him. While chewing gum with my mouth open. Then I gave him the slightest tiny little truce head nod and he turned his attention back to the game but he didn't stand in front of me again! Some days I have a whole collection of photos of the back of a ref's head. One day I am going to smack one. I'm close to the edge folks. Ahhh therapy.
I think that slapping someone in the back of the head that is being a big huge ASS is just as good as going to therapy for an hour. :) Just my $.02. Of course I haven't been in therapy, yet, I would like to but don't have ins. at the time, so I try to think of other ways for sef-therapy... slapping people and thinking evil-ish thoughts really does help to make you feel better and most of all cleansed of some stress. ;) blogging is another great way!
best of luck to you, and remember I can't go to "real" therapy yet, so if you need help with the ref, just call me! I got your back. lol
~hugs~
Jenn
Posted by: Jennifer | January 12, 2008 at 06:49 PM