Well, it’s not. It’s still raining, actually. I am thankful for full spectrum light boxes and lamps. And let’s hear it for antidepressants, come to that. But no complaints here; I’ve done this before, it is, as my therapist would say, workable. Speaking of therapists, I just got a new one. The last time I was in therapy was 2005. Things do have a way of piling up, don’t they? Theoretically, therapists are supposed to do their own therapy, or at least seek personal consultation with another therapist regularly. Dealing with other people’s stuff day after day can get to be a bit overwhelming. You’ve got to find a safe place to dump it. Plus a lot of your clients come to you with issues that you yourself may not have dealt with effectively in your own life. You can count on getting clients who trigger your own stuff, whatever it is you may be going through. The universe has a clever way of dealing you the exact hand you need, whether or not you know you need it. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to figure out how to play it.
Eeeeccchhh. Can’t believe I used the old card game cliché. Sorry.
So, therapy. Sometimes I’m surprised when certain clients tell me how helpful their therapy has been. A lot of the time I feel like I haven’t really done anything helpful. Seeing my own therapist again reminds me just how powerful it can be to have someone objective sit and listen to my stories. That nonjudgmental presence and acknowledgment can go a long way. I am grateful for it.
Speaking of which. Maybe a gratitude list is in order. Here goes.
I am grateful that:
The heater is working and the roof doesn’t leak;
My cat can be entertained almost exclusively by empty boxes of various sizes placed throughout the house;
Someone invented wool socks;
Glitter paint exists;
I bought some today;
My friends and relatives are all healthy;
The persimmon tree out front is no longer dropping fruit bombs all over the yard;
Ovaltine actually contains certain percentages of the RDA of some vitamins and minerals;
My husband and I have health insurance (for now);
There are these things called “blogs”;
Online sudoku exists;
At least Heath Ledger was around for 28 years;
It really is the darkest before the dawn;
I’m still plugging along 15 years post-cancer;
The word “divots” perfectly describes the 5 biopsy scars on my back;
My athlete’s foot is gone;
You don’t have to be an athlete to have athlete’s foot;
You can even be a total spazz (speaking for myself);
Being a total spazz could even be an endearing quality (maybe);
I haven’t impaled myself on any pointy furniture this week;
My painting in progress (the aqueous, aqua-skinned, and slightly bloated bitch-goddess arising from an unknown ocean) is about ready for some glitter;
I can bring glitter back into this list just ’cause;
I’ve got a picture of my dad when he was three years old in which his deviously sneaky expression reminds me totally of a recent picture of myself;
I contain the best and the worst of both my parents, which seems weirdly fair in some inexplicable way;
We’re going to see Mark Knopfler in April!!!
The last time we saw him I was transported into a state of heretofore unknown musical rapture;
A canister of Ovaltine in the kitchen is calling to me ever-so-softly;
There’s milk in the fridge;
This may not be a great post, but it’s some kind of a post.
Is it not?
NEXT TIME: Bad poetry!!!