The Squeak


I have so many things I need to do tonight.

  1. Write this post.  I know I could apply other words to my total, but the therapy session needs some unpacking in my mind.  It needs to be logged here, too.  I just need to do the diary thing tonight.
  2. I have to keep working on researching MailChimp features and possibilities for the shop so I have something in front of me to speak from tomorrow when I talk to N.
  3. I need to write a whole next section for my story.  The most dramatic part.  I feel excited, but I am not sure there isn’t a dullard sitting down to write this bit and we can’t have a dullard at the wheel.
  4. I also want to finish reading the book I bought.
  5. Paint my nails

It’s already 8:30 So, let’s begin!

Therapy was good, but woof.  Just getting there after a day of really trying to siphon all my brain power into dealing with work issues and problems was a lot.  There were detours and traffic delays and me, sitting in the car waiting for traffic to clear so I could turn into the big parking lot where my therapist’s office is and not have a panic attack. It was realllllll close.  I got out of the car with no minutes to spare and my hands were shaking so hard I dropped my keys.

But therapy, yes.   There was too much to say but I tried to wedge most of it into conversation.

I talked about my mom.  I cried about how there was a time when I thought that if my mom died, I would be nothing, I’d be dust, I’d be obliterated.  I don’t feel like that now.  I feel like I exist for a reason. But I also had to talk about how I get these regular unbidden thoughts now about her dying, as if it were a factual, past-tense truth, and how I had to write something to say at the funeral and it had to be the most beautiful perfect encapsulation of how marvelous and total I felt about having her as a mother and how I have to freak out at myself for even thinking that way.  Like, she hasn’t even had one treatment.  It’s…just trying to blunt a trauma before it happens. If and when it happens, it will not be blunted no matter how I try and scare myself with it now.  We can’t know the traffic at the turn until we arrive there.  So I watch those thoughts come in and I watch them go out.  And I email my parents and tell them I love them.

I talked about how I was feeling okay in light of all of the stuff that is shaking the suspension bridge of my life right now.  Like I’m still willing to push and change.  I said I didn’t feel like the girl anymore who was incapable of changing.

I talked about the job.  A lot.  Applying for the new one.  Disconnecting and overconnecting at the old one, enjoying the newish one.  I said they could fire me, what the hell do I care if they fire me?  But I am not going to be fired, just burnt and freaked out and eventually, I will strike out on yet another new path.

I talked about you and I don’t know why I thought she’d be judgmental about it, but she wasn’t…at all.  Just supportive.  The only thing she questioned was the same thing I question – like, if somehow you were truly perfect and wonderful and suitable, does this mean that I could care about you rather than just about the RP?  What if I started caring and you weren’t…what would that mean?  Was that a big unlikely place to put my heart? Yeah, but it isn’t at all about my heart.  It’s not an issue of you or your opinion at all.  You are already gone.  But on the whole, she was delighted.  Pleased.

I cried.  I haven’t cried in so long.

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