…and think it’s hilarious that I can say “my therapist.” So very not me, as I usually think of myself. But you know, the crazy comes to us all, eventually.
I can see that I have a lot of work ahead, but while scared at having to face unflattering truths about myself, I am also ready to try this new psychotherapy whatsit out.
Anyway, my therapist is an older Jewish lady, not From Here, but been here a while. I don’t know much of her story (that would require her getting a word in edgewise) but that’s fine. She and I are good, after one visit. Ask me again in three months, and we’ll see.
I had a lot of other stuff I was going to say, but you know…I’ll save it for the lady who’s paid to listen to it. My little favor to the Internets. Plus, I have a feeling anything I think I know now about my True Self will look stupid after a while, so…it’ll keep.
The rest of my life is bad and good. My stepfather is back in the hospital after his heart surgery; heart is fine, lungs are acting up and he’s not doing so hot. Good thoughts are welcome. He’s a sweet, loving husband to my mom, and I’d really like him to stick around and be well.
Nathan continues to be hella cute, but also hella two, and it’s like having a tiny semi-mute teenager in the house. You never know what mood you’re going to get. His smiles still make you forgive him, though. And he is actually pretty sweet-tempered compared to a lot of the little monsters I see out there. So far.