Writing week. Thursday.

I’m sitting at a car repair place again, this time, a dealership, because evidently that is the only way forward. hundreds and hundreds of ways. the man behind the counter is handsome and i’ve already glimpsed at a naked ring finger.

yes, that makes me sick, too. I will not take another step, just sitting my ass down, maybe not facing that direction.

i’m starting to feel a little bit like dating is work. and thats no good. weary and curious cannot exist in the exact same space.

but here i am, in the car repair waiting room. and i smell coffee but can’t find it, and thats maddening. it is not for me? is it not for me?

it was a big day yesterday. I had two ‘very important’ new things. (virtual via zoom, both of them.)

1. a meeting with a spiritual director. she is an old, virtual friend of mine, though i have actually met her in person and even shared food. she’s finishing a program in spiritually directing people and i am a rambling, distractable seeker. Seeker. yes i am. we talked a lot about how to ritualize some of my daily tasks, imbue them with my feelings about the divine.
2. a meeting with a potential new therapist. she uses a similar modality to the last therapist I liked, called IFS (Internal Family Systems) which encourages and allows all the different voices we hear in our heads, in our body. For example, the voice which tells me I’m doing just fine with the kids, in contrast to the voice which panics internally any time there is the smallest hitch in their happiness levels. Defensiveness, aggression, shame, pride, all the things are just fine, and working together to protect and defend my inner golden core. I’m good. I don’t need quite as much protection as they think I do, so its a matter of going in, diving down to see what my pieces are doing in there. it suits me very well, and I think we’ll be a match. Its amazing how explaining myself to someone can make me feel shame, and how much that is exactly why I am there.

Go get yourself a therapist. Everyone should have one. Yes, I mean you.

I also had another first date. Will let you know.

The waiting room is playing Sarah Mclachlan. Never fails to make me feel teenaged angst. Hello Dawson, its me… get off my fucking roof. Its not my favorite re-do, I’ll tell you that.

Did I tell you I’m 47? I am. Deeply.

love love,

me. ( i found the coffee!)