My doctor told me that I have parasites. I can't talk to my therapist about it because she will use it as one of the connecting metaphors to tie my session into a nice little Freudian package. Who are the parasites in my life? How do I feel that she is a parasite in my life? I know Freud is dead, but would someone shoot him anyway?
Tonight, I'm competing in a dance contest. While my therapist supports my belated geriatric-style dance ambitions, I'm afraid someone needs to stop me before I become a character in a Tennessee Williams play (probably too late).
Just for today, I can have issues with my therapist.
Comments (2)
Well, the good news is that Williams is dead, too.
My therapist is very much into guiding people to find the health that is already there in our makeup- he teaches us not to focus on the thoughts that dwell on what we see as handicaps. If we correct our thinking to see the healthy parts of our lives, it is much easier to deal with the crap in a workaday manner. At any rate, your marbles are in better alignment than most people I know, so I would fret to hard. You're one cool lady.
Good luck with the contest!
Keep shedding those rays of inspiration,
Karl
Posted by Karl | March 2, 2008 1:22 AM
I wouldn't fret too hard.
Dang! This English is difficult to learn. Another 50 years or so...
But you get the point. You're a good soul with a good mind.
Peace sister,
Karl
Posted by Karl | March 2, 2008 6:11 PM