my adventures in therapy

Upon having decided that I needed to see a therapist I called my man's work assistance program who then kindly hooked me up with someone that I could see so that I could try to sort myself out a bit. So, I booked an appointment, walked 5km's to see her (it was a lovely day) and got to her house-office in a very ritzy part of town. I needed to use the bathroom which was on the upper level of the townhouse-perfect fucking house. Everything in it's place, tasteful decor, tasteful art, tasteful fridge magnets, the works. Bad sign. It kind of went downhill from there. The woman/therapist looked like someone who grew up summering in the Hampton's and who's childhood nickname had to be either miffy or buffy and who was the living example of the perfect wasp right down to the greying blond bob and the preppy-yet-elegant light grey pantsuit. Oh my God she was so perfect and cold. Not that there's anything WRONG with that but I am one of those wacky people who requires a degree of warmth and empathy from my therapists. After I filled out the required forms I took a seat in her office on the couch while she sat in her ELEVATED office chair with her feet on a stool so that she could reinforce her superiority over me as if her perfect house and perfect clothes weren't enough. According to the many degrees and certificates she had on her wall, she was an "advanced" sex therapist so I amused myself by imaging her having sex with her clients. I am an open minded woman but I just couldn't imagine talking about feeling depressed to this woman never mind my sex life. It gets better. She quizzed me on my level of happiness and then declared me "on the upper level of a mild depression" and recommended I see a doctor so that I could get some meds "just to get over the hump", then she proceeded to talk my ear off for the next 45 minutes about all of the things I should be doing to get out there and get a job, get over my depression and be happy and grateful for the good life I have. I am not kidding. I think I spoke 3 times and each time I had to interrupt her. Half the time I tuned her out so I am not exactly sure what she said but I do know which years she earned her degreees and I did make a mental shopping list. The woman had all the answers and no warmth whatsoever. I think she even got mildly irritated with me when I tried to explain to her that since I have seen Oprah I was already aware that a gratitude journal is a great way to start the day, but when one is depressed it's hard to get the energy to feel grateful about much, so I quickly dropped the subject and let her continue on with her great advice. Don't get me wrong-her advice was good: KEEP JOGGING, NETWORK TO GET A JOB, KEEP A GRATITUDE JOURNAL, FOCUS ON BEING POSITIVE. but she completely missed the point andI ended up pissed off that I didn't get a chance to talk about ME.
Of course when the session was over I told her it was helpful and booked another appointment for the next week. What an idiot.

stuff i thought about today

When Heath Ledger won the Oscar the other day I cried, mostly because it was sad but also because of the way his sister and his dad had their arms around his mom as she read her thank-yous. It was so sweet and sad and tender that it broke my heart a bit.

There was lovely looking young fox in my backyard barking at my cat the other night. It's good because it means that after a long absence, they are returning and that pesky rabbit population wil be under control. I've never had a fox in my backyard before. It was so cool.

One of my cats likes to go on walks with me. She comes to the bus stop with me when I take my little one to school and she likes to come with me when I pick her up. She comes on walks with us through the woods. I am thinking of getting her a leash so I can take her jogging with me-just kidding. She's just lonely.

today it really does feel like spring. it's grey but warm and I am thinking of walking the 7 km's into the downtown area of my hood to have a cup of coffee-how's that for too much time on my hands?

tomorrow night is movie night at the little one's school and we have agreed to go and watch Madagascar 2 with her and God knows how many other children in a hot gym. My question is-is it wrong to bring booze? to sneak it in? Should I be able to get through this without it? Keep in mind that anyone who knows me also knows that being stuck in a hot, dark gymnasium with a school load of children and parents is pretty close to my idea of hell.

exceprt from a story I read (paraphrased)

It started out well enough, as the saying always goes. A sunday morning discussion about religion, whose church we would send our daughter to. My church was too this, You said. Your church was not enough that, I offered. The sun was shining warmly through the french doors and the cats were stretched lazily across its path. Breakfast was a fruit salad that You had made while I had been, blissfully and rarely, sleeping in and our daughter was happily somersaulting across the rumpled covers. It went like that for a short while, our voices occasionally rising to meet the passion which we both felt for our beloved communities. But then, inevitably and almost as inexplicably, it changed. It went to good vs. evil and who has the right? does it exist? What is right? what is wrong? and I swear to God I played by the rules. I played by the rules and kept to the facts, I didn't get too personal, there were no low blows or cheap shots slung from my corner. I kept to the facts and I stated my opinions expertly, backing up my thoughts with examples of why I thought the way I did. Somewhat imperious and right, an inherited quality (perhaps a flaw), but I swear I played by the rules. I was so busy playing by the rules that I didn't even see the knife until it was too late. Until I was spurting blood from my belly, jaw dropped open and not knowing whether to cover the wound or cover my daughters eyes.

We could've just agreed to disagree, (as the saying also always goes). We could've taken two different experiences and sets of beliefs as they are and agreed to teach and share the best of both worlds. And I swear to God I would've done that. I would've done that and more. I would've done that and laughed over coffee, my white belly intact in the sunshine. But then that blade. You ended it with that blade, swooping clean in deep with those words and I was left to clean it up, my blood on the rug, my heart spilling out onto the floor in the sunshine. I lost the battle that day, the battle and the war (as the saying too, goes).

And I swear to God that I know I am still right, not that it matters, who is right, who is wrong. I know what is right for me and I know what is wrong. And I know not only black and white, but grey in all of its infinite shades. And I know what it feels like to have that knife plunged deep into my belly and I know what it's like to cry all night trying so hard to keep from making any sound or movement so that it doesn't get twisted inside me. And I know what it's like to seek love in someone's eyes and get chilled from the look they give back. And I know what it's like to hold your head up in defiance, despite the loss of blood, so much it makes you dizzy. And I know what it's like to wait and wait and turn away empty-handed. But I swear I didn't know the knife was in your hand that day, that sunny wintery day when it all stretched out before me. I swear to God I thought it was the sunlight reflecting on your ring when I saw that flash. And I know that it's all I've got left, the last words you said to me. And I know they will never leave me, I've got the bloody rug to prove it. I swear.

things I don't want to do anymore

negotiate the fucking schedule (with the ex) all the fucking time regardless of the occasion.
pick up other people's clothes from the floor, or the dining room table, or the couch.
look at pictures of happy couples kissing each other.
listen to people complain about their hard lives and drama when it is not hard and not drama worthy.
look at decorating magazines. look at any magazines.
spend the morning in bed because getting out of it and facing the day is just too much.

when will winter end???

I have come to the realization that I live most of my life shut down behind big walls. I do not tell the truth about how i am and what is happening in my life. I prefer instead to appear happy and breezy and full of irreverence. It is a lie a lot of the time-not all, but a lot. I do not know why I do it. I think that I am trying to not bore others with my truth, maybe I do not want to ellicit pity or embarrassment or apathy. Maybe my own shame at not having it all together when I feel I should, at having to lay in this proverbial bed, or to have to make people understand. Maybe I do not want to feel judged. Maybe I think that people have their own struggles and are not interested in mine, their plates are full.
I think it is draining and selfish to unload on people and sometimes I prefer the facade. Life is just easier to manage that way, family and friends are easier to manage if things are neatly boxed and categorized. Not too many questions or looks that way. Sometimes I wish I could bust out with a more authentic presentation of how I feel but again. the fear.
Can you tell I haven't jogged or done yoga for almost a week?? this fucking cold is depressing me. I blame the cold.

post dinner drink

I'm kinda tipsy right now after having quaffed a couple of glasses of wine to get me through the dinner hour at my house-a dinner hour where I try to make conversation and everyone else at the table ignores me-except for the little one who gives a running commentary on everything all Hunter S. Thomspon-like. God Bless 4 year olds. God bless the gods of wine.

the big V and Heath

Christ you know it ain't easy, you know how hard it can be....the way things are going, their gonna crucify me.

Nothing like a little John Lennon to warm up a cold day.
Not that this has anything to do with John Lennon, except I wish he didn't die cos he was my favourite Beatle and I loved him, but tomorrow's the big V. Tonight we are having a film festival of love stories and everyone got to pick a movie that we will all watch-no complaints allowed. R picked ONCE, which if you haven't seen you should because it may be the sweetest most bittersweet movie ever. I wanted to pick Brokeback Mountain just because it's the saddest goddamn movie I've ever seen but the idea of an evening with Heath and Jake just might send me over the edge of my fantasies into some erotic nether world that I would not want to return from. I've got it boiled down to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (friendship love) or Along Came Polly (fear of commitment love). Little r picked Lady and the Tramp ("the first one, not the second one'-which I didn't even know existed). The big kid picked (to my extreme regret) Titanic.
Now I am going off to the liquor store to stock up on booze because although my heart will go on, my patience might not..
peace and love xoxoxo

I'm c-c-cold

Shiver me timbers....it's a cold and windy day. I am going to give myself permission to go back to bed for a hour to read, nap and make a plan. nighty night.

I want

Valentine's Day is such a crock of shit, but I still want some love, some lovin, some jewellery that I don't need or even chocolate as long as it's the best. Being poor, one has to tune out the want of "that which one does not need" which in this culture of want=need is extremely challenging. I find myself always weighing the degree of want vs. the requirement of need and quite frankly, it sucks. And I have to put myself last in line after the kids, after R-who after all is out there slogging through the icy streets for my bacon, and after the needs of the family as a whole. A lot of the time I don't mind, I don't really need/want a lot, but at Valentine's day, I want. I want a massage and a pedicure and a manicure and dinner cooked for me at a good restaurant that serves a mean steak and champagne and a sexy red dress with good shoes and maybe a movie and a really nice necklace and a babysitter and choclate cake. And I don't want to calculate the cost of an appetizer vs another glass of wine, or the cab fare. Just once in awhile, I want.

letter to my ex

Dear ex, I know that it is important to you that our daughter think you are the cool dad, that she like you. I know your need to be liked and good. But I think that in your need to be liked you have overlooked a fundamental truth about parenting children which is this; being liked is a bonus that you receive at the end of it all, when they are adults and they decide that not only can they actually stand your company and conversation, but they want it. Being liked is not the ultimate goal of being a parent, it is merely the icing. Raising a good citizen who attends to their lives with passion and dignity and respect for life is the ultimate goal, perhaps with a few extras thrown in for good measure. Having the desire to be liked be your modus operandi of parenting will inevitably lead to the creation of a child who is undisciplined, selfish and dishonest. How do I know this you scoff? I know this because I see it in our daughter. Our "gifted" child who understands that whatever I do to discipline her, you will not only undo, but throw in a "your mother shouldn't tell me what to do in my house" for extra punch. Our daughter who knows that you cannot bear to have her suffer the natural consequences of her actions or lack thereof, especially when it means missing out on something "fun". I think, dear ex, that missing out on the fun may be precisely the point of discipline and that it might be exactly our jobs to teach her this valuable life lesson in a safe way-one that does not carry too much risk to her liveliness. She knows, dear ex, that by giving you a sad stoy of her hard life, her extreme lack of expensive material goods splashed with someone else's name across the front at my home, you will not hesitate to buy her said goods just to prove to her that you are indeed the good and just parent, the one who wants to see his daughter happy. You teach her how to divide and conquer. In lighter moments I advise her to take advantage of this aspect-after all a woman not schooled in the fine and subtle art of manipulation will most likely not get ahead in the world of men and diamonds and will most likely have to sing hard for her supper.
Just a thought , dear ex, for you to consider. The raising of daughters is a tough job in our world and there seems to be such little margin for error. Forgive me if I overstep my bounds onto your big masculine feet. Perhaps a little manipulation on my part might be more effective?

it started out well

I am wondering if this sense of "inertia", this sense of the world just passing by is a common one for women who are home with kids, or homemakers in general. Life moves at a slower pace when you are home with kids, or just home and I compare myself with my friends who have paying jobs and are always busy, always tired, always trying to catch up. Life at home is lived more inwardly. I find myself trying to create excitement for myself-be it imaginary or real. I do feel often feel like Dorothy caught up in the cyclone, watching helplessly as the world moves around her outside. And I know it's important work-this raising of people, this keeping of the home-but and there always is a but, I feel restless and bored and separated from something that is elusive. I have been on both sides of the fence and I know that this feeling doesn't disappear just because one has a job to go to and from everyday. Sometimes it's worse. Maybe it's our times, our feeling that we are "entitled" to a rich, successful and happy life. L.P's right-we aren't, we aren't entitled to a bloody thing, not even our misery.

half way there

When the spring comes I'm gonna get down on my knees and kiss the green grass. I'm gonna wear pinks and greens and purples and yellow. I am gonna sit outside in the sun and turn a bit brown. I'm gonna get my hands roughened up and dirty under my nails. I'm gonna blast the music into my backyard, drink lemonade and sing along very loudly to disturb the birds.

of my man

Oh man the snow is so lovely. It's falling so quietly and slowly and I have turned off all sound in the house in honour of the falling snow. I may even be writing in a whisper. I had a chat with my man yesterday afternoon about the need to connect with other men. He spent some time with a good friend-one he hasn't seen for awhile-on the weekend. He was actually happier and friendlier than he has been in a long time after that. I know a few women who have husbands who don't really see their friends a lot, relying on their wives instead for support and connection and a social life. My man has never been like that but now that we live in the burbs it has become difficult for him to maintain those connections. I sense that he is lonely for someone-a guy-to talk to about life, not just the soccer game, but life and all that goes with it. It seems that around here it is all hockey-talk which does seem to form the basis of something important for a lot of men, but it also seems to be a barrier to real intimacy between men. This is so a woman's perspective. R said he thought that maybe the fear of rejection was what prevented a lot of men from really opening up about their lives to their guy friends, and sports are "safe". It brings me new sympathies for the guy who has zero interest in sports and how hard it must be to just hang out with guys. I gotta hand it to the ones who have matured beyond that. But I would like to support my man to take a few chances with his "new"friends and stay connected to his old ones. It was nice to feel him smiling again.

of Chevy Chase and dreams

The other night at my friend's party I drank an entire bottle of wine by myself. Obsessed girlfriend insisted we spend a certain (large) portion of the evening feeding her obsession (thus the wine for me as a coping mechanism and to amuse myself). Stayed up until 4am discussing the sore points of my relationship with my spouse-of which there seemed to be many. Slept poorly for 4 hours and woke up with a song in my head.
My life is so dull that this is all I have to say today: it was a fun night but I could've done without the obsession, which I find amusing but not obsession worthy. This is how obsessions with some people (ok, me) start. You have an erotic dream involving someone with whom you would not otherwise consider having carnal relations with. Of course, the dream sex is well, dreamy and for a few weeks after you wake up you see that person suddenly as someone with whom you have a secret intimate connection and remembering how hot your dream was, you start to think about sex with them in real life. Because your real life sex is definitely not as hot as your dream sex, you start to think that maybe if you were to have real life sex with this person, then it would most assuredly be very hot, just like it was in your dream and all of your life's problems would be solved by the very act of getting it on with this person. It doesn't always work though. I had a dream in which George Strombo...from The Hour and I got it on after he made me espresso because I shovelled the driveway and I do admit that every time I watch his show I do picture him and I making out on the kitchen table. However, I also had a dream once that I screwed Chevy Chase in the woods behind the cottage. Fortunately for everyone I know and love, including myself, that dream didn't stick.