what not to say

I had a therapy appointment today that was more theater of the absurd than therapy. I saw this woman last week because I was wrecked from a rather sudden and difficult friendship implosion. I wanted to talk out the situation with someone neutral, and as I was depressed and miserable at the time it might as well be a therapist.

This woman doesn't really seem to listen to me, and carries no shortage of preconceived notions. Even her language is so heavily loaded. She seemed to completely miss the point of what I was saying, and blurred a lot of information together into a very confusing mishmash. On the first visit, I really didn't get along with her. But I decided that I would give her another shot and went back today.

Today was even worse than the first time. This woman was no help to me at all. She told me last week that she would get me the number of a paticular support group I was interested in, and she didn't do that. She wanted to know if my parents abused me, and was my husband more like my father or my mother, and my friend is so angry with me because she is repressing homosexual urges to date me. Oh and I'm codependent too, and I should read some really trashy self help books. I made another appointment in two weeks time, but I think I'm going to cancel. I'm not paying for this since it is through the EAP program, but damn.

My biggest complaint is that she does not listen to me. I want to talk about what to do about how my relationship with this friend is on the line, how to respond to her email, what to do about the whole messy situation. But this woman wants to ask me if my parents beat me. The fact that she has come to this utterly bizarre conclusion regarding my friend is just the icing on the cake.

All in all, I left feeling pretty disgruntled. I should just pay Kevin for phone counselling and not seek out these crackpots masquerading as professionals. The only useful advice she gave was that if I write an email or letter, I should write as if I'm not ever going to get another chance to communicate.

Workmen are ripping up the laundry room, so they are right on the other side of the bedroom wall using saws and hammers. I can even hear the guys snezing from the sheetrock dust. I want to ask them why the hell they are doing this while it's so damp outside. But they had the laundry room closed off all weekend, so I'm just hoping they finish whatever they are doing soon.

I decided after the crackpot therapist I really wanted some peace. I dropped off a package at the post office, and went out to lunch with a copy of Harpers, My waitress was very charming and had this beautiful voice. She sang under her breath everywhere she went. Plus, she gave me extra mints. Mmm mints. It improved my mood considerably.

So I think I will go read, and ignore the banging sounds on the other side of the wall.

for the curious minded, addendum to the last post

The books she wanted me to read are Getting the Love You Want and Keeping the Love you Find by Harville Hendrix. I suddenly see where she picked up a good chunk of her preconcieved notions about my life.

For the record, I'm sure childhood experiences and our parents go a long way towards shaping what we are. But I absolutely do not believe that we are fated to seek out people like our parents, and that it is some inviolable law of relationships. That's just absurd. We are more complex than that.

Also, not all single people are single because they are immature. I flipped through these books in the store, and I'm not impressed. I dislike books like this for the most part. I would rather read an academic text ont he nature of communication than perform doofy exercises under someone's supervision for $200/hr.

(no subject)

Shopping at Fry's Electronics Store of Doom is much more palatable on a Monday evening than a Saturday afternoon. I needed a wrist rest and Alan needed a new microphone. I bought the most absurd but endearing wrist rest available, which is shaped like a grey kitten laying on its back. It is pretty comfy. I think Tsar slate is afraid of it.

See my wrist rest here. It's fluffy.

just great

So it was an utterly brilliant idea on my part to read the BPAL forum thread about weird events. I was thinking, "funny stories!" Oh no. We're talking creepy ass ghost stories, poltergeists, bizarre not funny stories.

Now that I have throughly creeped myself out I think I will turn on every light in the apartment.

I am mortified by my behavior. But I thought it might make you laugh. I scare too easily.