My therapist looked at me today with that therapist head-cock and asked how I was feeling about her going on vacation.
I had one of those moments when I want to say all the inappropriate non-therapy things like:
Where you going?
Is your girlfriend/partner going too?
Who is you girlfriend/partner?
How long have you been together?
Are you going with friends?
What friends?
Are they all therapists too?
All of which would result in one of those meta-therapy conversations about why I wanted to know. And I do kinda want to know, but I didn’t want to explore why I kinda wanted to know at all today.
The truth is, I think she should go on vacation. I’m more than a little bit in awe of what she does. Given that my patience level is very low and hers must be astronomically high, she’s an impressive person.
(Here’s how I think about it: I know I throw a lot of psycho-bullshit around. If I’m average (or even above average!) and she sees 50 or 60 people (that’s just a guess), that’s A LOT of other people’s bullshit to deal with.)
I saw her get out of her car a couple of weeks ago and she exhaled loudly before getting her bag. It seemed to be an anti-bullshit exhale. But I’m probably projecting.
So I don’t have therapy next Thursday. Should I take “therapy” time and go do something else? Or should I just be a good girl and work?
It just occurred to me that writing about being in therapy could hurt my chances for a cabinet post in the Bailey administration. Shit. (That and saying shit a lot). Shit.
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