The Dawn Chorus

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Oh, wow.  Oh, wow.  Let’s hoorah that I found my keys.  I wasn’t worried, but if I hadn’t have found them tonight, I would have had to muster up some worry over it because I don’t think it’s super great to not be able to get into your office when you need to get into your office.

There are always office-y things to talk about.  It remains odd, nearly nine months on, to talk about the office here, though I do go there everyday and spend eight of my precious hours in its confines.  But it’s not really where my head is at, for better or worse, and while there are assuredly characters to discuss, the cast does not revolve around so much that it feels like a good idea to try and pin opinions on them.  I have to work with these people and I certainly was never made into a better person at the old job by having a boatload of casual frustrations floating around in my head whenever I looked at them.

It’s a new day, anyway.

I missed a few minutes of therapy because it took a bit longer than I allotted for at the end of the day to arrive and this forced me to push myself by taking a better turn to get there a bit quicker (so it wasn’t all bad), but she was so happy for my few bits of revelation and I told her about the Faithful Light because the Faithful Light doesn’t mind anyone knowing she exists.  The part of myself that is neither perfectionism nor fear.  Just a loyal hand on the arm, a touch that says, I hear you, it’s frightening, but we’re going forward.   I kind of made my therapist cry happy tears at the progress I have to cop to making this month.  She seemed genuinely moved that I was making progress, that I was and am, I guess, addressing some of these issues.  That has to be my takeaway, rather than my quibbling and imperfect struggle to verbalize the rest of it.  I mentioned the things I wanted to mention, I was direct-er on things I felt might be a bit vague in our work and it was good.

I said I wanted to have an answer.  I wanted to have figured it out.  But the blockage, the barrier is still there.  And it is.  Even now.  I want it, but I don’t want it enough. I want it to be corrected because I think it looks like an outward failure of my character rather than because I want to be with someone.  Or at least that’s the greater part of the calculation.  I don’t know why I anticipated her pushing on that point.  On me needing to shit or get off the pot.  I told her I couldn’t do either, but I realize that is what the choice is.  That I could shit.  So to speak.  I wouldn’t die for it if and when I did it. So that’s fair.

For the next month, I am supposed to be exploring (and I came up with this) the idea of being my true self in a relationship. I don’t entirely know how I am going to do this, but somehow, I am.

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