Hesitant return

I'm back. Am I back? Let's try writing. I've set up life for it all day...

or for three months

and with a lot of analysis

I mean that I finally have a carpet. It's beautiful, and importantly it is 5 x 8 feet of space on the floor I can sit on, or lie on.  I haven't had this in many months.  It's been a slog through ennui and avoidance, boredom, moving one thing after another to where it ought to go.  Making space for the vacuum, sleeping 'til noon, making space to actually vacuum, getting it all into piles on the periphery.

And just like that my psychoanalyst wants to get down to it then. My Question: What am I supposed to be doing?  Her answer: That's the question. Right there.

If you think it's easy, you're crazy.

So my state of being, right now, is something like "half-alright"  which is very close to alright, surprisingly close to all alright.

Discoveries are banal but I am psychoanalysis' big proponent now, albeit warily: by which I mean, She makes the sessions count - I lose all focus, don't have an answer to a question, and then she makes that last fifteen minutes work, the genius, - she ends on: "You mean you don't deserve it?" .... me: "I guess that's another way of saying that."  Her: "Let's end there."

Thinking about what I want, what would be gratifying, I think perhaps part of my thinking goes: I've tried haven't I?  I've done the wanting part.  I want to be in a collaborative artistic environment. I want that.  I don't have it. So I've done my part. Wanted it. Haven't gotten it. So I WANT my work to be learning to live without it.  But instead, oh heaven, that's a dead end, and the prognosis is more like to keep working, keep trying, keep reading, keep having sex once in a blue moon for god sake, keep trying, and actually write sometimes for god's sake won't you? won't you?  You won't?  You want to obsess about, GODDAM, Facebook? technology? high school?  Well why not on paper you fool.  Oh because I was trying to just think it in my head and realize it doesn't matter and I tried as hard as I could didn't I? I wanted to come back to that conclusion, didn't I?

I cry before her passive sweater dressed cruel-kindness that says "why do you think that is?"  and I say, "Sometimes, ... these 'why' questions - I can't find the answer; there isn't an answer." and she agrees and says, "So let me rephrase that then - is there anything else it makes you think of?"  Can you imagine this profession?

Well, it's been a while. I've been moving and going to psychoanalysis so...

Well, I have to get out the door in 30 minutes, meeting mywonderfulfriendHol... Who would come out to off Broadway on such a cold night but she?

There will be a bloody mary I suspect.

I have a lot of ideas and someone should pay me. :-)  XX xxxx