Hold on little craft in the ocean. Nurture your obsessions and pick up your clothes - the winter is upon you - breathe and breathe and breathe - Your craft is so imperfect so ride each one as one perfect crashing wave at a time. Stay a pace ahead and they're mere hillocks for you to buoy on. A mere length ahead little sailboat, twisted sail.
Hi. Hello. It's rainy and I'm crazy. I am back from a quick smoke in spite of my smokers cough. While smoking I thought, maybe I'll see if I can go in for therapy tomorrow. Isn't that what it's for? For not bothering anyone who doesn't deserve it with the cartography of the paths of anxiety on which you beat the encroaching dry thorned shrubs- flail at them really.
I thought of how he sometimes talks of his group that does group therapy - he'll mention experiences people have talked about in his group. I'll never join a group ever, I thought. Here you go: a very un-humble conviction of mine: Never will I ever join a group for therapy. Oh yes- I've no humility in my sharp sharp judgement here - such a thing is Grotesque. Never. Never. Never never ever ever ever ever.*
I've been thinking about psychology a lot. My latest obsession is Celebrity Sex Rehab with Dr. Drew. I've driven myself half mad trying to decide what I think of Dr. Drew. If you are lucky, I'll tell you about it.
I have to change desks now.
XOXO
Alexis
* For Grief or Illness I would actually, but for general malaise? I stand by grotesque.
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