Under Construction

(or Do I Stay or Do I Go?)

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Sometimes I really wish my therapist would just fire me.

Then she can give my spot to someone else.

Someone who will pay her 100-300% more than I can pay.

Someone for whom one, or even two, 45-minute sessions a week will be enough.

Someone who doesn’t need to push past that boundary of time over and over and over again.

Someone whose emotions can be contained inside the therapeutic frame.

Someone who doesn’t need more than any reasonable therapist can be expected to give.

Someone who shows up to session willing and able to talk.

Someone who is able to take a professional’s advice.

Someone who wants more out of life.

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Around and Around

(or I ♥ School Supplies)

As a kid I loved buying school supplies at the start of every school year.  I loved everything about the process: going to the store, carefully picking out everything on the list, coming home and opening everything up – oh the smell of new pencils and notebooks!  Then I would methodically lay everything out on the floor, survey my new supplies, this new school year landscape.  And then I’d pack it all up and put everything in my bag, just so.  And I would repeat this process for as many days as I had before school started.  I’m not sure how many other children “played” with their school supplies, but I sure did.

When my son started school last year, my wife gleefully announced that she had bought school supplies through the Parent Teacher Association.  Everything he would need would be in his classroom, waiting for him on the first day of school.  Now I know this makes so much practical sense, as no parent really wants to run to every store in town trying to track down all the items on the shopping list, but I was gutted.  The buying of new school supplies had always given me such pleasure, and I was looking forward to doing it all over again with my son.

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Free Fall

(or A Day to Forget)

I wrote this out last year, long before I started even thinking about a blog.  It was too much for Facebook, and seems more appropriate to post here anyways, this marking the 15th anniversary of that horrible day.

Last night (9/11/2014) as we looked over the river to the beams of light, what I noticed most was the sound of the airplanes.  Lots of airplanes.

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And it made me remember the silence of the city that September night.  It was eerily silent and still, except of course for the steady stream of the sound of sirens.  But even those seemed to fade into the background, leaving the world all too quiet.

I remember the smell.  It’s a smell I would much rather forget, but don’t think I ever will.   It was an unavoidable smell that hung over the city for months – a combination of burning jet fuel and melting iron, dust and ash, flesh and death.

I really dislike the mantra “never forget.”  Many need to forget, in order to be able to move on, to be able to keep on living.

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