So therapy is back, woohoo!
This new therapist lady is much more logic based than my previous one. She is all about the going out and getting things fixed, which is commendable, but it also means I will have to actually change. Nyyynnnnngggg.
But that's why for I'm going there, right?
Frustrating thing: whenever I have to talk about my emotions, bedraggled little things that they are, I burst into tears. Experts agree that this is because I am unused to vulnerability. Experts have much expertise.
So we are starting with trying to work through my "social anxiety" first. Get the easy stuff out of the way, right? My homework for the week is to talk and sing to myself. Easy as cereal! The lady also suggested that I join a social anxiety group in the winter semester. I almost giggled at her. The idea is oxymoronic.
I finished The Kiterunner last night. I appreciated some of the periodicity more this time. The first time round it was a nuisance, but now it is a comfort. It's a way of reassuring myself that it is not a true story. It's thematically and psychologically true though. Thank you, Fifth Business.
Shoulda coulda woulda gone to stats today. I played piano instead. It seemed like the thing to do.
Jane Austen has never been an especially brilliant writer to me. I just find her so prosaic. I've loved all of the film adaptations of her novels though. The BBC is a wonderful corporation. I watched Emma the other day. I knew the ending before I watched it, and that sort of ruined it. A story is good if knowing the ending doesn't make it less interesting.
Peace, my friends. I'm going to go watch X-Men and nature docs.