Friday, August 19, 2011

I can't WAIT for next week to be over. I have been working on a week long event and not a very glam one at that.

Sometimes it's tough to do a job like this, where you can make endless lists but there's nobody to tell you if you've forgotten anything on it.

I've seen a therapist 7 times now. We're going to "review" next week. I veer between feeling glad I'm going and wondering what the hell I'm doing it for? But I like her and I'll keep going. It's strange and new to me to say to a persons face that I didn't want to meet her and felt like inventing excuses or obstacles and reasons why it would be better not to come.

I thought I might buy a journal and write in it from time to time, l like I did when I was 16 - 20. It's far more private and emotional than blogging. It's venting. It's pretentious. It's cringy. Sometimes I write things I don't mean, make imaginary decisions (I am NEVER talking to her AGAIN!). Nobody can hold you to anything you write in a diary. Haven't actually got round to buying the perfect notebook yet.

*update 1st sept: I stopped googling "leather notebook with lock" and bought a notebook in paperchase. I have written in it once.

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