I'm in love with life this morning. It must be the sun.
The housing association decided this morning to send a guy around with leaflets asking people to rate the association restaurant. His visit to our house timed exactly with the moment I was standing on the other side of the front door, with the girls, talking the most ridiculously embarrassing dog talk to them. And not quietly either. After all, I didn't think there would be a random dude on the other side of the door.
"Are we gonna go potty? Is that what we do in the morning, Wooby-do? Wooby doing! We girls are gonna go potty! Potty in the morning!"
Suddenly, into this gush of high pitched warbling there came a rustle of papers thrust into the side of the door jam and the girls broke out into frantic barking. I was a little stunned at first. Could there be someone on the other side of the door? What just happened? I looked out the window and yes, there was.
He gave me a weird look as he backed rapidly up away from our house, going for the safety of his car. I gave him a little lopsided wave, as though to reassure him that I wasn't completely batty, just a nice little housewife who hadn't had her coffee yet.
I don't think he was reassured. And us girls did go potty in the morning, because that's what we do, right doggy woos? Who needs to talk to someone other than canines all day long?
Not me.
My therapy appointment is tomorrow and I don't want to go. I feel fine, thank you. Actually, I do feel worlds better than I did a month ago, when I made the appointment. But resistance to therapy is a well documented and perfectly natural phenomenon and darn it, I'm going. Anyway, it's just an introductory session. Nothing scary.
As you can see, I've decided to blog about this. I've thought about whether or not to for the last few weeks, on and off. It's risky. People might think I'm crazy. I'll certainly be making myself much more vulnerable this way.
On the other hand, blogging creates this incredible sense of clarity, that sense of altitude that my father was talking about. And I feel I'm an old pro at the making public of private thoughts in this forum. Lastly, I feel like going to therapy has this kind of stigma about it. Only crazy people go, or people badly broken. It's a sign of crisis.
That can be true, actually. People rarely go to get help until something tips them over the boiling point, until they just can't take the status quo anymore. That's what happened to me the first time. The unknown is always frightening and there's the very real possibility that therapy will make things worse before they get better.
But for all that, it can be so incredibly helpful, life altering in fact, to go. Therapists are nothing more or less than an ally in a very human struggle. The relief at the end of the tunnel is dazzling.
So I'm going to write about this whole process this time around. Maybe not the whole process. I suspect there will be things I won't ever blog about. Most of it I will.
Speaking of blogging and altitude, I've felt this sense of true peace regarding children lately. Whenever a sense of anxiety (because it's out of my direct control) or a sense of time passing hits me, I pray for God to take care of my children, born or unborn, until the time comes when I can hold them. This settles my soul right down.
Other things I love this morning:
Fat free coffee house inspired creamer.
My husband wearing a loaded pistol strapped to his thigh when on duty. (I admit, I'm a blood thirsty little heathen.)
Sunshine.
The fact that the birds of Kentucky seem to be convinced that it's the middle of June and not March. If this is what it sounds like now, I can't wait for later. I won't need an alarm clock.
Not having to wear a coat outside.
Colorado. I'm not there anymore, but I love it still. One of the bloggers I follow PCS-ed there and sometimes blogs about how wonderful it is and recently put a pictures of herself up, standing in what I think is the Garden of the Gods. Ah, Colorado! How I miss thee!
And now it's time for us girly-woos to take their walkie-poo. Wooby doing!
