Tuesday, January 15, 2013


"Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth, but not its twin."

--Barbara Kingsolver,
American novelist, essayist and poet 

Hmm, that kind of nails where my mind is this morning. In my last two sessions with K, I have stumbled onto profoundly resonant emotional places that do seem key to self-understanding. Those of you who have tread in the murky waters of therapy will know the feelings that arise when you hit the not-so-funny bone of a deeply guarded and tender spot. 

For those of you who haven't experienced it, well, maybe it feels like coming down with a flu: you feel bad, your consciousness, alertness, is underwater. Everything you do feels at worst like a struggle and at best like a hassle. Things like crossing the street safely are a challenge. That feeling when you go into a room and then can't remember what you went to do or get? All the time. Cotton brain, or at least cheesecloth brain. 

The neurons that fire to make you be you are boinging off into other directions. You are being destroyed and/or reconstructed. And it generally hurts, although sometimes it is just a feeling of discomfort or disorientation.

After some time, and on another note, one of the great things about working from home is having the pets about. Cooder is getting to that stage where she wants to be near me as much as possible, so she is sleeping on the back of the nearby couch (conveniently still strewn with visitor bedding).

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