For a variety of little reasons I haven't had the chance to meet with either of my Lucys for almost two weeks now. It's been kinda strange not having their hourly injections into my stream of consciousness, but at the same time it's been kinda nice not having to worry how each session is going to go.
For better or worse, I've been kinda sailing my own ship lately. And while I certainly haven't found Shangri La, it's not like my boat has been really sinking so much either, you know?
The weird thing though
has been the dreams.
For a couple of nights now I've been having these repeated visions of being in group therapy sessions with various fictional characters from the books that I've read over the past year.
I've never really taken part in anything like that before in my life; so I'm not really sure where it's all coming from. In fact, most of my notions about group therapy come from probably two of the worst possible authorities on the subject out there -- Network Television and Chuck Palahniuk.
But night after night that's where I am. Sitting in plastic chairs arranged in a circle with Gatsbys and Survivors and Strangers. Complaining about the coffee and hoarding the doughnuts. The faces keep changing, but the premise is always the same. We're all there to talk about one thing, only to find out that we're being treated for something else.
Last night I caught Meursault rolling his eyes.
Mostly we just vent our frustrations and talk about the week. The things we wanted to have happen, and the things that fell short. But last Friday we all ganged up and attacked the therapist. Two nights ago we all ended up sleeping together.
I have no idea what it means.
But the strangest part is how I've come to look forward to it. I don't often have recurring dreams (at least not ones that I can remember), so I suppose that has something to do with it -- but it's like I'm lying down at night in anticipation of what I'm going to see. Like I'm tuning into some trashy soap opera or cheesy reality show
...Wondering what's going to happen next.
For better or worse, I've been kinda sailing my own ship lately. And while I certainly haven't found Shangri La, it's not like my boat has been really sinking so much either, you know?
The weird thing though
has been the dreams.
For a couple of nights now I've been having these repeated visions of being in group therapy sessions with various fictional characters from the books that I've read over the past year.
I've never really taken part in anything like that before in my life; so I'm not really sure where it's all coming from. In fact, most of my notions about group therapy come from probably two of the worst possible authorities on the subject out there -- Network Television and Chuck Palahniuk.
But night after night that's where I am. Sitting in plastic chairs arranged in a circle with Gatsbys and Survivors and Strangers. Complaining about the coffee and hoarding the doughnuts. The faces keep changing, but the premise is always the same. We're all there to talk about one thing, only to find out that we're being treated for something else.
Last night I caught Meursault rolling his eyes.
Mostly we just vent our frustrations and talk about the week. The things we wanted to have happen, and the things that fell short. But last Friday we all ganged up and attacked the therapist. Two nights ago we all ended up sleeping together.
I have no idea what it means.
But the strangest part is how I've come to look forward to it. I don't often have recurring dreams (at least not ones that I can remember), so I suppose that has something to do with it -- but it's like I'm lying down at night in anticipation of what I'm going to see. Like I'm tuning into some trashy soap opera or cheesy reality show
...Wondering what's going to happen next.
[Listening to: Deep Inner Voices, "Winter Winds"]
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