Writing is hard when I worry. The neighbor’s dog bit Archie, and although I’m not concerned, I’m concerned. He has an inch-and-a-half slice on his side that I put hydrogen peroxide on, and he’s on bed rest. It reminds me of the time I had a 16-year-old cat, Patches, who ran away for three days. When she returned, she had a quarter-sized hole in her belly. The veterinarian told me she’d likely been shot and that he could stitch it, or it’d heal on its own. The main difference was cost. I went the cheap route, and she lived another seven years.
If my memory serves me, Archie is current on his shots. But rabies is still an unjustified worry.
Onto a session I’m excited to share with you. It’s the follow-up to a client crisis phone call where I told Dave, “I can’t do that again; I can’t do chaos.” Right from the start of the session today, I set the tone: “Due to the tumultuous history between you two, there will be no name-calling, interrupting, disrespect, or arguing. I won’t have it. If it goes there, we’ll end. I’m interested in solutions and listening to some good ol’ conversation. Who’s with me?” They agreed, and off we went.
Having the rules of conduct laid plainly like butcher paper in a kindergarten classroom kept everyone on the right side of functional, and in the end, I kept my sanity. Something I wish I’d learned sooner. But isn’t that the way it goes? You gotta feel a little twisted up to figure out how to unknot yourself.
My new ‘do makes me feel zesty, lighter, and like I’ve shed something. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but shaking my head back and forth and feeling the chin-length hair swing across my face seems like I should be on an Irish Spring bar soap commercial. Do those still air on TV? I seem to remember orgasmic noises and half-naked bodies, or was that something else?
I’m glad my desire to write won out, sharing and being here with you is comforting. Thank you, and night night.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 