9:33 p.m. - December 03, 2002
halfassed
Listening to good music and my house is dark with many candles flickering. Thinking like a cynic regarding therapy, about paying someone to listen to me talk and watch me spin my wheels. On cynic days I'd like to be told this is what's wrong, this is how to tackle it, go forth and heal. On cynic days I listen to the interior monologue and wish confrontation within the room was more my style; I remind my therapist that I prefer the clinical jargon to street-speak. Say presenting problem, 5150, defend theoretical orientations. Let me feel comfortable between the academic goalposts where I make my touchdowns with ease.
I want play therapy. I want to play, period. I want a damn sand tray to do the talking for me. Talking gets me nowhere and I'm impatient, I want results. I want change yesterday. Thinking about seeing a different type of therapist; haven't mentioned it yet. I want specific results: I want to work on forming and maintaining relationships and I want them to be healthy and fulfilling.
Don't feel like writing.
