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2001-05-25 / 7:53 p.m. ~Group Therapy-A Long One...~
It's been quite the week, and I'm not sure if I can even remember how it all began. I do keep a documentation journal, so it's in there if I really need it, but for now I can relate that it's been like a roller coaster ride. I was elated at the New Moon, way too much energy for my own good. I'm amazed I didn't go do stupid things, but I kept it all in check. PMS has been making me crazy too, although mostly physically. I gained about 7 pounds in the past couple weeks, which is a lot for me, really, being of small stature, small-boned, as they say. Whoever "they" are. Still, I felt huge, my breasts were like a cup size more than usual.....which, even on my own, could be fun, I know, if it hadn't hurt so much. I really didn't think it was my "moon time", really, but lo and behold here it is. Hot, cold, elevated body temp, intense periods of outrageous irritability, and a bizarre need to socialize, to join in every conversation I overheard. Today was like that too. Too many conversations, too much jumping in. Our computer systems were down, up, down again. Our phone lines too, this server, that server, can't they ever just keep things up and running? Not that we minded, nope, a Friday with nothing to do but hang out and "share" is our little piece of group therapy. I forget I'm the only white woman, I forget I'm the only one who lives alone, the only one who has cats, the only one who's traveled, who's a pop culture freak. I try to lose who I am, be totally objective, just listen, then pop up with opinions. But they're strong opinions, they're asserted with strength, with conviction, as the person I am. I can't lose me in these moments. That's all I can be. Still, it was group therapy day, waiting for the phones to ring, waiting for some paperwork to distribute, something to do, remembering we are after all getting PAID to do this. This. What? V. is feeling like maybe she needs to be "submissive" in her marriage, but what does that entail exactly? L. convinces her that her husband married her because she is the woman she is. Don't change, V., stay as beautiful as you are. But, V. says, I could've heated his red beans and rice last night, and I didn't. I think it was because I didn't want to, she says. We work it out, we help her. Don't get your man his supper, not if you don't want. If you just don't feel like it, it's not your job, sister. But, she feels bad......it was a personal jab, at him. She's going to try harder next time. L. is feeling mid-lifey, since last Friday, her 37th birthday. I think it's a crisis, her children growing up, her fear of losing them, her upcoming trip to the Caribbean with her husband. She's feeling blah, so we all join in, analyze her, tell her what she needs to do, and she says, yeah, yeah, maybe you're right. We take turns, as we're moved to do it, taking the floor, putting in our two cents, and it's easier when it's not about you. I don't want them to know too much, it would make me uncomfortable, and in my insecurity I sometimes feel they don't even see me, I'm not even there unless I jump in. Occasionally someone wants to know a tidbit about me, or when I say I'm celebrating 10 years of living alone we debate what that means. K. says she lives alone, in her room in her sister's house. Her sister, with the husband, the three children, the dog, the mother-in-law, and various and sundry comings and goings.....sure, you live alone. And every teen with her own room in her parent's house lives alone too. No, you do NOT live alone, and I know I live with two cats....er....so technically I don't live alone either. Then D. and I get into it. I tell her how I'd treat the technical glitches of the day, what I would have done if I'd gotten her job, how aggressive I am, and I see I've wounded her, accused her of being a milquetoast, but I didn't mean to, not really. I had to say, no, your style is yours and people love you for it, you're easy.....to deal with....I'm not. They would've hated me in your position, I would've been fired by now. Backpedal, backpedal, backpedal. It's all good, as they say. Whoever "they" are, the kids today. V. is 40, like myself, has two kids and a husband. D. is 25, a couple others are only 21, the oldest is in her 50s. We're all beautiful, we're all sisters, we are. I have my moments when I hate everyone I love the most, it's always been that way. I feel guilty afterwards, after realizing what I'm doing, that I'm hating. Why? I don't hate them, they are my sisters, and despite what they really feel, what they say when I'm not in the room, I do love them, these women that I've come to know so well. It's only a piece of them, each one shares just a piece, but I'm with them 40 hours a week, on average and they are the most I've got. Group Therapy Day at work. After.....I drove into town to get Thai food, no traffic, I guess everyone took off for the holiday weekend early. Yea!!! The weather was fantastic...the rain and storms of this morning cleared to those beautiful "Simpsons" clouds again, blue skies, breezes and cooler temps. Listening to Cibo Matto's "Stereotype A" in the car on the way......one full hour from ordering the food from work to driving there, picking it up and heading home. There was a guy driving the same route, on the highway on the way back, looking at me in his rearview, running his hand through his long hair, over and over, and it was too sensual for that moment. Did he just get it cut? Did he just wash it? Was he just feeling sensual? I was behind him, then he was next to me, keeping up with me, and I realized it was him.......then I passed him and wanted a better look. It was one of those crazy things like you read about in those "I Saw You" ads in the personals in the free weekly......"I was driving on the highway and you looked at me and I looked at you, and I wanted to give you my number, but you were doing 85 and I was only doing 80 and when can we talk?"....you know. I got off at my exit and he continued......and I ate Nam Sod, Garlic Pepper Tofu and Basil Rolls.......and all is right with the world. Cost of the War in Iraq
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