Last week I saw my mental health professional for the first time in months or years. I’d brought some notes and said, “I have some complaints about some of your recent comments,” which was funny (I thought), because she hasn’t made any recent comments, at least none that I was there to hear.
But then I squinted at my notes and said, “Oh, wait—these aren’t about you, after all.”
I detailed my complaints and she listened with sympathy and understanding, as always. It’s dawned on me that when I thought for four or five years that she was doing all these terrible things and being so mean to me, possibly we had a giant transference underway, which is what’s supposed to happen in therapy.
I guess the idea is to work through the original problem by seeing the transference through, but it turns out it works just as well, if I may say so myself, to leave therapy in the proverbial huff and not go back for a couple of years. Lots cheaper, too, though it’s not like it costs me an enormous fortune to go to therapy. My therapist is too nice to say, “Hey, it’s not 1985 anymore. My rates have risen.”
Very nice visit. I’ll probably go back after I’ve had time to build up more complaints.
On Saturday morning I went to Rainbow and then Tom and I took the train to Sacramento to celebrate his birthday, somewhat belatedly. His mother, Ann, has obtained the world’s dearest little dog, Sophia (Sophie), part dachshund and part Italian greyhound, eight months old, sweet and affectionate, very short tan hair, long elaborate ears. She’s extremely cute.
She was a stray, in the pound for some time, which boggles the mind. It’s hard to imagine someone not turning the world upside down to get her back.
We hung out: Steve, Tom, Ann, Mac and I. In due time, Julie arrived and we ordered pizza for dinner and further hung out.
Tom and I slept in the TV room on a sofabed, and the next day, the same group assembled for brunch, plus Eva, Paul and Dan, who had all been busy the evening before. Tom opened his presents, which included a copy of Fiasco, which I recalled, incorrectly, that he had read.
Steve, who gave it to him, asked, “Have you read it?” Tom said, “Yes, I read about a third of it—before I gave it to you.”
Uh oh! Flag on the field: possible regifting situation. In fact, it turned out to be the rare regift to the original giver, as confirmed when we discovered our card to Steve still inside the book. (Besides forgetting that Tom hadn’t actually finished the book, I’d also forgotten that I was one of the original givers.)
We suggested Steve could take the final step by crossing out “Steve” on our card and writing in “Tom” instead.
By the way, Tom wasn't regifting; he bought the book for Steve, but figured he might as well read as much of it as possible before turning it over. However, Tom instructed me to note here that he wasn't one bit offended—he is happy to have a chance to finish the book.
In the afternoon, Tom and I took the train back home, pausing for an hour or so to sit in Old Sacramento to enjoy the beautiful, warm fall day.
Sunday evening I talked to my mother on the phone. She had lost her engagement ring a year or so ago, and was calling to report that she had found it, tucked in the drawer of a desk in their study.
I had the day off work yesterday and made split pea soup, from Laurel’s Kitchen, Deborah Madison’s mushroom-barley pilaf, and a new dish: Arugula-Pecan Pesto, from Mollie Katzen’s new book, The Vegetable Dishes I Can’t Live Without.
She recently appeared in Newsweek magazine’s little feature where authors list their favorite books, and Deborah Madison’s The Savory Way was one of the books she listed, so I have recently gotten that, too.
I’m looking forward to trying the recipes in The Vegetable Dishes I Can’t Live Without, but am finding the book slightly unsatisfactory in that, while many details are included, some rather basic instructions are omitted.
For instance, the pesto recipe calls for four cups of arugula, but gives no hint as to whether that is with or without stems. I pulled the leaves off the stems, as my arugula was fairly mature (in fact, it was clamoring to go to an R-rated movie), but wouldn’t have known to do that from this cookbook.
The result is kind of odd, probably not something you would eat with a spoon or spread on a piece of toast, but it’s not bad as a dip for apple slices. Maybe I should have used a chocolate bar instead of arugula.
My safety vest arrived this morning, and it’s fantastic! It’s exactly what I wanted: loose-fitting, mesh, zipper in front, extremely bright orange with reflective strips, not too long; it stops at the hips. It even has three pockets, two inside.
I showed it to my coworker and said I’ve been finding our work (with software) kind of hazardous lately, but that I should be much safer with my new vest on. She said, “It will probably cut down on unwanted social interactions, too.”
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