A New Therapist

Ok, I'm posting today as part of my renewed committment to post more regularly. I think that I really do have something to say most days, although it may not be anything especially profound. But I think there's value in writing regularly, and I do keep a journal, but this seems like it's helpful too. I tend to think of blogging and journaling as a way to sort of communicate my hopes and dreams and frustrations and joys to the universe. And so to that end, here's the story of my visit to a new therapist:

Yesterday, I saw a new therapist for the first time. It didn't go especially well, and I feel not very optimistic about the whole thing. D.C. says that I should have asked her if she knew Virginia Woolf. And maybe that's a good way to go. Maybe the therapist that understands Woolf will understand me. Now that I've typed that, the full ramifications of that statement are starting to hit me. I mean, we all know what kind of end VW met. And still, I have to admit that reading VW is somehow satisfying on this intimate level; it's the sense that here's someone who really understands how it feels to be me. (Hey, do we all remember the Tom Petty song about "You don't know how it feels to be me"?) But in all seriousness, this new therapist didn't seem to get me. And at the end of the session, she told me that she wasn't sure she really understood what was going on with me and, thus, wasn't sure she could help me. This is pretty discouraging.

But the best (or at least the funniest) part of this whole thing was when she suggested the possibility that Attention Deficit Disorder is at the root of all my emotional problems. Seriously, I think I have whatever is the opposite of ADD. And as I replay this scene, which becomes increasinly like a bad SNL skit with each successive replay, I see her saying "Maybe you have ADD." And then I say something like, "Yeah, right. That's why I finished my dissertation. That's why I have a PhD. That's why I'm the resident expert on young adult fantasy. It's because I have ADD and can't concentrate. Right. People with ADD finish PhDs" I should add that I don't take the whole I'm-a-PhD thing very seriously. As is evidenced by the neon pink name plate on my desk that reads "Drennan, PhD," but it's bright pink, which says a lot about me. And my mom sent it to me, which says that she "gets" me, even if new therapist doesn't. Carina says I should trade in the new therapist for a new model. I think I should just take enough pills that I feel better. OK, that was tongue-in-cheek, but only kinda.

Hey, I'm listening to Johnny Cash. And it strikes me that he's rather like VW. I mean, I love the song "Sunday Morning Coming Down." There's something so true about it, so authentic. And I totally think that VW would understand about Johnny Cash. And hey, wouldn't they both be brilliant at dinner parties? When Cort and I were in college, we used to play the Desert Island game, but can't the Dinner Party game be a grown up version of the same thing? I mean, instead of "Would you rather be stuck on a desert island with Mike Piazza or Eric Karros?" it's now about "Who would you invite to the perfect dinner party?" And clearly, I want Cash and Woolf. Which probably just means that I'm looking for people I can sit around and be all melancholy with. Oh, and I'd throw Salman Rushdie in for good measure. Now I've completely diverged from the stated focus of this post. But really, planning fantasy dinner parties is much more interested than incompetent therapists.

Journals

I'm suddenly, oddly obsessed with decorating journals. I suppose that part of the neurosis is that I'm oddly obsessed with having about 5 different journals going at once. And I feel like I need to carry them all with me at all times. They're all categorized, and I know that Carina is thinking that I sound like what's-her-name in The Golden Notebook, and I know that she's right. Not that I've actually read The Golden Notebook. But I wanted to show you the cute, fun journals that I've been decorating.

Since I'm posting pics anyway, here's one of my backyard, as seen from the dining area:

Guinnie and the Stove

It's been pretty darn cold since Wednesday or so. And poor Guinnie can't seem to get warm enough. She spends most of the day parked in front of the stove. There's a little ledge where, as you can see, she rests her front paws in order to be as close to the flame as possible. Sometimes she growls when Polly gets too close!

Foucault's Pendulum

I'm all in this big Eco frenzy lately. And I finished his Island of the Day Before about ten days ago. And on Monday, I started Foucault's Pendulum. So here's my assessment so far: it's like the intelligent reader's DaVinci Code. Not that I've actually read The DaVinci Code, but I've seen the movie. And I have actually purchased Brown's book; I've just not gotten around to reading it yet. But Eco, at least so far, is dealing with the same kind of topic--the Knights Templar, the grail, the crazies who think that they can reconstruct some occult history of it all--but Eco seems to have this great sense of humor about the whole thing. I mean, it's like he's laughing at all the people out there who've read The DaVinci Code and are all saying things like, "Wow! It really kinda makes you think that all that could be possible." And they read this piece of fiction, of fantasy really, as though it were an indictment of the Catholic church and such. And as I'm reading Eco, I feel like Eco and I are somehow snidely feeling smarter and funnier and more savy than everyone on the DaVinci bandwagon. And yes, I realize that I'm being all snobbish and uppity and smarter-than-thou here, and yes, I realize it's not such an attractive quality. But this is so how reading Eco is making me feel. It's like I'm secretly playing this really smart game, and I'm winning. And although it's far less interesting to blog about, this whole Eco kick is even making me read more theory and more about semiotics and even more feminist theory (Not that Eco is particularly interested in or informed by feminist theory. It's just that suddenly Kristeva is appealing. I suppose it's the whole semiotics connection, right?) I don't quite know how to put it. I'm sitting here, in my lovely periwinkle-coloured office, sipping oolong tea, and I somehow feel so pleased with myself all because of Eco. He's just so smart. And he knows so much. It's almost like this elaborate in-joke for literary and medievalist types. And, to be honest, literary, medieval types are my favorite types, I think.

Ok, I realize that I've not been posting lately, and I'm really not even sure why. But I should make a point of posting more often, because I really do think it's somehow good for my emotional health. Wow! "Emotional health" seems such a sterile term for something that feels so non-sterile. Isn't there a better, more accurate term I could be using? I mean, "emotional health" seems so void of any connotative meaning, and it seems like there should be some sort of connotative sense associated with such a term. But there isn't, at least not for me.

I logged on intending to post something about Rider Haggard's She, which I finished reading yesterday. First, how is it that I've not read this novel before? I don't know what to make of it. And most of all, why is it that so many writers and thinkers that I am interested in (Tolkien and Lewis, for example) find it so important? I mean, there has to be something about this novel, a popular adventure novel, that moves readers on some deep level, but I can't get at what it is. And I keep thinking about it. I suppose that there's something uncanny and even threatening about She-who-must-be-obeyed. But why? Is it simply that a beautiful, powerful women is scary? Or is it more than that? Maybe it's Ayesha's near-immortality that makes us uncomfortable. I really don't know. This discussion isn't going anywhere, I realize. I suppose that I'm working through it all but just don't quite know where to go.