  The assessment is over. According to the therapist, (we'll call her BassieDoc) I'm only half-treated. Lots has been done for me on the spinning lazy susan of drugs, but as for consistant cognitive therapy, i haven't had the experience of a sympathetic therapist with a few years under her belt.
The good doctor, I'm led to believe, has seen lots of little fruitcakes like myself, and she was either intutive enough, or smart enough to know exactly how she could get me to go to therapy regularily; said "nothing else has worked, right? So why not try this? " and she's making me first on her cancellation list, so i can't really just sort of drift away. God, do I hate it. I know it's worth doing, and I'm commited to doing it, but I hate it. Stuff is being dregged up that I thought I had either dealt with, or safely compartmentilized.
Basically, I didn't deal with anything, just buried it down deep to become the product of weepy beer nights and bouts of self-pity and crankiness. I'd like to think i DID deal with these things. But I haven't, and I'm fifteen, or nine, or twenty one again, trying to figure out precisely what's making me feel like shit, and trying not to get frustrated with the figuring. It's rather tiring. The Most Popular Boys in the World had a party on Friday. I had the stomach flu, was not feeling the slightest bit neighbourly, and so called the cops. After a bit, the music had not stopped, and a guy showed up on my step. I assumed he was around for the party and came to the wrong door, as a few others did that night. I gave him directions, and he looked confused, so i sarted explain again. Turns out, though, that he was one of TMPBITW, coming to ask me for leniancy on the party.
I sort of looked at him blankly and nodded a few times, the party rocked on until 2am or so. After this meeting, a few things occured to me; that A) the guy probably thought i was very confused, and wasn't the person who called the police, or B) I was sort of mental. I know he looked sufficiently confused when he left. I've been ruminating over my actions, i wasn't being nice, or charitable towards those guys, and I'm sort of sorry. I'm not entirely sure yet if I'm sorry enough to appologize. We'll see. We're offically in Peasant Status; the insurance on the gay little civic has gone away, and we've no means to get some more.
Saves money this way, but it's winter, and I'm a wuss, so expanding my horizions socially looks to be a far bigger task than ever it was. Besides, it's winter, and w/v is a hill. Part of my homework with the therapist addresses this issue;(not the hill issue, but the isolationist issue) before my next appointment, I'm to call the lady I near drooled over at the Sheep Fur Farm Place. I tried telling BassieDoc that my exuberance was more than likely unsettling to the Weaving Lady, BassieDoc told be to grow some cojones, and call anyways. Eeeeh. Maybe I'll email. Another part of my homework is listing goals, no matter the feasiblity. Got any ideas? Send them my way, along with suggestions for a blog title. Get busy, people.
The goals so far are: Spending time in every national park in canada Get published Learn to crochet, weave, felt, and other things to facillitate me becoming a Craftsperson Buy a huge amount of land, so I can run a non-kill humane society; that way i can take any and all animals that need a home. Live in Trinidad Learn another language Take care of mine and Kurt's parents That's all i can think of for now. You people know me, did i leave anything out? 
