A Broken Record

In a desperate attempt to find someone who I can speak to every week. I've been shopping for someone new. Maybe I've found someone. She's a thin, lanky, Hispanic-looking shrink who works closely with the Buddha man. Same practice and such. My ADD self had trouble remembering where her office was the first day, and then of course, on ADD time, I was ten minutes late. She told me she's a cognitive psychologist, and that she's going to help me change my thinking and behavior.

I told her about the mystery man who, with his lack of communication, was driving me up the wall. There's something about his behavior that triggers memories of a mother who neglected me and didn't acknowledge or cultivate my importance. Everything was her, her, her. She wants to buy expensive things, she wanted a dog but it got run over, she wanted a mink coat without considering how expensive the facials were. I know, the past is the past, what can you do? But, it's a scar that I acknowledge every day.

I've fallen back again with the lack of structure of my life; the finances, happiness, and direction are at bay. For the past few days, I've fallen into a deep sleep, each time awakening from a tapestry of dreams, always with the theme of racing to get somewhere and not making it on time, always with the theme of falling short on something and then like a broken record player in my mind, I think of what a boss once asked, "Would you rather have a plate filled with all sorts of food mixed together or a nice steak meal?" A nice meal of course, obviously right, so what's the problem? I know I'm getting better, slowly, steadily — but all this effort and it's about as visible as the wind.