therapy

A friend said she’s missing me. Me ranting and oversharing she meant. I realised I have been sharing less. Even though the writing thing has actually become quite therapeutic. Whether a moment of gratitude or a moment to ponder, writing about it seems to calm me. I realised my therapy is ongoing, I just have a new therapist. Kate. She gets a letter a day, because by now we all know I am a tad obsessive. I can’t bear the thought that she might be the only 15yr old not to get a letter on letter day. By now we also all know I am a tad controlling. (Not sure how she feels about probably being the only 15yr old to get a letter from her mother every single letter day. Oh well.) Anyway she was the one who heard all about the lady from the shop downstairs who is being boycotted by me because when Jem very sweetly and very bravely went to ask her for a 40hr famine donation she said she supports many charities but that is not one of them. So no. I so wish Jem could have said what B came up with at dinner as a response. My mom buys lots of stuff from many shops, but yours is no longer one of them. Bitch. Especially because we do buy lots from her all the time. And she knows Jem. Very well. And she was mean. And Jem was brave. And I feel guilty because Jem doesn’t have a ‘normal’ neighbourhood to canvas because B and I love apartment living. Anyway I did feel better after sharing this with Kate. And it did give me pause and decide to lift the boycott. I’m sure she’s relieved.

two hundred and twenty

Our local supermarket now has a small South African section. I am grateful for this reminder of when I was little. These caramel creams were my favourite. The funny thing is when I was still in South Africa I hadn’t had them for years, despite them being available. Yet discovering them here, so far away, I ate the entire pack. It seems I’m allowed to here. Because it reminds me of there. And then.

two hundred and eighteen

 

I drew the short straw today. Or so I thought. I got to take Jem and her friends to a water polo match at 6pm 40mins away from home. To see those determined little faces in their funny little water polo caps, to watch them soldier against much bigger girls, to see them fight hard and score goals, to feel their pride, to hear my own whoops of joy and encouragement, to feel my not very well hidden competitive spirit. I had such a fun time. I’m grateful for short straws that are actually long straws.

two hundred and sixteen

18 August.  I am grateful for a wonderful day punctuated with another serendipitous meeting with fabulous friends from a lifetime ago. For moments that allow now and then to overlap, reminding me how small our world really is. Reminding me to continue to slow it down and rejoice in the little things. Little things like the naughty glint in B’s eye at lunch on realising we were childless on a saturday night.

two hundred and fifteen

17 August. We have always been close but I am grateful for the increased intimacy between Jem and I at the moment. It seems she is also feeling the space left by Kate being away and wants to be even closer to B and I. I am grateful for this little reprieve from time. I know how fleeting it can be and will cherish it. I am loving the little air of fragility about us all, and the awareness it brings. Life is precious.

lucky

My husband really must love me. I am completely and utterly impossible. Arrogant and self absorbed and really really lucky. Lucky because I have a partner who just gets me and really does accept me. Warts and all. I thought about this particularly this morning as I walked into the bathroom while B was showering to get something. I can’t remember what. Anyway, B loves to chat in the morning, especially when he’s in the shower and he has been sensitive to my feeling a bit off colour the last couple of days.  Sooooo, sweetie, he starts. I simply shake my head, without even looking at him. Fetch what I need to fetch and walk out. As if to say, no, not now. Don’t talk to me, don’t engage with me on any level. Not now. He simply carries on with his shower, not offended, not even bothering to comment, not even muttering, bitch under his tongue. Which if I were him I would have. As I walked away I actually thought, bitch, who do you think you are and burst out laughing. Tail between my legs I went back into the bathroom and asked B how the hell he put up with me. He just shrugged. It must be love.

two hundred and fourteen

I am grateful for four letters today. To receive handwritten letters from my teenage daughter is such a wonderful treat. I can’t explain the feeling of holding the letters she has actually written. I am grateful for this experience, so we can all know the beauty of writing, sharing and anticipation. She says she is having a fabulous time. Not even raking sawdust in the long drop loos is putting her off.  I am grateful that all is okay in her world. Because that means all is okay in my world again. I am so letting go. I am.