therapy

Well. It's been awhile. I've been chastened. (Thanks, Hyonjoo.) So. Summer barely began and already makes it's retreat. The nights go below zero and it's not yet Thanksgiving and stores are filled with Christmas junk. No wonder we rush from one thing to the next without hardly stopping to enjoy.

So now that I've returned far enough into to the land of the living to want to write, (which is why I didn't post for so long; I couldn't find enough in me to care about writing) I still hardly know where to begin. This has been a season of emotional and psychological torture. And not in a good way. The kind of torture where you are stretched and stretched until you are so thin and hard you feel as if you are that skim of ice on a cube that isn't fully frozen. Or the kind of torture that if one more thing pricks your skin you'll completely lose your mind in violence or maniacal laughter.

Welcome to life! It hardly ever eases up, which is why there is so many of us looking for therapy in whatever form we think. Retreat, denial, substance abuse, creativity, depression, anger. Or whatever. Even cleaning. That kind of therapy. Whatever we find to occupy ourselves to just avoid that thing crushing, pressing, weighing upon us. I did find some therapy. A short, sweet getaway with my lovely friend in the Okanagan, who treated me to photography opportunities in vineyards and walks in perennial gardens, rich food and much-needed friendship. A trip to the Shuswaps to lounge with Martin in a small rubber boat on the still, empty lake, and sunburn my stomach suntanning with my mom. Losing myself for a short moment in the therapy of the Enchanted Forest, laughing at Martin laughing at me. A second anniversary celebration with Martin in the beauty of Glacier-Waterton National Park. Fresh-baked pizza in a tiny resturant and snow on the ground in the morning. Yes. He's good therapy.

I'll just think on these things. I shant be melodramatic with the other darker, deeper moments. I've had therapy!

Tonight I have cleaned and scrubbed our apartment in preparation for some very important visitors. Martin's sister, brother in law and their three children are planning to arrive this weekend. Of course we are excited and I am proud to be able to show them around. (And off, because the kids are so darn cute.) I will practice my pathetically poor Swedish. (Hello, dessert, 12345678910, thank you, monkey, spider, hedgehog, goodnight,goodmorning.) They will think I am completely silly, I am sure.

So here's to Sweden. Makers of sensible and well-built furniture, cars, and men. (Er, man. Love you, sweetie.)