I’m a little tired right now gentle reader. Not from a bit of how’s-your-father, oh no, but rather a long day – one of those days full of little niggles and challenges. All done now though, and I’m home, and it’s dinner time and the radio is on…
Today I had yet another counselling session, and I’m beginning to feel my counsellor is responding to my needs when structuring our sessions. Apparently I’m too ‘bright’ for his standard counselling techniques, which is nice. I think.
Today’s theme was self-esteem. He wanted to explore any self-destructive behaviours I might be exhibiting and seemed somewhat disappointed when I couldn’t reveal any. Being an introvert getting angry or upset makes me want to avoid people, not jump into bed with them. As mentioned previously getting tipsy (a) makes me less interested in sex and (b) I act like an idiot so no-one would want me anyway. I don’t 'do' drugs. I don’t put myself in dangerous situations bar the usual risks that come with the gaydar/squirt cruising thing. It’s just me; late bloom in the gardens of Strumpetville; a breath away from withering…
My counsellor was particularly keen to talk about International (I suspect he sees him as more in need of counselling than I which his hardly fair – he only has my description after all. And I’m cuckoo). He was very forgiving of my weekend indiscretion, perhaps clutching at straws by seeing my love for International as the manifestation of my self-destructive tendencies. The counsellor gave me some cognitive behavioural therapy exercises to go through at home.
Does it seem strange that I profess to love International and yet still have sex with other people? I hope not. The situation will evolve as the facts change; right now I am decided not to wait idly by while has his cake and eats it. Alongside the causal encounters there is my – quite possibly self destructive – refusal to rearrange my social life around seeing him. I realise it may be stubbornness or obstinacy on my part, but I won’t change my plans to suit him because he can’t change his plans with Ouch. I fear that would leave me running around after him all the time.
I may be the other woman but we abhor the cliché!
Anyway, I still can’t wait to see him at the weekend and the message from Geneva is he can’t wait to see me. It will be a useful distraction from redrafting by business plan and bringing my accounts up to date and cleaning the flat and… because I love him loads.
(I also enjoy robot chicken.)