I saw my therapist today and all she did was pat me on the back for doing such a good job. She's the one who thinks I should open a home for wayward boys when I retire. Either she doesn't get the point of therapy or I don't. I thought she's supposed to help me understand my anxieties and stress and all that. Instead, I tell her what's going on and she says I'm a saint for what I've taken on. I must be missing something.
On the other hand, it was my day off and I got to do some writing and spent time reading about Dark Matter. I stayed out until fairly late and there were no calls to arms on my phone or ringtones of despair. I got home and the boys were all in bed and Buddy said it had been a great evening. No one fought, screamed, or complained. Kit went to bed on time without a problem and they even did the dishes. Buddy felt great about it because he wasn't on the fuzzy end of the lollipop wondering what happened like he so often is. It was really nice to see that I can take a day off without this little world falling in on itself.
Sometimes it's nice not to be needed
