I wish we didn't need to know SO much about the reproductive lives of the rich and famous. Seriously, if I see one more "celebrity baby bump" story my head may explode. Or I'll stick forks in my eyes and ice picks in my ears to end the torment once and for all.
One or the other.
I love therapy. I don't always want to go (spending 50 minutes dredging up painful thoughts, worries and memories isn't necessarily something I look forward to, surprising enough), but I always end up being glad that I did.
I do kind of worry that there's never going to be an end to this though. Really, for only being 37 years old I seem to have a LOT to talk about.
Therapist lady suggested maybe it might be useful to "screen out" the things in my head, not unlike the process gold miners used to employ when they panned for gold in murky river beds. She said it might be useful to sift out the various worries and concerns in order to "see what's left behind" - and to see what my biggest issues really are.
I couldn't help it. I laughed, right out loud on her little blue couch. I'm relatively sure if you sift away at me ALL you'll find is worries at this point.
But it's worth a try, right?
Hell, anything is worth a try at this point.
I need to get rid of an organ. And I'm not having all that much luck.
It's an old two manual Lowrey organ that used to belong to my Grandparents. It has to be pushing fifty. Or possibly pulling it.
I took it out of spite when my Aunt was clearing out my Grandparents' house (back when doing stupid things out of spite held a greater place of importance in my life than it does now, post Thomas) and it's been sitting in our basement collecting dust ever since.
Spite and sentimentality are the reason for its four-year basement exile.
The thing is, I'm pretty much over the spite part, and practicality is currently trumping sentimentality. I know my Grandma wanted either my sister or I to have it, but I don't have the space, nor do I play the organ. I think it's just time for it to go.
Sadly, 50-year old Lowrey organs aren't that easy to get rid of. Even when you tell people they're free.
So, you know, let me know if you're in the market for a dusty organ that almost certainly needs servicing.
Just be prepared for me to cry when you take it away from me.
According to my Facebook friends (courtesy of the "social profile" application), not only am I the bravest, but I'm also the best travel companion with the best sense of humour.
Sadly, according to these same friends I'm neither organized nor fashionable.
I have no choice but to agree with the fashion critique, but dammit, I'm incredibly organized!
More or less.
Oh just shut up, I'm very brave.