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Yesterday I went back to therapy. I was seriously considering not going because of the lovely cold my lovely little nephew so sweetly passed on to me that is waking me up every morning with the hawking and spitting and had my last caller on Tuesday tell me I didn't have to look up anything else, "save your voice, dear." Oy. I left a half-hour early, by the way, because if I can't quit coughing there's really no reason for me to be here.

But anyway.

On Monday my supervisor did a side-by-side with me, which means that she sits behind me with headphones on and listens to me take calls. This, as you may have already guessed, does absolute wonders for my anxiety. (By the way, I have talked about my anxiety so much in the past month that I'm beginning to feel like it's a friend or possibly some sort of pet that I keep in my stomach.) My anxiety is horrid. It's horrid and horrible and awful and I wish it would go away, maybe to Brazil. But I got through the side-by-side, did a perfectly okay job, made sure I listened for the good things she said so I could remember them later when I'm dwelling on the criticism. So, yeah. Fine. Then she tells me we're going to do call review on Thursday (hint: that's today), which means we sit together and listen to calls I've already taken. JOY. Now I'll leave you for a moment to figure out the only thing I've thought about for the past two and a half days.

Yeah. Talk about dwelling.

It's fine, too. It was all fine. She told me again that she thinks I'm doing a really good job. I thanked her, sincerely, and also I told her I'm seeing a therapist. I'm sure that made her feel grand.

Speaking of my therapist: her name is El*f*ie. I thought it was El*s*ie. No. It is EL*F*IE. Like Elf. Like Santa's Little Helper. I cannot believe that I ended up with a therapist named E1fie.

But I digress.

Therapy is going well. I really do think it's helping. I also think that it's helping for me to be on an antidepressant that actually doesn't make me want to kill myself. (Always a plus.) Now I'm anxious because I'm waiting to see if my xanax scrip will be refilled. I may have to have E1fie call and say LOOK, SHE'S KRAZEE, WILL YOU PLEASE GIVE HER SOME MORE DRUGS, because I don't see the shrink until August 16.

So yeah. Ahem.

This week, I am supposed to take Cindy (satan principal) and bury her in a deserted cornfield in Nebraska, because I will never go there and also I have heard that it's not an aesthetically pleasing place. Once that stops working I'm supposed to think of another way to get rid of her. I'm thinking that next I will freeze her in an iceberg. I hope it hurts.

KIDDING. I forgive her. I do. Right now, I forgive her. I will keep forgiving her because it's going to take more than once, or twenty quafrillion times, to forgive her completely. I wish no harm upon her. Oh, okay, I wish a little harm, but I'm working on it.

Right this second, everything is okay. And that? Is blessed.