Yesterday I received a very strange letter in the mail, an appointment to my referred psychologist. If you recall I asked my former psychologist to reschedule the initial meeting for a later date but was denied. I wasn’t simply denied I was informed that all services would stop and if I wanted to pursue therapy in the future I would have to start the process over. I don’t know if my former psychologist had a change of heart. Maybe she reread my email and understood something she’d misinterpreted about my request? Maybe the referred psychologist was not made aware of my discontinued services? I am not sure if I will be attending this meeting alone. The original plan was to attend with my former psychologist but that would be pretty awkward now. I’ve not heard anything from her since so it seems unlikely, more likely I will go in alone. I am not sure how much this new doctor will know about me (this girl is a flight risk). I am a little unsure how I feel. I still have my reservations about therapy and I am still scared witless at the prospect of undressing emotionally in front of a stranger. Nevertheless, I feel it is a second chance and I at least ought to talk to the woman face to face encase she would have something to offer. Last night I hardly slept even though the meeting is next Friday (I have other worries too).
On an entirely different note. Writing for me is a very messy process. I tend to write multiple pieces simultaneously. I open countless windows and leave my finished works unsaved amongst countless other poems, stories, phrases, and stanzas. Given enough time I forget which poems I’ve shared and which stanzas/phrases I’ve utilized. No one could make sense of the mess. Half finished ideas sit around fermenting, rather promising poems/stanzas go overlooked for months. At one point I had 30 windows open. A single document could be as much as 20 pages long. The horror! Since adopting Sylvia Plath’s philosophy I refuse to delete and continue to work on my fragments until I produce a poem. I am proud to announce that currently I only have 7 pages! The longest document is 8 pages. Yes I know it is still terrible but the amount of work I’ve done is formidable. I’ve made poems out of phrases that I’ve written in the grips of writer’s block, low quality, seemingly potentionless snippets that have sometimes produced my favorite pieces. I used to delete and throw away more than ¾ of my work. What I didn’t delete was often lost due to poor organization. I don’t think I will ever be organized (I am saving more frequently though!) but I no longer give up at the slightest pinch of writer’s block or discouragement. I challenge myself and I persevere. I desperately need to update Open Office hence the italics for some reason my Open Office documents copy italicized even if the do not appear italicized in the original document.