I think my co-counsellor Sandro thinks I am a cat. For the last few days he’s taken to nuzzling up to me on the couch, massaging my back and on my break just now, he actually started stroking my hair. I am unsure to which of my characteristics he has likened to the feline species; perhaps it’s my mesmeric powder blue eyes, my svelte agility (ho ho ho) or maybe just the fact I have a particular penchant for salmon? All I know is that the more I do not tell him to desist in this activity, (I haven’t yet since photo tagging is an awfully banal pursuit and I’ve found that ‘here kitty, kitty, kitty’ is mildly comforting in the least) I will actually turn into a cat for real and spend my evenings making sardine brûlée and putting lonely hearts ads up in my alley for forlorn spinsters.
I have just sneezed 3 times in a row. Mmm. I like sneezing. It is my favourite germ expelling activity of all time.
Today, I got pissed off. I don’t know where it came from or why it occurred, but all I know was I was of the grumpy sort. Can it be that I was feeling too positive about this session? Could it be that there is a quota on how happy one can be before a negative twinge stipples your veins and whooshes throughout your body in a quick thump, wallop, kapow? No, definitely not. So where this emotion came from, god knows, but though I have
1) learnt that I do like children and do like working with them (phew)
and
2) completely and utterly enjoy the company of my co-counsellors (even when they think I am a pet)
I have realised that I bloody miss me.
Okay, so you’re sat there thinking ‘what a vain old coot’ but I know that you also get what I mean. It’s that time when you close your door behind you, recline in your chair and just go ‘ahhh, hello me, we meet again’. And though I normally don’t take to chatting myself up in such a tawdry manner, I do miss sitting alone and just being. I miss reading in bed, writing at my desk, strolling into town, sitting in coffee shops and giving people’s outfits marks out of ten, counting mad people on the bus, dodging buses like a mad person and more than anything, I miss telling people that I love my me time. I have no opportunity here to watch their faces twitch in bafflement as I say I like being alone. You are constantly surrounded 24/7 and though this fulfils all my social check boxes (tick, tick, tick) I’m still left longing, nay, yearrrninggg for my little room in Manchester that will be just mine.
Alas, for now: what will be will be. I’ll keep on with my chummy ways and who knows, perhaps if I’m extra nice, someone will leave me a large estate home in the back end of nowhere for me to folly about in the bird bath. I’ve heard that mad people sometimes do that with their cats and Sandro may just fit the bill.
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