here again, are we? yes we are.

gone to a better place

Through a sequence of unbelievably hilarious misadventures which, were I to actually recount them, would of course display to advantage my unique personal brand of charming incompetence, I was fifteen minutes late for my session on Monday afternoon. To get to the consulting room on time I have to savagely fang it across Melbourne, and also, leave work when I need to leave and not a minute later. So I usually get there dripping with perspiration and gasping for air. The doctor obviously thinks this means I have been panic-cycling because she says, it doesn't matter if you're a little bit late sometimes. But that's not true. It clearly does matter, because when I am late, that is when we have the sessions where she just comes right out and says the harsh truths. Fifteen minutes late is a lot late in a forty-five minute session and the truths were correspondingly harsh. 

One of the volunteers at work said to me on Monday, You know that seasonal affective disorder? I reckon I get that. As he spoke he looked really, really sad. He's 89, but you would not know it. I thought, maybe that's what this is. Maybe I just need to get out from inside this bundle of coats and jumpers and scarves and gloves and feel the sun on my face and a warm breeze blowing across my bare skin.

The doctor said, you want what you cannot have and this is the only reason you want it. You want this because you have spent your entire life wanting something that was not available to you. The emotions are real but they belong to a much earlier time, not to what's happening now. You have to accept this. When you accept, there will be grief.

Easy for her to say.