Apr. 14th, 2010

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I have been having some seriously loopy dreams recently. Last night, I was breaking in to police stations at midnight to put up posters advertising a surrealist play my friend was writing for the BBC (the friend in question also emerged to be 50 years older than I had previously thought them to be). A couple of nights before that, pigeons were committing suicide by flying into me at top speed, and then I had to kill the American president (which happened to be a woman) with a poison-tipped pogo stick. What ARE you trying to tell me, subconscious?

Counselling tomorrow. Am feeling increasingly disillusioned with the whole thing, even before the whole eating disorder clinic thing. I still very definately have angst, but am finding it more and more difficult to articulate it to my counsellor (and I never found it that easy in the first place, what with feelings often being remarkably abstract things). The sessions are increasingly filled with awkward silences. I don't feel quite ready to give them up all together, though I would like to gradually increase the length of time  between them. Unfortunately, this doesn't seem to be an option. Ho hum.

So this entry doesn't end on a negative note, here is a link to a ridiculous dog. Special extra bonus points for the punning headline: http://cuteoverload.com/2010/04/11/bichon-please/


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