-Why would you want a job anyway? Why would it be better than this?
-I am dissatisfied, perplexed. I ought to want more because I am wasted.
-Who calls it a waste? I do.
It would be a challenge. It might be fulfilling. And, I like this, not working. I don’t feel responsibility. I analyse myself, and I write about it. I need to slow-think everything out, because my fast thinking is crap.
It’s not a sense of entitlement. I was unprepared for what I have had to deal with. I have had a lot to deal with.
Counselling with Tina Livingstone. It’s been good in the past. I told her of my last jobs, of leaving, and some stuff which I don’t remember and I took odd note words which I don’t understand seven hours later.
I told her I decided to be positive. At 3.30 the hour is over and I wonder if she will stop or I should stop but go on leaving the boundary to her- I am “caring for her” perhaps or seeking control, something, both could be good or bad; allowing it to go on I am relinquishing control and being cared for- there is the paid boundary, then the bit beyond. At 3.45 she asks, what part of you is grieving?
A part that just feels. There are rational bits which aren’t, don’t see it is justified. Now I say it is me. Whole me is grieving. We get more to small talk. Why should I want a job anyway, even the most fulfilling one, stretching me, making demands I could not be certain I could always fulfil to perfection, stopping me being in control? I like being in control.
Anyway. Small talk. I went for a walk in the park this morning, in the sun (one walk, three posts, amazing how you get material). On the river there were a load of blokes in two person kayaks, shouting at each other in a ribald, bloky way blokes seem to enjoy, with a football. I could not work out the rules.
-Ah! You hit it with a paddle! Ten points off!
-You didn’t tell us that! You can’t just introduce a rule like that!
One kayak prow is in the bank, and a man on the other bank shouts at him. “George! Paddle backwards! Paddle on the other side!” There is a long pause, then George complies. He digs into the water angrily, powerfully, forcing the canoe backwards. “Now George, paddle forwards. Paddle forwards, or you’ll hit the other bank!” (They’re all talking in exclamations). I stand enjoying the late blackberries, watching. That one, nice and soft, should be alright. That one’s past it. The boat drifts backwards, and George gets his motivation, at last, to paddle on the other side. He must have been completely exhausted.
APROPOS OF NOTHING AT ALL!
Anyway, talking to Tina makes me feel better about myself, and that can’t be bad.