I can’t believe I haven’t written about my therapist yet. After all these years: we’ve been partners in this odd relationship since 1999 or so. On and off, but still. She’s seen me through some fearsome places. She tells me now how much better I am, and I believe her, because she’s been there for me when I wasn’t.
Back then around the turn of this latest century, I was a pretty busy humanoid indeed. I had just moved to beautiful Western North Carolina from even more beautiful Northern Utah, ostensibly because I wanted to spend more time with my father, who had just suffered a minor heart attack and got a stent for his trouble. Continue reading