Good Mother Therapy: On Saturday morning I took my daughter to her basketball game; it was the first game in the post-season playoffs. She played her BFF’s team, and they lost by one point after a very close game (they lost to them last week by more than 20 points). Except for grabbing the ball, I love watching the determination and skill of those 12- and 13-year old girls on the court. After the game I took my daughter and her best friend and another good friend from the “opposing” team out for ice cream and then a day of going back and forth between homes and activities.
This lovely “I am a good mother” morning was negated when my older daughter repeatedly banged on my wall screaming at me to lower the volume of the live opera I was listening to on the radio after I had cranked it up all the way (on a clock radio mind you, so it’s not too loud) to drown out exman yelling at me through my locked door that he would file something against me because I stole his things. (See below.)
Clean House Therapy: The realtor suggested cleaning out the basement storage area and the mudroom. So that’s what I did. I moved bags of old clothes, toys and books to donate and rearranged exman’s boxes so that they would be placed on shelves and not on the floor making the whole place a mess, and putting his shirts (that he just threw down there) into plastic bags. There were only two boxes of my things there, which I didn’t realize I had, since I moved everything to storage when we put the house up for sale and agreed that we would move our things out of the basement and into storage to make it look less crowded. He, of course, moved his things right back into the basement storage area instead of out of the house and into storage.
I got a lot done and was feeling good about it, but I still hadn’t found the dead mouse that could be sniffed down there when exman came home and got into a tirade that I was stealing his things. I dropped the box of things I was about to put into the garbage so that he could inspect it and went into my room not wanting to deal with what I knew would be coming. Not only did I not steal his things but his things mainly comprise boxes and boxes of papers that he brought with us when we moved from Israel and he has not opened since putting them into those boxes more than eight years ago. Apparently there are amazing contracts that he wrote in Hebrew in those boxes which, I am sure, are useless in the US and useless because he hasn’t worked as an attorney since we came to the US.
There he was with his recorder friend again at my door screaming about theft but by that time I had turned the radio up and was listening to Il Trovatore.
Read Therapy: At that point I turned to read therapy. Unfortunately in the past few weeks I have not liked any of the books I took from the library. Too many conversations that were too dull, too many characters who were too cliché or perhaps not enough since they didn’t get or hold my interest in them and the vicissitudes of their lives, too many missing insights, too many dull phrasings. How come they get their books published and I don’t get mine, was the overriding thought, which surely was not a therapeutic thought.
Cry Therapy: From there I moved onto cry therapy. But I’m not hurt, I’m frustrated and angry, which doesn’t bring up soothing tears, just more frustrated and angry thoughts.
Sleep Therapy: So I turned to a lovely standard, the midday nap. But I was too riled up to release and relax. It would have been nice to roll around in my love seat and empty into emptiness, but there was too much stuff in my head.
Shop Therapy: This started out as drive therapy but then I realized that I really do need to get some pants that fit my thighs. And since my tax refund check arrived (I am quite proud of myself for filing so early), I figured that I could splurge for a few essentials, but not much since the rest will be my short-term rent-a-basement money. So into Kohl’s I went because they have the Lee pants that understand that some real women have thighs.
This therapy worked well because while there were some pants that still didn’t fit my thighs and I did have to face my stomach which is flabbier than it was last time I looked six months ago, my mind was totally focused on the hunt. Looking for what I needed and trying to find it. It was escapism. I ended up escaping with two pairs of pants (not black, which is all I had that still fit), undies, socks, and a towel. Yes, a new bath towel for me. It is my first new towel, all of the ones I have been using are old “family” towels, but this one, this one is mine (I’ll need to hide it from my daughters to keep it that way).
When I was done shopping there I went to Nordstrom’s Rack, hopeful for a bargain. But there was none to be had. But it continued the time that I could focus on the hunt and search and not the ridiculous situation of my life, or even to think of my life. From there I had something to eat, but I did not overeat so I will not mention food therapy as one of the forms of therapy that I sought, although I did eat too many brownies when I got home, it was not excessive.
Flannel Pajama Therapy: This last therapy was the most soothing therapy. It could be because the pajamas just came out of the dryer and had that wonderfully warm, clingy feeling that soothed me perfectly at the end of my day. And what is therapy for if not to soothe you?
What kind of therapies have you tried lately?