analyze that

Sigmund Freud, originally uploaded by wordscraft.

When I tell people that I am a wanna-be mental health counselor, I am often met with one of three responses. One, "Uh-oh. Please don't analyze me!" Two, "Are you going to analyze me?" And three, "Can you tell me my future?"

No, I cannot tell your future. But, I must confess, I will probably analyze you. I'm sorry. I'm a wanna-be counselor. That is what we do.

We also analyze ourselves.

Which is what I've been doing this week. I've felt a bit strange and out of sync since last Friday, as evidenced by the fact that I thought it was the wrong day and I bought Doritos and Diet Coke. Let me back up. You see, I don't buy Doritos. Somehow, along this road in life, I never started buying junk food. I'm rarely even tempted by it. And I don't like Diet Coke. In fact, unless it has a little rum, okay a lot of rum, in it, I despise it. I also never ever miss appointments and I don't know if I've ever forgotten what day it is. I'm usually a pretty responsible gal. This week, though, I've been feeling sluggish and unmotivated and have barely even been able to make sure Graham gets some food from time to time. Poor guy.

So, I've spent some time processing why I am feeling so off this week, and I've concluded that Freud was right. I want my mommy.

I am homesick, people. Utterly, dreadfully, completely, 100% homesick.

You wanna know what I've prescribed to myself as a remedy?

A home.

But I have to wait until Monday.

Someone might want to come feed Graham a steak so he doesn't disintegrate before then.

pace out, homeys.