Whenever I do something really dumb, and fortunately for me and the world at large, it is less often than I used to, I doubt my sanity. Wouldn't it be lovely to have a therapist on call, one who is intimate with all my quirks, to ask "Am I okay here?" In times of dire emotional straits, I have done just that, fearful that I was unraveling at an alarming rate. And she told me that I was still in one piece, just in shock. And she talked to me about making better choices in the future. I think that part eluded me, because it wasn't all that later that I found myself in pretty much the same hot water, albeit was simmering and not boiling that time. I am pretty much resigned to my human frailities, too. And I still hate it when they bubble to the surface and cloud up my nice clear life stream. And notice that my self-doubt is all fuzzy, no hard edges to injure myself on anymore. Certainly, it is never a bad idea to examine the inner landscape. That is, after all, where I live.
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