I feel very self-conscious when I go to the therapist. I start to think about my body language and whether it's communicating something different than my words, and then I start going all wacky with arm crossing, fingers clasping, hair touching, and probably making a boatload of weird facial expressions. I like my therapist, though - I've been to a few over the years and this is the first one that I feel really good about.
I'm coping. I was doing very well with cleaning, decluttering and packing, but I've hit a wall. I need to get my motivation back.
I've been reading trashy novels to pass the time. I'm almost done with the Sookie Stackhouse series. I also watched Season 1 of True Blood, which I borrowed from my sister-in-law. Way, way better than the books. My prurient interest in Alexander Skarsgaard makes me feel old and pervy, but his appeal is undeniable.
Earlier today, I was feeling on the verge of being sick...I thought I might be feverish and I felt slightly nauseated. But now I feel completely normal. Still, I'm going to take some Nyquil before I go to bed tonight.