Chronic Pain Management Therapy tomorrow. Group therapy, dreadful. I finally caved in to pressure from the long-suffering Doc. Thought it would be good to have somewhere to talk things out; not entirely sure what I was thinking but I'm sticking with it for now. Everyone there is so damn chatty and I know that's the point but I tend more towards a handful of sentences per day. So I go, put off entering the room until the last possible second and linger by the coffee machine sipping scalding plastic cups of terrible coffee (black, red wine too and cigarettes...good thing my teeth are mostly plastic) until the one guy who I have a strange not-friendship with manhandles me into a chair. I feel out of place, sure there is pain, sure it's been there all day every day for the last five years and sure I can't do some of the things I used to enjoy. It just doesn't have the same emotional effect that it used to. Thank God, tangible proof that I've made some progress in the last five years.
And the rest of the group is so understandably caught up in their pain, but I've come to terms with the physical side of things. It's been weeks since I said anything in that group. Perhaps they all think I'm in terrible, wrenching agony and are respecting my privacy. More likely SF (non-friend) threatened them. One girl has taken it upon herself to Heal me, last week she suggested internet dating. I can just imagine that advert. Widower; recently bereaved seeks similar for long anguished evenings spent nesting in wife's clothes. Has own apartment, currently furnished with a bed, one folding chair and the beginnings of a handmade dining table. Works 18 hours a day 7 days a week and has the plans to start building a boat, no intention of dating until boat is completed.
What can I say, I'm a catch.
Although the prospect (laughable) of internet dating does raise the question - what the fuck do I do now? This is the longest I've been celibate since I was thirteen! I'm pretty sure it would be like a lifetime movie -
"Honey what's wrong?"
"Oh nothing, nothing *sob* it's just *anguished life history*"
*Unfortunate partner, exit stage right*
People still flirt with me so at least that's proof that I'm not exuding some sort of anti-pheromone. Equally I'm not entirely sure what they expect you to do with those little scraps of paper bearing their phone number. Call? Or is that old-fashioned? A text perhaps "You gave me your number, what the fuck happens now?" Maybe I'll try that, at least it's refreshingly honest. It's too soon, almost indecently so and what I really need in this new-old city are friends.
How does one propose a friend-date via text? Answers on a postcard.
And the rest of the group is so understandably caught up in their pain, but I've come to terms with the physical side of things. It's been weeks since I said anything in that group. Perhaps they all think I'm in terrible, wrenching agony and are respecting my privacy. More likely SF (non-friend) threatened them. One girl has taken it upon herself to Heal me, last week she suggested internet dating. I can just imagine that advert. Widower; recently bereaved seeks similar for long anguished evenings spent nesting in wife's clothes. Has own apartment, currently furnished with a bed, one folding chair and the beginnings of a handmade dining table. Works 18 hours a day 7 days a week and has the plans to start building a boat, no intention of dating until boat is completed.
Although the prospect (laughable) of internet dating does raise the question - what the fuck do I do now? This is the longest I've been celibate since I was thirteen! I'm pretty sure it would be like a lifetime movie -
"Honey what's wrong?"
"Oh nothing, nothing *sob* it's just *anguished life history*"
*Unfortunate partner, exit stage right*
People still flirt with me so at least that's proof that I'm not exuding some sort of anti-pheromone. Equally I'm not entirely sure what they expect you to do with those little scraps of paper bearing their phone number. Call? Or is that old-fashioned? A text perhaps "You gave me your number, what the fuck happens now?" Maybe I'll try that, at least it's refreshingly honest. It's too soon, almost indecently so and what I really need in this new-old city are friends.
How does one propose a friend-date via text? Answers on a postcard.
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