I finally got my shredder working again, and all night I’ve been going through piles of old stuff — things like my old newspaper clips, tax stuff, old bills, just assorted crap. Far too many owner’s manuals. Old phone books with numbers from people I’ll never see again. Pages from an old diary I thought I got rid of years ago in a major purge — a very depressing trip back down memory lane. (Let’s just say I have a dependable lifelong knack for choosing exactly the wrong man.)
My shrink agrees I do it on purpose, but he puts it so nicely: “I don’t think there’s anything odd about someone with such high autonomy needs choosing relationships that can’t really go anywhere.”
“Oh,” I say. (I’m not used to people in authority who don’t berate or judge me.) He doesn’t see anything irrational about my need to be the center of my own universe, creativity-wise.
“Do you think you’re ready for something different, though?”
I shrug. “Sometimes. Maybe. I’m tired of drama. Probably. I don’t really trust people, so there’s that.”
But you know, there are a lot of big changes working in my life right now. You never know.
Things could get interesting.