Therapy. Just saying the word conjures up an image of a swooning couch, a box of tissues, and a Freudian-type man peering at me over the top of pince-nez glasses. Pfffffft. Who needs that!
I love to clean house with the oldies blaring from a radio, and a cheap one at that. I belt out those old rock and roll sounds at the top of my lungs, confident at that moment that I’m the Best Singer the World Has Never Heard. The instant results from house cleaning makes me feel like I can set a goal and achieve it. Free therapy LOL.
As you’ve probably gathered, I also write. It certainly feels wonderful to get my (writing) groove back. When my old friend Muse comes to visit, I share with her my anger, my fears, all the hurts and happiness that lives in my soul.
