Happiness Revisited

I have written over forty pages in final projects for grad school this weekend. So, what do I choose to do with my time at the moment? Well, write some more, of course. What the fuck else is there to do? Oh, did I drop the F-Bomb too early in this entry? Well then, F you! :)
I must have sabotaged myself with my last blog. Imagine that! No sooner did I hit submit than I went to bed and woke up in a state of depression, that increased as the week went on and cumulated this weekend to have a caporal state of its own, along with its own personality, bad habits, and irritating mannerisms. Hopefully, it will have made plans to visit another of its favorite people over the upcoming week, so that the following days will not be a sob fest, as was this perfectly painful frozen Sunday.
I suppose the happiness that I described is still intact. At least enough for me to realize that I shall survive. God, I sound like a singing diva. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Fuck that. I will settle for less tears and promises kept. Oh, and the moon on a lasso that I can pull behind me so that my face is always backlit.
At least the dogs are still in my world. As I sat in my bathroom floor, crying and gagging, Dunkyn sidled up by my leg and Dolan (having yet to see his daddy in such a state—a true testament on how things have improved) crawled onto my lap, whimpering and licking my face. My normally fiercely independent little pup let me wrap my arms around him and weep into his fur. If only I had a wand to transform those perfect little angels into a real live men. Of course, that man would shed, pee on my carpet, and have an abundance of diarrhea. Not to mention having a little fetish of eat rabbit poop. You know, that sounds completely acceptable. Real love entails accepting flaws and drawbacks. They only increase the love.
Just in time, my therapy sessions end on Wednesday. My therapist is ending the semester and moving on to bigger and better things. Sure sounds like I am ready to move on and face life anew, doesn’t it? I am considering alternative forms of therapy that may have quicker results. Sex therapy, Sonic gorging therapy, and shopping therapy. Should be helpful. In all honesty, the sessions have been very helpful. All but one thing. I was fully expecting to go into the sessions and have her tell me that grieving for six months over the death of a two month relationship was unhealthy, unnatural, and an indicator of other issues. I feared that, but I wanted that. Something to work on. Something to face. Something to fight. Something to change. She didn’t. She said I was feeling things that are completely normal, especially for someone with my emotional make up and sensitivity, and capability for love. Maybe that was her way of saying I was psychotic and I took it as a complement. She never judged or belittled my feelings and emotions. She only tried to confront the negative things I feel about myself and my worth as a result. I miss the churches’ answers. At least guilt and accusations allow you give names to the reasons you are miserable and hurting, not simply state the fact that I am grieving a loss of the like I have never before experienced, and that it is good to celebrate the wonderful things I experienced in my time with him and cherish the ‘gifts’ he gave me.
Really, it all just makes me feel weak, rather pathetic, and lost. If that is what I am putting out to the universe, no wonder he has kept his distance. Geesh.