When I didn't want to feel it

Joanne insisted.

I arrived in a flurry. Breathless, covered in sweat and fifteen minutes late I felt like an idiot. Is this really how I’m going to show up for my interview at a therapy training institute? I was a neurotic mess. How the hell could I even imagine becoming a therapist.

Little did I know however, that once I got to know my colleagues, I’d soon understand that they were a neurotic mess too. The director of the institute at the time was waiting for me. She was a sly old fox of a trickster. She was so skilfully she danced about with my crazy that I had no idea what was going on.

“Holy crap, I’m so late, I’m so sorry,”

“You’re pretty wet too. Would you like a glass of water?”

“No, I’m fine.” I went on to explain how I debated riding a bike, taking my skateboard, walking or taking a cab. I took so long to decide that once I set out to walk there, I realized that I could not make it on time. Then, I started to run. Then I took a cab. Then. Then. Then. 

I was playing the client dog piling game of ‘A…