Where's the damn Yellow Brick Road?

What do you see in this ink blot?

I see two hunchbacked monsters without hearts, wrapped in shrouds, trying to yell at each other, like a creepy staring contest with yelling involved.

Is that what you see?
Are you as messed up as I am?

I've shared with you before that I'm starting therapy...
because I'm a mess and my marriage is a mess.
And not the easy kind of mess a Clorax Easy Wipe can soak up in 10 seconds.
Nope, it's a certified, complicated, dog-threw-up-combined-with-honey-and-flour-in-the-carpet kind of mess.

I had a great therapist back in Austin. Joel was my buddy, my confidant, and he knew how to keep it real. But, here north of Dallas I don't have a Joel, so I had to pick a newbie. And the guy I saw last week? I don't think he's the right therapist for me.

He wanted to talk about my childhood. I wanted to talk about my present.
He wanted me to look for the answer in my heart. I wanted to bash him over the head with his.

I don't think therapy should be a guessing game. When I'm ending most of my sentences as a question, that's not a good sign.

He told me to look deep inside me for the answer.
Damn it, if I could have done that, I would have, on my own without paying a fortune to do it in front of an audience.
I can't find the answer to my problems, the miraculous path I need to follow.


Follow the Yellow-Bricked Road.
Follow the Yellow-Bricked Road.
Follow, Follow, Follow, Follow,
Follow the Yellow-Bricked Road.

If only it were that easy!!

I'm screwed up! You're supposed to help fix me...not make me keep looking for non-existent, deep down (around my spleen maybe?) guiding feelings.

It was frustrating. I don't think we were on the same page.

(I think I'm going to regret sharing this much when I wake up Wednesday.)

This isn't your "what I'm thankful for" day-before-Thanksgiving post.
Don't get me wrong.
I'm thankful for a lot of things, but my life is a mess currently, and it's hard to see past that.
I'm not sure how to get back on track.
What I do know is that writing is a lifeline for me.
Blogging the same.



So I'm hanging on by my non-existent fingernails from the edge of a steep cliff staring at the alligators down below and hoping that I can somehow save myself.
I don't want someone else to save me...
but I might need a lifeline thrown...or a phone a friend...


You know, I feel better now, after vomiting my feelings onto the page.
I hope you don't feel worse now.
Sorry.

Thanks for listening.

What did you see in the ink blot?
What's at the end of your yellow-brick road?