Colour, Clutter, and Alternative Landscapes

(Sorry for the inconsistent font - compared to the other stories on this blog. Microsoft Word, technical issues, will fix if I can...)

Her office is full of colour and clutter. The walls are pastel pink - curtains, emerald green. This is my third appointment, and I don't quite feel comfortable with either therapist or environment, but I'm okay.

“So, what happened in that relationship, Janine?”

When I tell her, she'll ask me how I feel about it, even if it's ridiculously obvious how I must “feel about it”. She won't attempt to give me the elusive “answers”, or any sort of advice. She wants me to give myself advice - unlock the answers for myself - hidden, as they are, somewhere within my own mind.

I still don't really know whether this is a total waste of time, but I've been through the waiting lists for waiting lists just to get to this point. It would be crazy to walk out now.

“With Steve?” I know she means Steve. That's who we were just discussing, after all. I'm playing for time. I do that sometimes.

“Yes.”

She isn't a natural blonde, of course. She must be roughly ten years older than me, I would guess - about forty. Maybe a little older - hard to tell, in this light - and her make-up is immaculate, of course. She's glamorous - hate that word - something I've never been, and never will be. I don't usually wish I was - just sometimes.

Like with Steve. Maybe it would have helped with Steve.

Yeah, right.

“He went off with a forty-five year old blonde called Sammy.” It's almost fun, doing it this way, making her work for the truth. Oh, didn't I mention that the forty-five year old blonde called Sammy was Samuel, not Samantha? Well, I guess you never asked...

I'm looking between two different landscapes. There are fields and sheep, in the one in the oak frame. Next to it, is the window, revealing a view of wheelie bins and concrete. The one from our bedsit window - Steve's and mine - was more like the latter view. But you would need to add certain details - such as a few discarded lager cans, for a start - just to make the scene authentic.

We might be back in my childhood soon, of course. Since what happened with Steve, and all of the others, relates to that, anyway - and so, we are bound to end up there somehow. Back to my mum's three bedroom semi, with my brother and two sisters, and the cats.

Like, I can't wait, right?

I might go to Costa Coffee, after this appointment. I know it's going to finish in precisely five minutes, because I've just noticed her glancing at the clock.




Paula Writes