Ain’t Got Nothing But Love Babe/ Eight Days A Week

This is to be done before I soak my brains in wine and valium <home alone again, does it show?>.

‘Ooh i need your love babe,
Guess you know it’s true.
Hope you need my love babe,
Just like i need you’

Second session tonight. He thinks I’m too empathic to work in sales. Well…Yeah. But it was made clear to me long ago that I am to work come hell or high water forever and ever, amen.

He is moved by my love for Henry Three-Legs and my awareness of how my relationship and ability to communicate with my dog has informed my other interactions.

‘Hold me, love me, hold me, love me.
Ain’t got nothin’ but love babe,
Eight days a week’

I will be leaving him, hopefully. Ditching him for a shiny psychologist, with any luck. Though I’d probably accept a psychiatrist at this point. Someone prepared for me who knows my big words. Pipe dreams, I have them.

He doesn’t seem to mind, but he is a lumpy older man who is kind and simple and I am already sorry to trade him in for someone more qualified. He pushes the Dad-button in me and makes my empathy ooze.

Has anyone ever read The Parable of the Sower? It is very good, and the treatment of the narrator’s empathy condition struck all the chords in me. Therapist says I should consider an empathic field and I try to explain that I can’t even volunteer in an animal shelter without losing my shit. I am a born nurturer, but if I don’t limit my contact with need, I lose my mind. Maybe someday I’ll still be a psychologist. Sometime never. I am no longer convinced I could compartmentalize enough not to cry during session and that hardly seems professional.

I have good friends, they are just all over. An email isn’t the same. I have a strong support network of people I rarely see. This is difficult. Also, I don’t think therapist has realized I’m queer. AWKWARD.

I dreamt about Coworker the other night <yes, that one>. He appeared in the back of the room in a dress shirt and tie and looked like a welcome change. But I did not go to him. We didn’t talk. I was just flooded with relief and comfort. Honestly, he’s not even that good of a person. I think I am just drowning in monogamy. Henry Three-Legs would love to be my boyfriend, but have you ever tried to explain to a dog that, though his love is real and true, he is the wrong species?

Not possible; I’m telling you.

‘Love you ev’ry day girl,
Always on my mind
One thing i can say girl,
Love you all the time.
Hold me, love me, hold me, love me
Ain’t got nothin’but love babe,
Eight days a week’

I watched the episode of Criminal Intent last night where Neil Patrick Harris kidnaps women and tries to lobotomize them at home so they’ll stay with him forever and not think he’s weird and leave. Maybe the most sympathetic towards the perpetrator of any episode I’ve seen of Law and Order. He is so sad and confused and he doesn’t know why he does these things <hint: psychopathy> and you are left as sorry <but not more> for him as his victims.

Why do I watch these things? I feel like I’m some sort of sin-eater by habit or nature or nurture. Who knows. I’m drawn to horrible things humans do to each other. I’m drawn to torture and misery and psychopathy. It’s draining. Mister doesn’t understand it and I don’t think he’s ever tried. He just doesn’t watch the horrible things I do. Doesn’t read them.

BRB, soaking my brains in wine.

‘Eight days a week
I love you.
Eight days a week
Is not enough to show i care
Ooh i need your love babe
Eight days a week’
-The Beatles