annanotbob's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sweet dreams I love my counsellor. Really. I heaved my sorry arse over to my appointment with him in oldtown this morning, feeling all scrunched up and pathetic and worm-like. I started crying before I'd even got in the door, then felt like an even more useless pile of shit for having made so little progress and having no energy left for the fight to pull myself back together. He listened to me for a bit, asked a few questions, then very gently said that he thought this was not so much a breakdown as a breakthrough. Well. I told him about this dream I had while I was in Italy. It was about a pair of twins I taught when they were 14-16, top set English, Emily and Martin. Emily was (too?) good and quiet and hard-working; Martin was very clever but not having any of it, stuck in some childish place, being a nuisance, embarrassing his sister, doing no work. I liked him, knew his stuff was about home not school (weird parents), but he was a pest in a top set, where almost all the kids are dead keen to get stuck into the work. So, there I am in Italy, and these two turn up in my dreams, holding the most beautiful baby, wrapped all in pristine white. I want this baby, I love this baby, and it loves me, so I join them and they welcome me. Martin is calm and lovely and does the work of the baby, changing her nappy (diaper) etc. When I woke up I was gob-smacked - Martin fucking Idiotboy, on my holidays, Jesus, does a teacher have no private life? - but it was beautiful. I wasn't sure what to make of it, but it felt like a gift, a new beginning, a hope of healing, yet with this annoying boy. I knew I'd have to tell my friend Sarah C about it, as Martin was in her tutor group (home room?) so she'd know exactly the feelings that his dream presence would generate. The counsellor agreed that a new baby is a sign of a gift, of new beginnings etc, and that Martin may have been there to ensure that I remembered the dream. Which is exactly how it worked. I left the session feeling much more accepting of where I am right here, right now, tears and lethargy and sorrow and all. Accepting enough that I managed to go to a new book group this evening which was just so exhilarating - ah, big sigh of pride and joy. It's a group that two new young English teachers have set up in the school where I worked for many years. This month's meeting was in a pub in town and Marion invited me, but I didn't think I'd really make it. I read the book just in case, Lighthousekeeping by Jeanette Winterson (about a lighthouse, not a bit of light dusting every now and then), and set off down the hill, not knowing if I'd go into the pub when I got there, or if I'd stay longer than five minutes, or if I'd open my mouth or anything at all, other than that my feet were taking me down the hill and ohmygoodness I've walked through the door and there are Marion and Mary and they can see I'm a bit flaky so they hug me and sit either side of me and keep giving me little squeezes and pats on the arm and ... whew, it's all alright. No one else noticed, I don't think and they are a great bunch. It was an ideal book for a discussion because its meaning and intent are quite elusive, enabling us to talk for over two hours without even a break for a cigarette. I found that my brain can still work, when stimulated by other ideas, especially ones that I don't quite agree with, actually. And I can still express myself. Woo hoo. I'm not quite over the hill, though I had myself worried for a bit. Today I am grateful for: Sweet dreams xxx 11:10 p.m. - 24/04/2008 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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