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Monday, January 23, 2012

Therapy Helps




More Funny Pics Here ^^

My friend, Sue McLauchlan Faulkner, who has known me since the second grade & assures me that she is still happy to know me, posted this link on Facebook.

And it reminded me of a story.

Of when I stopped therapy & started screaming.

A long day ago, when I was one of two of the oldest employees working in a young, crazy, creative, unpredictable environment of very young, very creative, very pierced & tattooed & very unpredictable people, I found myself weary of fighting with a new CFO.

Who was definitely not that young, not that creative, not a piercing or tattoo visible.

And in my view, that crazy, that unpredictable.  Without the creativity.

While I cannot remember what this particular CFO did to drive me toward the edge of the abyss, it led me to leave my very comfortable, & very Jaki Jean at the time, office.

I left my Feng Shui water fountain, my collection of red-haired Barbies (some natural, some who had visited Jaki Jean's Salon of Rit Dye), my mini-fridge, my poster of "Women Who Dared"  & my shelf holding my favorite books of any time:  A Woman Killed With Kindness, This Sex Which is Not One,  The Complete Works of Emily Dickinson, To The Lighthouse, Amazons,  BlueStockings & Crones,  A Wrinkle in Time, The Missing Piece Meets the Big O. 

One never knows what one might need to read in the course of a work day.

That day, when this particular CFO was driving me to the edge of the abyss, I walked away from words & wisdoms & icons manufactured & natural & created & sound sof water over rocks & went to the back of the building.

To the warehouse & the open bays.  

I exited through one of the bays, I went past the loading space, & screamed.  Screamed loud & without restraint. 
 
Cleansing me of all frustration & anger & uncertainty.

Suddenly, just as I was feeling calmer & more in control, my friend & co-worker Clyde ran across the space between me & the bay doors.

A gun in hand, screaming at me to get down.

I did not get down.

I looked at him & said, Clyde, I am OK.  I needed to scream.

He lowered the gun, took a deep breath & said:  

Good God, woman, tell us next time.

Only in Texas.