Work yesterday was fierce. I got home and curled up on my back like a bug and waited for the ceiling to fall. Eventually I managed to put my brain together enough that I went to Hebrew and giggled lots over my inability to remember certain letters. I was actually amazed at how much I did remember, after several weeks of no class.

Then I went home again and watched Ally McBeal, which was better than it has been but still worse than most of the first season. Jesse Martin (Collins from OBC Rent) was in the episode, reprising his role as a doctor. He was cute but didn't get nearly enough screen time. If they bring him in as a regular I will have to start watching the show religiously again, but I'm dubious about that happening -- they'd have to let Ally have a relationship that lasted more than two episodes.

After Ally I read some news (Forte Free Agent is my friend) and then flopped around reading ... what was I reading? Apparently nothing that made a big impression on me. Hold on a moment.

Ah, yes! Moria (coworker, QA genius, generally exceptionally cool person) loaned me an odd book with a pink-and-green cover titled From Archetype to Zeitgeist. It is by Herbert Kohl, and purports to be a book which explains in minor detail the terminology used in specific fields of study -- art, political science, philosophy, and so forth. The goal of it is to give people more language to talk about their ideas. So far I'm finding it to be very cool, but as something without a storyline it doesn't stick in my head when the book isn't in-hand. This is why I tend to forget that I'm reading non-fiction.

A quiet evening. Boring, almost. A nice change from the day itself.

Group happened Sunday night, as it is wont to do. Unlike the Sunday before it was not harrowing. Instead it was -- well, logical. Linear. I talked a lot about my inability to remember most of my childhood, and how much it bothered me. What's hiding in all those blank spaces? I want to be able to quantify my childhood, to know what was bad about it and who was responsible for that badness. Right now it's just a mess of puzzle pieces, many of which seem mutually exclusive. I tried explaining this in group, and tried jumping up and down saying "It's not fair!", but I don't think I got either across. Even when I'm trying to complain about things I'm too repressed to be successful. Sigh.

A nice note about group was that I wasn't nervous before. I usually spend the car ride up getting progessively more frantic, and if we go up early and eat beforehand (being done more frequently) I'm often too nervous to want to eat. This time I was quiet and fairly centred, enjoyed food, enjoyed reading next to Jim while I waited for people to get there and things to start. Afterwards I was hyper, which is usual for a good session. The harrowing one left me drowning, which I hope not to experience again any time soon.

It's very hard to write about these things. Not for the old reason, which is that they seemed melodramatic and stupid. Instead it's just hard to find words which explain how I felt, how I feel. When I feel it I'm too upset to write about it, and the longer I wait afterwards the harder it is to find the right words, the right shades of meaning. I think I'll keep trying, though.