On Monday I saw to the therapist. Follow-up appointment to discuss anxiety about family baby blah. The therapist did a lot of looking at me. Hollow, expressionless staring. Bffvvvvvv. Which is rather agitating and itchy, I must say. Maybe she’s trying to mirror me. Or force me to self-reflect.

I talked and said everything was fine and I was getting better, albeit slowly. I said we’re going home for Christmas for three weeks which will be challenging but c’est la vie, right? Right, she said. She spoke very little but one thing she did say was that I should have some empathy for myself. That’s actually not what she said. It’s my paraphrase. What she said was that it sounds like going to stay with my in-laws is very much like traveling to a different country. There are different people, different customs, etc. It’s not quite home. Not quite my comfort zone. And of course while in Rome, we try to learn the language and enjoy the sites, but our home mattress is our home mattress. Spending Christmas with a new family, even your own new family, is just not the same familiar home you grew up in, she said. Nor is it the home you’ve grown up to create for yourself and prefer. Amongst in-laws, new family, you very much find yourself in foreign country, she said.

I chalked that up to an astute point. And yet while she was staring at me, my satisfaction kind of turned and I felt like: what the hell? Am I supposed to go for walks when I feel uncomfortable, like she suggested a few weeks earlier, and self sooth? Or am I supposed to empathize, understand and have compassion on my discomfort? So I vocalized my concern: is just a balancing act?

I can’t remember what she said. Maybe she just stared at me since the answer was so obvious. I like listening to the therapist talk. Come on, soothe me, give me a lecture on psychology, teach me something. Maybe she’s trying to get me out of my comfort zone.

Speaking of, yesterday I turned down the opportunity to smoke DMT. For several reasons. Because 7pm to 11pm is crucial REM cycle time. Also inhaling harsh smoke is no bueno for sinus infection. And honestly while I'm interested I’m also just a wee bit petrified of blasting off into hyperspace, even for five or ten minutes. And last but not least my unflinching respect for the laws of the United States of America, which says this is a no-no, geepers people.

The comfort zone, aye. In America it’s clearly not talking about quote drugs. Say quote before what you’re thinking about. But listen. Everything’s changing. Many quote drugs will soon be classified by the FDA as medicine. In fact, MDMA has been designated a “Breakthrough Therapy” for PTSD by the FDA, which means it’s been approved for Phase 3 clinical trials. Which means in 2021, MDMA will be a fully-legal prescription drug in the good ole US of A. Psilocybin and LSD aren’t far behind. Experts say legalization will follow the cannabis pathway: medicinal first, recreational second.

I’m discovering a causal relationship between dreams and dissatisfaction. Like dreams dynamite-open the gap between where I am and where I want to be. As I was spreading raw garlic guacamole onto oven-warmed tortillas this morning, I thought: damn, maybe this is as famous as I’ll ever be. Who knows? I think a little dose of acceptance is key. Like the shrink and the yoga teacher said: it’s all about balance.