Anchor . . .
It turns out my trusted mental health professional (and "one phone call" if/when I am ever found wandering the streets mumbling about the bastardization of the Smurf brand I held so dearly as a child) feels I might have some baggage . . . she calls it an "anchor" from my marriage.
I know, I know. SHOCKING that I would - only about six months from the closure the final paperwork was supposed to bring me has not yet been fully resolved that I might enjoy good sailing, open water, and pirate booty adventure (I'm trying to make this nautical reference work).
I am probably being less than forth coming here so let me paraphrase what prompted Wednesday's conversation (aka the Great Sean Therapy Stand-Off of the Last Week of May 2014 (and not to be confused with the same event the week prior or what will likely be a great debate the first week of June, etc.)) was me SIGHING over the fact that I don't feel settled in many ways in my life.
Sure, sure. Just about everything in my life (save my parental status) has been flipped in the last 24 months. Yes, dear doctor, I get that change is hard (especially for me - I actually cried over throwing away a pair of penny loafers the other day), and I get that boat analogies are not my strong suit so I'll simply ask this . . . divorced people . . . when are you allowed to sigh or grumble without people immediately presuming your real issue is the failed marriage you drag along below the shiny, calm, sealine?