When leaving the closer room.

Contrary to ideals of what walking out of a therapy room would look/feel/seem like, the closer room (the room in which i do therapy) looks nothing like the picture to the left. *This, the exit of Bourgeois Pig near Depaul, is instead what I would want myself and those I see to feel as they left the closer room (not sure why its called this so don't ask)* Instead, you walk out to a staircase which is usually dark, almost always empty, and most surely holding in the echoes of the entire building. Today's questions from therapy: How to keep a girl away from prostitution, how to stop a boy from cutting the bottoms of his feet, how to keep a man from losing faith in those around them, how to help a mother of six to ask herself the very questions she's afraid of in regard to her childhood, how to keep oneself from pushing an agenda, and how to help a teen boy realize his mother actually has good intentions...Six fishbowls to attend to, break, and walk away from. Glass, water, debris as the catalyst for coming across...Flying to LA in two days so this will be the last post of the year. Some awkward conversations, some endearments from childhood, some pressing issues better left for musing upon on the sand in Manhattan Beach. Relevant spottings, passings, moments in 07': Charlie and the plastic fruit containers from Stanley's Fruit and Vegetables...Old friends from Syracuse in Coney Island acting 20 again...The birth of "hmm, maybe it does exist," introductions to the world of road bikes, goodbyes to the idea that childhood friends would never confront the hardest things in the the attempts to make some sincerities right...The passing of the color maroon...Hellos to Summer, beginnings of novels best read with a lover, guac, corn chips, veggie tacos...Succumbing to American Apparel gear...The return of Sox and Matt...The birth of fame for Terri...Weddings...Overpriced airplane tickets...Critical mass...Raspberries...Broken shelves, broken frames, art for art's sake...My Nintendo DS lite, the scribblings on the back of an envelope of a phone bill which would be a playground for psychoanalysis: *hyena has a penis and gives birth.garter snake morphs into a woman to stay warm. woman as fire. seahorse switches sex...solga...blue line. the lyric is missing but man him something to do with insight when the words are muted... a window washer competition*...reintroductions on ways to spend time properly...the amazing friends in Chicago who have helped make a temporary home more believable...words passed in bakeries and cafes and patisseries...introductions to the family system...humility...hoodies...grace in the form of vulnerability. Eugenides quote about something to do with not believing in one word emotions like "sadness," "joy," or "regret"...To multi-layered "hybrids" interspersed with idiomatic and idiosyncratic abstractions to give the softest and sweetest of emotions their just due. When leaving the closer room, faith in the idea that the most tender of emotions folded up in the most complicated of origami shapes could be at least labeled "something bigger and more important than I had ever imagined."