Tonight I dreamt I was walking around downtown, wandering randomly around commercial galleries in old buildings. I went to costume shops, and shops that sold sewing kits and sequoins, things like that. Eventually I walked into a room that was magical and perfect and completely different from the cold bright white of the galleries: it was a yellowy room with a thick carpet and all of the walls were covered in ancient tomes bound in leather. I saw a big dark oak desk and a man looking at me. Turns out he was a psychotherapist and I said “well, what a coincidence, I was really looking to find one, and it’s good that I came here randomly, because that’s the best way to choose a therapist”.
It is true. In new year’s eve I promised myself I would stop slacking and finally solve all of my problems and do all the shit I’ve been telling myself I would do in the last, what, 10 years, but never really went out and did it. And to understand why I procrastinate so much, and other things, I also decided to go to therapy, simply because I think it would be interesting.
Recently I had dropped therapy in the list of priorities, arguing with myself that it was much more urgent and important to go back to the gym, or to get a driver’s license. But now this dream made me think again.
I will never forget the way the office looked, and I’ll not rest until I can get one of those for me.
