Luggage

I find my job difficult at times, though I know for certain I could, nor would, do nothing else. In early January, the month of icy leaden skies, outrageously stroppy bills land on my doormat and wait, fuming with indignance until I get home and am forced to open them. Driving home through snowstorms and on slippy roads, I carry the spirit of my clients with me. Silent and weeping, their presence is as tangible as though they are bodily sitting in my car, looking sorrowfully back at me as I glance in the rearview mirror. My children, bouyant and giggling when I arrive, deserve more of a mother than the one that pours a glass of wine and slides into a hot bath. I have to find a way to allow those clients to leave me as they leave the consulting room... I am not equipped to give my best to anyone if I allow them to stay.