Barney's and the Self

The mind is an unreliable friend. Yesterday my fickle ego was overcome with sadness for the sudden and horrible death of M.'s father, a witty and kind man who was erased, just like that, by a heart attack. I was thinking how lucky I was having both my parents, my adorable baby, my health. I sat in Dr. S.'s office with the promise to "face the brood" head on, to travel down that path of darkness while he lends a helping hand, a psychiatric torch, to illuminate shadow aspects and buried fears. With one visit to the Americana at Brand today, my fragile self crumbled under size small dresses at Barney's and the assholes at J.Crew not even saying hello to this frumpy mother. Everything looked so inaccessable, so dependent on wealth, on wearing expensive watches and $300 highlights. I felt small, inaccessible and ugly.