Veg stirfry with veg gyoza; pancakes with blueberries, ginger, and cream

Today I had my first – and, as it turns out, last (for now) – online counselling appointment.

Mum made an insane amount of fuss about being shut out of my bedroom for an hour, making numerous excuses to wander past the door and equally numerous snarky comments of “what are you going to be talking about? Oh yes, you don’t want to tell me, do you?” 🙄

(I told mum it was medical then, when she pressed, that it was mental health related, then finally that it was a counselling appointment, but she still wanted to know exactly what I was discussing. I declined to tell her.)

As it was, the conversation with counsellor was a bit of a waste of both of time, as he’s not a counsellor but a CBT trainer. I have tried CBT before and not got on with it, which is apparently not uncommon with people who have a history of person-related trauma.

Mental health professionals have, in the past, tried to sell me on the benefits of CBT, implying that it works for everyone else so it must work for me too. Thankfully this guy freely agreed that it doesn’t suit everyone, and apologised that I had been put on the waiting list for CBT when I had said from the start that that wasn’t something I was interested in.

I’m now going to be referred to the counselling team to see if they’ll take me on. If so, it’s on to another waiting list, which at least gives me time to find someone to occupy mum so I can have some real, ungrudging privacy to talk.

Earlier today, mum told me it was Pancake Day, and was very pleased when I told her that yes, I knew that, and yes, we would be having pancakes this evening.

First we had stirfried veg with vegetable gyoza, which mum had previously tried and disliked, but re-tried and enjoyed enough to have seconds this time. I really can’t predict what mum will or won’t enjoy anymore.

Then, pancakes.

I had never actually made pancakes before, and I definitely need to work on my technique: no two pancakes were the same size, shape, or thickness. I made one perfect one, which I gave to mum, and the rest were… unique. Each one perfect by its own standards, if not by general pancake standards.

They tasted good, though, even if I did misjudge the angle at which to tip the tub of cream to give an artistic drizzle, ending up instead with a bit of a lake.

Now I’m watching the Winter Olympics Men’s Big Air skiing, my current favourite if just for the commentators: Ed Leigh and Tim Warwood, who bicker like an old married couple and can stretch a metaphor until it faceplants in the snow. Which several of the skiers have done, for that matter.

I prefer to stay on ground that’s flat as one as one of my pancakes, by which I mean irregular but flat-ish, and definitely free of snow. And now it’s my turn to stretch a metaphor past implausability.