I survived skiing! My thighs are sore but I feel good otherwise--nothing broken, despite a massive wipeout halfway down an intermediate hill.

In other news, my T and I have been considering increasing session frequency from once a week to twice a week. But in one of those weird paradoxes of which my therapist is incredibly fond, T says that I have to be stable for that to happen because he doesn't want my illness to be the mediator of our relationship, doesn't want more sickness to mean more attention, etc. So now there's a part of me that's kind of afraid to tell him if I'm not doing well, because I would like to have two sessions a week.

Therapy is so so weird. (Or, perhaps more accurately, my therapist is so so weird.)