Therapist: “So, if you’ve been able to decide you don’t care what your family thinks about your life, why can’t you apply that thought process to your romantic relationships, rather than reading War and Peace-complex subtext into every interaction?”
Me: “Ummm… because my family are Birthers, and the people I date are not, so it’s not that simple? Divide my bill into minutes — I want a refund for that question.”
I’m going to my scheduled therapy session tonight, but only because if I bail last-minute I still have to pay them. But my brain is being super bitchy about it, presenting a compelling argument that it’s currently preoccupied with “too-busy-at-work stress” feelings, and we don’t talk about those, we eat and drink them, and frankly don’t even care to hear your stupid “healthier coping mechanisms.” Yoga won’t help, blow me.
For the money I’m ’bout to hand this broad, I could consume my weight in froofy martinis and fried food. I’m just saying, from a cost:benefit standpoint, we better fucking solve some big shit this session. I better leave with, like, NO abandonment issues.
I should’ve moved faster with the two OkCupid guys I’ve been messaging with, so when Dude I’d Been Dating got back from vacation and texted to see if I can hang out this weekend, my response could’ve been, “Oh! You’re still here? Sorry, no, I have two dates this weekend.”
Kidding. Mostly. It’ll be good to have that talk. Fine. FINE!
I also think we should have sex one more time BEFORE we talk, because I have a vivid masturbation fantasy that takes place on his couch and I’d like to see how that pans out in reality, but we’ll see what happens.