Greasing my emotional pole…heh…

My therapist compared letting assholes get to me with the cops greasing the light poles in Philly after the Eagles won the Super Bowl so dipshits couldn’t climb them: “How do we make it so assholes’ comments slide off you a little easier?”

I tried to convince her that’s what I’m doing with all the mozzarella sticks and stromboli — greasing my psyche — but I don’t think she bought it.

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Um, HI. Know your role.

I had FaceTime therapy this morning because technology is wonderful, but now I have to, like…think about things? Like, what I…want from my life? Specifically re: relationships.

Um, isn’t that what I pay YOU for? You have a degree in Life. I have a degree in radio journalism. You tell me what to do, I announce it in the fancy news voice that belies my shitty Philly accent.

Get on that jawn, yo. I’ll be over here eating Brownie Brittle for breakfast. Report back.

Establishing my average cost per issue (CPI)

I spent the day with some family, and just went to text their latest gossip to my sister. But then my brain went, “You really wanna start THAT conversation? Remember, insurance hasn’t started supplementing therapy costs yet.”

Good call, Brain.

This is actually a handy system, minding my mental efforts according to how much it’s going to cost me to fix the anticipated outcome.

Speaking of, who’s proud of me for lying to my stepdad’s face when he asked how my car’s been running? 🙋🏻

You said “avoidance” like it’s a BAD thing…

I went to therapy last night, and only just now realized I completely forgot to bring up the thing I’d been meaning to discuss, and we ended up on some other bullshit entirely.
 
Me: “Well, if I forgot, it must not have been THAT important.”
 
Also Me: “Or you’re becoming an expert in avoiding uncomfortable topics.”
 
First Me: “You can fuck right the hell off. That is an undervalued life skill!”
 
🙄
 
I’ll make a note for next time.

Attention-deficit/hypersensitivity disorder

At the end of his first OkCupid message, responding to a particular line in my profile, a man asked, “Why don’t you like Cuddling?”

Um, why don’t YOU like boundaries, fuckface? All the other things I said, you’re gonna start in with some shit right off the top?

I have things to DO, sir. I don’t have time for cuddling (or, in fact, “Cuddling”).

Ahem… See, this is why I don’t actually date, but DO go to therapy.

(In defense of my intimacy issues, what I actually SAID is, “I’m not a big fan of cuddling.” I have ADD, dude — I get bored.)

Scorn at Every Size

Me: “I need to lose some weight.”
 
Therapist: “But you get regular checkups and your health is fine? Heart, cholesterol, blood pressure?”
 
Me: “Yes, but I’m MUCH heavier than the recommended highest weight for my height. And I’m not looking at, like, Jamie Lee Jo Bob’s Anorexia Enthusiast Forum — these are weight charts from real medical organizations.”
 
Therapist: “Those charts are based on the same BMI criteria you just told me was ‘horseshit.’ Have you heard of the Health at Every Size movement? That you can weigh more than you ‘should’ but still be perfectly healthy?”
 
Me: “Of course. And I totally believe that.”
 
Therapist: “OK, so…you JUST said your health is fine.”
 
Me: “But it’s NOT. I have a gut like a 55-year-old man with a lifelong Budweiser habit.”
 
Therapist: “I agree you should exercise more often, but if you do, and you eat a balanced diet, what if this is genetically just the way your body is supposed to be?”
 
Me: “It’s not.”
 
Therapist: “So you’re saying you support the idea of ‘health at every size’ for everyone except yourself?”
 
Me: “…Yes, that’s correct.”
 
She doesn’t want me to do Whole30, because apparently you, like, need carbs to live or something? But I’m doing it, so… we’ve reached an impasse. And by “impasse,” I mean, “thing I’m not telling my therapist.”