me vs. therapy

‘why are you smiling like that?’

‘like what?’

‘i don’t know…kind of like how i’ve seen you smile when you talk about all-you-can-eat buffets’.

‘i have a girlfriend.’

‘ah. what else happened in your dream?’

‘it wasn’t a dream. i mean, it isn’t a dream. i have a girlfriend.’

‘uh-huh. who is this girlfriend?’

‘remember my best friend?’

‘the one from michigan.’

‘yeah, that’s her.’

‘she wasn’t ready for a relationship.’

‘i guess i wore her down.’

‘siege tactics, good job. how is it going?’

‘i’m super happy. i haven’t had a relationship with a grown up before.’

‘including the relationship with yourself.’

‘what?’

‘nothing. so that’s exciting news. she seemed like a good match for you back when we spoke about her before.’

‘yeah, she is. she knows all my shit from back when we were just friends. i always told her the truth because why would you skew reality for your friend? so i can’t really hide anything from her now. it’s actually surprising that she likes me.’

‘maybe it took the real you to finally attract someone to the real you.’

‘deep.’

‘i like to earn my money every now and then. i’m very happy for you. now just make sure not to lose yourself. equal effort on both sides, ok?’

Look over at Satan, Satan holds up sign. Sign says, “SHE SAID SHE WAS 18!”

Frown, say; ‘what?’

Satan looks down, scowls, shuffles signs, finds right sign, sign says, “XXXOOO AMY’.

Smile.

Satan smiles back. Smolders.

Look over at therapist, say ‘i won’t lose myself and neither will she.’

‘good, keep up that attitude. what else is new, i see you have short hair.’

‘i whacked it off a month or so ago.’

‘time for a change?’

‘yeah, you know i was in the shower and my bum tickled. turns out it was my long hair. and as i was pulling out this strand of long, dead head hair from the crack of my bum for the 50,000 time, i decided that i was really over pulling out wads of long, dead hair from the crack of my bum and from the drain in my shower and from the drain in my sink and from the drain in my kitchen and from under my pillow and from off my floor and from everywhere else my hair finds itself which is in fact everywhere.’

‘uh-huh.’

‘so i cut it. and guess what?’

‘you got a girlfriend.’

‘there’s no more hair in my bum.’

‘well it looks sharp. do you like it?’

‘i’m still not used to it, but yes. it’s easy and i feel light.’

‘and think of all the time you’re saving in the shower.’

‘exactly. you always get me so easily.’

‘you’re not that hard to figure out, angela.’

‘i guess i never figured out how to make that mystery thing work for me.’

‘you have other gifts that work for you. mystery is overrated. besides, how many 40-year olds do you know that can recite at least twenty different poop jokes in a row?’

‘hey, you’re right!’

‘there you go. be proud of your gifts, whatever packaging they arrive in. until next time, angela.’

‘bye therapist.’

‘i’ve just stopped caring.’

‘no you haven’t.’

‘yes, i really have. you know when it’s in the middle of winter and you’re in the shower and you’re looking at your hairy beasty legs, then over at your razor, then back down at your hairy beasty legs and you think to yourself, gosh i should really shave these bitches even though it will take about six minutes and i only have three minutes until wheel of fortune comes on. but then you shrug and don’t waste your fucking time because it’s the dead of fucking winter and you’re still fucking single and no one will see them anyway, so you don’t fucking care?’

‘no.’

‘well, that’s what i mean. i just don’t care about women anymore.’

‘i think you’re exaggerating.’

‘i’ve spent so much time waiting, wondering, worrying, thinking, planning, crying, hoping, pleading, sighing, dreaming. i’m exhausted. i’m done.’

‘you’d hop right back in that saddle if the horse walked by.’

‘nope.’

‘yes.’

‘nope.’

‘as much as i’d like you to not place so much importance on getting a partner in your life, you can’t help yourself.’

‘yes i can.’

Look over at Satan. Satan shakes head nope.

Scowl, look back at therapist, therapist says: ‘the recent string of women you’ve dated have told you they aren’t ready. what if you just accepted that and moved on?’

‘i’d be alone.’

‘you’re alone now. how’s that working for you?’

Look over at Satan. Satan holds up flower, flower dies immediately.

Frown. Look back at therapist, therapist says: ‘i’m not suggesting that you will be happy overnight with the decision to move on, but i am suggesting that you take ownership of your life and dictate the course of it.’

‘i’ve dictated my life.’

‘you’ve dictated it to a place where you’re standing at the fence on the dude ranch, watching lots of other happy horses trot by with happy riders on their backs.’

‘i don’t want those horses.’

‘yes, angela. it seems you want the horses that are still in the barn. hobbled and merrily eating their hay.’

Look over at Satan, Satan hops around office on stick pony. Spanks air.

Look back at therapist, sigh. Say; ‘i’ll try.’

‘do that, and don’t stop caring. just direct your caring towards yourself.’

‘maybe i should start by shaving my legs.'

‘maybe you should. you never know what the next day will bring.’

'thanks therapist.'

'giddy up, angela.'

'how have you been?'

'alright. i’m slowly realizing that happiness lies in a positive outlook and in kindness and gratitude. i’m trying to cultivate those.'

'that’s a step in the right direction.'

'thanks. i’m also trying to find the joy in little things.'

'finding joy in moments is a cornerstone of happiness.'

'i found joy in the shower last night.'

‘let’s pretend you don’t want to tell me that story.’

‘but i did.’

‘i’m not asking you about your shower.’

'i composed a song and sang it to myself.’

‘that’s great.’

‘do you wanna hear it?’

'no.'

'i wash my belly with the soap, being clean is pretty dope.'

'angela.'

'there goes a bubble down the drain, that little cut on my foot is sure in pain.'

'angela.'

'i say my body, it is a castle. and irish spring really cleans my…'

'angela!'

'you don’t like it.'

'it’s literally burning my ears.'

'well, it’s not frank sinatra, but i thought it was snappy and it made me smile.'

'smiling is good, sharing everything that happens in your life isn’t always as good.'

'you’ll be humming it later.'

'no.'

'i think i might share too much. like, when i like someone…like really like them, i kind of go for it. i don’t really hold back what i’m thinking out of self-preservation. what do you think?'

'i think you’re right.'

'well, how do i stop doing it.'

'stop doing it.'

'ok, so that’s obvious. but how? i don’t even know when i’m doing it.'

'maybe if you’ve been dating someone a month, asking them home for christmas in july isn’t a great idea.'

'i don’t do that.'

Look over at Satan, Satan looks down at feet, starts whistling.

Look back at therapist, therapist says: ‘really?’

‘ok, well maybe i did that once.’

‘if you don’t know when you’re doing in, then maybe you need to sit with a thought for a while before you put it out there. maybe poll your friends, think how you would feel if you were in the other person’s shoes….’

‘i’d run. like a fucking gazelle with a herd of cheetahs on my ass.’

‘cheetahs don’t hunt in herds.’

‘yeah, but you smell what i’m stepping in.’

‘no, not really. thanks to the irish spring.’

‘you did like my song!’

‘no’

‘i’ll try not to be so eager in the future.’

‘it’s not that, angela. eager is great, hope is wonderful. what you have to learn is how to pace yourself. don’t strangle the flowers in your garden before they have a chance to open.’

‘that makes sense. i’ll try really hard.’

‘I’m proud of you.’

‘for what?’

‘trying to find gratitude and being positive.’

‘thanks. it’s hard some days.’

‘yes, it is. but it’s worth it. and one more thing.’

‘yeah.’

‘keep singing in the shower.’

‘it’s a funny story, you’ll like it.’

‘i don’t know, angela. the funny stories you think i'll like have a way of not being funny and not what i like.'

‘just sit there and get paid. so i was sitting on my veranda last night and…’

‘your fire escape?’

‘same difference, quit interrupting. so i was sitting there on my V E R A N D A and i was feeling a bit sad.’

‘so you jumped and after the twelve feet that it took to make it to the ground, you decided it wasn’t so bad, but that you now had a horrible headache?’

‘...and was fresh out of motrin.'

'i hear tylenol is better for headaches.'

'we should get a morning radio show.'

‘they don’t pay well.’

‘so i was feeling a bit sad. i called everyone i could think of in my contacts that could possibly cheer me up. the phone would ring, and ring, and ring and then voicemail would pick up.’

‘no one answered?’

‘not a one.’

‘how many did you call.’

‘well, one, two, lani was number three, then i tried marissa number four, then ….’

‘just the tally when you’re done counting out loud please.’

‘nine. i went through nine people and no one answered. i hung up on the ninth voicemail greeting. i sighed. i took a long swig of my arby’s shake that i bought for myself as a ‘you deserve this fat filled load of chemicals and shit because you are sad’ present. i looked at the sky and contemplated, i looked at the age spots on my hands and contemplated, then i looked at the hibiscus bush at the other end of the veranda and i said out loud “well, it looks like it’s just you and me hibiscus”. and in that moment, in my mind, i pictured all the leaves of the hibiscus falling off immediately in one big clump.’

‘ok.’

‘and then i laughed. i mean i laughed like a crazy person. it was so funny to me, the moment of complete pathetic-ness…it’s funny.’

‘you should write a sitcom.’

‘sitcoms aren’t that funny. maybe something for fx or amc.’

‘why was the complete pathetic-ness so funny?’

‘i don’t know. maybe because in that moment you’re really not as alone as you feel.’

‘why do you say that?’

‘because everyone goes through it. i guess i think in those moments that i’m really not alone, i’m united with all the lonely chaps and ladies who have ever been in that moment too. and there’s a certain peace in that camaraderie.’

‘that’s an interesting way to look at it.’

‘it could have been all the sugar in the mocachino shake.’

‘it well could have been that too.’

 ‘i have a lot of life decisions to make. i don’t know which is right and which is wrong. it’s all very frustrating.’

‘you’re in a precarious time in your life. i think you need to take your time and be thoughtful and patient with yourself. it's healthy and not what the majority of people do.'

‘what do they do?’

'they put their best smile on and say it like they mean it.'

'i scowl and drink nasty-big shakes. but i'll do it in a more thoughtful and patient way now.'

'that's my girl. until i see you again, take care of that hibiscus.'

‘what’s with this whole glum thing you have going on?’

‘what?’

‘you’re sitting there with this long face, looking terribly defeated. and you’re all slumped back in the chair. it looks like your dog died.’

‘i don’t have a dog.’

‘yes, i know this. why are you a bump on a log?’

‘i had this dream last night.’

‘and?’

‘well, it got me thinking and now i’m sad.’

‘was there a dead dog in it?’

Roll eyes.

‘oh wow, that was quite the eye roll.’

Look over at Satan, Satan agrees.

Look back at therapist, say: ‘there was this girl in my dream.’

‘go on.’

‘she was really pretty but more than that, i mean even though it was just a short dream, i just knew that she was nice and kind and smart. and she was funny and confident. she was sure of herself and knew what she wanted.’

‘ok. what happened?’

‘she wanted me.’

‘and?’

‘that’s all. she really liked me. and she wanted to be with me.’

‘i don’t understand why you are sad about that.’

‘i was driving to work this morning and i thought about my dream and how it made me feel. and i realized that this girl was the only girl that i’ve ever felt wanted to be with me, like really wanted to be with me. ever. in forty years.’

‘and she’s a dream.’

‘and she’s just a dream.’

‘that’s pretty depressing angela. you know, i was having a good morning until that.’

‘uh.’

‘my coffee was the perfect temperature, i hit every green light on the drive to work, there were no emails when i got here and now you go and tell me your dream story.’

‘oh, i’m sorry. it was five whole minutes of feeling loved by someone other than a close family member who basically has to love me out of the principle of social norms.’

‘you’ll find it angela.’

‘and if i don’t?’

‘well…then hopefully once every forty years you’ll have a five minute dream about it to keep you going.’

‘sometimes, i can’t believe i pay you.’

‘sometimes, i can’t believe i listen to you.’

‘yeah, true. i do drone on sometimes don’t i?’

‘yes, but it’s ok. i have a pretty exciting inner monologue to get me through.’

‘you drown me out with your inner monologue?!!!’

‘i wouldn’t say that i drown you out, just muffle. i get the gist of what you’re saying after about two minutes, the other twenty that you go on and on about it i can use as filler.’

Blank stare.

‘sike.’

‘you can’t use sike, sike is my word.’

‘yes i can. i’m a product of the 80’s too you know.’

‘what do i do about my dream?'

‘love yourself as much as the girl in the dream loved you.’

‘i already do love myself. i’m bored with myself. i cook with myself and play scrabble with myself and jog with myself and eat with myself and watch movies with myself and take showers with myself and…’

‘you see, filler time started after the words “and play scrabble with myself”.’

‘ugh! you’re so mean some days.’

‘you messed up my perfect morning!’

‘you give me shitty advice and i’m still single!’

‘i’m not your dating service.’

‘what do i do?’

‘be who you are and forget about the rest.'

'how do i just forget about all the rest?'

'because it’s all just filler.’