me vs. therapy

‘the thing is therapist, i used to enjoy work.’

‘no  you didn’t.’

‘well, ok i don’t mean enjoy. i mean, uh…i don’t know…tolerate?’

‘endure?’

‘brave.’

‘withstand?’

‘hm, you’re good at this.’

‘it’s a gift. so why has it become so much more unbearable?’

‘we’ve hired a shit ton of new people.’

‘ok, and?’

‘well they’re not just new people. they’re new…terribly annoying people.’

‘big difference. why do they annoy you.’

‘because they breathe air?’

‘more detail.’

‘they talk, they laugh, they’re loud, they drink all the water cooler water, they use all the spoons before i can get to one so i have to use a fork in my yogurt, they take my diet coke can spot in the mini fridge with their baby carrots, they fart up the air, they put things on my desk in the wrong pile, they staple my art to their form not paper clip it the way i like, they’re in my stall in the bathroom, they yawn and make those irritating yawning sounds that extend the yawn, they say things like “alrighty then” you know in that jim carrey voice from like 1998? and they say it every two hours after a break when they’re about to start working again. who SAYS that anymore?!’

‘sounds like a very frustrating place to work.’

‘it is! and this saturday when i went in to work some overtime was the last straw!’

‘yes?’

‘i was smiling in my car taking the corners in the parking garage fast enough to squeal the back tires because on saturdays no one is at work. and then i parked and was whistling loudly in the halls because on saturdays no one is at work. and then i did the hustle in the elevator because on saturdays no one is at work. then i badged in and hey…. why is an annoying person here on saturday? wait…now there’s two, no three annoying people! saturdays are MY days. working on saturdays is awesome because you’re alone in the office and no one from your work week is there to fuck it all up and remind you that they actually exist in real life. in weekend life.’

‘i’m sorry this happened to you. how frustrating. what are you going to do?’

‘i think you’re being condescending.’

‘no. i wouldn’t do that.’

‘i think you’re lying.’

‘i wouldn’t do that either.’

‘yes you would. you’d pee on my leg and call it rain. i can’t do anything about it.’

‘no you can’t. maybe you should consider thinking about letting the little things go. let them roll off your back and just carry on.’

‘i do that all week. why would i want to do that on my weekend?’

‘we all have to make accommodations for situations and people that we don’t necessarily like, angela.’

‘that’s not my strong suit.’

‘i know. but you are good at not giving up so try and don’t give upon trying. how’s that?’

‘sounds dumb. but whatever, sure.’

‘ok angela, here’s the thing. you are pretty intolerant. it would benefit you to do your best to tolerate more things. at the very least to keep your blood pressure down.’

‘what if i just pretend to tolerate things? i think i can do that.’

‘ok, well it’s a start. maybe if we go small we can work our way up to bigger.’

‘that’s what she said.’

‘don’t go there.’

‘that’s what she said.’

‘angela…stop.’

‘that’s what they all say.’

‘i have no doubt. ok, our time is up. work on your patience and tolerance and acceptance.’

‘knock knock.’

‘angela.’

‘knock knock.’

‘i’m not playing this game.’

‘knock knock.’

‘who’s there?’

‘touch my who.’

‘touch my who, who?’

‘THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!’

‘get out.’

‘they’re going to cut off my nipple and toss it around the operating room like a frisbee.’

‘well, let’s hope they don’t drop it.’

‘exactly. i mean all it takes is for one lousy tech to miss the pass and then splat, nipple on the floor.’

‘then they pick it up and dust it off and there you go…dirt sewn right into your chest.’

‘i have this mark on my palm, look see…’

‘oh yeah, looks like you got stabbed with a pencil. what happened?’

‘i got stabbed with a pencil.’

‘when?’

‘third grade.’

‘and the graphite is still in there?’

‘yeah, it irritates the shit out of me.  no matter how much i scrub I can’t get it out.’

‘maybe while they’re tossing your nipple around the operating room the surgeon can carve that thing out.’

‘hm, maybe i should mention that.’

‘so besides your nipple flying around the room, are you comfortable with the surgery to come?’

‘i guess. i mean, as surgeries go it’s kind of a breeze.’

‘true, i'd say it’s a pretty basic thing to have a lump removed.’

‘and the milk duct. how long is a milk duct do you think?’

‘i’m not that kind of doctor, angela. but i’m sure it’s small.’

‘really? because i’ve been having this re-occuring dream where they pull it out and the thing is like all the way down to my toes. she just pulls on it and pulls on it and pulls on it and…’

‘angela?’

‘yes.’

‘stop. it’s going to be fine.’

Look over at Satan. Satan holds up five feet of milk duct. Smiles.

Look back at therapist, say: ‘i’m just a little worried she’s going to have a moment and slip and then there goes my implant.’

‘why would she slip?’

‘well, last time i was under, i woke up half-way through, well…half woke up, you know how that shit makes you dopey…well, i woke up and decided to tell a joke.’

‘which joke?’

‘the rooster joke.’

‘i haven’t heard it.’

‘yeah well, the people in the room all laughed. now that i think about it, probably because they couldn’t understand what the hell i was saying….’

‘probably. tell me the joke.’

‘uh, really?’

‘yes, why not?’

‘because you’re like, politically correct and really liberal and easily offended by anything remotely funny.’

‘give it to me.’

‘oh, all right. so this farmer goes to the market to buy a new rooster for his hen pen. he finds a big, virile looking one and brings it home. he throws the young rooster in the hen pen and the young rooster immediately starts strutting around looking at all the chicks. then…he sees an old rooster just lying over in the corner by the barn.’

‘riveting, go on.’

‘well, he struts over to the old rooster and he says; “old man, you gotta go. this in my hen pen and there’s no room for you!” the old rooster looks up tiredly and says back to him “sonny, i’ll make you a bet, we’ll race to the farmhouse  over there. if you tag me before i touch the porch, the hen pen is yours. if i touch the porch before you tag me, you’re out of here. how’s that sound?” well, the young rooster thinks this is a pretty good bet, so he says sure. the old rooster gets up slowly, stretches out his wings then his legs and takes off, at a fairly good clip but he’s old so the going is slow. the young rooster gives him a head start and then the young rooster is off like a lightning bolt and he’s running and he’s running and he’s just about to tag the old rooster when out of a nowhere BLAM! a shotgun shell hits him and he’s dead’.

‘umm…’

‘and just then the farmer walks up to the young, dead rooster and kicks at it with his toe. looking down he shakes his head and says “god damn it. that’s the third gay rooster i bought this month”.’

‘nice angela.’

‘what? it’s funny.’

‘you’re gay.’

‘so?’

‘oh never mind.’

‘you’re going to tell your partner when you get home.’

‘no.’

‘yes.’

‘no.’

‘yes.’

‘good luck on your surgery.’

‘yes.’

‘no. hang in there and tell me all about it when you get back.’

‘ok.'

'and don't tell the joke please.'

'i might tell the blonde joke instead.'

'what color hair does your surgeon have?'

'nevermind.'

'so how is life?'

'cold.'

'how else?'

'i keep getting asked out.'

'that's good.'

'i guess. unfortunately they have weiners.'

'the terms you utilize for parts of the human body are on a par with 6-year olds. i thought you liked men?'

'sometimes. but mostly i find them course, clueless and hairy.'

'oh, well in that case i guess it's not as good as it could be if they were women.'

'right. but women don't ask me out.'

'maybe it's that scowl you wear all the time.'

'i like my scowl. my scowl is my trademark.'

'yes well apparently it's also an invitation for men to ask you out.'

'why would a dude like a scowl on a woman? that makes no sense. scowls are firmly rooted in the "i'm an angry lesbian" department.'

'maybe they know that and like the challenge?'

'maybe they just ask out every women they see and hope one finally says yes.'

'well that could be a possiblity as well. why don't you give one of them a try and see how it goes?'

'one worked on the ferry and smelled like low tide.'

'so?'

'do you want to go to dinner with low tide?'

'no. and the others?'

'one was the gas company guy and while he's working on my furnace, which just so happens to be located in my bedroom, he looked over at me and asked where my man was.'

'and you said?'

'i stared at him blankly. i couldn't figure out if should say that my man was coming home at any minute to protect my lady parts from possible illegal invasion or if i should say i was a lesbian and ensure my lady parts got an illegal invasion.'

'how long did you stare?'

'long enough for it to seem weird. so i just shrugged and said "uhh". then he asked me out.'

'sounds awkward.'

'yeah well it's not often i get asked out in my bedroom. i mean most people that have made it to my bedroom have already been on at least 15 dates with me...'

'you mean 2?'

'that's not funny.'

'who's laughing?'

Look over at Satan. Satan is laughing.

Look back at therapist, therapist says; 'you've got to give the guy points for courage.'

'whatever, no i don't. how hard is it to ask out a girl when you're already in her bedroom and the future of her heat in the 9 degree weather depends on your screwdriver?'

'you've never met a double entendre that you didn't like have you?'

'ha! i'd wink but winking doesn't work for me.'

'really? you're not a good winker?'

'not at all. do you want to see me try?'

'of course i do. i've never met a bad winker.'

'ok, here goes...'

'that's terrible. what are you doing with your face? it looks like you're going to the bathroom.'

'i'm winking! it's just i can't seem to get one eye to do it. ugh...it hurts, i'm going to get a headache.'

'yeah, i think you should stop before you hurt yourself.'

'maybe i should try that when men ask me out.'

'now there's an idea.'

'you look glum.'

'i am glum.'

'why are you glum?'

'i've had a glum year.'

'how is that possible, it's only january?'

'work stinks, my personal life is crap and my boob is broken.'

'what is wrong with your breast?'

'my boob has a mass. and i'm not talking a jesus, god, holy ghost mass either.'

'that happens a lot. i'm sure you're fine.'

'it bleeds.'

'that doesn't happen a lot. are you taking care of it?'

'oh yeah. i often tell it what a bad boob it is, then i make it sit in a corner and think about what it did.'

'angela.'

'sometimes, i ground it from watching tv, or make it go to bed early.'

'angela, are you getting medical assistantce?'

'if by medical assistance you mean having a bunch of people grab it, push on it and stare at it with frowns, then yes.'

'so you're dating?'

'haha. yes, i'm taking care of it.'

'good. will you keep me updated?'

'sure. she's one of the most important ladies in my life.'

'she's one of the ONLY ladies in your life.'

'was that a jab?'

'yes.'

'good one.'

'thank you. what's the timeframe on this issue?'

'i should have a mass-free boob and a blown implant in about a month.'

'a blown implant?'

'they're insisting on a mammogram too.'

'i see. so you're worried about your implant.'

'yes. will you still love me with a blown implant?'

'i don't love you.'

'will you still take my money with a blown implant?'

'without a doubt. are you experiencing any anxiety or fear because of this?'

'yes.'

'would you like to discuss it?'

'no. i'm coping.'

'angela, you cope by staring vacantly, overeating and crying uncontrollably in the shower.'

'crying in the shower saves trees, the snot goes right down the drain.'

'i'm going to pretend you didn't just say that. i'm here if you need to talk.'

'thanks, i'll remember that.'

'ok, well our time is up. hang in there and like i said before, keep me updated.'

'you mean abreast?'

Sigh.

‘have you been on any more dates since our last session?’

‘i don’t need dates, i need love, love…to ease my mind.’

‘excuse me?’

‘i need to find, find…someone to call mine.’

‘supreme’s fan i see.’

‘catchy little tune, isn’t it?’

‘yes it is. and it holds a lot of truth.’

‘no. i haven’t been on anymore dates.’

‘why not?’

Shrug, say; ‘i’m not really motivated.’

‘ok. so what have you been motivated to do lately?’

‘well, i go jogging a lot and i’ve been reading a whole bunch, watching movies, eating, playing video games and waiting…anticipating…’

‘for that soft voice, to talk to you at night?’

‘yes. and those tender arms…’

‘to hold you tight?’

‘it’s kind of hard not to say it in a sing-song voice isn’t it?’

‘kind of. so, we’re not getting far today i see.’

‘no, no, i’ll answer. i’m just keeping to myself mostly. i mean, my friends take me out and that’s cool. i think i’m just kind of boring to be honest.’

‘enjoying quite activities alone doesn’t make you boring, angela.’

‘it doesn’t exactly make me a rock star either.’

‘do you want to be a rock star?’

‘well, they get lots of girls and glue to sniff.’

‘it’s not glue they're sniffing and the girls probably have herpes, at the very least.’

‘no, i really don’t want to be a rock star. i like being in bed in my jammies at seven in the evening, scowling at the black ink on my fingers from the book i’m reading.’

‘books smell good, don’t they?’

‘they do. but now that i’m old they sure hurt my tendonitis.’

‘a book isn’t easy.’

‘no it ain’t easy, oh no it ain’t easy but mamma said you can’t hurry love.’

Therapist sighs.

Look over at Satan, Satan stares at therapist, therapist glares at Satan. Look back at therapist, therapist looks away from Satan. Look back at Satan, Satan blinks. Both look back at therapist, therapist shakes head heavily, sighs again, says; ‘nooooo, you’ll just have to wait.’

‘isn’t that fun!’

‘fun is a relative term.’

‘hey, at least i’m smiling. i haven’t smiled in your office in a long time.’

‘well no, of course you haven’t, because of all those heartaches you had to stand…’

‘hopefully i’ll find a love, that lets me live again.’

‘do you think your blog readers are tired of dianna ross yet?’

‘possibly. maybe we should move on.’

‘how’s work?’

‘let’s move on in the opposite direction.’

‘how’s the weather?’

‘uh, the weather is the same as it is here since i live in the same town as here is.’

‘it was the fastest question that came to my mind upon your demand to ask another question.’

‘well, it wasn’t a very good question. you should have better on-the-spot questions ready.’

‘oh, so you have a list of on-the-spot questions all ready?’

‘yes.’

‘ask me a question.’

‘how’d you get that scar on your forehead?’

‘how is that an appropriate question?’

‘you didn’t say my question had to be appropriate.’

‘angela, you can’t ask questions like that.’

‘why not?’

‘it’s rude.’

‘i’ve known you for years. i think knowing where the scar on your forehead came from is totally appropriate since i stare at it every session wondering where it came from.’

‘it’s personal and i don’t feel comfortable answering.’

‘well that means you got it during sex.’

‘time’s up.’

‘ha! i’m right or time wouldn’t be up because we totally have what…like,12 minutes left.’

‘i can’t hurry love, angela. but i can hurry you.’

‘good one. fine, i’ll go…but just remember this-i know your scar secret now.’

‘out.’