me vs. therapy

'.....your weekend was "good"?'

'yeah.'

'no elaboration?'

'the donkey i had over doesn't want me to put her in my blog'.

'so you can't talk about her to me?'

'well, i could, but then my blog would be full of BLEEPS and that would irritate my readers.'

'i think maybe we need to reassess your reasons for being in therapy.'

'nah, i like my reasons.'

'ok..fine, it's your party. what else did you do this weekend?'

'played farm with the donkey, that's basically it.'

'that's all?'

'yeah, that's why i feel like shit.'

'how does playing farm with the donkey make you feel like shit?'

'cause it's all i did, i didn't even go out and get groceries. i started to feel claustrophobic.'

'that's understandable.'

'you think so? because it made me feel kinda bad for feeling claustrophobic.'

Look over at Satan, Satan files nails, looks up...blinks, continues to file nails.

Look back at therapist.

Therapist says; 'you're looking over at your imaginary Satan for guidance again aren't you?'

'maybe'

'uh-huh....angela, you're independent, it's natural to feel confined when you're used to having freedom to come and go as you please and it's suddenly taken from you.'

'but all i thought i wanted was to play farm with a nice donkey who actually cooks me breakfast and stays around because she wants to not because i tied her down to a fence.'

'maybe playing farm isn't exactly what you're looking for right now?'

'or maybe i want to play farm with a different donkey?'

'perhaps'.

Look over at fish. Fish trails poo out of ass, holds up sign saying 'i know who THAT is'.

Frown at fish, look back at therapist.

Say; 'i'm just tired'.

'of?'

'thinking about everything. it's exhausting. and i'm tired of donkey's and farms and that god damn fish over there that keeps staring at me with shit coming out of his ass do you think you should feed him different food, like stuff with less fiber in it?'

'don't deflect.'

'you wouldn't want to take that away from me, would you?'

'i'd like to replace it with a different behavior'.

Look over at Satan, Satan smokes cigar....

Look back at therapist, say; 'can i start smoking again...because i felt a lot less stress then.'

'you know the answer to that.'

Look over at Satan, Satan taps needle, shoots syringe into arm....

Frown.

Look back at therapist, say' 'well, honestly i don't feel like we'vegotten anything done this session except prove that i'm unhappy.'

'today you're unhappy angela...and i think we've established that it's probably because you played farm this weekend when you actually would rather have played hunter/gather at walmart by yourself.'

'so, great...what do i do next time?'

'i think that's fairly obvious.'

'what, just pat the donkey on the butt on my way to walmart?'

'i think that's a good idea, you may even want to try keeping your hands off the donkey completely.'

'yeah, you're probably right.'

'ok, well for the 50th time i'm going to ask you to be a good doobie this weekend and play solataire, think you can handle that?'

Look over at Satan, Satan fake humps air while making butt smacking motions.

Look back at therapist, she says; 'he's doing it again, isn't he?'

'uh-huh, it's kinda funny though....'

'ummmmm. right. so, can i count on you being alone?'

'yes, i can do that. i just get lonely.'

'i know you do, but i think we see what the alternative can get you after this weekend.'

'true dat.'

'true dat. until next time, have fun and don't take it all too seriously.'

'yes ma'am.'

'don't call me ma'am, it makes me sound like my mother.'

'can i call you White Pony?'

'excuse me?'

'nevermind.....'

Lay on sofa, stare at ceiling.

Satan shakes shoulder, look over.

Satan holds up just finished quilt.

Give thumbs up.

Satan beams proudly, folds up quilt, stuffs in bag. Takes out pipe, begins smoking.

Hear footsteps, sit up.

Therapist walks in, says; 'well, good afternoon. how was your day?'

'shit. but i smiled through it because i'm on holiday now.'

'yes, thanksgiving. have any plans you'd like to share?'

'me and jigger are gonna put on our sweats and fry daddy a bunch of crap food that will make us fat and watch movies.'

'who's jigger?'

'jigger is stacy's pet name for herself.'

'how can you give yourself a pet name?'

'i don't know really. i give everyone else pet names, but not myself.'

'porkchop?'

'that was given to me, thank you very much.'

'who would name you porkchop and why?'

'alcoholic donkey. i was fatty ass back then. i thought it was cute.'

'hmm, you find a lot of not cute things, cute.'

'like yourself.'

'what was that?'

'nothing, just mumbling lies under my breath.'

Look over at fish. Fish trails crap from ass, holds up middle fin.

Frown at fish.

Therapist says; 'why are you frowning at my fish?'

'your stupid fish hates me. i'm going to flush him when you're not looking.'

'fish don't have feelings, so i doubt he hates you. so, it's good to know you won't be alone for thanksgiving.'

'what about you?'

'what about me?'

'doing anything special for thanksgiving?'

'yes.'

Look at therapist.

Therapist looks back.

Look at Satan.

Satan looks at therapist.

Satan looks back, shrugs.

Look at therapist, therapist writes notes.

Say; 'does this mean you aren't going to tell me what you're doing?'

'yes.'

'oh. hmm, you know...i'm not comfortable with this conversation always being one-sided.'

'i'm sorry you feel that way.'

'how sorry?'

'not sorry enough.'

'can i give you a pet name?'

'not if you want me to answer.'

'what about.....Sweetie Bopkins?'

Therapist stares.

'Pookie Pants Muffin Cake?'

Therapist frowns.

'Sexy Sugar Hot Potato?'

Therapist writes notes.

Say; 'what are you writing?'

'all of those down so i can use them.'

'really?'

'what do you think?'

'i think i'm dreaming about the monkey bread getting fried in melted lard.'

'i can't say that sounds appealing to me.'

'are you kidding? who wouldn't want some fried monkey bread?'

'me.'

'communist.'

'you got me.'

'red handed! get it!?'

'yes, i'm surprisingly sharp for being just a therapist.'

'and surprisingly hot when you wear those black-framed glasses....'

'excuse me?'

'more mumbling under my breath.'

'right. you also have a long weekend coming up. any wild and crazy plans?'

'umm, i'm going to clean all of my cats snot off the walls.'

'well, well...look at that it's time to go.'

'oh. so, guess i'll catch you next week then.'

'yes, same time. have a nice holiday, angela.'

'you too Pookie Muff....'

'stop it.'

'..in Pants Sweetie Poo.'

'i'm confounded. it's beyond me. i can't grasp it.'

'did you ever consider being alone is what you need right now?'

'no.'

'angela...really, come on now.'

'therapist...really, i've been single for well over 2 years. i don't need to be alone any longer.  i know everything about me that there is to know. in fact, i'm getting rather sick of my relationship with me.'

'why do you say that?'

'me is too demanding. me talks too much. me looks at other chics all the time. me drives too fast, whistles all the time, bitches too much and her butt smells.'

Look over at satan, satan chews broccoli stalk.

Look back at therapist. Therapist says; 'maybe you and me need to refresh your relationship.'

Smile widely.

Therapist frowns, says; 'you know what i meant.'

'i sure did, spicy pants.'

Fish chuckles.

Therapist says; 'what i meant was, maybe you could go outside your comfort zone and give yourself a jolt to get out of your rut.'

'like dating a guy?'

'uh, no.'

'like not showering for a week?'

'i think we need to get back on task.'

'like quitting my job tomorrow and moving to bolivia to work the streets as an impoverished begger?'

'are you done?'

'like, no.'

'if you continue to follow the same routine then you have nothing to expect but the same result.'

'hmmm, sounds like that movie groundhog day. except in rhode island, not pensilvania.'

'you realize you just butchered the spelling of pennsylvania?'

'spelling was never my strong suit.'

'neither was being normal.'

'what?'

'i was just thinking out loud. so, i think maybe if you volunteered somewhere or joined some kind of activity group you may be more satisfied with your free time.'

'well, i have been thinking about big brothers big sisters.'

'an excellent idea.'

'do you think they let gays do that?'

'i'm sure they do, however you may not need to even disclose you're gay.'

'what if they figure it out because i want to have a little boy so we can play video games and race my car and go to action movies?'

'that is possible but unlikely to matter.'

'is it possible that you like me?'

'would it matter if i said no?'

'no.'

'well then i have a non-answer for you.'

Blink.

Therapist blinks back.

Blink.

Therapist blinks back.

Say; 'oh...that was your answer, right?'

'yes angela.'

'i'm slow sometimes. it's the aspartame in my diet coke.'

'not the marbles in your head?'

 'ahahaha....that would be funny if you weren't my therapist whos job it is to make me happy.'

Therapist smiles, says; 'have a great afternoon, angela.'

'you too therapist'.

'what you have, angela...is an elevated sense of entitlement.'

'and i'm really funny.'

'and you think you're really funny.'

'so, what's with the entitlement thing?'

'what do you mean?'

'i mean, is that considered a problem?'

'i wouldn't necessarily categorize it as a problem, however it often leads the individual to have unrealistic expectations and therefore have the tendency to be disappointed, angry and isolated.'

'like when i glare at the dicks in line at the airport who dared to check in earlier than me and get to board first then take my seat in front with the extra legroom and take up my overhead space with their stupid effing golf clubs and a parka the size of Maine?'

Look over at Satan putting into styrofoam cup, Satan guiltily hides putter behind back, sits down and looks away.

'yes, that's a good example.'

'like when i want to date a donkey and she ends up not wanting to date me back so automatically she must be emotionally broken, mentally challenged or blind?'

Look over at fish. Fish is looking at poop trailing out of ass.

'that is another good example, yes.'

'like when i park my car in the ladies-with-babies only spot at the grocery store because i really don't care that you had another baby that's going to take up more of my oxygen?'

'yes, that's the kind of thinking pattern i'm referring to.'

'well, honestly i think you're cognitive therapy, therapy can kiss myass. it's not a sense of entitlement, it's they're dumbasses and i'm not.'

'that's judgment on your part. why do you feel entitled to judge?'

'because i'm awesome.'

'being awesome hardly gives you the power to wield judgment.'

'maybe not, but at least i know how to clean off my butt.'

Look over at fish with 3 inch trail of poop coming out of butt.

'is that a metaphor, angela?'

'as a matter of fact it is.'

'are you saying you feel most people are similar to fish with low iq's and excrement trailing out their butts so you have no guilt in judging them as inferior so you can justify your self-indulgent behavior?'

'pretty much, yeah.'

Look at fish....fish frowns, crosses fins.

Look back at therapist, therapist is smiling.

'what?'

'i'm smiling because your revelation guarantees you'll need more office visits which in turn guarantees i'll be collecting more money from you.'

'i won't let you break me.'

'we can turn this into insurance.'

'i'm not talking about money, i'm talking about will.'

'you feel your way of thinking is correct?'

Turn in chair, look at ass, turn back, smile, say; 'look, no poop!'

Therapist sighs, shakes head, writes notes.

'practice being normal, angela. i know it will be challenging, but do your best.'

'can you practice hiding your sexual tension, it's starting to make me feel uncomfortable.'

'i highly doubt there is any sexual tension and i highly doubt anything would ever make you feel uncomfortable.'

'you wanting me would....i think you should try it just so you could see me uncomfortable.'

'i think i'll pass this time.'

'what if i die before next time, then you'll never get the chance.'

'i'll take my chances with the chance.'

'bye elizabeth.'

'good bye, angela.'

'and to escape my crap ass of a day i put on my jammi bottoms and snap, crackle and pop t-shirt.'

 'the one that you climbed the balcony for?'

 'the very same.'

 'you must really like that shirt.'

 'well, it was a gift.'

 'gifts are nice.'

 'and it's wonderful and soft. like 600+ egyptian cotton sheet soft but without the price.'

'because it's been around awhile?'

'10 years.'

 'you can't beat that.'

 'no you really can't. you know what else you can't beat?'

 'i bet it's not a dead horse.'

 'you can't beat sitting your fat ass in a lazy boy and playing a video game all night.'

 'this doesn't sound exciting, but seeing as how your face lit up when you mentioned it i assume i have to ask about it.'

 'yes. thank you. so the game is a free roaming kind of thing. kinda set in the middle ages.'

Hear heavy sigh, look over at Satan.

Satan rolls eyes, noisely grabs readers digest off table and leaves.

 Look back at therapist. Therapist looks bored, says;  'uh-huh.'

 'and you can be a ogre or an elf or a human...you get the gist.'

 'not really but you're paying so keep going.'

 'so you get a horse if you want and swords and stuff and basically go and do whatever you want in cities and forests and mountains.'

 'fascinating.'

 'really?'

 'no.'

 Scowl.

 Therapist smiles.

 Say; 'anyway...so i'm riding my horse on a mountainside road and thinking about going into a cave and fighting monsters.....what are you writing?'

 'my obituary.'

 'oh. so i stop and think...no, the view from my horse is too cool, i'm just going to ride him around and relax and watch the trees and listen to the birds.'

 'uh-huh'

'and that's when it hit me.'

 'the wave of regret for wasting time on video games when you could be voluteering, gardening, reading or doing something else productive?'

 'no...what hit me was....wow, i'm really happy right now.'

 'and why do you think you were happy?'

 'because i wasn't in rhode island.'

 'but you were.'

 'but i wasn't. and i wasn't at work.'

 'you were an elf on a horse in a middle ages-like time.'

 'right. and i could do whatever i wanted.'

 'like kill monsters?'

 'yeah. and steal stuff from people's homes then sell it. and fight in the colleseum and make my horse run or make my horse walk or make my horse run or make my horse walk  or make my horse run or......'

'ok, ok...i get it.'

 Hear door open, look over.

 Satan walks in, trailing toilet paper on foot.

 Tosses digest on table, falls into chair, naps.

 Look over at therapist.

 Say; 'do you think that's bad?'

 'i don't think bad is the right term. let me ask you this...you said you were really happy, do you mean fullfilled happy?'

 'yes.'

 'uh-huh.'

 'was that the wrong answer?'

 'i don't think wrong is the right term.'

 'because it's wrong.'

 'right.'

 'what?'

 'nevermind.'

 'ok.'

 'so, angela. maybe it would be in your best interests to put a time limit on your game play.'

 'even if it makes me happy?'

 'yes. because it will eventually make you not happy.'

'like a marriage?'

 'not exactly.'

 'but similar?'

 'sure.'

 'but what else can i fill my day with then?'

 'that's for you to figure out.'

 'but i'm tired of figuring out and thinking and stuff.'

 'do you know who you sound like?'

'someone who's awesome?'

 'no. a 5-year old.'

 'whatever. fine, i'll work on that.'

 'no you won't.'

 'yes i will.'

 'you'll only work on it because i challenged you to work on it.'

 'well, now that you gave that away i won't.'

 'fine. don't. it's your life.'

 Frown.

 Therapist smiles, says; 'oh, looks like that's the end of our session. see you again next week.'

 'i don't like you.'

 'yes, you do. good luck with the video game void.'

 Mumble; 'good luck with the void check.'

 'what was that?'

 'nothing. bye.'