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.....'