Chapter 100

It would be silly to think there wasn’t a chapter that lead up to this chapter, so, even though this is the first chapter, we know there really are no beginnings – only middles and endings (that we like to pretend are new beginnings, but they are usually just recycled ones that have a fresh coat of paint and some new love interests).

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I sat in the chair. It was very comfortable, and the therapist was hot.  I wasn’t about to go to therapy and spill my guts to some ugly old fart dude – what would be my motivation?  Oh yeah, I was supposed to be doing this for myself.  Bullshit.  Just like going to the gym is something we do for ourselves? No – we do it cuz we want to be hotter than the next person at the office so the secretary with the fuzzy sweater will look at us with just a glisten of drool coming out of the corner of her pinkly lip-glossed mouth. ‘Us’? Get your own story, this one’s all about MEEEEE! And get your own secretary with the fuzzy sweater, while you are at it!

Where was I? Oh yes, the chair.  I gave myself the “gift of therapy.” Not really sure why. Health insurance doesn’t cover it much, and if I go enough, I am pretty sure it will show on my permanent record that I am actually admitting I am insane. Isn’t everyone?  Seriously, look at this planet we are on… everyone here is insane.  Normal is…effing insane.

Anyway, since interpersonal skills are all but dead, and virtue has become a lackluster knickknack stuffed on the back shelf behind the laxatives, I think the next best thing someone can do to get some deep conversation is to go to therapy.  I am sick of talking about just the weather, sports, and latest drama.  I don’t really… hey I should see what she thinks of this by saying it out loud…

“I don’t really give a damn about trendy lesbian relationships on TV, about politicians who wink, or even presidents who get their hoo-hoos sucked on by frisky coeds.”


Ha, that got her.

“Would you like to talk more about the incoherency of our planet, or discuss lesbianism?”

“You aren’t really a therapist, are you?”


“That’s OK, I am not really a patient.  Now that we have the lies out of the way, it’s lost most of its fun, wouldn’t you say?”

Truth is, I found her on Craig’s List.  It was mutual, and I get to keep the chair I bought, too (I bought it new, not on Craig’s List – if I am going to be sitting in a chair pretending to go to therapy, I want a comfy chair).

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