I have the blues. Not the good kind of blues from my youth that comes with powered yellow cheese-like stuff and noodles but the stab yourself in the fucking eye kind of blues that comes when you are in your thirties and have suffered through them a time or three...The why can't I just lay here and to hell with the world blues. The who the fuck cares why are you so whiny blues. Yeah, I got the blues. And this time I even paid for them.
Yes, your eyes heard that correctly, I paid for the blues. How stupid am I? Well, how much time do you have? Let me explain. I decided after a horrible vacation and an lashing of misery on some innocent (or not so innocent) people that I perhaps needed some therapy. So, I made an appointment and wouldn't it know it has been rainbow and unicorns ever since?! Oh, wait, back to reality, I made an appointment and met this wonderful lady, who immediately put me at ease, like I wanted to crawl up in her lap and surround myself in her warmness, who after speaking to me for an hour said "Ummm, I don't think I am going to be able to help you, so I am going to refer you to another therapist". Knock my crazy ass over with a feather?! WTF are you kidding me?! You just asked me about my life story and now you say "Umm no thanks crazy bitch" and pass me on?! Well, deep breath, I didn't freak out too bad over this news and actually just laughed, as I thought well...shit. What now? Well, I was referred to another therapist who finally called me back and said "UMMM, you have an eating disorder and those are not my specialty, so I think I am going to send you to another therapist". I am like huh, when did I get an eating disorder and damn if I have one I am surely not very good at it. Binging, hell yeah, I got that shit down, but the rest of it, not so much. Have you seen me?! Hello...but back to the story, so after speaking with the lady and telling her, I want to have the lap-band but I am an emotional eater, could she please help me with that issue, that I feel like if I can get my emotional mess of a self straightened up, I won't have to eat till I am sick then "hello, new me". Well, she agreed to see me. I think I should have been more leery at the shaky start because three sessions later and now I am in a mess. And I think I am going to need more therapy to get over the therapy I have had. Shew!
My therapist, well, she is a nice lady. We live in a very rural, limited resource kind of area and as much as an asshole as it makes me sound, I think I am smarter than 99% of her patients and I am not totally sure I am not smarter than her. Yeah, I know, what an ass. If someone came into the ER and told me that, I would be cussing them for weeks. But, eh, I think it's true. Tony, however, thinks it is me. Which, boy is that ever helpful. I am already struggling and asking for help, then my therapist calls me, tells me, "You suck, the work you have done is not good enough" and Tony says, "yeah, she is probably correct". Oh yeah and the work that isn't good enough?! You all ready for this life changing bit?! Boxing up my mail and getting rid of some of the clutter in my house. No, I did not accomplish this. I didn't. If I could accomplish this I wouldn't be paying you $120 a session for you to tell me to clean my house, in fact, I would PAY a fucking maid $50 and keep the difference...Seriously! Mail and clutter the root of my problem? Really?! That is what makes me want to Thelma and Louise it daily? I think not. Now maybe, just maybe, she is on to something and could be on the next best-seller list, "Box up your mail and your life will follow" or some shit. Maybe this is life-changing advice I am blatantly ignoring but I have my doubts on this.
So, now what? Another snack? More naps? Deep breaths? No, no, not that, cleaning?! A fate worse than death for the dust bunnies. Well, no, not cleaning, hello. That would be progress and we don't believe in progress here.