… and not with B!. Indeed, someone else has come into my life. Someone I can talk to, someone I can share things with, someone who really understands me.
I’m talking, of course, about my new therapist.
I don’t know if I ever talked about my old therapist, the one who routinely forgot what medications I was on and instructed me to take my Effexor in exactly the wrong way, but she was a crackpot. In the space of a one-hour couples session she pretty much nailed shut the coffin of my marriage and I dreaded sessions like other people dread the dentist. It was that bad. The last straw came when she tried to convince me that there were baggage insurance kiosks in the airport, a piece of advice handed down while I was in despair about losing Stephl’s D80. Perhaps the session would have been better spent looking at how my self-worth is tied to job performance, but hey! Baggage insurance kiosks! Thanks! I broke up with her two months ago and never looked back.
My new shrink, by contrast, is amazing. She knew things about me immediately that I’m just now discovering about myself, didn’t blink an eye when I told her that I end every day with a cocktail (or three), and held back from giving me unwanted advice about my newfound romance with B!. I also love her haircut, which really goes a long way. After 16 years of failed relationships, will she finally be The One? Only time will tell. Next session is on the 31st. I can’t wait.
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