"A song made me cry."
"Yes..."
"Nothing makes me cry."
"Why do you think it upset you?"
"I think it's about a guy giving up."
"How do you mean?"
"I think he was trying to be everything that everyone didn't have, and now he's giving up. He's still gonna come out the hero, though."
"He's a hero?"
"You know, he's gonna give up audibly so that no one can call him out on falling short. You know? They might even sympathize with him, with his inability to..."
"To do what?"
"To wanna be there, in the middle of everyone."
"Why do you think that upset you?"
"I don't know."
"No?"
"No."
"Okay, so what did you do?"
"What did I do?"
"Yes. What did you do when the song was over?"
"Oh, I learned how to play it."
"Yes..."
"Yeah, and I sang it until it didn't mean anything. Time's up?"
I suppose I don't have to be here. No, I suppose I could be watching TV, or practicing scales, or asleep somewhere. No, I suppose I'm just bored. And who says therapy can't be amusing?
No. I suppose being told that I have no choice in the matter pretty much sucks the fun right out of it.
Either way, amusing or not, I'm bored and I'm here. I'm here chewing or choking or making something up. I wonder if she can tell the difference, between the real and the bullshit. It's no matter now. I won't see her for another week, and I know no one else can tell the difference. Freedom.
So I'll go home now and watch The L Word. Or maybe Rescue Me. Or maybe I'll read a book. Or maybe I'll just sit on the couch in my sweats and stare at the bare white walls for a few hours before I call my sister about it, tell her how right she is.
Alright, job-hunt it is.
"Yes..."
"Nothing makes me cry."
"Why do you think it upset you?"
"I think it's about a guy giving up."
"How do you mean?"
"I think he was trying to be everything that everyone didn't have, and now he's giving up. He's still gonna come out the hero, though."
"He's a hero?"
"You know, he's gonna give up audibly so that no one can call him out on falling short. You know? They might even sympathize with him, with his inability to..."
"To do what?"
"To wanna be there, in the middle of everyone."
"Why do you think that upset you?"
"I don't know."
"No?"
"No."
"Okay, so what did you do?"
"What did I do?"
"Yes. What did you do when the song was over?"
"Oh, I learned how to play it."
"Yes..."
"Yeah, and I sang it until it didn't mean anything. Time's up?"
I suppose I don't have to be here. No, I suppose I could be watching TV, or practicing scales, or asleep somewhere. No, I suppose I'm just bored. And who says therapy can't be amusing?
No. I suppose being told that I have no choice in the matter pretty much sucks the fun right out of it.
Either way, amusing or not, I'm bored and I'm here. I'm here chewing or choking or making something up. I wonder if she can tell the difference, between the real and the bullshit. It's no matter now. I won't see her for another week, and I know no one else can tell the difference. Freedom.
So I'll go home now and watch The L Word. Or maybe Rescue Me. Or maybe I'll read a book. Or maybe I'll just sit on the couch in my sweats and stare at the bare white walls for a few hours before I call my sister about it, tell her how right she is.
Alright, job-hunt it is.
