Dumped

This entry is only loosely based on real events.

My therapist dumped me today. He said our relationship was going nowhere and he wanted to see other people. I reacted desperately, which, I suppose, being my therapist, he expected. "It’s the constant napping, isn't it? I’ll stop, I swear. I'll get a job. A real job, not an imaginary lemonade stand. I'm through selling imagination. Really. Trust me."

Of course, he couldn’t trust me. I have less follow-through than a Gary Coleman uppercut. (Look, give me a break. It’s 1:45 A.M.) This is the conversation we had 15 minutes before:

THERAPIST: "You said you would apply to three temp agencies last week. How did you do?"
ME: "Temp agencies?"
THERAPIST: "Yup."
ME: "Hmmm. That's a good idea."
THERAPIST: "You said that last week."
ME: "Oh, yeah."
THERAPIST: "And the week before that."
ME "Has anyone ever told you that you have an excellent memory?"
THERAPIST: "What stopped you from applying to any temp agencies?"
ME: "God?"
THERAPIST: "God stopped you from applying to any temp agencies?"
ME: "You said it, not me."
THERAPIST: "Look, I don't want to be the bad guy--"
ME: "Thanks! So, how about that sport team? Man, they look really, uh, sporty this year."

So it’s over. I feel as depressed as I did two years ago when my hair stylist threw down her scissors and yelled, "You give me nothing to work with!" before storming out the door, crying. As the door squealed shut, a gust of wind swept over my hair, waving the few remaining follicles on my forehead back and forth. Goodbye, goodbye.