There was no couch, no weird instrumentals fucking with my subconscious, and no one sitting across the table nodding and taking notes while randomly inserting an automated "mhm". She's almost as animated as I am, didn't outright gawk like my girlfriends but she reacted like a regular human being would and best of all she's HILARIOUS. Like, I think she may have been Eddie Murphy (a la Beverly Hills Cop not Pluto Nash) in a previous life. I. Love. Her.
But of course this would not be a tale of my life if there wasn't something awkward amidst the interesting social interactions. I cursed. I cursed at my Christian therapist. Not my usual F (and MF...and C...and friends) bombs but I said shit and asshole
a few times. I was actually quite proud of myself. What self control I possess! She was able to confirm my sanity (aaaaaahh!!!) and assure me that I wasn't in fact fuckin up. Did I mention she was awesome beyond all definitions of awesomeness?
Following the relief of my visit I was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to listen to gangster rap. Wu Tang Clan ain't nothing to fuck with. And neither is B.I.G. Thuggin Thursdays. It was perfection.
The saga continues!
Your Zen Master,