Nothing to See Here…

So we’re doing this marriage counseling thing, my husband and I.  The counselor is digging around in my psyche and stirring up all sorts of ugly stuff.  It’s been making me a bit anxious; that and a few other things going on in my life.  But underneath, I’m still me and I know this is a temporary thing and we’ll come out fine.  I do know that.  Or else I’ll kill him, because, dammit - I ain’t doing another divorce.  Ya know?

I suppose if he dies in suspicious circumstances I’ll have to quickly edit this post.  Life is so complicated these days.

Just to put your minds at ease, I have no intention of killing him, I swear.  At least not until the garage door is painted and there is room in there for me to park my car.  I hate having to clean snow off in the winter and am just really looking forward to parking in the garage this winter.  So if I did kill him, it would be springtime at the earliest.  Check in with me late February and I’ll let you know.

Until then, we’ll just do this counseling thing.  There are eight sessions covered by my EAP program through work.  It’s like speed counseling “Can she cure us in eight sessions or less?”  (And see, that sentence is grammatically incorrect - it should read ‘eight sessions or fewer’ but it seemed to lose something that way so I stressed over it, less, fewer, fewer, less and then, well, you can see what happened next.)

Maybe she’ll get us all fixed up in three or four sessions.  Then maybe I can use the other sessions to have her fix a few other issues.

For example, I have this issue where I’ll need to take a pee but I’ll just put it off and put it off until it’s become an emergency.  The simplest explanation is that I’m purely lazy, but I’m thinking if I let her put her Freudian voodoo theories on me, she might be able to come up with something better than laziness.  Like, perhaps the waiting process enhances the huge sense of relief I finally have when I go and therefore the fact that I wait so long is an indication that my life is an ongoing struggle for relief.  In which case?  ROLAIDS should do the trick!

Too bad counseling isn’t like a tune up on a car.  You know, they could adjust my metabolism like a mechanic adjusts the idle on a Buick.  They could put in a new fuel filter (to keep out the evil carbs) and new spark-plugs so that the bits that are supposed to jump to life when needed do as intended.  I think I need my tires rotated and balanced and probably some winterizing too. 

I might ask her if she can address my food issues.  I often think that maybe I’m overweight simply because I just like to eat, but that’s so boring.  I’m sure that someone devoted to finding an underlying issue might uncover an episode from 1971 when Frankie from down the block threw a dead waterbug at me and my mom soothed me with a big slice of banana bread slathered with butter.  Maybe ever since then food is love, or perhaps, at the very least, food is just a way to keep the dead waterbugs at bay.  I think it would take more than a few extra sessions with a counselor to deal with this.  Like, maybe 40 or 50 years of intense therapy three days a week.  I would suggest the break-through “Cheddar Bay Biscuit and Skittles” therapy that is showing great promise.  You know, the one where patients get an unlimited amount of Cheddar Bay Biscuits and, yes, Skittles too.  Sure, it’s new and unproven but I’m willing to go out on a limb and see what happens.  I would do that for the good of mankind - that’s how swell of a person I am.

What would be really great is if there were some sort of drive-through therapist that I could see.  I would pull up to the menu board and the crackly voice would come through the speaker “Yeah, welcome to Psyche in the Box, whaddaya have?”

“Um, hang on.”

“Just order when you’re ready ma’am.”

“Um, OK… yeah, OK - I’ll have the 6 month serving of anorexia, please.  And also, I have a question about the OCD - can I get that in any flavor I want?  I’d kind of like the OCD that means I obsessively keep my house clean.  Do you have that?”

“Sorry, lady… clean house OCD is only offered seasonally - come back in spring.  This month we have the adopting stray cat disorder.  You want that?”

“Oh, no.  No… thanks.  No stray cats.  Do you have some light insomnia?  I don’t want the full version.  I’m trying to cut back.  But I’d like a light light insomnia.”

“Yeah, lady.  We got that.  So you want some anorexia and a side of insomnia.  Anything else?”

“I think that’s it.  Unless…. no, never mind.  I can’t…”

“Come on, lady.  I’ve heard it all.  Spit it out.  What do you need?”

“I don’t see it on the menu, but, well, I’m a little embarrassed.  Do you have some nymphomania in stock?”

“Yeah, sure we do.  I’ll add it to your order, but don’t worry - it won’t show up listed on your bill and it comes in plain brown wrapping.  Don’t sweat it lady, OK?  There’s your total on the screen, now just drive around to the window and we’ll get you all fixed up.”

“Thank you.  Can I ask one more question?”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Can I get some Cheddar Bay Biscuits with that?  Or maybe some Skittles?”

*****

This counseling thing is hard.  Thank goodness I’m only tackling the easy problem instead of all my other malfunctions. 

And a special shout out to my husband, who doesn’t read this blog (Hi, honey!) because the man has been totally carrying me for a few weeks now.  I’ve been useless, wallowing in self-pity and he’s been my rock.  And I’m not even referring to the state of his poor neglected penis when I say that, either.  The man is awesome.  Someone really should give him more sex - he totally deserves it.  Oh, what?  ME???  Um, well, yeah, sure…. as soon as I get my nymphomania program installed, then I’ll be all over it!

*****

(Holy cow, for the first time in forever, I think I might have written something that is half-way interesting.  Well, interesting to wayward internet surfers with nothing better to read, at least.  It’s a start though, right?  Perhaps getting me back on track.  I hope…)

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