I fired the behavioral therapist. Here was the craziest moment in this chapter--the moment that made me think of Amanda Seyfried in the upcoming psychological thriller, "The Housemaid." After the "termination text," I had visions of this therapist arriving at my front door, wielding an axe.
Job termination is like a breakup, at least for me. In the ensuing minutes, I felt giddy. I had taken action! I never had to see this person again. But then regret set in. Had she really been that bad? She was--she is!--a human being. It was I--I!--who seemed to be monstrous. This made me recall that great scene in Disney's "Tangled" when Rapunzel detaches from Gothel; one minute, Rapunzel is euphoric, and the next, she is despondent. And so on. (For the next five to seven years, all of my allusions will include a moment or two from Rapunzel's story in "Tangled.")
Now, I'm in my Cardi B phase.
Said, lil bitch, you can't fuck with me if you wanted to.
These expensive! These is red bottoms. These is bloody shoes.
Hit the store--I can get 'em both. I don't wanna choose....
I casually mention--in conversations--that I've just terminated a "provider." In the parent-teacher conference. In the chat with the pediatric neurologist. Each time, it's completely irrelevant--but it's like I can't help myself. My spouse is very tolerant of these digressions.
It's been quite a week.
Comments
Post a Comment