Thursday, June 2, 2011

I can't think of a good title

I think I'm going to stop seeing my therapist. A couple of weeks ago I thought I'd stop telling her the crazy stuff and only talk about good things so maybe she would say that I am cured and I don't need to come in anymore. I don't think it's working.

I woke up late this morning, got all my stuff together and ran out of the house without brushing my tooth. I was really self conscious on the EL the whole way into work and I didn't want to open my mouth to breath but then, GAH...I know nobody here gets this, so I don't expect you to understand, but people smell like bacon. You can't help it and I can't help smelling it. All of you. You smell like bacon. The good kind, too. Center cut applewood smoked.

I think it's an evolutionary thing. I looked it up on Wikipedia once. There was something about how when you guys started using language and we started using language it became more difficult for us to eat you. Then the oils you excrete began to register as bacon to us, so killing you wouldn't be as emotionally distressing. Weird, huh? We don't eat people anymore, of course, but it's kind of interesting how that stuff sticks around.

I might start drooling again thinking about it how intense that smell is - which is what happens. Especially when you're cute. A cute girl got on the train at Armitage and the smell just socked me right in the nose. I tried to breath only through my mouth but then A) I hadn't brushed my tooth and my breath stunk and B) I drooled all over my chin. Second time this week.

The worst part was everyone standing around me acting like they didn't see it.

I didn't start going to the therapist on my own. Dennis had been telling me for weeks that I should go. You know what? I don't care how you slice it, being told by anyone that you should see a therapist sucks. They may say things like "I love You" and "We just want you to be happy." But they also mean, you're fucking depressing so please go talk to fucking somebody because we can 't fucking take it.

Anyway, she's nice enough, I guess. I don't think I was what she was expecting, though. Sometimes I say things that I think are funny but she doesn't laugh and then I wonder if I was being funny or scary.

It's situations like that when I wish I only had two eyes. My center eye (the blue one on my forehead), keeps a fixed gaze at whatever is moving in the room, while my two regular eyes look around and do what regular eyes do. When I get embarrassed, I look at the floor or away, you know, like everyone does. But my stupid center eye. AUGH! It just sits there and stares at the other person.

I passed by Kate's desk today (bacon smell anyone? Fuggedaboutit) and she stopped me to ask if I ever watched any of those Pirates of the Caribbean movies. I turned around and she giggled. My dumbass fly was down. My regular eyes looked out the window, but my stupid center eye just watched her get more uncomfortable. Then it teared up. Man, she smelled great.

I was so upset afterwards that I went to the park and ate a bird.

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