If it wasn’t for my alarm clock I would have completely forgotten I even had an appointment with my therapist this morning. I’ve had a crazy few weeks. Nothing has been easy or uneventful inside me. I’ve been drinking a lot of Moscoto. Moscoto heals. At least while you’re drinking it. I recommend Culitos white.

Anyway, back to therapy. I’ve had a lot to say in the last few sessions, so much so that I don’t even look up at my therapist for a response really. I just kind of unload and try to maintain eye contact. Today, after about 50 minutes of talking she told me, “I don’t have any answers for you.” I kind of paused in my mind and thought about that as she continued to speak.

Answers?

I’m not even sure I go to therapy for answers anymore. I don’t know if I believe anyone has answers. I think we just have experiences that we can share with one another so that we might gain or learn something from them that will help in us in own lives or help other. Or suggestions. I believe in suggestions. But the only real answers I know of are to questions like what will happen if I touch the fire or something sharp or go play in traffic. There are answers to those questions.

A: You will get burnt.

A: You will get cut.

A: You could get run over.

But I don’t know if there are any answers to my questions. I don’t know that I even have questions in therapy anymore. I’ve just  been having some really trying experiences lately that I need to get off my chest. And since I’m not Carrie Bradshaw, and my life is not a filmed weekly melodrama, I need help with that stuff. I need to get it outside of me. Remember what happened with Carrie started going to therapy after one her Mr. Big upsets? She ended up fucking a patient played by Bon Jovi who ended up being a sex addict. I think she should have gone back but then that would have taken away from the central focus of the show, the real therapy sessions with her best friends. They didn’t have any answers either, but as any SATC fan can attest, they had some amazing experiences to share and they were a great support system for one another.

In my 40th year on this planet there are some things I’ve observed in my life which never would have occurred to me in my 30s. Frankly, I just want to be able to bury my head in a moment of temporary illusion, but I’ve gotten too smart for that these days. Once you see the strings, you cannot unsee them. At the very least you cannot put your hand over your own eyes and pretend the hand belongs to someone else. It’s you. It’s me.

I need a drink…

And Drake. Drake seems to work for me as well. LOL!