Dr. Schadenfreude peered over the top of his laptop at me. “Where would you like to start today?”
Shit. I never know where to start. I did have a list typed up on my phone, but I’m always sure I’m wasting his time talking about that shit. “Well, I went out on a date last night.”
He started typing. I mean really, how can there be so much to type from that one tentative sentence? The typing stopped. He turned his piercing eyes back to me.
“Um. It was good. She seems very nice.”
Type type type. “And what were you thinking after you got home from the date?”
Fuck, man, I don’t know. What to say? “Fuck, man, I don’t know. I mean, it was nice. We had fun. She didn’t seem crazy.”
“Didn’t seem crazy. Is that where you’ve set the bar?”
Doesn’t that sound a little judgemental for a shrink? “I wouldn’t say I’ve set the bar there, but it’s definitely a good measure for ‘You must be this tall to get on the ride.’ I understand that I’m kind of damaged goods. Not saying I don’t deserve someone good; I’m just not sure I should get my hopes up.”
“And having high hopes is bad because?”
“Because then I’ll just be disappointed when I don’t live up to those hopes. Why live in hope of something that will just disappoint? I need to be realistic.”
“Well then why did you leave your wife?”
“If you can’t expect someone who will be nice to you, and who you will want to be with, then why didn’t you just stay with your wife? That would have been easier.”
I hate when he does that shit. I wonder if he’s married, because it would REALLY suck to be in an argument with him. “Well, sure, I deserve to be with someone nice; everyone does.”
Type type type type. Wait.
I snuck a look at the clock. Fuck!