103. Broken

Dr. Schadenfreude had a new pair of shoes on today. I’m not even sure if he wears glasses, but I know every pair of his shoes.

“So how have things been going lately?”

As usual, I was thinking WAY too hard about how to answer this question. I mean, things are mostly okay, especially during the day when I’m busy. It sometimes gets a little shitty at night when I have more time to think; that’s when I can hear The Hamster Wheel of Depressive Pessimism spinning away. Fuck, I hate hamsters.

“Well, I’ve been worrying. Now that we’ve established that I’m broken, does that mean I’ll only ever attract broken women?”

Puzzled face. “We’ve established that you’re broken?”

I sighed. “Of course we have. Let’s not forget that we’re in a psychiatrist’s office – that means one of us is crazy – and it ain’t MY name on the door. All the dating I’ve done since my separation (and most of my life!) has been with people who were just as broken as I am.”

“So you think that your history determines your destiny?”

“Of course I don’t believe in Destiny. But I think you can often predict the future based on your past. I have a pattern of dating – and marrying, for that matter – women who are approaching the red zone on the crazy meter. That seems to be how it goes.”

He waited, to see if I had anything to add. “How many women have you dated in your life?”

“Shit, I don’t know.”

“We’ll say fewer than 10,000?”

He was on his way to make a point. I hated when he did this shit. “Yes, fewer than 10,000.”

“And how many women are there in the world?”

“I don’t know. 3 billion-ish? I see your point: I’m sure there are plenty of non-crazy women out there, they’re just not the ones I hook up with.”

He paused. “Have you ever been to a party where there are more than 100 people?”

I answered tentatively. “Sure.”

“And how many ‘crazy’ people did you bump into there?”

“I don’t know. One or two.”

“So there could be approximately one to two percent of the population that is ‘broken’. That leaves approximately 2.9 billion women who aren’t ‘crazy’.”

I could tell he didn’t like saying the C-word, but he tends to speak in whatever language I’m speaking. I get a little pleasure out of making him say ‘fuck’ once in a while. “I guess so.”

“Maybe you could learn how to avoid those people, and your history won’t necessarily be your destiny?”

Or maybe monkeys could fly out of my arse? I went back to staring at the new shoes.