I saw one of my therapists today (I always seem to have at least two. Maybe that isn’t normal. I’ll have to talk to one of them about that). I only see this particular therapist every three months or so. Eyes glued to a yellow legal pad, she asked me how I was.
“I’m doing really well,” I replied. Her pen stopped moving. Eyes peering up at me over her glasses, her voice dropped an octave in disbelief.
“Really.”
“Yes…really.”
She smiled. As it turns out, my well-being and pending relocation has conveniently coincided with her six-month sabbatical. They’re always so much happier to write you prescriptions when they’re going on vacation.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment