The Next Day

Everything is about covid these days.

Anything goes wrong it's covid's fault. Supply chain problems, gas prices, whatever - covid did it.

I think it's a bit overdone, but there is a fair amount of truth in that logic.

Like therapists.

Goddamn it, man - I missed the mark. Temporarily, I hope.

I pumped myself up to seek therapy, I spent a fair amount of time on line checking shit out and got - repeatedly - "So and so is not accepting new patients at this time." And "so and so is only doing online therapy, no face to face - and not accepting new patients at this time." 

I wanted face to face. If it was good enough for Tony Soprano it is good enough for me.

But I did finally land someone who promptly put me on her list. For teletherapy. She has a list of people seeking therapy and as people cancel out she schedules new ones in.

I have been waiting...........................

She contacted me about a slot that opened up, but it was on a day and time when I am at that hideous motherfucking job. 

But last week I got an email telling me about a slot that works for me. Trouble is I got the email on Monday, didn't see it until Wednesday. I jumped all over it with great excitement and gleeful anticipation.

Got her response: "Sorry. I only hold slots open for 24 hours. I gave it to someone else."

I did not fucking know that. Now I do.

Used to check email periodically. Now I am obsessed.

I don't bathe, brush my teeth or slap on deoderant. I don't eat, sleep, or exercise. I don't change my underwear. I quit my job. I closed my amazon account. 

I hover over my laptop opened to gmail - I refresh it every 15 seconds until I pass out from exhaustion. When I recover I lift my skull off the keyboard and hit refresh.

She will not sneak one past me again.

I am going to shop around some more. I gotta get this done. I want to do this so badly that it is driving me fucking crazy. Every moment I waste provides inspiration to the asylum director who has already fitted me for a custom made straight jacket.

I was quite disappointed to miss that opportunity. I really want to fix my brain.

Before it turns on me and convinces me that the man in the mirror is trying to kill me and must be exterminated.

And the next day I get an email................................